The morning is lovely. It is 72° and sunny. A few oak leaves ruffle in the bit of a breeze. The dogs are out enjoying the day.

I slept well last night. My leg feels a bit better today. This is the start of week 4 so I am hopeful. I didn’t go out yesterday, but I did have the few groceries I needed delivered. My larder is filled.

Today I am going to water my house plants. That is the only item on my dance card. I do have uke events during the week and I hope to last for all of them.

I have favorite sounds. The rain is probably my favorite. I love it falling on the roof and windows. If I were building my house, I’d put on a metal roof so I’d be surrounded by the sound. The sweet ring of the chimes in my backyard makes the wind welcomed. The chimes hang low from a tree branch. I can see them from the house. In Ghana, I loved the morning crows of my rooster greeting the day. I’d listen then fall back to sleep. When I made my first trip back, a rooster crowed outside my hotel room window to welcome me back. It was like a trip back in time. During Peace Corps training, I stayed with a Ghanaian family. My room was in the back of the house facing a dirt street. A small mosque with green painted walls was on that street. I could hear the calls to prayer. The first call by the muezzin was before dawn. It reached me in that hazy place between awake and asleep. I would listen every morning then fall back to sleep. When I went to Morocco, I could hear the familiar calls from the top floor of my riad. Those calls were made through speakers, amplified for all to hear the prayers.

When I was in college and home for the weekend, my father always invited me on his Sunday dump run. If a friend came home with me, my friend was the invitee. My father loved the dump and loved to share those trips. Back then the dump was filled with huge, tall piles of trash. Gulls flew in circles round the trash piles, and the air was filled with their squawking caws. I always think of seagulls as home, as one of the cape’s loudest bird choristers. I love the late night. I love the sounds of night, of the birds and insects who share the wee hours with me, but I also love the first stirrings of the day, the time just before dawn when the birds sing a welcome to the awakening of the morning.

My favorite season is fall on Cape Cod. This week it will be in the 70’s every day. The nights are perfect, wonderful for sleeping, down to the 50’s and 60’s. Earlier we had sun, but now we have clouds. I’m hoping for more sun.

The house is quiet. The street is quiet. I don’t even hear a car. The Sundays of my childhood were quiet. I’d walk to mass. It didn’t matter the weather. Once in a while I’d go with my father to the early mass where he was an usher. I always sat on his side of the church so I could my dime into his basket. He used to shake it a little in front of me, a hello. Back then, both the upstairs and the downstairs of the church were filled with people. I liked the downstairs better, no sermon. The mass there finished quickly.

I never went bike riding or wandering on a Sunday. It was a family day. I loved Sunday dinners. They were special. We usually had a roast of beef or chicken. We always had mashed potatoes and gravy. I was a potato sculptor along the lines of Richard Dreyfuss in Close Encounters. I used to make a well in the middle of my potatoes, and that’s where I’d put the gravy. The contest was to keep the gravy from spilling over the side of the potatoes.

When I was a kid, I didn’t eat many vegetables. My mother picked her battles and served only the ones we’d eat. She’d serve corn on the cob in the summer and niblet corn or creamed corn in the winter. I liked the taste of creamed corn, but I hated it spreading into my potatoes. Baby peas were and still are my favorite. She’d sometimes serve green beans or yellow beans or French green beans. I’d eat a few. My father liked asparagus right from the can. If you held one spear up on your fork, it drooped at the middle.

I was never good at spitting watermelon seeds or cherry pits. We’d have contests, and I’d lose every time. Mostly I just spit and dribbled on my chin. The seeds fell to the ground. I had a friend who was the best seed spitter. Those seeds flew. I always envied him. I never did figure out the technique.

I have to go out today. I’d much prefer staying home in my cozies, but I need Tylenol. I also need bread and cream, my staples. I’m also thinking treats, biscuits for the dogs and Snickers for me.

Today is the epitome of a fall day. It is sunny and 70°. The sky is a lovely blue. Every now and then the leaves blow, gently. Today is one of the reasons I love this time of year.

Yesterday I thought I’d turned a corner. My leg mostly hurt only when I sat down or got up. I walked the best I have of late. Last night, though, was pure misery. My feet were freezing. I couldn’t fall sleep so I got up to put on a pair of heavy duty socks, but my right leg hurt so much I could only get the sock on half way, but I figured that was enough. I got into bed but still couldn’t fall asleep. I twisted and turned so much both dogs got off. I don’t even know what time I fell asleep, but I know it was noon before I woke up. The dogs had returned.

