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. 

Last night it rained again, and the clouds are hanging around as showers are predicted. It is in the 50’s, Cape Cod spring warm. The dogs have been out a couple of times. Nala is disappointed by the weather. She likes to lie in the sun, but, instead, she is on the couch. Henry is on my bed upstairs. He likes to stretch out. My dogs live better than I do. 

When I was a kid, our dog Duke was not allowed on furniture, but he had ways around it. He’d lie across the bed with only the tips of his nails on the floor. At night, he’d sleep on the couch, and we would hear him get off the couch s we went downstairs. He never got caught. My dogs think the couch is theirs. I sit in the middle and one dog is on each side of me. They are comfortable, but I am not. My dogs definitely live better than I do.  

I still moan a bit when I move, but it is getting better. I don’t moan as loudly. My hand is still ugly. If I had a job as a hand model, I’d be out of the job. My friends have been wonderful. They feed me and keep me company. They call to check on me. My neighbor stops by every day. My sister calls every morning. I am being well taken care of.

My front garden is lovely, filled with color. The dafs and the hyacinths are high. The dafs are yellow while the hyacinths are purple, red and orange. More flowers are getting close to blooming. I can see buds on my lilac tree. Spring is barreling through the cold nights and mornings. It is taking its turn.

My yard is littered with Nala trash. It looks like an empty lot. I haven’t been vigilant enough with used paper goods and such, but I have protected my food. From the deck I can see paper plates, my stolen cough drops strewn around, a few stray pieces of paper and some paper towels. I am tolerating the trash. 

I have no lists. I am bereft. My house is filled with tumbleweeds disguised as balls of fur. I grab them when they float in the air as I walk by them, mostly in the hall. My sweatshirt sleeve is my duster. I run it across table tops. I think of it as piecemeal cleaning. 

I am about to be throned sloth queen. There are no other contenders. 

I am getting a bit better. I just have to be patient. I spend most of my time on the couch, and as long as I sit still and not reach for anything, I’m okay. I did find a gigantic black and blue I had missed before. My hand is still swollen but not as much. The bruise looks red and goes all the way up to the knuckles of my fingers. It is ugly. 

The rain keeps coming. My lawn and garden are flooded. The dogs are soaked when they come back inside after a trip to the yard. They are now having their late morning naps. Such is a dog’s life in this house.

Ghana has only two seasons, rainy and dry. I lived in the driest part of the country. Both seasons were uncomfortable in their own ways. The dry season was longer, and temperatures were usually in the high 90’s and low100’s. The roads turned to dust. Everything was brown. My lips and heels cracked. I learned not to dry myself after my shower so I could feel cool enough in bed to fall sleep. Sometimes they turned off the water. I became quiet adept at taking bucket baths. I even left enough water in the bucket to flush the toilet. I could buy tomatoes, onions, tuber yam and rice. I ate so much rice I didn’t eat it for the longest time when I got home. The dry season was never enjoyed. At best, it was tolerated. 

The rainy season was a rebirth. The first storms were magnificent. I once saw lightning hit the ground. Because of the dryness of the ground, the water made rivulets which turned into small streams. I used to watch the one in front of my house. Fields were planted. Leaves returned to trees. The air felt cool. The nights got as low as the 70’s. I needed a blanket. More citrus fruits from the south were sold in the market where the tables had pyramids of oranges and bananas piled high. The pineapples were sweet. Aunties, the women who sold food along the roadsides, would use a single edge razor blade to peel around the top of the orange then slice the top so you could suck out the juice. Their dexterity was amazing to watch. Millet, maize and corn grew tall in the fields. I was surrounded by green.

When I travel back to Ghana, I go during the rainy season, but Bolgatanga, my other home town, still feels hot and the humidity is thick from the rain, but I have always loved the rainy season. I love the sound on the metal roofs and sitting outside under an umbrella surrounded by rain but staying dry. The fields are filled with crops. The air smells sweet.

Yesterday started out like any other day with coffee and the paper. I think I even had toast. I left to do a couple of errands. My last one was to buy a few groceries. I started for home. I saw a truck stopping on the road before turning. I didn’t see the car. It hit me. It was most decidedly my fault for not looking. I was shocked by the hit and sat there for a little bit to process. My car was totaled. The police and the fire department came then the EMT’s. It was quite a crowd. The EMT’s insisted I go to the hospital. I declined. Meanwhile, I started taking my uke book and my music stand out of the car. I took my groceries. My neighbor stopped and came over to me. She said she’d pick me up at the hospital. I went into the ambulance. I went to the emergency room.

At the hospital I was examined. The decision was for x-rays and a CT-scan. I was wheeled to both places and back again. It was quick. I sat in my room for a long while. It wasn’t quick. The doctor said there were no broken bones. I was in pain but only when I moved, talked or breathed. 

At home I moved as little as possible. My neighbor sent over dinner. She also sent cinnamon buns. Those I ate. Nala was upset. Her boxer eyes just stared then she licked me. She knew it was not a usual day. 

This morning, my hand is just a little less swollen. I still try not to move because it hurts. I had to cough a bit, and it hurt a lot. 

I should have known something would happen. I just bought two new tires. Yesterday was not a good day!