Though the morning may be cloudy, it is warm and somewhat bright. It is actually 72°, for the first time this spring. I was out for a bit on the deck without my sweatshirt. It felt like a sort of seasonal freedom. 

When I was a kid, the future was a day away though I did keep track of how many days to the big events like Christmas, Halloween, my birthday and the end of school for the summer. I woke up every day, got dressed, ate breakfast, walked to school, sat at my desk for hours, walked home, changed out of school clothes and played until supper. I never thought my life was

repetitive. Every day seemed to bring something new. This time of year I watch the buds on the trees over the sidewalk turn into bright green leaves. I saw the shoots in gardens grow tall. I saw the buds appear. They were my favorites as soon enough yellow and white dafs bloomed and chased away drab winter. I sometimes skipped on the way to school. It felt joyful. 

I haven’t been back to my hometown for a long time. I haven’t been off cape. When I used to visit, I’d get off the exit where Spot Pond and the pool were. I liked to take Main Street all the way through the square. I never thought about it being called the square when I was growing up, but when I was older, I realized it was actually a square with a police box in the middle. We also used to call it up-town. Boston was in-town. I liked to remember what used to be there, in the square. Long gone are Woolworth’s and Grant’s, Hanks Bakery, the drug stores, the shoe factory, the small rectangular restaurant beside Finnegan’s Men’s Clothing Store, the shoemaker and the fish store. The 1978 movie The Brink’s Job filmed scenes in Stoneham Square as it still looked a if it had been caught in the 50’s. Stoneham burns brightly in my memories. 

My dance card has been empty of late, but I really don’t mind staying home as I have books and movies to keep me company. Today I have a uke concert, and I’ve been resting up for it. I’m ready.

The morning is lovely. It is already 61°. The sun is bright, the sky mostly blue. The dogs stay outside longer, even Henry. I think I might join them later.

Sometimes I think about the friends I had when I was a kid. One friend from my neighborhood and I walked to school together every day for most of grammar school. She lived up the hill in the house where we used to live. I remember she told me her aunt had died because she choked on a chicken bone. That has stayed with me. We went to separate high schools after grammar school. She went to the local high school while I went to a Catholic high school a couple of towns away. We didn’t see each other much after that. 

When I was in the fifth or sixth grade, I joined the drill team, the junior drill team. We had practice Saturday mornings in the armory. We learned all the steps, all the drills. Maria and I became friends, a friendship which continues today. She reminds me all the time of when we were fooling around, and I spun her, and she hit the floor. She got yelled at. I stood innocently. To yank her chain, even now I say it was her fault. It drives her crazy. She always says I got away with everything which also drives her crazy. 

When I was in Ghana, I lost track of most of my college friends. We wrote for a while, but then we didn’t. I was living a different life. Ghana had become my norm. I had good, good friends in Ghana. We met in Philadelphia during what Peace Corps calls staging. We trained together. After training they were posted down south almost a whole country away from me because my friend was pregnant. I visited them and we traveled together, the two of them, their baby and I. Now, we marvel at how well we stayed in touch. It was during the days before phones so we wrote each other. The mail took five days. They moved to my school our second year, all planned through the mail. We had the best time together. We still do.

I am lucky to have good friends, some of whom have been with me as far back as I can remember. Others are newer friends. After my accident, my uke friends fed me, checked on me and drove me where I needed to go. They still keep watch.

During the early morning, it rained. The sky is still gray, and the air is damp. It will be warm, maybe even 60°, but light rain is predicted. 

My insurance company has assessed my car. They are giving me enough money for a good used car. I am going to rent a car this week as it is covered by my insurance. I am happy and relieved.

I was in Ghana for the first Earth Day. It passed me by, but I was living in a country where nothing went to waste. When my sandals fell apart, when the sole detached, I took them to the market for new soles. The man who fixed them attached pieces of a tire to the bottom of the sandals. They lasted the rest of my time there. Beer bottles held groundnut oil or palm nut oil and were sold in the market. You could always get a refill. The compounds were central with round, clay houses made with traditional materials, made with clay, sand and water. The roofs were thatched with grass or straw. I remember a roundabout with tires in a circle. Chicken heads and feet made for a great broth. Rice was sold in cones made from newspapers, made from my New York Times. Cans had multiple uses. The Ghanaians made much from little.

When I was growing up, my life felt idyllic. Everything was amazing. We had the swamp, the field and a copse of trees. We had wild blueberry bushes. Not far away was a pond where we fished. The junk man with his horse and wagon periodically rode by my house calling for newspapers and cans and just everyday junk.. The knife sharpener man rode his bike around looking for business. The garbage can was set in the ground. I remember opening the top by stepping on the pedal so I could watch the maggots. We had only had one car as did most families. It was enough. We never gave thought to the future. 

