The house is cold. The furnace died again last night. This time it feels ominous. I could have had an emergency visit last night but chose to wait for a regular appointment to save money. I do have one electric heater and have put it here in the den. The dogs are asleep on the couch beside me. Jack is in his house upstairs and is also sleeping. I’m wearing a sweatshirt under fleece and socks under muk-luks. Our appointment isn’t until tomorrow.

The morning is cloudy. Rain is predicted. It is now 48° but it will get a bit warmer. I’m hoping for 80’s, as if….

I always knew I’d travel. I made that vow to myself when I was a kid. I had no places in mind. I  just wanted to go somewhere. Canada was my first foreign country, but it didn’t seem foreign. Everybody spoke English. Both sides of Niagara Falls looked the same, but I still counted it as country number one. It wouldn’t be until years later that I added to my list. Country number two was Ghana. I had read about Ghana before I went, but when I arrived, Ghana was so much more, a place filled with different sounds and colors, strange foods and sights, sights I had never imagined. Over time Ghana became familiar but never common. 

I traveled by myself to Morocco. My first view of the city was from my calèche, a horse drawn carriage, I had chosen to take one at the airport instead of a car to take me into the city, into  Marrakech. The air seemed to be filled with the aroma of spices. The buildings were red from red sandstone. I was so excited to be there I even waved at people as we passed their carriages. We got to the main square, the Jemaa el-Fna. From there I had to walk to my riad, a small hotel once a house, in the old section of the city. I memorized how to get to my riad, how to get there by navigating the small, narrow turns. Most days I wandered all over the city. I walked through the maze of the Medina. I followed a small boy to a restaurant at the back of a furniture store. I saw sheep heads being baked in large, tall round ovens. I didn’t stop to try any meat. I stopped at souks to look and to shop. The spice souks were amazing with mounds of colored spices on tables in front and on shelves lining the walls. Every afternoon I stopped at the same cafe for coffee, a cup or two. I ate at night in the square. I watched the dancers. I bought dessert at kiosks and ate it as walked to my riad. Marrakech was different. I loved it for all those differences.

I have no plans for today. I’ll just bundle and try to stay warm.

Last night it poured. I could hear the rain hitting the windows. It made me wish I had a metal roof. When I lived in Ghana, that was my favorite sound. I always felt surrounded by the rain but safe inside my house.

The morning was cloudy, but now the day is lovely. The sun is bright and is framed by a deep blue sky without a single cloud. It will be warm, Cape Cod spring warm, with a high of 50°. The dogs are loving the sun. Both of them are outside. Nala is lying on the one patch of grass in the sun.

Happy April’s Fool Day!! My mother was the champion of April Fool’s Day. She pretty much always caught my sister which was really funny as my sister knew it was coming and got caught anyway. My mother sounded so sincere you had to believe her. 

When I was a kid, I loved days like today. I got to play outside after school until it got cold in the late afternoon as the sun was going down. It wasn’t yet spring, but I had my favorite places. The field below my house was still brown, and the grasshoppers had yet to make their appearance, but it didn’t matter. I ran through the grass leaving a path behind me. I checked the swamp for tadpoles. I ran up the hill pass the water tank, crossed the street and checked on the horses. They always came over to the fence and took grass from my hands. I wished I could ride them. As it got colder and was heading toward darkness, I hurried home to beat the street lights.

I remember a night when I believed in aliens. I was in Ghana. My school was at the top of a hill, not too steep a hill but long. My friend Patrick and I were riding our bikes, our motos, the Ghanaian name for motor cycles, back from town. The road was empty. We were the only vehicles. Patrick was ahead of me. The sky at night was brilliant. You could even see the Milky Way, a pale blanket of stars across the horizon. I was checking the sky, awed by the stars. When I looked to the road again, Patrick was gone, an impossibility as the road was straight. I should have seen his lights. I checked the side road, no lights. I checked the fields on both sides as the light was bright enough to see, no Patrick. I got a bit scared. Where did he go? Was he taken? I yelled his name then I heard him, “Help!”I moved toward the voice. He and his moto had fallen into a big hole in the middle of the road. No aliens, just a hole. I helped get him and his bike out. I admit I was a bit disappointed to find him. He ruined a great story.

Today is cloudy, again. Last night it rained a bit. Intermittent showers are forecast. The day is warmish at 54°. The dogs ran around the perimeter of the yard a couple of times in a sort of celebration for the warmth. Nala is speedy. Henry takes his time. Maybe ran for Henry is an exaggeration. 

