I apologize for not writing yesterday. I was in the middle of one my three naps, and when I woke up, it was late afternoon. This plague is still with me. When I cough, the dogs give me a weird look and tilt their heads. Added to that, walking is painful. My right leg hurts. I have no idea why. This has been the worst week.

Because I hadn’t left my house since last week, my larder was almost empty. Luckily, one of my uke friends called to see what I needed. She brought me groceries and surprises. She brought the usual bread and cream for my coffee. The surprises were the best: a cake, brownies, chicken salad, fruit, cheesecake, sliders and more. She wouldn’t take any money and said it was a late birthday present. Later, another uke buddy called to see if I needed anything. My uke friends take great care of me.

When I was a kid, I was seldom sick. I had the usual childhood ailments back then: mumps, measles and chicken pox. I might have had a cold or two. I remember the sniffles. I didn’t miss school other than a day or two here and there. I guess we were hardy kids.

In Ghana I was really healthy. I did have the scourge of traveling during training and a few times after but not often. I had an infected mosquito bite and a burn from goats running into my moto, but that was it. I was still hardy.

I had every shot imaginable so this illness is unexpected and, even worse, unknown.

My sloth has been quietly celebrating. I have done nothing. The hair ball tumbleweeds are taking over my house. If I were a character in a low budget science fiction movie, those tumbleweeds would have teeth, the ability to move and hunter-prey instinct. I would be the prey. I can see them hurrying down the hall with teeth clicking as I run screaming.

Fall is giving us a preview. Last night got down to 57°. I wore socks and a fleece wrap. I shut windows and doors. Right now it is 70° and cloudy. It will stay that way all day. Tonight will be in the 50’s again. I’m thinking we will have leaves changing early this year.

I still have a cold, mostly coughing. I seldom get a cold in the winter so this summer cold throws me a bit. It is just wrong.

My first grade teacher was Sister Redempta. She scared me. She scared most of us. Our class was huge, almost 50 of us, baby boomers. None of us dared even to whisper. We didn’t want the wrath of her look. My classroom was on the first floor, to the right of a set of stairs. We had a cloakroom and two doors into the classroom, one from the cloakroom. Banks of tall windows were on the side and the back of the room. You needed a long stick with a hook at the top to open and shut the windows. The bathrooms were down two sets of stairs from my classroom, boys to the right, girls to the left. We’d walk two by two and stand in line waiting for our turns. We ate lunch at our desks then went out for recess, weather permitting. Our comings and goings were ruled by a bell, a hand rung bell. An eight grader would ring the bell over the bannister from the top floor so we all could hear. I still have my report card from the first grade. Every subject was satisfactory.

I have scattered memories of the different grades I traveled through in elementary school, but my first grade memories are still the brightest in my memories drawers. My life had irrevocably changed. My days were now regimented. My time was no longer mine from Monday to Friday. I had to wear a uniform. I had to raise my hand to speak and to have permission to go to the bathroom. I was good at following rules, but I also was good at breaking the rules without being caught. I had learned the system.

What a delightful morning! It is 67° with a strong breeze. I can hear the leaves brushing against each other as their branches sway. The sky is a Crayola blue, cornflower. The sun is warm. It is a day to enjoy, to embrace.

Today is a day for the senses, for sounds and smells and sights. That’s a bit of alliteration to start your morning.

A crowing rooster is a favorite sound of mine. The first time I heard one in real life was in Ghana. He crowed from my backyard. I listened then fell back to sleep. After that, I listened for him every early morning. When I returned to Ghana forty years later, a rooster crowed outside my hotel window. I smiled at the familiar sound. He made me feel at home.

During my live-in with a Ghanaian family, a part of my Peace Corps training, my room was off the balcony. Below the balcony was a small mosque. Just before sunrise, the muezzin sang the Fajr, the call to prayer. It was beautiful. I didn’t know what it was so I asked. My sister explained. After that, I sort of woke up when the prayer was sung. I listened then went back to sleep. Where I lived in Ghana had no mosque close. I missed the sound. The next time I heard a call to prayer was in Marrakech. I was sitting on the roof of my riad when I heard the call. I could see the minaret from my roof. All the memories came back.

The sunsets and the sunrises are often riots of color of reds and purples, oranges and pink. The colors are reflected on the trees, and the branches are silhouettes against the sky. The colors of fall here in New England are vibrant. The leaves turn red and yellow and orange. The maple trees turn such a vibrant blaze of red that I always stop to look. I am amazed, every year, every autumn.

The smells of evergreen and of cookies baking are Christmas to me. The smell of turkey roasting is Thanksgiving and Christmas, fancy dinners to celebrate the days. The smell of wood charcoal burning is Ghana. Every morning fires were lit to cook breakfast, mine included. I could smell the sweetness of the burning wood. When I bought a charcoal grill, I always used wood charcoal, never briquettes.