When I was a kid, life was immediate. The most I thought ahead was the week-end. Sometimes I went to the movies. In the winter I ice skated. I went to the library as I always needed new books to read. I was never bored.

On school nights, we watched TV before bed. Those were the days of the westerns. I remember Sugarfoot, Cheyenne, Maverick, Have Gun Will Travel, Wyatt Earp and so many more. The kid shows I watched were The Lone Ranger, Roy Rogers, Rin Tin Tin and Zorro, a different sort of western. I seldom missed those shows.

When I was twelve or so we had pajama parties, usually for someone’s birthday. We’d arrive in pajamas, and each of us would bring a pillow and a blanket. Early in the evening we’d have the party. We’d play records and dance and eat. There was always plenty of food. At some point, we had to settle down. It took us a while. We’d laugh and giggle. Usually it was well after midnight before we all fell asleep. In the morning, we’d eat breakfast, usually cereal, then head home. I remember getting home and taking a nap.

I have no plans until Tuesday, my next uke practice. My friend Elaine just brought me clams for steaming and plenty of food. She makes the best food. I am in heaven.

Today is a delight. It is warm at 71° and sunny. Last night had a bit of a chill and was perfect for sleeping. Our morning routine is always the same so this morning was no different. The dogs ran out to the yard, did a bit of business then ran back in for biscuits. I readied my coffee. The dogs waited for their second treat then both ran back outside to the yard. Nala came back in while Henry cried for me to let him in. I did. I don’t know why Henry won’t come in the dog door. That drives me crazy.

I loved walking to school in the fall. It was a bit chilly as the morning sun was less warm, sharper as it dappled through he curved leaves. The walk kept me warm. My route was mostly on one long street leading to the front of my school. I always walked on the side of the street bordered by houses and trees. Half-way down the street were the tracks and a station house. I never saw a train. The tracks ended not too far away. My school was old, a brick building with a statue of an angel in front. On each side of the school was a walkway to the school yard, but we only walked on one side, the side next to the rectory. I don’t know why. We stood in groups talking until the bell. The nun used to stand on the outside steps to ring it. We all then moved in tandem into the building. School had officially begun.

My reentry into the world was on Tuesday night. I went to my ukulele practice. I didn’t last the whole time as I got tired, and my leg started to hurt. On Wednesday morning I went to my uke lesson. I lasted the whole time. The hardest part of my reemergence was getting dressed. My leg hurts when I lift it. Try getting into pants and a sock without raising one leg. It wasn’t easy, but I did figure it out.

I have an empty dance card until Tuesday. That gives me more time to heal, more time to be a sloth. I’m happy.

The day feels like fall with a temperature of 68°. It is mostly cloudy. The leaves are barely moving on the oak trees. The dogs are having their morning naps. All is right with my world.

I am hoping to reenter the world today. My leg still hurts, and I still limp enough for sympathy, but, regardless, I need to get out of the house. I need to see people.

When I was a kid, I used to make adventure books. Once, when we were visiting my grandparents in East Boston, my uncle, only two years older than I, took my brother and me to Logan Airport. Because it was a far away walk, we didn’t tell my mother. We just went. Back then Logan was mostly one story buildings. The viewing spots were on the roofs. We watched the planes coming and going. They were props. We wandered inside the terminal. It was, at least I think I remember it was, one long building with a counter for each airline. Pamphlets were on metal spinning racks all around the terminal. I collected as many as I could carry. Some were for airlines, others for hotels and many for tourist spots in Boston. When we got back to my grandparents’ house, my mother was not at all happy. I really didn’t figure she would be.

Later in the week, I made my travel journal. I took all the pamphlets and cut out the pictures I wanted for my trip. I glued the pictures into my scrap book. On my journey, I took airplanes, stayed in hotels and visited historic spots. I wrote my own travel log. It wasn’t very sophisticated. I was young, but I was proud of that journal. It was, in its way, a prediction. I always knew I would travel the world. This first trip was pretend, but later in my life all the travels were real.

