The morning is fall chilly at 55°. The day is lovely. The sky is the deepest blue with no clouds, and the sun is squint your eyes bright. The deck is covered in fallen yellow leaves. Some are still bright while others are brown with curling edges. The birds are back. Two feeders are empty. I’ll fill them in a bit.

When I was a kid, I did pretty much the same thing every day. I ate breakfast, got dressed, walked to school, learned, ate lunch, had recess, learned some more then walked home, but I never thought my life was routine. It was often filled with the unexpected amid the usual. I’d find the perfect yellow or red leaf and press it in my school book to save it. At home, I’d iron it between sheets of wax paper. I’d make an art piece. On my walk, I’d notice the Halloween decorations in the windows of the houses I passed. I’d see witches on brooms, ghosts and pumpkins. I’d learn something new every day. I’d sometimes find a surprise in my lunch, a Hostess cupcake. I’d take off the frosting. It usually came off in a single piece. I’d eat around the cream then I’d eat the cream followed by the frosting. It was my best cupcake technique practiced and honed over time. After school we’d play outside, go back in, watch TV, eat dinner, watch TV again then go to bed where I’d read a little before turning out the light. Life was seldom boring. It was one of the joys of being a kid.

In Ghana, I knew my life was never routine despite the sameness of each weekday. I ate eggs and toast for breakfast and fruit for lunch every day. Suppers didn’t vary much either. I remember walking each morning across the school compound from my house to the classroom block. I never took even that short walk for granted. I was always aware of how unique my life was. All that childhood wonder had returned.

Today is cooler than it has been, down to the 60’s, more seasonable weather. The day is pretty with lots of sun glinting through the leaves on the oak trees in the backyard. The sky is a light blue. The breeze is blowing the leaves at the ends of the branches. This morning the nuthatches are back to the feeders. I always watch the birds while my coffee is brewing.

Last night, I went out on the deck with the dogs just before we went to bed. The night was still warm. I noticed something white on the part of the driveway in the backyard. I had to check. Nala had stolen a cookbook from one of the boxes here in the den. The book was a Christmas gift from my sister. It is called Recipes from the Stone Zoo. I thought it funny that she chose a book from my hometown with zoo in the title, a bit psychic I think.

I used to watch my father rake the leaves into a pile on the road beside the gutter. He always wore his red jacket. He’d burn the leaves. White smoke rose from the fire. The aroma of the burning leaves filled the air. My father would stand with rake in hand to tend his fire. It is one of my favorite memories.

My mother would turn on the heat this time of year. We had an oil burning furnace and a tank to hold the oil in the cellar. The truck would come by to fill the tank. The truck was loud. The oilman wore heavy gloves. His clothes had oil stains. He would drag his hose to the capped opening on the side of the house. It always took a while. The unpleasant smell of the oil filled the air outside and the air in the cellar. I thought that the oilman and the garbage man had the worse jobs.

My dance card has one more event for the week, another concert tomorrow. Yesterday’s concert was in Orleans. I took the long way home, by Rock Harbor then on to 6A. The ride was a delight. It was a warm day, and I had the window open. Some trees are still brilliant, especially the reds. Leaves fell slowly, but constantly. Some of the branches are already bare. Autumn flowers graced gardens. The grasses in the marshes are turning brown. I saw one cranberry bog being harvested, a late harvest. The bright red cranberries were floating on the water. It was the perfect fall ride, bright and beautiful.

The weather continues to be spectacular. The day is gorgeous, warm and sunny. The air is still. It will reach the low 70’s today. I’m thinking to grab some deck time with a book and some ice tea.

It is time to buy my Halloween Peeps. They need to harden. I’m a traditionalist. The orange pumpkins are my favorites. I’ll open the packages and let the air harden them. They have to get hard enough so if you tap them they make a thud sound and the marshmallow doesn’t move.

The bird feeders needed filling so the dogs and I went out to the deck. Nala did her zoomies running the perimeter of the yard, up and down the deck stairs them around the yard again. Henry just stood around wagging his tail then the two dogs ate each others’ faces. I filled four of the feeders then waited for the birds, and they didn’t disappoint me. The Tufted Tit Mouse was the first followed by the Chickadees, the state birds of Massachusetts.

