The wind is strong. I can hear the leaves being tossed. It is 79° but feels just a bit cooler. I’ve opened the windows. Today will be an indoor chore day. Yesterday I planted the rest of the deck flowers. I still need to scrub the furniture, but I’m saving that for the weekend, gives me something to look forward to says I with tongue in cheek. Today I’ll finally hang my summer clothes and put winter away.

I found my other slipper. It appeared in the den. I don’t know where it’s been, but it looks none the worse for wear. It took me a while to remember where I had put the other slipper for safe keeping, but they are back together now. I have a pair.

When I was a kid, my house was on a hill, almost at the top. At the bottom of the hill was Pomeworth Field. It had an official little league field with dugouts in the lower section and two other fields, each with a tall backup chain fence, in the upper section. I played softball on one of them. The fields in town were staffed all summer, each with a male and female. The picnic table was under the trees behind the playground. I used to play checkers there. There was also a pit for throwing horseshoes. I did crafts at the table. I learned to play tennis on the courts below the field. I had early morning lessons. I remember the wooden racket had red painted wood around the strings and was kept with a frame around it to keep the wood true. I was at that park all day except for a lunch break when I went home. I loved those summer days.

When I was older, I stayed around the house during the day. It was at night I was busy. We had drill practice on Tuesday and Thursday nights. We practiced at the park and in the school parking lot because it had lights. Competitions were on the weekends. Our first competition every year was on a Friday night. I remember one year we had finished inspection and were moving to the ready line. Denise was beside me. She was panicked. She said she couldn’t remember the routine because we were starting on the wrong end of the field, on what was usually the finish line. I convinced her that it looked different under the lights, and we were on the right end of the field. She believed me.

My dance card for the rest of the week has a uke concert on Friday and a play on Friday night. This has been a busy week. Today is the only week day without an event. I can hear my inner sloth screaming.

The morning is still and quiet. I don’t even hear the birds. The house is dark. I like it that way. It feels cooler. The humidity is thick. The sky is clouded and hints at rain. It is another hot day at 79°.

On my dance card for the week I have uke practice tonight, a lesson tomorrow and a concert on Friday. The music this week is love songs of the 60’s. On Friday night I have a play. It’s a busy week.

The dogs are asleep on the couch. They do not love the heat, especially Nala, the boxer. Her short muzzle means she overheats more quickly and pants. When that happens, I put on the AC to keep her comfortable. Right now, though, she is deep asleep and snoring just a bit.

When I was a kid, we had watermelon seed spitting contests. I never won. It was the same with cherry pits. I just didn’t have the technique.

Every kid I knew had a bike, roller skates, ice skates and a sled. The bikes had back brakes and no gears. The roller skates needed a key. The ice skates only needed to be laced tightly. The sleds were wooden with metal runners. Most had a rope tied to the front so the sled could be hauled up the hill. I remember the rope got icy. My sled had a wooden steering bar across the top. It sort of worked. My ice skates were white. Every girl had white skates. Each skate had a single blade. Balancing was the key to skating. I fell a few times before I figured that out. My bike had a metal basket on the front. It had a long license plate down the back fender. I got the plate at the police station. Things fell out of my basket when I hit a bump. My roller skates were tightened to my shoes. A strap went across the top of my foot. Sometimes your shoes came loose from the skate bolts while the strap stayed attached. I’d have to lift my foot high into the air with the dangling skate and walk to where I could sit and put the skate back on. I loved the sound of the skates on the pavement and the tingling on the bottom of my foot.

I still have a pair of ice skates and a wooden sled, but I use them for winter decorations. I also have a bike I used to ride all the time, but I can’t remember the last time I did. I have a pair of rusty roller skates with no key. All of them are quite valuable to me. They are the holders of memories.

Today is yesterday. That may sound cryptic, but I’m talking about the weather. Today’s high will be 83°. The humidity is 80%. Yesterday I turned on my AC. The downstairs is nice and cool, but the upstairs is still hot. I’ll be camping, sort of, in the den with the dogs.

The drawback with the AC is having to keep the doors shut. The dogs and I, out of necessity, have developed a pattern. Nala taps the poochie bells, her signal for me to get up and let them out. I let both dogs out. Henry comes right back inside the house. I shut the door on Nala. When she wants in, she taps the dog door over and over, enough to drive me crazy. We do this several times. I am no longer in control

When I look out the window, I see a pretty day with lots of sun in a blue, blue sky. In the thick air only the leaves at the ends of the branches flutter, and my chimes are still.

Shark week has started. It is time to bring out Jaws for another showing. I’m thinking a movie on the deck.

When I was a kid, I loved soft summer rain. I never minded getting wet. My clothes dried quickly. If the rain was a bit stronger and made puddles, I’d walk barefoot through the gutters kicking the water in wide arcs from side to side. I smiled the whole time. It gave me joy.

