Our weather continues to be astounding. A gray early morning has given way to sun poking through the cloudy sky. A brisk breeze rustles the maple leaves when their tree limbs sway. The chimes on the small tree in the backyard send a sweet, gentle sound into the air. A mourning dove, huddled against the breeze, is sitting on a thin branch. It reminds me of a hunched, square bodied old woman dressed in a shapeless overcoat walking in a snow storm.

My body aches and my back hurts. If I never chop another onion or tomato, my life will be near perfect. Dinner was wonderful, from appetizers on the deck to dessert. We sat at the table a long time, talking and laughing. My two friends, Rick and Jay, cleaned up afterwards. They always do. It is a gift they give me after every big dinner. They also divvied up the leftovers. Everyone took a taste of dinner home with them.

After dinner, we stood out on the deck. The yard is lovely at night. It is lit with subtle strings of lights on stakes and solar balls of changing colors. On the deck, solar tulip lights stuck in planters shine red, orange and yellow in the darkness. The night was warm, more like a late June night than one in early May. We finally dragged ourselves into the house to make our goodbyes.

I love doing theme dinners. Even the flamingo on my deck was dressed for the occasion in a serape and a sombrero. Mexican music played all might. A bright papel picado hung over the table, and I brought out my Mexican dishes. The souvenir was a picture. Hung in a doorway was  a stick your head in the circle picture of a pair of flamingo dancers. Everyone took turns, and it was fun and funny.

Today is a rest up and do nothing day. It’s trivia night, and I need all my wits about me.

The windows are all open. The air is warm and smells of spring. I sat on the deck for a long while, drank my coffee and finished reading the papers. I had to drag myself inside when the phone rang. I’ll be quick here then I’m going back outside to fight with Gracie for the lounge.

Every day this week will be in the high 60’s, a heat wave for spring on Cape Cod.

I heard a grinding noise this morning, ran to the window and saw a squirrel gnawing at the paint on my deck furniture. He did the same last year. The beast has gnawed to the metal below the black paint. The arms and feet of the chairs have silver teeth marks and are rough to the touch. This morning he was at the rim of the table, a new spot. I’m going to have to hire Skip, my factotum, to sand the rough spots and paint over them. For now, the chairs are leaning up against the table. Granny Clampett would be a welcome visitor. She cooked a great squirrel stew.

Part of the fun of traveling is the unknown. I have eaten strange, exotic foods. I’ll try almost anything and don’t always ask what I’m eating. Half the time I probably wouldn’t want to know anyway. If it tastes good, that’s enough, but I’m drawing a line at squirrel stew, even with lots of vegetables and gravy.

Today I am short winded. I have been too long inside the house. The bird feeder’s need filling and my book is getting interesting. I’m taking all the sun time I can.

Perfect days come along every now and then. They are usually any day, not Thanksgiving or not even Christmas. Today is shaping up to be one.

It’s dark and it’s started raining, a quiet rain. I needed a rainy day. We’ve had sun for a while, and I missed the rain. The sky is the gray color of a snow pile too long beside the road. The day has some light. I can see the pale green leaves of the maple tree by the deck. Rain water drops from the eaves.

I woke early this morning and took an outside shower, my first of the season. It was amazing. The hot water sent steam into the air and into the backyard. I stood under the shower and let the water keep me warm. As I was drying and dressing, quickly in the chilly morning air, I could hear bird songs. I recognized the chickadees. They were all around me. I was a part of their morning for just a bit.

My sister gave me some peat for Christmas. The pieces were small and used like incense. I had one left, one I’d been saving. It is burning now and filling the room with the memories of a cold spring night in Ireland when my mother and father were fellow travelers. I can’t think of anything more pleasant than a day of sweet memories, especially about people we loved.

I toasted a Portuguese roll for breakfast. It was nicely browned. On it I put amlou, a Moroccan peanut butter made with argan oil, peanuts and honey, which I had had in Marrakesh every morning for breakfast spread on fresh flat rolls of Moroccan bread. This morning I didn’t have the Atlas Mountains as a backdrop or a basket of fresh bread, but it didn’t matter. It was the indescribably delicious taste of the amlou which made the bread. When I had finished spreading it, I used my finger to clean the top of the jar like a little kid might. I didn’t want to waste even the smallest taste.

I have had an amazing day already, and it really only just started. I can’t imagine what the rest of the day will bring, but I can hardly wait.

The roads were heavy with people and cars this morning. I sat for a bit at the light, the fifth car in line. My breakfast place was filled, only one booth was empty. Down the street, at the Pancake Man, the lot was filled. As I was stopped at a red light on the way home, I watched well-dressed couples, most of them elderly, go into church. When I passed by the golf course, I saw golfers at every hole. The sun has brought the world alive.

On sunny days my mother sent us outside. We weren’t allowed to waste a good day. The little kids stayed close to home. My sisters used to haul out their dolls and sit and play on the steps. They always changed their voices for doll-speak. My brother sometimes went fishing. He’d jump on his bike and ride all the way to Horn Pond in the next town over. He’d catch perch, carp and catfish and be gone all day. I went with him a couple of times but mostly he went alone. I’d ride my bike a lot. I loved the joy of  riding down hills or bicycling with no hands on the handlebars, a trick which took me a long time to learn. I used to cross my arms and pedal down the street. I always felt a bit smug.

Being outside riding my bike on sunny days made my face tan and fill with freckles, which were a gift from my mother. My father, working in the yard, used to tan the darkest of all of us. I remember his left arm was always darker than his right. He called it his trucker’s tan.