The houses around the project where I lived had their own back yards. The house across the street from us had a grape arbor and a bird house on a tree. I never saw any birds. My grandparents had a bird house at the top of a pole in their backyard. They never had birds either. When I moved into my house, my brother made me a bird feeder. It was a flat piece of wood with edges. The blue jays, the pig birds, sat on the feeder and filled their mouths with seeds. The little birds stayed away. The feeder emptied within a day. I bought feeders to hang in the front yard as I didn’t have a deck yet. I watched the birds from the living room windows as did my cats, one cat in each window.

When I was a kid, life was good. My only responsibility was school. No big deal there as I liked school. I was a Girl Scout. I was in the drill team. I played CYO basketball. I was a guard. Those were the days when guards had to stay on half court, couldn’t shoot, only the forwards could, and had to defend our basket. Girls were too delicate for full court basketball. When I was in the sixth grade, I asked for girls to get to use one of the baskets in the schoolyard during recess. My teacher took me aside and explained that girls couldn’t use the basket. Only boys could play basketball, and she started talking about my friend. That’s when she lost me.

My dance card this week is uke heavy, as usual. I have practice tonight, a lesson and a concert tomorrow and a concert on Thursday. On Friday I rest!

This morning is a delight, warm and sunny. It will be 71°, a bit of late summer in October. The breeze is ever so slight. Only a few leaves still have their color. The oak leaves have curled and turned brown. The bogs have been flooded and the cranberries harvested. Halloween decorations and political signs vie for lawn space. Inflated pumpkins and black cats are popular this year. My witch still decorates the front door. A small sugar pumpkin is on a front step. This time of year is a wonder filled color and creatures of the night.

The dogs, especially Nala, love this weather. She lies in the same spot outside on the grass in the sun. Henry runs around then comes in for his nap. We, in this house, are all creatures of habit.

When I was a kid, the fall season meant playing outside after school in the late afternoons. It meant going inside early as the days got shorter. The afternoon chill meant a sweatshirt or a sweater. There wasn’t enough time to go afar so I always stayed around the neighborhood. I remember going inside and watching TV until supper. The Mickey Mouse Club was on every afternoon. I still can sing the opening and closing. I remember each day of the week was a special day. Friday was Talent Round-up Day. I think I remember that day the best because the Mouseketeer’s rode fake horses and wore cowboy hats instead of ears.

When it came time to carve pumpkins, my mother covered the kitchen table with newspaper. My favorite part about carving pumpkins was the reaching inside and pulling out the seeds and the guts. We’d hold the guts in our hands letting some strings hang down, and we’d make monster noises. It was perfectly disgusting which made it even better. My pumpkin carving was never all that original except I always carved teeth in the pumpkin’s grin. Every night we candle lit the carved pumpkins on the front steps.

The morning is chilly. My house is chilly. I’ve turned on the heat for a while and put on a flannel cover. Earlier I woke up and noticed Henry was not on the bed. I got worried so I jumped out of bed and started to go downstairs. Henry followed. He was probably wondering why the hurry. He been on the rug on the other side of my bed.

Today is Saturday, the best of all days when I was a kid. I had the whole day to do whatever I wanted. Most of the year that meant hauling my bike out of the cellar and taking off to explore. I was usually by myself. My closest neighborhood friend seldom rode her bike. We were walking buddies. My bike was blue. It had been a Christmas present. It had no bells or whistles, but it had a wire basket on the front. Sometimes, though, if I went over a bump, whatever was in the basket flew out to the ground. I remember library books bouncing in the basket and me trying to hold on to them. I had favorite places and favorite routes. I went all over town and sometimes into the next towns. Even though I was gone all day, and my mother didn’t know where I was, she didn’t worry. It was a safe world.

Lately I have been a sloth. My to do lists never get shorter. I just keep adding to them. The only chore I generally complete is the easiest, the simplest chore. Yesterday it was the bird feeders. Today I have to check my little library. My summer clothes are still in the closest. I have great intentions but no follow through. I don’t feel guilty. I’ll just use longer paper.

My bedroom in Ghana had a wall of louvered windows with smoked glass so you couldn’t see through the windows. They opened inward. There was also a screen. You could see through the screen. I never saw anyone look, but I decided to add curtains anyway despite my total lack of sewing skills. I bought yards of brown Ghanaian fabric. I bought heavy twine. I put the twine across the cut edge of the fabric and folded that edge over the twine. I then used a running stitch and sewed all the way across the edge. Voila! I had a curtain. I was a seamstress and an interior decorator.

Today looks like a lovely day.