I have the beginnings of a summer cold. I skipped today’s afternoon concert and am waiting before I decide whether or not to go the 5:30 concert. Tomorrow we have a barbecue before practice, and I’d like to feel good to go.

I started with alliteration and am ending with an oxymoron, summer cold.

The lovely mornings continue. Today is bright, sunny. We have a breeze, a strong breeze. I can hear the chimes from my backyard. I can feel the breeze from the back door. According to the weather, we can expect light rain. That seems improbable given the sun and blue sky.

I was born in the wee hours of the morning. My father, never a patient man, left the hospital a few times before I was born to go to my grandparent’s house in the same town as the hospital to give updates. That infuriate my aunt. She was getting married that day and needed her sleep so she told my father not to come back. He did anyway. He was pacing in the hospital waiting room when the nurse came in to tell him I had been born. He said she ask for Mr. Ryan. Given that he was the only one in the waiting room, he got a bit exasperated. When he first saw me, my mother and I were just being wheeled out of the operating room. He kept asking her if it was a boy or girl. My mother remembers wearing her wedding corsage on her robe when she was still in the hospital. My aunt never liked we shared the day especially when I reminded her I was born before she got married so it was more my day than hers.

I used to wonder how it felt to be old. I can now attest I feel no different than I did when I was young. The surprise comes when I look in the mirror and see an old woman with a wrinkled face. I know. I know. Old is relative. I always hear that from old people. It is supposed to be comforting.

My sister sent money and said I was not to use it to pay bills so I’ll treat myself to Chinese food. It has been a long while since I last had it. I’m thinking jumbo shrimp for one appetizer and maybe crab Rangoon. Lo mein is always a good choice. I can almost taste it now. I always use the hot mustard. I remember my father used to put so much mustard on his Chinese food his eyes watered and his nose ran. Luckily he always had a handkerchief at hand. I don’t use as much, just enough for watery eyes!

Today I celebrate!

Summer is really upon us. It is another day in the 80’s. It is another day for hibernating inside the cool house. The dogs are napping. Last night was another strange night for Nala. This time she was barking. Henry barks all the time. Nala never barks. When I heard her, I grabbed my flashlight and ran outside. I called her as I wasn’t about to trudge through the undergrowth to the back of my yard. Luckily, she came running. I put the leash on her, brought her inside and kept her inside. I’m wondering if some animal is harassing my poor dog.

I love the wee hours. Last night, rather early this morning, I stood out on the deck around 2 AM. The night had cooled a bit. Only one other house had a light. The sounds were from insects and night birds. It felt peaceful, serene. I sat for a bit longer not wanting to go inside, not wanting to waste any of this lovely night, but it was time for bed.

My dance card has mostly uke. We had a concert yesterday, tonight is practice, tomorrow my lesson and another concert on Friday. Uke gets me out of the house.

When I was growing up, my life was simple. It had a regimen, sort of. School days were always the same. I wore the same uniform, walked the same way every day and lessons were in the same order. My lunch was usually a sandwich and dessert, bologna, on white bread, and cookies, Oreos or chocolate chip. After my mother grocery shopped, we’d sometimes have Hostess for dessert. I was partial to cupcakes. Depending on the season, we’d play outside after school. After dinner, we’d watch a bit of TV before bed. The next morning it started all over again, in the way, in the same order. The funny part of it is I was never bored.

Now, my life is a bit lazy. I do what I want. I choose cleaning only when the Henry hair balls take over the house. That was yesterday. I swept. I water the plants inside and outside. I only make my bed when I change the sheets. I don’t cook so much. I have a couple of go to dishes, one with sausage, potatoes and onions and the other is pasta, shells mostly, but I’d make lasagna if I weren’t so lazy.

I have a couple of errands today.

The air conditioner is already blasting. The house was hot when I woke up so even before I made coffee I turned on the AC. The high for today will be 86°. It is an August on Cape Cod sort of day.

I have small gripes, little things which somehow drive me crazy. One of them is the ad which is constantly repeated on YouTube and airs twice in a row. It is for a Toyota dealership. One line sends me right back to the 1950’s. The speaker says even a woman can shop there. Wow, good to know! I watched another video where two couples went out to eat together. The men sat in the front, the women in the back. I wondered if they also walked behind their husbands. I think I live in a time warp.

When I was a kid, we seldom went out to eat. It was just too expensive. We did, once in a while, go to Kitty’s. It was mostly Italian, and it was usually busy with filled tables and lots of noise. It always felt special to me. I can still see us in my mind’s eye at a table in the corner by the door. For some reason I remember old waitresses who were extraordinary, who could line up dishes on their arms and carry them from the kitchen and around tables to their final destinations. There was so much food on the plates that we always had leftovers. Kitty’s is still one of my favorite places though I haven’t eaten there in years.

