Today will be warmer than it has been. We’ll hit 80°, but it will feel cooler as there is a breeze. I can hear the leaves rustling, and the chimes ringing. The sky is mostly blue. It is a pleasant day.

When I was a kid, we sometimes went to the pool. It was just about at the opposite end of town. We used to walk. I carried my towel and my dime, the price of entry. In the changing room were lockers. I’d put my clothes in one and take the key which was on a stretchy plastic bracelet. On hot days, the pool was always full. Towels covered the concrete around the pool, and sometimes there was little room, no open spots for any more towels. On many of the towels were couples, teens. The girls seldom went into the water. I tended to swim at the deeper end. I dove off the board until one dive when I hit the bottom of the pool, cracked a tooth and split my lip. I was bleeding when I got out of the water. The lifeguard came right over and brought me inside for first aid. My lip swelled. They called my mother and drove me home. I never dove off that board again though I did dive off the side of the pool.

I loved to watch my father eat corn. He was a human typewriter. He’d eat across each line of corn then without missing a beat move on to the next line. Sometimes a piece of corn went airborne so sitting beside him could get messy. It was the same when he ate lobster. He managed to get every piece of meat including meat from the knuckles and legs. Sometimes water or a piece of the shell went airborne. Sitting next to my father was risky. I am my father’s daughter so I attack a lobster and leave no meat. It is my talent and worthy of my resume.

If you hate bugs and they frighten you, stop reading. I’m giving you fair warning. Yesterday I had an itchy spot near my arm pit. I scratched it. It felt like a scab. I decided to pull off the scab, and when I looked at it, I only wish it were a scab. It was a tick, a bit engorged. I put it on the table, put my glass over it then put it in the glass. I watched. It started to climb the side of the glass. I took it to the bathroom. It sleeps with the fishes. I felt grossed out all afternoon.

I have a few house chores and one errand. That’s it on my dance card.

ASIDE: The new url for Coffee is keepthecoffeecoming.wordpress.com. It will return to the usual url when I upgrade.

Yesterday Coffee went wonky. It turned itself private, and it wouldn’t let me in to fix it. The problem was I didn’t renew the plan I had. I thought it wouldn’t make all that much difference. I was wrong, totally and completely wrong. I still haven’t corrected the upgraded blog so my plan right now is free. As soon as I have the money, I’ll go back to the other plan. The new URL is keepthecoffeecoming.wordpress.com. I’m happy at least that Coffee is back. I have been writing Coffee since 2004. That was on blogger which closed me down for posting videos so I switched to WordPress. I’m going to stay here on WordPress and Coffee will be back to its self in a short while. Thanks for being patient.

Last night it was 58°. The dogs huddled, and Jack went back into his winter residence, the teepee house, but this morning, I wanted to stand on the deck and sing at the top of my voice Oh! What a Beautiful Morning because the morning is a delight. The sun is brilliant. Its light dapples through the leaves. The slightest breeze is now and then. When it blows, the leaves float up and down on the ends of the branches. The deck and a book are in my future.

When I first moved to the cape, I was so very angry at my parents. They had uprooted me from what had always been my life. I lost everything. They tried to entice me by saying I’d have my own room, a poor trade. It didn’t work.

I remember signing up for classes. Somehow I got stuck with Latin 4. The counselor wouldn’t let me take typing. He gave me a speech/debate class instead. The only good thing was I had completed all my math requirements.

I remember my first day of school. I didn’t wear a uniform, but I did wear a black wrap around skirt with a madras blouse, mostly black and blue. I walked to school and stood in the back waiting for the door to open. There were hugs and lots of hellos. I stood by myself sort of huddled against the brick wall. I sat at a table by myself at lunch. I was miserable. I remember getting home and flinging my books and yelling to anyone within earshot I hated it.

I don’t remember how long it took for me to meet friends, to get comfortable. I joined clubs. One of them was the Latin Club. I think there were 7 or 8 of us. I figure I must have been desperate. Luckily, the word nerd had yet to be coined. I joined theater. I no longer ate alone. In the morning I stood with friends while waiting for the door to open. I had settled.

I go to all the reunions. I see high school friends around town. We always stop, hug and chat a bit. I don’t remember exactly when it happened, but the cape became my home. I am still here.

From somewhere far off I can hear a duck quacking. I like the sound. I also like the sound of roosters crowing to greet the day and the first songs of the birds just before sunrise. I can’t think of a more wonderful way to start the day.