I watch a lot of science fiction movies. My favorites are black and white films from the 50’s. The aliens are seldom good. They usually want our planet. Even the gigantic ants, spiders and crabs, our own creations, think of us as dinner. Invaders from Mars is still a favorite. Anyone who loves this movie immediately recognizes the fence ending at the field. I rewatched The Blob the other day. I think the future is in jeopardy. The Blob stops growing in the cold. It was dropped on Arctic ice. With global warming it will be back.

Today will be hot, 76° being the expected high. The air is thick, but there is a wind strong enough to toss the tall branches of the oak trees and to cool the house. Rain is likely tonight.

Yesterday the traffic was heavy and lined up at the lights. Even the hardware store had no parking spaces. I got what I needed there and then moved on to groceries. I skipped flowers and went home.

Last night I saw my first fireflies. I was delighted. I saw one in the front yard and three or four in the back. I picked one and followed its light as it flitted around the yard. They are my favorite summer visitors.

I could be busy today but I am choosing to be a sloth. The dust balls can get bigger and fly into the air. The winter clothes will stay in the closet one more day, and the paw prints on the kitchen floor will still mark the way. As Scarlett said, “After all, tomorrow is another day.”

I used to be strong, but I also used to be young. I remember hauling 50 pounds of cat litter upstairs. Now I drag dog food bags into the house from the car and move heavy cartons end over end to get them inside. Jars take forever to open, a couple sit unopened in the cabinet. I hate pulling those tabs off of milk and cream. The squeeze and twist off caps of aspirin bottles were made for younger fingers. I’ve used church keys and old bottle openers to hack at bottles and cans. They have become important tools in my arsenal.

I have questions. Who decided bread should be toasted in the morning? Why does Tarzan not have a beard? He didn’t ever shave. Why are the green oranges in Ghana still called oranges? Greenies? Why are some days partly sunny and other days partly cloudy? Cinderella’s shoe fell off. Was it a bad fit or a plan? When I was a kid, I used to wonder if God could make something so heavy even he could not pick it up.

The world is full of conundrums.

The rain started a bit earlier then stopped but has since started again. That will be the weather pattern for today, on and off rain. The humidity is so thick you can cut with a knife. My father used to say that. There is a breeze but it doesn’t help much. I can hear the birds. I can hear the tapping of the drops as they hit the metal barrel on my deck. The sound brings me back to Ghana and the rain on my metal roof. Those drops are the best things about the morning.

I have lists: errands, house chores and deck planting. Henry should be bald for all the hair he leaves everywhere. I need to vacuum. I need to switch my clothes to summer. The plants are gasping for water. I need bread. I need more plants. I need outside screws and c clamps for a deck project. Before I sound handy, it was my friend Bill who told me what I needed. I had never heard of c clamps.

When I was a kid, the kitchen junk drawer was a magic drawer, always overflowing, sometimes even difficult to open, but almost anything we needed was stuffed inside. A hammer? A screwdriver? Nails? Screws? Pens? Elastics? The list goes on. Some of the stuff couldn’t be identified, but it couldn’t be thrown away. We might need it, whatever it is, later. I have a junk drawer in an old table, an old wooden kitchen table in the living room, one with two drawers. It too is magical. When I bought that kitchen table at an auction, its destiny was foretold. Tools I use often are there, a couple of old frames, Christmas ornament hooks, a book about birds, nails and screws and a few mystery items I’ll never throw away.

Happy July 4th!

I have a traditional musing for today, but I figured I’d give you an update first. The morning is lovely. The yard is bathed in sunlight. The breeze is light but cooling. Yesterday I planted a few flowers and some herbs in deck pots. I have more to plant. Last night Nala came in chewing a small plastic pot. This morning I found the basil from that pot on the driveway. I potted the poor victim. I need a few more flowers for the empty clay pots. I’ll shop tomorrow. We have a uke concert in Hyannis this afternoon. We’ll be playing Songs Across America with a rousing patriotic set at the end.

I just love birthdays and today is the grandest of them all. 

On July 3rd 1776, John Adams wrote a letter to his wife Abigail. In it, he predicted the celebrations for American Independence Day, including the parties:

“It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shews, Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and Illuminations from one End of this Continent to the other.”

John Adams expected July 2nd to be Independence Day as that was the day the Second Continental Congress voted for independence, but the signing ceremony for the Declaration of Independence didn’t happen until two days later so because July 4th appears on the Declaration, it became the date we celebrate Independence.

I know some people complain that the meaning of the day is lost in the barbecues and the fireworks, but they have forgotten John Adams’ hope. We are honoring the day exactly as he wished. Flags are waving everywhere. Families get together to celebrate and to break bread, albeit hot dog rolls. Fireworks illuminate the sky. Baseball is played on small town fields and in huge stadiums. Drums beat the cadence in parades. We sing rousing songs celebrating America and our freedom. We also sing heartfelt songs about what America means to us. We are many sorts of people, we Americans. We don’t all look the same, practice the same religion, eat the same foods or dress in the same way, but we all celebrate today.

“You have to love a nation that celebrates its independence every July 4th, not with a parade of guns, tanks, and soldiers who file by the White House in a show of strength and muscle, but with family picnics where kids throw Frisbees, the potato salad gets iffy, and the flies die from happiness. You may think you have overeaten, but it is patriotism.” Happy Birthday, America, from all of us Americans.