The sun is out and the sky is a pretty blue, but it is chilly, only in the 50’s. My house too is cold so I put on the heat for a while anyway. When I went to get the paper, I noticed my mum plant by the front steps. It had just started blooming beautiful deep purple flowers. All of the flowers are gone, cut from the plant. I could see the clean cuts. To add to this, whoever it was also stole my newspaper. Maybe I should leave a cup of coffee and some toast for the thief to enjoy while he is reading my purloined paper. I’m thinking I might get another mum. I wonder what color the thief might want.

My concert for today was cancelled so I figure it is the day to bid summer goodbye and welcome winter. Adieu summer clothes. Hello flannels and corduroy.

The other day on my way home from Hyannis, the big city, I was stopped by the blinking red train lights. I was the closest to the track. I heard the train whistle, one of my favorite sounds, warn us the train was coming. I watched the train whizzed by the crossroad. It had only the engine and one empty car, but that didn’t matter. It was a train.

When I was a kid, the trains still ran in my town. They didn’t carry passengers. They carried supplies and took away finished goods from the few factories still left. I remember seeing a train on the track beside the chemical plant. My grandparents were down the street from some of the track. From their house, I’d hear the bells warning of the train, and I’d watch it rumble across the road.

When I travel, I try to take trains. I have ridden trains in Europe, South America and Africa, in Ghana mostly. When I was young and traveling, I’d take night trains so I wouldn’t have to pay for a hotel or a hostel. I remember looking out the windows and seeing the houses all lit. I used to imagine the families living in those houses. Sometimes I’d see people at a table eating dinner. For a short minute I was a part of their lives. I so love trains.

Today is a fall day, partly cloudy and in the mid 50’s, sweater weather for sure. The once bright red leaves on the branch outside my window have started to turn brown, and their edges are folded inward. Some have already fallen. I can see the coming winter as I watch the changes in the leaves.

When I was a kid, I layered for walks to school on chilly mornings like today’s. Winter coats were too heavy and just a jacket wasn’t enough. I’d wear my thickest sweater with my jacket. At school, I’d take the sweater off and leave it in the cloak room. It was too hot for inside.

In school, our day was regimented by bells, hand held bells. Someone would stand by the railing on the highest floor and ring the bell into the air over the railing so all the floors could hear. Each classroom had clocks, the usual sort of school clocks, but the bells ruled the day. The only time I clock watched was to keep an eye on how close we were getting to the end of the school day.

We had recess after lunch unless it rained. During recess, the boys stayed on one side of the school yard, the girls on the other. When we were younger, the boys ran around chasing each other and screaming. The girls jump roped or played hopscotch. When we were older, the boys played basketball, and the girls stood in groups talking, a lot of times about the boys.

When I was growing up, most of the vegetables came from cans. Summer corn and home grown tomatoes were the few exceptions. We didn’t eat anything exotic. We had potatoes just about every night. We had peas, green and yellow wax beans and French green beans, the only beans I’d eat, kernel and cream corn and hidden carrots mashed with the potatoes. I never minded eating veggies except for baked beans. I always thought they were gross looking, mushy and brown.

We had apples, oranges, bananas, tangerines at Thanksgiving and strawberry shortcake in the summer. We also liked pears, but my mother didn’t buy them often. We did eat some off the tree behind a neighbor’s fence. They were always hard.

It wasn’t until Ghana that I tried strange fruits and vegetables. I recognized tomatoes and onions but that was about all. I ate okra, plantain, garden eggs, mango, pawpaw, tuber yam, cassava, fresh coconut and fresh pineapple. My taste buds came alive. I became a bit audacious. I tried everything. I liked just about all of it. I didn’t like cassava.

The morning is lovely, a bit chilly though, only 48°. We have sun, but partly cloudy is the forecast. I checked the bird feeders this morning through the window and noticed the traffic is heavy. I filled all the feeders yesterday so the word is out.

The dogs are festive. They are each wearing their Halloween collars. Nala’s has witches, mummies, Mrs. Frankenstein, bats, webs and skeletons, a perfect choice for her. Henry’s has cats, smiling pumpkins and ghosts and witches. His ghosts look like Casper. His collar creatures are much friendlier than Nala’s.

When I was a kid, choosing a Halloween costume was never easy. The planning took weeks. I’d pick one, discard it, pick another, discard it and then keep looking. Some kids bought costumes from Woolworth’s. They were usually one piece worn over clothes and tied in the back on the top. The fronts were characters like skeletons, witches, cowboys, clowns or the devil. The masks were plastic with such small eye holes it made them difficult to look through, and they were hot. We always wore homemade costumes. My mother was a costume designer. Many kids did. A ghost was the easiest, a sheet and two eye holes. Some girls wore old dresses and hats their mothers used to wear. Cowboys were big as were hoboes who always carried a stick with a tied neckerchief at the end. They had dirty faces rubbed on from a burnt cork. My sister, who took dance lessons, wore her tutu one year. The only bought thing was a new mask every year. It looked like the sort the Lone Ranger wore except it was colorful.