The morning is lovely, cool and bright. The air is clear. Every now and then a small breeze stirs the leaves. The high today will be 75°. Tonight will be in the 60’s. If I could invent a day, it would be a day like today.

When I was a kid, I made promises to myself. I didn’t want to be ordinary. I never thought of it as an ego thing. I just figured I wouldn’t choose the usual. I would travel and see the world. There was never a doubt. I didn’t know anyone who had traveled nor did I know anyone who aspired to travel so I’d be the first. In the eighth grade I decided I’d join the Peace Corps as soon as I was able. I never shared that with anyone. It was my secret hope. Back then, when I was young, I didn’t know about destiny, fate or kismet, but I knew I’d keep my promises.

I remember events in my life which were small in the scheme of things. As to why I tucked these particular events into my memory drawers I have no idea.

I remember being in the principal’s office when I was in the eighth grade and being chosen to crown at the May procession. The only things I remember about the procession are I was at the end and stopped when people wanted pictures, and I had trouble climbing the ladder to the statue as my dress was so long. The priest grabbed my arm so I wouldn’t fall. I remember in late summer my mother and I took the bus to where I would be going to high school. We went to buy my uniform. The room had all sorts of racks of uniform pieces in different sizes. We bought the skirt, the blazer and two blouses. I remember a Sunday in January, 1969 when there was a knocking at the door. I looked down the stairs at the front door and saw the postman and wondered why he was there on a Sunday. He handed me a special delivery letter congratulating me on being accepted into the Peace Corps. I don’t remember the wording of the letter. I just remember the mailman.

My memory drawers are stuffed. They go as far back as I do. Random unbidden memories sometimes jump out and take me by surprise. I’ll close my eyes and see the time, the place and the people who gave me those memories. I love those moments of remembering.

The forecast was for light rain. I’m still waiting, but it is getting darker so maybe I just need to be more patient. The air is thick. It is in the mid-70’s. Everything is Sunday quiet.

When I was a kid, Sunday didn’t have much to redeem it. It was my least favorite day of the week. No matter the weather, I usually had to walk to church. I suffered through mass. The only good thing every Sunday was dinner. It always seemed special. My favorite was roast beef. My mother made the best gravy. I’d make a pile of my mashed potatoes and poured gravy on the top of the pile. As the gravy dripped down, the potato pile always looked like a volcano erupting. When I saw Close Encounters of the Third Kind, I watched Roy Neary sculpt Devil’s Tower with his mashed potatoes. It was more sophisticated than my volcano, but it still made us kin of a sort.

I flew to Philadelphia on a Sunday for what Peace Corps calls staging, the time just before you leave for in country. I checked in, received a packet of information including a time table for the next four days, was given a stipend of money and a hotel room key. I was both nervous and excited. I’ve never forgotten that Sunday. I can close my eyes and see the line in front of and behind me. I remember checking in at the table, at the end of the line. I remember dragging my heavy bags across the small hotel lobby to the elevator. I remember finding my room. On that Sunday, common events became uncommon. My least favorite day of the week bumped every other day of the week to become my favorite.

The morning is just perfect. The sun is shining. A small breeze is blowing. It is only 77°. It is quiet. I hear only insects and birds. My den is dark as the sun doesn’t hit it until afternoon. The house is cool. The coffee is hot. The dogs are asleep in their usual spots, Henry on my left and Nala on my right. I can hear them breathing, the deep breathing which comes in sleep.

My street is small. There are eight houses. Only two of them have the original owners, mine and the house down the street. In three of the houses, the original owners have passed away. The other houses were sold and the owners moved. Some have been sold twice, but each time, good neighbors moved into those houses.

I have a pin hat. It is a baseball cap covered in pins, so many pins there is no room left on the hat. Most of the pins I bought on my travels. Others were given to me, and I haven’t been to every place. Many of the pins carry memories. I have some from Santa Fe, where we, my mother and sisters and I, went for a short holiday. Two of those are Fiesta 2003 pins, one is a Texas pin and another is from the Alamo. I have a First Night 1989 pin. My mother and I did first night in Reading, the next town over from where she lived. One says I saw Sue at the Field Museum. That is from my trip to Chicago when I was Massachusetts assistant principal of the year. At the museum, a man was chipping Sue’s bones to clean them. Sue is the largest, best preserved T-Rex. From that same trip, I have several McDonald’s pins from McDonald University, where McDonald’s hosted and feted us.

