My deck flowers have drooped. It was just too cold last night. Even Nala was out and back inside quickly. She usually roams the yard. I put a blanket on my bed. With that and the two dogs around me, I was cozy last night.

Today will be cold, in the 40’s. We have sun now, but it’ll disappear. It is a bundle day, a layer against the cold day. It feels like winter.

When I travel, I am a morning person. I am up and about early. I wander. The cities are themselves in the morning with people walking to work, stopping for coffee to go and munching pastry or bread. As for now, I am a night person. I go to bed in the wee hours. The house next door always leaves a light on as does the house behind mine. I love the silence of the night.

I went to St. Patrick’s grammar school for eight years. We had two of each grade. We baby boomers were many. Mostly it was all the same kids in my classes through the years, and I still keep in touch with some of the friends I made back then. I have snippets of memories of those years. I can even still see some of those memories in my mind’s eye. The cloak room outside my first grade classroom is bright in my memories. Every hook was filled with a couple of winter coats, and coats were squeezed between the hooked coats. I remember sitting on the floor to put my boots on.

I remember Mrs. Kerrigan, my second grade teacher. She was old. She wore flowered dresses and old lady black shoes with laces and clunky heels. She lived in a second floor apartment across from the church. In hindsight, I figure she could have been the poster lady for unmarried teachers in the 1950’s and earlier.

I had a nun teacher in the third grade. Our class was in the cellar of the rectory. I mostly liked her. She let Duke my dog stay in the room when he followed me to school. I didn’t like her when she embarrassed me in front of the class by telling me not to sing for the May procession. I didn’t sing in public after that until I started playing the uke.

In the fourth grade we were in double sessions. I had a no nonsense teacher but I liked her. She had gone to high school with my mother. That’s what I remember.

In the fifth grade, I had an enormous nun who mostly sat at her desk. She had favorites. I wasn’t one of them.

The best memories are from the last three grades. I’ll save them for later.

The heat is cranking. It is a cold morning at 49°. It won’t get much warmer. The day, though, is pretty but best seen from inside, out the window. We have bright sun, a blue sky and a breeze, sometimes even a wind. I have no reason to leave the house. I will stay warm and cozy inside.

When I was a kid, I had a small turntable for my records. It was its own carrying case. The records were yellow and red, 78’s. I remember Frosty the Snowman, Home on the Range and a few Disney songs. I used to sing along. I still have a few of those records in an old record case, and I bought a turn table a few years back so I could listen to my old records, the 33 and 1/3 albums, my LP’s, and my 45’s. The record player came with a few discs for the 45’s so they’d fit on the turntable sort of knob in the middle. I like to play the albums when I read. They crackle a bit, but it is a welcome sound, one straight out of my memory drawers. My oldest LP’s are Dylan and Peter, Paul and Mary. I have a Roy Orbison Greatest Hits album I bought in Hyannis. I remember my brother and I had hitched to Hyannis, did a bit of shopping then met up with my father at his office. He was surprised to see us but not pleased we had hitched, but back then we felt safe hitching.

In Ghana I had my cassette recorder and some cassettes of my favorite singers and groups. I played the recorder just about every night. The music was comforting, familiar. I, of course, brought Peter, Paul and Mary along, Album 1700, Joni Mitchell’s Clouds, Simon and Garfunkel’s Bookends and Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young’s Deja Vu. Later, my sister sent me a cassette of songs she had recorded from the radio. None were familiar but became familiar over time.

Nala is a cheeky beast. I was in the bathroom, and she stopped at the bathroom door and looked at me defiantly. She had a napkin in her mouth stolen off the den table. She took it outside and shredded it.

Yesterday I crossed the dump off my to-do list, but I added washing the kitchen floor and polishing the furniture. The list is never ending. I think I’ll start writing it in calligraphy, more of a work of art than a chore list.

If you look in the dictionary at the definition of fall, you’d see a description of today. The sun is brilliant. The sky is a Crayola blue, a perfect cerulean color. The every now and then breeze ruffles even the top most branches. It is 49° but will reach the mid-50’s today. I didn’t get out yesterday so today is dump day. I did fill the bird feeders. This morning, I watched out the window while my coffee was brewing. For the first time, a couple of blue jays dropped by but didn’t stay. I was glad. They are pigs who scare away the small birds. The chickadees came right back.

I spent too much of the time I have remaining here on Earth on the phone this morning. I was trying to refill a prescription. I jumped between two web sites trying to find a person. I was not successful, but I got close. My patience, not my long suit, finally gave out so I’ll try again tomorrow.

In Ghana, time was described as European or Ghanaian. Even though I was from the US, I was considered European because I am white. If you invited Ghanaians to your house, they would always ask Ghanaian or European time. European time was punctual. Ghanaian time was whenever. When I traveled a distance, I used to take government buses because they left on time. Local lorries left when they were full. I’d sit in the shade sometimes for a few hours before the lorry would leave. I have never been as patient as I was when I lived in Ghana.

When I was a kid, the time of day was only important on weekdays and Sunday mornings, for school and for church. My mother was the timekeeper. She made sure we were never late. She always added a few extra minutes in case we meandered. All the rest of the time was ours. We didn’t need watches. After school we played outside until the streetlights turned on, later in summer and earlier in winter. Saturdays were timeless. I just needed to be home for supper.

As for now, I don’t wear a watch. Most of every day is mine to do what I want or to do nothing, which is often my choice. Time is only important if I have an obligation like an appointment. I just make sure I leave to arrive on time.

The dump closes at 4. I figure to leave the house no later than 3:30. My next obligation is uke practice on Tuesday. Until then, I’m on my own.

The morning is cloudy and still. It will stay partly cloudy all day or partly sunny if you lean toward optimism. It is 58° and won’t get much higher. I have a couple of errands including the dump. I have a couple of chores, fill the feeders and water the plants, a sort of fauna and floral list.

Yesterday, after my concert, I took the long way home. I saw ghosts, giant black cats, pumpkins and one shark in front of houses on the back road. I noticed many of the trees have bare branches and fallen leaves cover the sides of the road. Fall is winding down and will soon have to make way for winter. Here in New England, every season has its turn.

When I think back, I remember places and people now gone. They sit waiting in my memory drawers for their turn to be recalled. If I close my eyes, I can see moments frozen in time.

When I was a kid, we moved out of the city, out of South Boston. I was four and already a city kid. I played on the hot top behind our apartment building in between the clothes lines, on the sidewalks and on the parking lot across the street. I have memories of back then. I can still see the tall chain link fence around the lines in the backyard. I’d climb it and then jump off. I jumped off backwards a few times then had my mother watch my grand feat. When I landed, I hurt my wrist bracing myself. It was my worst performance. My mother told me the after story. She was worried about my wrist and called my grandfather. He told her to move it a bit. I was sleeping at the time. She told him I never moved or made a sound. I just kept sleeping. My grandfather suggested she have it x-rayed. The wrist was fractured. I was quite proud of my cast.

Soon after we moved, my brother and I went exploring. We walked down the hill out of the neighborhood. We saw a stream behind some houses and checked it out. We put small branches in the stream and watched them float. We built a bit of a dam with rocks. We stayed there a while. I still remember where the stream was. It is gone now, but the houses are still there. We kept wandering. We didn’t realize we were lost explorers. Our parents got worried. The police found us walking on the sidewalk a distance from the house. I thought it was an adventure, my very first adventure.

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.