The morning is chilly, only 65°. It is cloudy and damp, and the weather for today won’t get much better. I’m a bit cold. Only a couple of days ago I was sweating. September is an odd month. It is both summer and fall a day or two apart.

Nala has been stealing trash again. I noticed an empty dog biscuit box outside, but I left it there. No way was I venturing down the stairs to the backyard. She must have known how much I hate outside trash as she brought it back into the house. Yesterday I saw an empty coffee bean bag on the deck. It was raining so I left it there. Nala was kind enough to bring it back into the house. She also brought in a stick, and she and Henry took turns chewing it. I’ve been picking up bits of bark.

When I was growing up, my mother didn’t work outside the house. She didn’t even drive back then. She was always there for us. She’d make us breakfast in the morning before school. My favorite was boiled eggs in an egg cup. She’d cut the toast into strips and put the strips on a plate around the egg cups. I loved dipping the toast into the egg. The egg cups were yellow chickens and hens from Fanny Farmer. I have a couple she gave me when I brought my house. In the winter she’d make us oatmeal. I’d add milk and cover it in sugar. I always had cocoa in the morning while my brother had tea. My school lunches were so good one of my friends who had the same lunch box kept trying to sneak and switch so she could have my lunch.

All of my life I have divided my clothes into school clothes and play clothes. Because I wore a uniform, I had to change as soon as I got home from school. Even when I was an adult, I’d change my clothes as soon as I got home from school, from work. The only time I didn’t change was when I lived in Ghana. I wore dresses there all the time as that was the custom for women. Sometimes, though, I’d change into shorts or something comfortable, but I never left the house unless I wore a dress. Now, I only wear play clothes.

I’m still limping, but my leg is getting a bit better. I don’t moan or groan as much. I do get annoyed at Henry as he won’t come in the dog door. I leave him outside, but then he starts crying so I have to go let him inside. He knows how to work me. I limp down the hall muttering.

I woke up to a dark, damp morning. I asked my Alexa the time. She said good morning. It is 11:25. I was shocked. I can’t remember the last time I slept so late, but now, after a cup of coffee, I am better suited to face the day.

The rain started a little while back. I’m happy for the rain. It has been a long while. I closed the window behind me. I could feel the cold, damp breeze on my back. I’m not complaining though. I’m glad for the chill.

I remember how excited I was for the first day of school. I didn’t have new school clothes; instead, I had a new uniform, a white blouse, blue skirt and a blue tie, a cowboy bow tie which clipped to my collar. My shoes were usually sturdy as my mother hoped they would last most of the school year. My socks changed with the seasons, short socks when it was warm and knee socks when it was cold. When I was young, on really cold days, I used to wear snow pants under my skirt. I wasn’t a fan. It took a while to undress in the cloak room and hang up the pants. I’d have to sit on the floor and pull them off. One year my mother found pink longish underwear. It came to my knees.

Okay, back to the first day. I always had a new lunch box. When I was young, it was a character box. One year I had a Mouseketeers’ box. It was talent roundup day. When I was a bit older, I went with designs. I remember a red and black plaid lunch box. That was in the fourth grade. My usual lunch was a sandwich and cookies for desert. We could buy milk. In the winter, my mother sometimes gave us soup and Saltines. I remember chicken noodle was my favorite. Sometimes, though, the noodles plopped into the thermos cup and my blouse would get a few drops of soup on the front.

I always got a new pencil box, a box of crayons and a school bag. I used to practice putting the pencil case into the bag and putting the bag across my shoulder. I wanted to be ready for that first day.

The morning is ugly, hot, cloudy and humid. It will stay the same all day. The only saving grace is a small breeze. This is weather befitting August, not September. The dogs aren’t enjoying the weather much either as they come inside panting. I figure they’ll spend the day napping.

The morning is quiet. I don’t hear any voices, any dogs barking or even any cars driving by. Every now and then I can hear the sweet music from the chimes hanging on trees in the backyard. I think the thick air is muting sounds.

Henry is a strange dog, has always been a strange dog. His latest fear is the den light. Its cord is in a power strip but it is loose. Every now and then the light blinks a few times when the cord is moved. Henry jumps off the couch and starts barking every time.

I walk better than I have been walking, but my leg still hurts. The doctor did say 3-5 weeks, and this is week 3, I think. I have lost track of time. Being inside and seeing no one has me losing track of the world. I talk on the phone to people who call to check up on me, but that is my only connection. I am a sort of Robinson Caruso without a Friday.

