Today will be warm and sunny. It is already 61° and will get a bit warmer as the day moves on. The branch pile in my backyard is much larger. The Nala trash is gone. The bird feeders are all filled. I was busy yesterday.

The older I get the more often I have bouts of nostalgia. I remember my hometown as it was. When I drive on Main Street through the square, I can see in my mind’s eye the buildings of my childhood, but the years have not been kind, and most buildings just exist in my memory drawers.

 The square is much less interesting. I used to love to window shop. I’d ride my bike up town and walk it on the sidewalk. Woolworth’s had fun windows which changed with the seasons. My favorite was the Christmas window. Grant’s was far less interesting. Lobsters floated in a tank in the window of the fish market which had an unpleasant smell even outside the door. The diner was right below the square. Sometimes my dad took me there for breakfast. We always sat in a booth. He’d give me money to play the jukebox. When bread was baking at Hank’s, you could smell the aroma around the whole square. The movie theater had Saturday matinees and nighttime movies. I used to spend many a Saturday seeing a movie and a couple of cartoons and watching Oscar patrol the aisles with his flashlight while chomping on his cigar. Later the theater was sold but didn’t stay open long. It was closed for years and deteriorated. But it is back as a live theater and is anchoring the square. Three drug stores were in the square. The Chinese laundry and the barber shop were on the same block. A bank was near Woolworth’s. It had a sort of awning.

Further down the road, Hago Harrington’s Miniature Golf was adjacent to the China Moon which closed first. The Moon used to be the dinner spot before proms and special dances. My sister said nothing remains of Hago’s.

The bowling alleys are also gone. They were Saturday night spots when my friends and I would bowl a few games. I was an awful bowler. 

I have a fun singular memory. I had read about square dancing at Marconi Hall. My friend Jimmy and I decided to go. When we got there, we were told it was for adults only, but we asked to stay. They let us. We do-si-doed all night. 

Sometime last night thunder boomed overhead. The sound was like canon shots, not the usual claps. We all woke up, the dogs and I, but it didn’t happen again so we fell back to sleep. It was odd. 

Last night it rained. I didn’t hear it. Everything is still wet. The sky was cloudy this morning, a light gray, but the sun has made an appearance as has the blue sky. It is warm at 62°. Rain is predicted for later. 

When I think about growing up, I have good memories. I had everything a kid could want: a bike, a sled, roller skates and ice skates. I was equipped for every season. My roller skate key was on a string around my neck. I used it to tighter the grip of the skate clamps to the top sides of my shoes. Sometimes my shoes fell out of the clamps, and I had to reattach the skate to the shoe. I remember the silly walk with my skate hanging, still attached to my foot by the strap. It was lift the leg and swing the hanging skate in the air. I’d then sit on the curb and retighten the clamps. I loved the clicking sound of my skates on the sidewalk, and the way the bottom of my feet felt when I wore the skates. 

The eighth grade was the last grade in my grammar school. I had attended the school since first grade. I had nuns one year and lay teachers the next, all women. One, my second grade teacher, Mrs. Kerrigan, was an old time teacher. She had gray hair she wore in a bun. Her dresses were flowered. Her shoes, her black shoes, had clunky heels. She always carried a pocketbook. Mrs. Kerrigan lived on the second floor of a house across from the church. She walked to school. She was soft-spoken. In my mind’s eye, I can still see a glimpse of her.

I remember a trip we took, my family and I, to the White Mountains. We saw it all. We took the last bus to the Flume and had to walk back to the parking lot. The Man in the Mountain still protruded from the ledge. I thought the man looked amazing, craggy, grizzled. He would fall in 2003. I was so glad I had seen him in all his glory. My father drove up Mount Washington. I remember how slow he drove. I kept looking over the edge glad for the slowness. When we got to the top, it was cold. I couldn’t imagine living on the top of the mountain in winter. When we went back to the car, a bumper sticker had been attached, “This car climbed Mount Washington.”

My dance card has a uke concert tomorrow then nothing until Tuesday. I’m going to do some yard cleaning of Nala’s trash and fill a couple of feeders. That’s it.