Today I’m going to get my second new tire. It will replace the tire with the gash. That’s it for my to-do list. 

When I went through my albums, I was surprised by some of them. I have an original Mickey Mouse Club album with the theme songs for each day like circus day, special guest day and rodeo round up. It is even in its original cover none the worse for wear. A couple of albums made me laugh. Right now I’m playing Pizzas and Bongos. On the cover is a woman befitting the 50’s as the album was released in 1958. Sorrento Cha Cha is playing now. Another gem is Sing a Song of Italy also released in 1958. Kate Smith and her patriotic songs is in the pile as is Glenn Miller. I have no idea what prompted me to buy these albums, but I do like their quirkiness.

When I was young, I had a record player. It was a kid’s record player. It was just the turntable. My records were different colors. They were red or yellow. I still have some, mostly Christmas records. Many of them are Golden Records or Peter Pan Records. On the yellow ones the singers and musicians are listed. Two list Mitchell Miller and his orchestra. One singer is Betty Clooney, Rosemary’s sister. They all have a regular holes in the middle so no plastic adapter. I thought I’d listen to a few of them later.

I think I am caught in a whirlwind. I seem to be cleaning the hidden places. I remember doing that when I was a kid. My closet was the main target. Most of the clothes were on hangers, metal hangers which left their imprints on the shoulders of the blouses. It was the floor of the closet that was just a jumble of things. It was like a junk drawer but bigger. The pile would get taller and taller until I was forced to clean. I have a closet like that. I keep eyeing it. I just hope my sloth can be strong.

Come on. Come on, spring. Last night was downright cold, in the 30s. I’m still wearing flannel and sweatshirts. Spring, take your turn. It is time. 

In the front garden, a purple crocus has opened, sort of a signal that the garden will bloom despite the temperature. The dafs’ flower buds are high and have a tinge of yellow. Those signs of spring will have to do for now. 

If you heard screaming yesterday, it was my inner sloth because I did the improbable. I took everything off the top of the fridge. I don’t know what prompted that. Nobody can see the top without a step stool. The dust was over everything, thick dust, old dust. I put my tulip bowl set from the fridge top into the dishwasher. It is a set of four Fire King bowls I bought years ago. When I was a kid, my mother had a couple of the same tulip bowls. I remember the smaller one often held mashed potatoes on the dinner table. When I saw the set at an antique shop, my mother was with me. I told her that the bowls are a memory, a piece, of my childhood so I bought them. I made room for the bowls on the bookcase in my kitchen. 

When I was growing up, our vacations were mostly spent at home doing something every day or so. Sometimes we did go to Ogunquit where we stayed in a tiny cottage belonging to a family friend. The cottage was one of many small cottages in rows in a community of cottages separated by single lane dirt roads. When I was young, I enjoyed the visit. I spent time trying to catch the small fish in the warm tidal pools. I hiked through the dunes. We mostly ate burgers or hot dogs and chips. We were free to wander. When I got older, I was mostly bored. I’d sit in the car reading so I could have some peace and quiet. I sometimes wonder if the cottages are still there.

Last night it rained. The day is dark, cloudy, and damp. It will stay in the mid 40’s even tonight. Today will be a quiet day befitting a Sunday. I have no plans, no weird cleaning urges, but I will grocery shop for delivery. My larder is empty. The fridge looks abandoned. I think my inner sloth will be delighted with today. 

Rain is likely tonight, but now it is only cloudy and 47°. Despite the weather, I have to go out for dog and cat food. Those pets of mine demand they be fed every day! What nerves!!

This is a bit of a throwback Saturday. I am watching old science fiction movies, mostly black and white. I even ate my breakfast in front of the TV but not close enough to go blind. I did pass on one movie, Battle Dogs, in which a virus turns people into ravenous wolves. That is even too far fetched for me. I love giant creature movies and the early Godzilla and Rodan movies. I do wonder about aliens. If they come to this planet, they’re called aliens, but, in most alien movies, if we go to their planet they are the aliens. I don’t get it.

I prefer dubbed creature movies from Japan. With subtitles I am forced to watch the movie instead of being able just to listen while I do something else. I know the movement of lips seldom matches the words in English, but I’m okay with that. 

I don’t remember when I started loving science fiction. I was young. I’m thinking maybe all those black and white sci-fi movies in the 50’s piqued my interest. I watched Creature Double Feature. I have favorite movies I still watch like THEM, Invasion from Mars, The Blob, The Thing, The Monolith Monsters and so many more. I’m also big on disaster movies. Lately I’ve been watching floods and twister wreak havoc on the world.