I have no inclination to do anything. I much prefer fighting for space on the couch. My defense is my leg feels best when I sit so this is a matter of health, not laziness.

When I was a kid, fall was my favorite season. The weather was a delight. The air was clear of summer’s humidity. The light had a sharpness. Everywhere I walked I saw beauty, the colors of the leaves. They seemed to surround me. My favorites were the orange-red leaves. I used to choose the best ones. I’d place the leaves on wax paper, cover them with the paper and iron. The leaves were bright and beautiful forever.

This morning I noticed a few red-yellow leaves on a tree over the deck. Fall has announced its arrival. The season is changing. The days are still warm, but the nights are chilly, perfect for sleeping. The daylight is less. Night comes quicker. Summer is having its last hurrah.

When I was a kid, the change in season meant a change in wardrobe. The mornings were chilly so my mother made us wear a light jacket for the walk to school, but by afternoon, the jacket was too warm. I used to tie it around my waist for the walk home. I remember in the afternoons the sun slanted a different way than it had all summer. After school we played outside in the shadows.

My mother always bought Oreos. They never lasted long. She’d pack them in lunches, and we’d grab a few for snacks. I used to separate the sides. I’d eat the plain side first then scrape my teeth across the white before I ate that side. My sisters used to eat the white and feed the cookies to Duke, our dog. I still love Oreos, double stuffed is my favorite, but I am also partial to chocolate covered Oreos. I think they are my favorite cookie.

I grew up with television. I knew all the theme songs, and I could sing along with all the commercials. All of them seemed to have their own catchy songs. I remember Chew Chew Charlie the engineer who powered his train with Good and Plenty. Bucky Beaver was an orthodontist’s dream. He pitched Ipana, a toothpaste. The Kool-Aid Man broke through the door. I still don’t understand why. My mother never bought Kool-Aid. She said it needed too much sugar. Cigarette commercials were the most common. They sang and danced their way cross the small screen. My parents smoked Pall Malls in the red package. They were unfiltered. I remember my mother picking pieces of tobacco off her tongue.

I have had an empty dance card for a few weeks. I am the sloth queen. I have been resting my leg, and I have also been bored. My house is quiet. I watch TV or I read. Every now and then I nap on the couch. The dogs usually join me so it a fight for space. I usually lose. I hope to rejoin the world next week starting with uke practice on Tuesday. It is time.

The morning is perfect, with lots of sun and a temperature of 72°. The breeze is ever so slight. I can hear only birds. The dogs are quietly napping, one in the hall and the other on the couch. I am taking it easy on the couch, moving as little as possible. My leg feels better this morning as it does each morning. I hope in the afternoon when it usually starts to hurt it will continue to improve.

I have been housebound for a couple of weeks. Mostly I read or watch movies. The last few days, though, I’ve watched the Sox play afternoon games. They are fun to watch. You can never count them out. You hold on to hope until the very last out. That’s always been the way. Every Sox fan is born with an over abundance of hope.

Today is the first day of school around here. I remember the excitement of the first day when I was a kid. Everything was new, my school uniform, lunch box, school bag, notebooks and pencils. We’d gather on the school yard in groups happy to see kids we haven’t seen since school ended. Usually the teacher we were getting was not a surprise, one year a nun and the next year a lay teacher, always a woman. A nun would ring a bell, and we’d line up to go into the buildings, into the old school and the new school. In the new school, the second floor held grades six, seven and eight, two classes of each grade. There were so many of us each classroom was filled with forty or more desks. We were the baby boomers.

I remember my first day of classes in Ghana. I was scared. I had only done student teaching. I had 70 students, 35 in each class of T2’s, second years. I had planned the lessons as I had to give the principal a note book outlining the lessons for each day of the week. At first I didn’t know how much I could get done in a single class. I over planned. During my first class a student raise her hand and said they could not hear me which meant they didn’t understand a word I was saying. They didn’t understand my American accent, and I spoke too quickly. I was devastated. I had meticulously planned that lesson, and it failed. I failed. It took me a while to slow down and change my accent. It took my students a while to hear me. Once they did, though, they understand everything, had caught on to the American English which often seeped through the lessons I taught. I had learned and they were learning.