The morning is pretty but a bit chilly, only in the 50’s. The last few days had me thinking that the warmth of spring was here to stay so the chill is unwelcomed. Yesterday was a tee shirt day. Today is a sweatshirt day. 

Right now I am watching the very first Perry Mason. I remember watching later episodes when I was in high school. I love this episode with the men in their fedoras, the ancient looking cars and the women’s fashions, the small hats and the white gloves for every day wear. Perry is quite dapper in his patterned sports jacket with a handkerchief in his pocket. He is wearing light slacks. The music is dramatic. Perry is facing the forever prosecutor Hamilton Burger, and Lieutenant Tragg arrested his client. Years back, Perry Mason was on in the afternoons, and my friend Joan and I watched together a few afternoons a week. It was a tradition of sorts. I thought of her today when I started watching.

Memories, even some of the smallest memories, seem to hang around forever in the far back corners of my memory drawers. They jump to the fore when something clicks, when something taps that memory, sometimes something unexpected. I know smell triggers memories. The smell of wood burning takes me back to Camp Aleska, the Girl Scout camp in my hometown. It was in the woods at the end of a dirt road. The main room had a giant fireplace. It had seating all around which also served as storage. That’s where the cots were. I remember the room always smelled of wood and fire. We’d light the fireplace, and I’d fall asleep watching the light from the fire flickering and jumping. The sweet aroma of the wood burning filled the room. 

In Ghana, in the mornings, the compounds behind my house lit wood fires for cooking. I woke to the aroma of the burning wood wafting across the fields. One time, I was hitching from Tamale to Bolgatanga, my home, a hundred mile trip. One of my rides was turning off the main road so he dropped me by a tiny village. It was a charcoal village. Trees were lying on the ground and smoldering in the middle, in a sort of hewed trough. The smell from the smoke was sweet. It clung to my clothes and my hair. It stayed with me.

I am hanging around the house today. I’m missing a concert. I overdid the last few days thinking all was well. Today I’m hurting. I figure I shouldn’t have collected all the fallen pine branches in parts of my yard. I have a concert Saturday I’m looking forward to so the day of rest is in preparation. The dogs and I are comfortable on the couch. It seems the perfect spot.

Today is spring in all its glory. It is already 63° and will get warmer. The sun is glint your eyes strong. The sky is a light blue. A slight breeze is swaying the small branches and the dead oak leaves. It is a day to bring a smile.

Yesterday I got a rental. I am mobile again. Three of my errands were crossed off the list. This week I have uke practice, my lesson and three concerts. I’m glad for the car.

When I was a kid, this was my favorite time of year. The winter clothes were gone, no more layers. The mornings were warmer, and the air smelled sweet. Gardens bloomed with early flowers like the dafs. Their bright colors pushed away the gray of winter. I was so glad for the bright yellow. The afternoons were longer. The street lights came on later. I remember going inside to watch my afternoon TV programs while I waited for supper. I remember The Mickey Mouse Club. It was how I learned to spell ENCYCLOPEDIA, thanks to Jiminy Cricket. Even now, if I spell it, my voice is sing songy. We always had mashed potatoes, a vegetable and maybe ground beef or chicken. I loved meat loaves. I loved when my mother frosted them with mashed potatoes. Peas and corn were my favorite vegetables. I only tolerated carrots. I ate green beans but didn’t like them much. They always seemed squishy. 

When I was young, I was never into girly clothes. I was into comfort even back then. During the colder weather, I wore dungarees, girls’ dungarees. In the winter they were lined. I also wore flannel shirts and long sleeved blouses. Sweatshirts didn’t have hoods. I always wore sneakers, Keds. I had to wear uniforms to school, mostly skirts and blouses. Even in college I had to wear skirts until the winter of my sophomore year. It was so cold they allowed us to wear pants. That was the end of skirts and dresses. In Ghana I had to wear dresses, but I didn’t mind. I had my seamstress make my dresses with Ghanaian cloth. They were beautiful. On my trips back, I wore pants as did many Ghanaian women. I did miss the women dressed in traditional clothing made with local fabrics.