Saturdays have always been sacrosanct. When I was a kid, Saturday was my day to what I wanted. What I did to entertain myself depended on the weather. My favorite adventures were always when I was riding my bike. I loved riding by myself as I could go anywhere I wanted, as far as I wanted. I’d meander all over town and into the next towns. I’d collect golf balls near the courses. They were the errant balls which flew across the street. I’d find  them on front lawns and in gutters. I had a collection. Sometimes I’d pick up pine cones. I just figured they’d come in handy. I used to stop at the zoo. It was free. I’d ride all day into late afternoon. 

I am sometimes asked what I do now that I am retired. I tell people every day is a Saturday. 

The sun was shining earlier, but now it is just light behind the clouds, but the day, at 51°, is already warmer than it has been. The small branches are blowing in the wind. It is a spring day.

When I was a kid, days like today made me want to skip, even run, for the joy of it. My winter coat was already in the closet to stay. I wore my jacket with a sweater underneath though sometimes I didn’t need the sweater. My mother was the wardrobe arbiter. I think she just stuck her head out the door before she decided what I’d wear. 

I always had the best lunches. My mother knew what to pack and what not to pack in my lunchbox. I never had peanut butter and jelly, and I only had tuna on Fridays, the meatless day. I ate so many tuna sandwiches between my first and eighth grades I haven’t eaten tuna in years, decades. I am also not a fan of egg salad. My mother used to keep cookies hidden so they’d be enough for lunches. Sometimes she would surprise me with something Hostess. Ring Dings and Sno Balls, pink Sno Balls, were my favorites. I especially loved the coconut in the pink frosting. I also liked Hostess cupcakes. Sometimes I could pull off the frosting on the cupcakes in one piece. I’d save it for last. I’d buy milk at school. It was delivered to my classroom just before lunch. I was never good at opening milk cartons. 

In high school I bought my lunch. Later, I earned my lunch by cleaning trays. I did it to to keep my lunch money, my play money, my ice cream money at Brigham’s after school. The women in the cafeteria always had the radio playing. I remember I was cleaning trays when the radio announced the president had been shot. I ran to my classroom and turned on the TV. Sister Ernestina came in and wanted to know who had turned on the TV. I did I told her, and I told her why. She watched with us. The trays are a part of my memories of that day.

Today the furnace guy is coming back to put in a new furnace filter. The furnace was an easy fix this time. He did say that there is rust, and the furnace will need to be replaced. That made me cringe.

Yesterday I heard the loud gobbles of turkeys. I went to look and saw amorous turkeys, three pairs of them. The gobblers had spread their tails. I could see all the colors of the feathers, the gold and the copper. One had such long tail feathers I could hear the  feathers scrape on the ground. One of the hens couldn’t resist and the two danced around each other. I went back inside the house and let them dance in peace. 

I have loved baseball since I was a kid. The basic rules were easy to learn. The nuances like a Texas leaguer or when to bunt came later. Girls played softball, never baseball, but once, when I went to my brother’s practice, the coach asked me if I wanted to play. I did. I played second base for a few innings. I had two hits including a double. The coach was amazed. I was thrilled. 

My first Red Sox game was at night. A friend’s sister worked for the Sox so she got seats for us. We got there early to watch batting practice. I remember walking out from the tunnel to the field. The lights were lit, and the grass was the greenest grass I had ever seen. I stood mesmerized. The outfielders were close. One caught a ball near me and gave me the ball. It was a treasure. Our seats were box seats close to the field. We ate hot dogs. We ate peanuts. Shells were all round my feet. I don’t even remember if the Sox won or not, but I vividly remember everything else. 

In those days tickets were cheap. The bleacher seats were under a dollar. They were my usual hang out. The bleacher crowd was always loud, fun. Years later my friend could get box seats for any game. His father was a well known state politician. I remember for one game we were beside the dugout in row 2. My friend’s mother had filled a picnic basket we took to the game. We even had popcorn. 

My house has Red Sox memorabilia. I have only one signed ball, a Trot Nixon. I have a NESN bobble head with Don Orsillo and Jerry Remy. Don is the Padres announcer now and Jerry had passed away. They were such fun. I miss both of them. I have a David Ortiz commemorative bat, a few Sox hats, a signed Bill Monbouquette card, a Wally doll, a couple of ticket stubs and my favorite, a brick. The Sox sold bricks to commemorate the 100th anniversary of Fenway. Mine was a gift from friends. My brick is in the Monbouquette section. That signed card was another gift. My friends were stumped as to what to put on the brick. They decided on Kathleen Ryan, Peace Corps, Ghana 1969-1971. Check it out if you are ever in Fenway.