Today is a pretty day, but it is a cool day at 52°, a sweatshirt day. The sun is bright, the air still. The dogs have been in and out. The goldfinches are at the feeders. It is Patriot’s Day here in Massachusetts. The Boston marathon has started from Hopkinton. The Sox will play at 11:10. I’ll watch the game and keep tabs on the marathon. 

When I was a kid, this week was my spring vacation. We never went anywhere. My farther was working. I did the usual stuff like bike riding, getting books at the library and hanging with friends, but one year was special. I was in the sixth grade. We were told to report to the town hall on one of the vacation days. We were going to make a record. That’s all we knew.

At the town hall, Guy Lombardo and his Royal Canadians were there as was Kenny Gardner, the singer. The band used to have a concert every year in Stoneham, my town, as one of the parish priests was friends with Guy Lombardo. We were told we would be recording a Christmas record. They gave us those John Hancock song books. We stood in front of the stage. Kenny Gardner explained what would be happening. Guy Lombardo would introduce each song then the band would play. Kenny Gardener took the lead while we sang with him. Some songs took a few takes, some took more than a few. Winter Wonderland took many takes. On what was the last take, I came in a note early on one of the stanzas. Kenny wanted to know who. My classmates gave me up. But to my surprise, that version is on the album. I tell everyone I have the only solo. We were there the whole day. At the end, they gave us Hoodsies.

I still have the original record from back then. The album cover is the worst for wear. The inside of the cover has all the lyrics. I think the cover is pretty with a night scene and a church with only stain glass windows lit. The cover says Sing the Songs of Christmas with Guy Lombardo and the Royal Canadians. At the top left in small letters it says, “Recorded Live at Town Hall St. Patrick’s Parish, Stoneham, Massachusetts.” I always think of that solo as my claim to fame.

Happy Easter!

Today is a beautiful day. It is even a warm day and will hit the 60’s so no jackets over Easter clothes. It is a perfect day for egg hunts.

When I was a kid, we went Easter clothes shopping with my mother. We got to choose what we wanted to wear. My sisters were always into pouffy dresses in pastels. I have a hat for my collection my sister Moe wore one Easter. The hat is white with a blue band and a bow in the back with two strands of blue ribbon flowing from that bow. My sisters wore white gloves. When I was young, I wore a dress and patent leather shoes. I have a picture of me from one Easter. I was wearing a blue coat with white buttons and those patent leathers. I was around three or four. My brother used to wear nice pants and a jacket with a design on the front. He wore a tie. 

I remember Easter morning and running to find my basket. Sometimes it was on my bureau. Other times it was downstairs on the kitchen table. I remember seeing a tall chocolate rabbit towering over the rest of the goodies and jelly beans on the fake grass. We’d get a coloring book and crayons and one of those wooden paddles with an elastic in the middle and a red rubber ball at the end of the elastic. Sometimes there was a stuffed animal. I remember half eaten chocolate would stick to the grass. It didn’t bother us. We’d get dressed in our new clothes for church. After dinner, we’d go visit my grandparents in East Boston. My grandmother had Easter goodies for all of us, for all the cousins and we were many.

I have a Nala story. Every morning the dogs run out to the yard. When they come inside, they get a dog biscuit and a small treat. The dog biscuits are peanut butter, and they look bit like gingerbread men. They are Buddy Biscuits. Yesterday I pulled out two biscuits. One was complete while the other was missing his left leg. Henry got the com-late one, and I offered Nala the missing leg biscuit. She refused it. I reached into the big and got a complete one. Nala took it and ate it.

Today will be a quiet day for me. 

The morning is cloudy and windy but light and warm. It is already 58° and could actually hit 60°. That sounds almost tropical. I think I might just sit on the deck for a while and take in the day. I’ll watch the goldfinches at the thistle feeders.

When I was a kid, my bicycle was the best Christmas present I ever received. It was blue. It had a wire basket in front. It was my chariot. I rode it until the first snow. It was kept in the cellar. Putting it in and taking it out was difficult. The cellar was at the bottom of a flight of stairs, and a tall concrete wall was in front of the cellar door. I had to lift the bicycle so it was on one wheel outside the door in order to turn it to the stairs. That always took a bit of maneuvering. Pulling it up the stairs was the last obstacle to riding, to hitting the road. Despite everything, though, I always thought my bike was worth the effort. 

I remember in the fifth grade we were bussed to the next town over. They had empty classrooms. We didn’t have enough room so for half a year we were bussed while a new school building was being built catty corner to the old school. We used to line up on the driveway beside the church to wait for the busses. Each bus had a nun monitor. Our monitor was my fifth grade nun. She sat on the back seat as she was a hefty nun who needed room. It wasn’t a long bus ride. I remember  reading Little Women on the ride. I don’t remember much else.