My yard needs a clean-up from Nala’s trash. I’ll use my prisoner’s stick. The bird feeders need filling. It is a good day for outside work. 

When I woke up, the sun was shining and the sky was a deep blue, but my Alexa predicted rain. I was skeptical. Now, the sky is mostly cloudy, and the sun is in and out. The wind has begun to blow. The rain will come tonight. 

Since the car’s tragic ending, I haven’t done much. I did go to uke practice as my friend Holly picked me up, and I went to the Friday concert, again picked up by a friend. I am tired of being homebound after two weeks so I’m hoping to get my rental tomorrow. I just need a ride to Hyannis. Now, where is that bike tire pump?

When I was a kid, my bike never got a flat tire, but sometimes the chain slipped off the sprocket. When it did, my pedals spun, my feet slipped, and I’d hit the bike bars. I’d get off my bike fix it. It sometimes took a while. My hands would get all greasy. I’d shout in triumph if I got the chain back on. A few times, though, I had to walk my bike home with the chain dragging. It always seemed a long way.

My father loved fried Spam sandwiches. My sister still likes Spam. I never have, but I did love fried bologna sandwiches. My mother bought bologna in a roll. I’d cut it into slices. Some of the slices were thin while others were thick on one side and thin on the other. I didn’t mind. I always used yellow mustard. I remember the thick bologna would sometimes make a hole in the center of the sandwich causing it to sort of collapse. It was an ugly sandwich, still tasted all right though.

Henry is moldy. The fur on his haunches is shedding in clumps. I can see his lighter fur underneath his winter fur coat. He hates me to scratch his fur and hates even more being brushed. Henry has strong dislikes.

When I was in grammar school, I walked the tracks, usually the same set of tracks. I’d jump over the double oo ties so I wouldn’t break my mother’s back. The end of those tracks was at a turnabout. I remember a train car was on one side track standing by itself, on the track across from the box factory and near to the brick railroad station. I never found the other end of the tracks though I walked a long distance. I followed those tracks passed a corner store, the station master’s house and further on, until I lost sight of any houses then I’d turn back. I am still curious as to where those tracks ended.

The morning is dark and rainy with a heavy rain I can hear hitting the windows and falling on the roof. The wind is strong. It is a day to stay warm and dry inside the house. I have turned on all the little white lights around my fireplace and the red pepper lights in the kitchen. The house feels cozy. 

When I was a kid, I’d read away a day like today. I was never without a book. I’d get comfy in bed and read by the lamp hanging over the headboard. A blanket would keep me warm. I liked the quiet. 

The other day my sister and I were talking about all the nickel bars of candy we liked which have disappeared. Now, of course, a nickel bar is $2.00 or more. Snickers is still my first choice followed by Butterfingers. When I was young, I loved Midnight candy bars. They were a dark chocolate Milky Way. Sugar Daddies were my Saturday matinee choice. They lasted a long time. I used to have fun biting the top of the Sugar Daddy then pulling it while holding the stick. I tried to get the longest strand. Wax Bottles came in what looked like a milk bottle holder. They came in four flavors. When the bottles were empty, I chewed the wax. I always liked Semi-Sweet Hershey bars. I used to hold candy cigarettes between my fingers and pretend I was smoking. I even blew out imaginary smoke. The black Chuckles were my favorites. There were so many more. I never forget a chocolate bar.

When I was a kid, a penny had value. Every corner store had a glass case filled with boxes of penny candy. I had favorites like Fire Balls, Mary Jane’s, Bullseyes and those strips of colored dots on paper. Sometimes the paper stuck to the dots, and I’d just eat the paper along with the dots. We used to have contests with Fire Balls. The winner kept the hot ball in her mouth the longest. Sometimes I won.

This morning I had two pieces of rye toast with black mission fig jam and a few cups of coffee, Vietnamese coffee. They were a delightful way to start the day. 

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.