I have favorite pins, the ones with so many memories: Costa Rica from a family trip, the Football Hall of fame and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame from a trip with friends in Cleveland of all places, a Boston Marathon pin, San Diego Zoo, Colorado and New Hampshire where family and friends live, a PanAm pin, a World Series pin from when the Sox played Colorado, Iceland, Columbia and so many more. Two of the pins I love more than others. One says Dia de los Muertos and on it are two skeletons wearing sombreros and smiling at each other. The other one is Killer Klowns from Outer Space with some of the scariest of the clowns on it.

I have had no occasion to wear my hat. Maybe I just need to make one.

I choose this song as we play it on our ukuleles.

The weather has changed. It is cooler. The low today will be 63°, amazing. A cool breeze is blowing in from the window behind me, the north window. The day will be mostly cloudy. The sun pops in and out but doesn’t stay. It is a lazy day.

When I fill out forms and my year of birth is requested, I find myself scrolling further and further down the list, but there are many years earlier than mine, a longer scroll, which I find somewhat comforting.

I seldom wear a dress any more. I used to wear one out to dinner on Easter, but I don’t go out anymore so my dress sits in the back of the closet. Actually, I have two dresses, one for Easter/spring and another for fall/winter. I’m covered for any event. I had a teacher in high school who wore suits. She had two. She alternated. When I lived in Ghana, I had to wear dresses every day. I had brought dresses with me as I knew ahead of time I’d have to wear them, but in a short while I had my dresses made from Ghanaian cloth by a seamstress. I’d buy cloth in the market and when I traveled. I have none of those dresses, but I have some from my trips back to Ghana. They were made by a seamstress in the market.

My grandmother was a terrible cook so my father had peculiar ideas about food. Spaghetti was pasta with a can of stewed tomatoes on top. For him garlic was only okay for garlic bread and shrimp scampi. He preferred canned asparagus. What was funny was if he didn’t see you using garlic in a different dish he’d eat the food and not notice. His eyes, not his taste buds, were the final arbiters on whether or not the food was edible. Once I used the same bowl to mash potatoes which I had used for mushrooms. A few bits of the mushroom ended up in the potatoes. My father was not fond of mushrooms. He wanted to know what the bits were in his mashed potatoes. I told him the potatoes came from Eastham. He ate them.

I have a small chore list today. I need to vacuum both upstairs and downstairs. I don’t want to, but I must. The dust balls of dog hair rise into the air when I walk anywhere in the house. It is almost embarrassing. I do sweep every other day downstairs, but the dust is never ending. I tried to brush Henry. You’d have thought he was being abused. He got away from me and ran upstairs. He stayed there for hours.

The first thing I did when I woke up was to turn on the air conditioner. It is already 81°, hibernating weather, and the humidity is 87%, both inside and outside. We are back to clouds and a dark day. We may have thunder showers. I hope so.

My house is quiet except for the sound of the air conditioner. The dogs are having their morning naps, the first of many naps. They lead such hard lives.

I have chores I can do, but I am not in a chores frame of mind, maybe later. The last few days I have been ensconced on the couch with book in hand. I have several books on my iPad Kindle app, but I like the feel of a book, the actual turning of the pages. Yesterday I finished Forrest Gump. It was far different than the movie, but it hooked me fast. The book had been a Christmas present, but it got piled with other books, and I forgot it was there. It was serendipity when I found it on Tuesday.

I remember reading Little Women. It was a Santa gift. Santa always knew what I’d like. That book held me from the first page, and I only put it down at night when my mother demanded I turn out my light and go to sleep. I’d pretend to do just that, but, instead, I’d sneak and read my book under the covers. I’d use my over the headboard light under layers of covers so I could read without detection. I remember how hot it got under the covers. I’d have to come up for air. My favorite character was Jo. She was creative, independent, stubborn and a bit feisty, all attributes I admired. When Beth died, I mourned.

I was so taken by Jo and the March family that I read Little Men and Jo’s Boys, the sequels to Little Women. I still have that present from Santa, the actual book I received. The pages are yellow befitting the age of the book, and the spine has nearly fallen off. The glue didn’t last.

Years back I bought a whole collection of the Jo’s books. There are six of them. When the books arrived, I read all six of them. I was back with the March family.