Today is opening day!! 

My furnace has stopped heating the house. It blows for all it is worth but the heat doesn’t rise. The last thing I need is a new furnace. I am hoping it can be fixed. I called and made an appointment. They will be here this afternoon. Until then, I’ll bundle. I’ll let you know.

Last night was in the low 20’s. That’s winter. Today will be in the low 40’s, sort of spring. In the front garden, the daffodil buds are high. The purple hyacinths are poking above the ground. I can hardly wait for them to bloom. I can hardly wait for color. I’m tired of grays and browns. 

Today is a dark, rainy day, but I have to go out anyway. I have a dentist appointment, just a cleaning, and I need some stamps. 

When I was a kid, I loved my dentist. He always gave me gas so I just slept through it all. My father, though, thought that dentist was too expensive so he decided to take me to East Boston to his childhood dentist. That man could have easily stepped into the role of Orin Scrivello D.D.S. in Little Shop of Horrors. His equipment was old. I think it was the same equipment he used on my father. He didn’t use Novocain. I was in so much pain I held on to the arms of the chair so hard I swear I left finger indentations. Tears would stream down my cheeks. I remember getting home and being in horrific pain. He had left an exposed nerve. My father took me back. I think I would have preferred the exposed nerve. 

My childhood doctor was a big man, a huge man. He wore suspenders. He’d sit behind his desk asking questions. My parents were of the generation that didn’t have check-ups so we didn’t either. I saw the doctor only when I needed to for things like stitches or heavy duty colds. My doctor’s office was on the first floor of his house. The house was old, huge and beautiful. It was right beside the driveway of the school parking lot and playground. I remember all the wood in the waiting area, the beautiful stairs and a wooden newel which was big and shiny. I also remember the skeleton in his office. It was real and hung by the window. That house is still there, still beautiful.

Break time! I’m off to the dentist.

I’m now home with clean, shiny teeth.

I hate crooked pictures. I have even straightened a couple in my doctor’s office. They assault my sensibilities. I hate socks which slide down into my shoes, but I don’t mind holey socks. I am not a fan of refried beans. They look disgusting like something a baby may have left. I love corn but not so much cream corn as it spreads cross the plate. I do have a corn bread recipe which calls for cream corn. The bread is delicious. Having been an English teacher, I hear all the grammatical errors on TV. The most common is the wrong use of a pronoun as the object of the preposition. I always correct it out loud. The dogs think I’m talking to them. 

Mother Nature is gaslighting us. When I looked out the window this morning, I saw a bright, beautiful sunny day with a deep blue sky. I thought how lovely and went outside on the deck to enjoy the sun. I turned right around and went back into the house. It is cold, jacket cold. It is still more winter than spring. You got me, Mother Nature.

When I was a kid, Sunday was my least favorite day. I had to go to mass or risk eternal damnation. I was never devout. I’d smuggle in a book to read hoping people would think I was reading my missal. I’d sit and stand at the appropriate places and that was my total involvement. We had Sunday dinners, a special meal. Every other day we had suppers. Some Sundays we stayed home while on other Sundays we went to East Boston to see my grandparents, my aunts, uncles and my cousins. In every way Sunday was family day.

At my school in Ghana, Sunday was a special day. In the morning there was a service. The cafeteria tables were moved, and the chairs were set in rows. The students wore their Sunday dresses, a uniform of sorts, to the service. The fabric for those dresses was different for each class. The dresses were in three parts, a top, a sort of skirt which was long like a gown would be and a matching piece of cloth which was wrapped around the waist. After the service students could wear any dress.

Sunday was visitors’ day. A photographer also came on school grounds, and many students had their pictures taken. Many of them gifted me with a picture. I still have a few of them. We, my friends, Bill and Peg, and I always ate local food on Sundays. Bill and I would drive to town, to the lorry park to one of the chop bars and buy fufu or t-zed and bring it home for Sunday dinner. That made Sunday special.

My Sundays now are quiet. I make a pot of coffee and sometimes eggs. I read the Sunday paper. I call my sister in Colorado, and we always talk at least an hour to catch up with each other. The rest of the day is unplanned, maybe the dump, maybe a nap and just maybe Sunday dinner. Today it will be a Sunday dinner, a chicken dinner.