My mother had a set of Pyrex bowls and a set of tulip bowls. The sizes nested. We’d use one of the bowls to hold our candy. I’d carry the bowl with me, but at night I’d keep the bowl under my bed for quick access. Years ago, I was shopping at an antique mall sort of shop. I watched a woman put out a set of those tulip bowls for sale. I bought them right away. Those bowls carry with them strong memories.

The rain has come and gone for now. The thunder was way off but just enough of a sound for Nala to raise her head and wonder. Today will be fall warm at 65°.

I’m watching a great bad movie, King of the Zombies from 1941. It takes place on an island, has voodoo, zombies and a Dracula lookalike. It also has a sort of happy ending.

When I was a kid, my classroom on rainy days had almost a comforting feel. The lights were pendant lights hanging from the ceiling. They left shadows. The rain quieted us. It pelted the windows, long windows from the ceiling. I used to watch the rain trickle down the panes of glass. When the rain was the heaviest and the loudest, we read our literature books and answered the questions at end of each story. They were easy.

When I was young, I half believed in ghosts. I was open to possibilities. I never lingered by any graveyards just in case. Night noises had me on alert especially when the wind howled. My father’s stories of the hook man were real to me. I remember hearing a noise outside one night. I yelled out the door, “Who’s there?” It was bravado. An answer would have had me running for my life. When I was older, the graveyard near my house was a shortcut of sorts. I never worried about spirits, but I stayed on alert, sort of hedging my bests.

Henry is a barker. Even the smallest outside sound gets him started. He sometimes drives me crazy. I’ll open the front door and tell him, “Look! Nothing is there.” He’ll check up and down the street then back into the house. He does have an intruder bark which I now recognize. He saves that for Amazon or UPS trucks or someone walking a dog by my house. Once in a while, his bark is a bit ominous. Late at night, he’ll sometimes jump off the bed, stand in the hall and bark his scary, loud bark. I just stay in bed. I figure an intruder would not want to tangle with the source of that bark.

My dance card is uke heavy this week. I have practice Tuesday, my lesson on Wednesday and concerts on Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Sunday.

I love mornings in fall. Today is just perfect. The air is sweet. We have a breeze. The sun glints through trees and highlights the fluttering leaves. It is already in the 60’s.

As for the days of the week, Saturday is the busiest day. It is errand day. People are out and about early. I even went to Dunkin this morning and waited in a long line for my coffee and my treat, a pumpkin donut, in keeping with the season of course.

When I was a kid, my biggest dilemma was what should I buy with my pennies, valuable currency back then. I’d stand in front of the penny candy display and lean on the glass. Should I go for taste or longevity? Green Mint Julep and Banana Split squares had both as did Mary Janes and Bit O’ Honey. Tootsie Rolls were chewy. Fire Balls were a challenge. You had to keep them in your mouth despite the heat. Eating Bull’s Eyes always had a technique. Eat the caramel first and the white cream last. Eating Candy Buttons always included eating a bit of paper. Wax Bottles were a great buy. You bit off the top, sucked out the syrup then chewed the wax. The adult me finds that a bit gross. A Pixie Stix was a straw filled with colored powder which was mostly sugar. You bit off the top and poured the power into your mouth. I remember how dry it was and how it stuck to my teeth. The only favorites I had were the two for a penny candies.

The dogs are upstairs napping on my bed. Jack too is sleeping. The house is quiet.

<!– wp:paragraph As for the days of the week, Saturday is the busiest day. It is errand day. People are out and about early. I even went to Dunkin and waited in a long line for my coffee and my treat, a pumpkin donut, in keeping with the season of course. Sunday is the most boring of the week. When I was a kid, Sunday was quiet, a stay around the house day. It is still that way for me. Mostly I just read the paper and loll. I stay home. Monday has always been the dismal day of the week. I’d have to get up for school, never easy after two days of sleeping in. I begrudged every minute of the morning. When I worked, I was up at 5:15. I hated 5:15, especially Mondays at 5:15. The rest of the days of the week were just sort of jumbled together. Friday was the only stand out.