It’s a quiet day, no sun again, but no rain either. The air is damp as if rain is in the wings just biding its time. Yesterday I watched sports all day, soccer in the morning, baseball in the afternoon and basketball at night. It was exhausting.

A string of dark, dank days seems to sap my energy. It’s as if my solar panels have been depleted. I need to get out of the house today. My newest book and the couch are just too tempting.

I wonder sometimes how things get their names. I used to tell people an old lady from New Jersey was responsible for many. I pictured her rocking on the porch trying to decide what to call the plastic ends of her shoelaces. She rocked and rocked until one she stopped rocking and shouted aglet to the world. I did look aglet up just now out of curiosity and found the word originally came from the Latin word acus, needle, which gave birth to aguillette, the Old French word for needle, which then became aglet in English. I guess I’m impressed, but it’s just as easy to call it the end of the shoelace.

I didn’t know the belt loop which holds the end of the belt from flopping around had a name. Loop worked just fine for me, but it’s called a keeper in case you need a conversational tidbit at some cocktail party. I used to have contests with my friends to see which of us could spit cherry pits the furthest. I just found out that chanking is the word for spit out food, for those pits we left on the road. I’ll stay with pits.

My favorite new word is one I had no idea existed. Ophryon is the exactly middle spot of the forehead just above the eyes. I suspect that old lady rocked for days before she came up with that one.

Every now and then I get lost in the day. Something holds my attention, and when I look up, hours have passed. The morning itself was the first to do that today. It drew me outside. The humidity of yesterday has given way to the most beautiful spring day. The air is clear, the sun bright and it’s cool, but not so cool you want to stay inside. I sat on the wooden chair and watched the birds. I also watched nothing at all. I just daydreamed. When I came inside, my coffee had long been perked.

The papers held me for a while. It was one of those read everything days, even the silly corrections on the second page. I always wonder how they can get simple things like a name or an address wrong. It was rare to find no familiar names in the court news. I did most of the crosswords and word puzzles. The morning was speeding by me.

In between, I’d wander outside and just stand for a few minutes. It’s too lovely a day to waste.

The living room caught my eye. I wondered if a small piece of furniture would look better on the other side of the room. It didn’t, but while I was doing that, I noticed how dirty the glass on the picture leaning against the table was. I cleaned it. About then I got another cup of coffee.

Yesterday, as a reward for grocery shopping, I bought myself two books. Needing something to read with my coffee, I started one. By the time I put it down, I had read several chapters. It was, by then, late morning.

I unloaded the dishwasher, checked on Gracie who’s been out all morning then sat myself down at the computer. Somehow it is three hours later than when I woke up. The day is almost half over. In the scheme of things, I accomplished little. Putting dishes away doesn’t count. The bed’s still unmade, and I’ve yet to get dressed. It’s a good thing then that I don’t count my days by accomplishments. I count my days by smaller things.

A new book is one of the best parts of whiling away a day. An afternoon nap under a cozy afghan is another. Sitting on the deck, reading and watching is the highlight of most summer days. When, at night, my feet are up and the Red Sox are leading, a sigh of contentment easily slips from my lips. It is the end of a wonderful day. Few accomplishments, maybe, but I think it a day well spent.