I am a fan of cheeseburgers. When I go out to eat, I often order them. For sides I love onion rings, the ones with the thin batter, and sweet potato fries. At seafood restaurants I pig out on the seafood platter with cole slaw on the side. My mother always got shrimp. I am partial to scallops. I like to crack my own lobsters though I’d never turn down a lobster roll. I like tangy cole slaw. I’ll always try new foods as long as there are no beans. My favorite pizza is sausage with caramelized onion. I think my tastes in foods are cosmopolitan. When I traveled, I ate foods whose names I didn’t know or couldn’t pronounce. It was like mystery dining.

Because I live by myself, I don’t make elaborate meals. I eat what is easy. I have eggs often and usually add cheese, cheddar. If I cook a real meal, it is cause for celebration. The dogs wear party hats, and there are streamers. Henry turns in circles. Nala wiggles that stubby tail. I use real dishes. Music plays. I’m eating dinner, not supper.

The spiders are back. That may sound like the come-on for a cheesy science fiction movie, but it isn’t. Webs are everywhere, between fronds on plants, on furniture, especially between chair legs, and even in the corners of the stairs. I clear them every time I go upstairs, but that is a useless task, a task more for Sisyphus. This happens every August, but I forget and am both surprised and annoyed when the webs appear. I think of Charlotte and her webs, but my spiders are not clever. I think they are illiterate. They are Miss Havisham spiders.

Last night was strange. The dogs were out a long time. That is never good. I called and Henry came, no Nala. I waited then decided to check on her so I grabbed a sweatshirt as it was cold and my flashlight. Once I was in the yard, she came running and was panting and jumping, excited. I figured she’d found a critter. I grabbed her and she shook me off. I got the leash and was able to catch her and leash her. About an hour later, I thought it was safe so I let them out just before bedtime. Nala didn’t come when I called. I went back into the yard then I heard her on the deck and leashed her again. This morning she went right to the same spot. Nothing was there.

When I was a kid, our boxer Duke wandered everywhere in the days before leash laws. He was fearless, and he was stubborn. One time a neighbor called and begged for help. Duke and his son Sam were around the doors of her house, and she couldn’t get out. They’d run to the door trying to get in when she tried to get out. Her dog was in heat and they knew it. My father went and got them. He was not happy and neither were the dogs.

If we had a barbecue when I was young, it was always hot dogs and hamburgers. My mother also cooked corn and made potato salad and peppers and eggs and served chips in the tulip bowl. For dessert it was always watermelon. My father cooked. Toward the end he’d ask who wanted a cheeseburger then he’d add yellow squares of American cheese to the burger. He also toasted the buns.

When we were older, barbecues were a bit more sophisticated. My mother still made potato salad and maybe peppers and eggs, but we never had hot dogs and hamburgers. We had steak tips and sausages, Chinese and Italian, sometimes chicken, ribs or kielbasa. We’d all sit around the kitchen table to eat. I loved sitting around that table and eating supper with my family.

Today the high will be 79°, somehow that sounds so much better than 80°. It will be partly cloudy. I still wonder why it is never partly sunny.

I need to be outside enjoying the cool, sunny morning. It is only 72°. For a Saturday, it is unusually quiet. I can hear birds singing and an occasional bark from across the street. Even Henry is quiet.

The other night I went outside with the dogs before bed. They roamed the yard. I stayed on the deck. Over my head swooped a bat. I ducked. I marveled at the first time I’ve seen a bat in the yard.

The older I get, the more words I seem to lose. I can see in my mind’s eye the picture of what the word is so I am patient hoping the picture catches up with the word. Most times it does.

My dance card this week has been filled with uke. The only ukeless day was Thursday. I had a concert Monday, yesterday, and I have another today. On Sunday I will rest.

If you had told me when I was a kid I would be a musician, I would have laughed. That I would travel the world was more believable; yet, here I am uke in hand playing music and accompanying myself. I mostly sing off key but with great enthusiasm.

I always think my greatest achievement when I was a kid was learning to read. Tying my shoes was second. Those loops weren’t easy. My mother bought a book a week at the supermarket. There were a couple of novels in each book. I read every book. They were abridged, but I didn’t know that until later. Most were classics. I remember Tom Sawyer. Those books were in the same bookcase as the supermarket encyclopedia. Our supermarket didn’t just feed us. We got a whole set of dishes, serving pieces included, and those books.

When I was in Ghana, I read all the time, in between and after classes, at night and when I traveled. I was blessed. I was given a Peace Corps book locker which the Peace Corps no longer gave volunteers. It was made of heavy cardboard, and when closed, took the shape of a small locker. When opened, there were two sides each with two shelves. My book locker was filled. The treasures inside included The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. I flew through those books. I was oblivious to the world around me. I stayed in Middle Earth.

The second blessing was my town had a library and not just any library. It was designed by Davis Brody. It was only two years old when I arrived in Bolga. The form and shape of the building resembled the compounds of the FraFra, the local tribe. I loved spending time in that library. I’d go through the stacks and sit for a while at one of the tables. It was there I found British mysteries and Ngaio Marsh, a mystery writer from New Zealand.

Since my retirement, I have had unfettered time for reading. I am again blessed.