It is a bright, sunny, cool morning, but the day will be hot. We’re talking Cape Cod hot. The high will be 78°. My friends in Texas would wear winter coats.

I have an empty dance card today so I’ll be staying home. My to-do list is short. I have to hunt down my other slipper. It disappeared. I also have to vacuum, no surprise there, but I have an idea which may save me. I’ll wear socks and dust the floor as I walk. This technique originated in Moscow where they made us put covers over all our shoes when we toured museums. Their floors were all shiny and dust free.

When I lived in Ghana, my mother sent me packages. Inside them were games, books and, best of all, food. I remember beef jerky, boxes of Chef Boyardee pizza mix, envelopes like beef stroganoff and soup and candy which wouldn’t melt on the trip. I rationed my treats. Six days a week I’d eat Ghanaian food. Sunday was American food day.

Toward the end of my PST, a Peace Corps acronym meaning pre-service training, we were in Korforidua when one of the staff invited me to go to Accra with her. She drove. We went to a small, classy bar near the casinos. I didn’t even know places like that existed. We sat at the bar and played liar’s dice with the bartender for drinks. We did a bit of dancing on the small dance floor. I never found those places again.

During Easter vacation in my second year I went to Accra. I met up with friends who were also staying in the hostel. One of them was leaving Ghana as his school was closed for the rest of the year because of a riot. We all decided to have a few farewell drinks with him. We went to a large old hotel. The bar had tall ceilings and plants in pots by the long windows. There were couches and chairs covered in flowery fabrics. Overhead were fans. I felt as if I had been transported back in time to a bar in a grand hotel like Raffles. I was no longer in the Ghana I knew so well. I expected well dressed British couples to come through the door for cocktail hour. It was that kind of place.

The day is perfect. The sun is brilliant. The air is dry. It is 69° and won’t get much hotter. An intermittent breeze sways the small branches and flutters the oak leaves. I should stand on the porch and sing “Oh What a Beautiful Morning” as I dance about like a character in a musical.

I have a concert today on the village green in Hyannis. I think a village green harkens back to earlier days. The women in the audience should be wearing long dresses and carrying parasols while the men should wear suits and bow ties and straw boaters on their heads. We’re singing songs about America.

Last night we had a tremendous rain storm with thunder and lightening. For the first time, Henry got scared, leaned on me and shook a bit. I hugged him and spoke softly hoping to reassure him. Nala didn’t seem afraid, alert maybe but not afraid. After the thunder died away, Henry settled down and fell back asleep.

When I was a kid, summer life was easy. My sole responsibility was to have fun. During the day, I seldom stayed home. Even in the rain I was out and about. I used to explore. In my mind’s eye, I can still see that field below my house. It had a path where the tall grass had been beaten down by footsteps. On both sides of the field were trees. One side had thick trees while the other side had fewer trees and led to a street. It was on that side where we buried our turtle. He was in a cigar box, and we buried him deep. Later they would build elderly apartments there, and I always wondered if they found the box. On the other side was another path which led to the water tower. Blueberry bushes were on one side of the path. We ate them and cleared the bushes. The middle path had the thick rotted trunk of a tree with a split off branch on its side. We climbed over the branch though we could have walked around it. It was a sort of ritual. That path led to the swamp and ended at a street. I always used it as a short cut. I remember when they plowed the field under and cut down the trees to build more elderly apartments. They destroyed a piece of my childhood, but I had a memory drawer filled to the brim. I get to visit that field still.

We had rain last night. It started after one. Today is damp and dark, and more rain is predicted. I did have flower shopping on my to-do list, but I’ll stay inside and do around the house chores. Gee, maybe I’ll vacuum!

Today is quiet. I can hear the birds outside and Jack meowing inside. Both dogs are napping. Henry is upstairs on my bed while Nala is beside me on the couch. I can hear her deep breathing. She sleeps soundly. Henry is ever vigilant.

When I was a kid, summer lasted forever. Every day was mine to do whatever I wanted. I walked out the door in the morning and sometimes didn’t get home until late afternoon. Those were the days when I’d make my lunch, a sandwich and some Oreos, and take it with me. If I stayed close, I went home for lunch, a sandwich and some Oreos.

My brother and I would ride our bikes to Horn Pond in Woburn and fish. We always caught fish, and we always put them back. We’d walk to the zoo or to the pool if it was really hot. Both of them were on the other side of town from where I lived so they were long walks. Walking back from the pool was hot and tiring. I carried my bathing suit wrapped in my towel. I stooped and rested. The best spot for a rest was on the benches under the trees by the town hall.

I remember summer nights in my neighborhood. The screen doors were on the back doors of all the houses. You could hear TV’s and people talking. From the houses on the top of the hill behind my house kitchens lights shined through the windows. On my street, the picture windows in the living rooms sent arcs of light across the grass lawns. Sometimes I’d sit outside in the early evening on the back steps by myself. Night birds sang. I still cherish that memory.