We always ate white bread, Wonder Bread. I didn’t even knew other breads existed. I remember lunches and how the middle of the bread in my peanut butter and jelly sandwich sometimes got a bit soggy and sank. Jelly seeped through, purple Welch’s grape jelly. It was the only jelly my mother bought. We had a lot of jelly glasses.

My father was a coffee drinker, an instant coffee drinker by choice. My mother didn’t drink coffee or tea. She used to drink Coke in the morning. We called my mother the seagull. She used to eat cold hot dog sandwiches, sometimes with cucumbers. She’d slice the hot dog so it would fit into a sandwich. I remember seeing her stand by the counter to eat. She didn’t like coffee but she loved biscotti dipped in coffee. A tuna melt was one of her favorite sandwiches. She loved the lunch counter at Woolworth’s. 

Yesterday I overreached. I went to my uke concert. Last night I was exhausted and went to bed early for me. My chest is a bit sore today. I’m going to take it easy.

Spring seems to have the upper hand. The bushes have buds, and the forsythia has bloomed in the brightest yellow. The sun is so bright that every thing is lit by light. The sky is the deepest blue. The breeze is ever the slightest, and only a few brown leaves flutter from the scrub oak tree by the deck. More flowers have bloomed in the front garden. The morning is a poster day for spring.

When I was a kid, I had a spring jacket I loved. It had a zipper. It was lightweight. It was an acknowledgment of spring warmth. Gone was my winter coat, my hat and mittens, but I usually wore a sweater underneath my jacket as the mornings were still chilly. I had the best walk to school. The street was a straightaway with a sidewalk shaded by tall trees on both sides. I remember when the trees started to come alive. First came the buds then the tiny shoots opened. They were a light green, a different green than the leaves would be. By the time the leaves came, the mornings were warmer. It was time to ditch the sweater.

During recess, the girls stayed on one side of the school yard, and the boys stayed on the other. Both sides had small groups standing around just talking. The girls’ side also had rope jumpers. I was never a jumping rope fan as I wasn’t very good at it. The boys shot baskets. The hoop had green paint. When I was in the seventh grade, I played CYO basketball so I tried to get time at the hoops for girls’. I was told that basketball was for boys as girls’ had physical limitations related to being female. I protested, but it didn’t matter. We never played hoops. 

Today is Good Friday. We had it off from school but were required to keep vigil in the church for a time. I remember the church looked dark. All the statues were covered in purple cloth. People sat here and there mostly with heads bent in prayer. I was always bored. I had my missal with me, but it wasn’t an exciting read. The time passed so slowly I swear I was there for days. I was so excited when the nun gave us permission to leave. Freedom!

I feel almost back to myself today. I can reach without moaning in pain. My hand is almost clear of black and blues. My chest hurts only a little. It is a happy day!!

 Today is such a lovely sunny day after so many rainy and cloudy days. It will be in the high 40’s. Tonight, though, will be cold, in the 30’s. I think I’ll spend a little time in the sun on the deck.

The dogs love this weather. They stay out longer, and Nala either lies in the yard or sits on the deck stairs. She comes inside, and her fur is always hot. Henry goes in and out. He drives me crazy as he won’t come in the dog door and waits for me to let him inside; however, he’ll run inside if someone is out front. 

Yesterday in the paper was a picture of daffodils. The caption, bold and in caps, read Pop of Color. The picture was in black and white. In an article in the same paper, the writer mentioned that a woman had two twins. I bet she is glad she doesn’t have three twins. 

When I was a kid, my weekdays all had the same schedule. Most of my day was spent in school. It was only in the afternoons I could be creative with time. Some days I rode my bike. Other days I played outside. Sometimes I stayed inside and read or colored or watched TV. I remember sitting at the kitchen table to color while my mother was making dinner. I watched her peel potatoes. There were always potatoes, always mashed potatoes. They are a comfort food for me. 

My dad had no talent when it came to fixing up the house. He once ravaged a toilet. The plumber wanted to know how that happened. When he was painting the side of the house, the ladder started to slide. My father went with it and held the brush against the house. The strokes followed the slide sideways of the ladder. Another time he was cutting a branch off a tree in the backyard. He was sitting on the wrong side of the branch. He sawed and the branch fell with him on it. He hit the ground. I had seen it happening and called my mother to watch. The branch wasn’t far from the ground so he was fine. We just shook our heads. It was definitely a dad thing. He got a shock from some appliance he was trying to fix. He got cut fingers from a fan. When my father retired, he was given a set of tools. The man who presented them to him mentioned how my mother said my dad liked to putter round the house. What she meant was he liked to empty ashtrays and do dishes. 

Long ago I took a woodworking class. I made a small table. The saws scared me a bit given my genetic make-up. I could envision the saw cutting off the tips of my fingers. Luckily, it didn’t happen. I made the table, and all of my digits were intact.