Today is cloudy but warm, and tonight too will be warm, finally out of the 30’s. I have no plans for the day. I am choosing a day of rest, a sloth day if you will.

My father always cooked Sunday breakfast when I’d visit. He’d stand at the stove with a dish towel over his shoulder. He used the cast iron frying pan. Before cooking, he’d ask how I wanted my eggs. Fried was usually my answer. My father would also cook bacon. I was in charge of toast. In my mind’s eye, I can still see him bent over the stove with the towel over his right shoulder and a spatula in his hand as he tended to the eggs.

I had tuna every Friday for lunch when I was a kid as we couldn’t eat meat on Fridays. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were never an option as we didn’t like them for lunch. They became messy sandwiches sitting for so long in the lunch box. The jelly, almost always Welch’s Grape Jelly, used to soak into the bread, the soft Wonder bread, and leave a big jelly spot in the middle of the sandwich. I don’t eat tuna now. I had eaten a lifetime of tuna by the time I was in high school and could buy a hot lunch. I don’t eat peanut butter and jelly either. I do eat fluffernutters.

My mother used to make specials foods for her parties. I remember her Swedish meatballs. They were kept warm in her copper sort of fondue pot. The pot always emptied. She also made shrimp dip. The shrimp came in those little real glasses everyone saved. I actually have a shrimp dip story. I was making it for my mother and didn’t check the top of the blender. I hadn’t secured it. I started the blender, the top fell off and shrimp dip flew all over me and the kitchen. To call it a mess is understating what the kitchen looked like.

I don’t like Jello. I don’t even like the look of Jello. I remember Jello with fruit hanging inside it, disgusting. I don’t eat Spam though my father did and my sister does. I figure it must be really popular because in 1959 the billionth can was sold. My father first ate it in World War II. He liked it right out of the can. I am not a fan of cream corn, neither its looks nor its taste.

We all have comfort foods. Mine mostly date from my childhood. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes and peas were one of my favorite dinners. My mother always put ketchup and bacon on the top of the meatloaf. The bacon got crisp, and I used to try steal a piece. I think the one comfort food we all share is tomato soup and grilled cheese. On a cold, wintry day, it is the most magnificent combination for lunch.

Today is warmer than it has been and will even get as high as 59°. That sounds like a day for a ride.

When I was a kid, this would have been a perfect Saturday to ride my trusty steed, my bike. I seldom had a destination in mind. I had special places like the zoo, the train station, the lake and all around up town. I’d bring my lunch, always a sandwich and cookies if there were any left. Sometimes my mother would give me a nickel, a wealth of money. I’d usually buy penny candy or two for a penny candy if I was lucky. I liked the hard candies, the ones which took time to eat. I remember Mary Jane’s, Squirrel Nut Caramels, Bit O’Honey, Mint Juleps and Banana sort of Juleps in the yellow wrapper. Fire Balls were my favorite. I remember at some point I had to take the ball out of my mouth to give my mouth a break from the heat. I liked it when they got small enough to bite. Even now I sometimes buy a package. They last a long time, far longer than when I was a kid.

I have traveled to amazing places. Ghana will always be my favorite. I actually lived in Africa. I never would have expected that when I was eleven and vowing to travel. Another memory is when I stood on the equator with one foot in each hemisphere. The best ride was on the train from Quito to Guayaquil. The train was about the size of a bus. People were standing in the aisle. Nothing stopped the train, not even people or animals on the track. They got a whistle warning. The people moved. Some animals didn’t. I saw bananas growing and mountain tops covered in snow. We traveled on a switchback, up a steep hill and back down again. I think I held my breath.

I have seen the pages of my geography book in real life. I can’t think of anything more spectacular.

We are still in that weird weather pattern of lovely spring days and wintry cold nights. Last night there was a frost warning. The dogs snuggled with me in bed. Nala’s head was on my arm and Henry was next to my legs. I had the least amount of room.

Speaking of Nala, I have a story. On Tuesday night, around one, Henry came inside but not Nala. I heard her barking, and Nala is not a barker. I went out to the deck to check on her. She was frantically trying to get under the chair covers. I knew she had a creature cornered. I tried to block her but lost. Nala ran off the deck with the creature in her mouth. I could see bulk and grey and knew she had a possum. I wanted to save it but Nala didn’t cooperate. She ran. I went inside and shut the outside door as I didn’t want Henry out there. I knew if he got close to Nala and her prey she’d attack him. I sat in the den while Henry cried and ran up and down the hall. I kept checking out the door window for Nala. She appeared on the stairs but the possum was with her. She did that 4 or 5 times. I told her that if she didn’t come inside I was going to leave her out. She, of course, didn’t listen. Finally at about 2:30 Nala came in alone, and I let Henry out. He came inside and we all went to bed. The next morning they went out, and Nala didn’t find her possum.

When I was a kid, our boxer Duke was protective. He’d stand his ground if any one approached. Sometimes he’d bare his teeth. He was scary looking, but that was a pose, and we knew it but strangers didn’t.

I remember a trip to Benson’s Wild Animal Farm in New Hampshire. I have memories, some mine, some my mothers. I remember the elephant ride. The elephant sort of swayed from side to side. I remember thinking how high we were. We watched the monkeys for a long while. They were in a huge round cage. My brother got close. A monkey grabbed his arm and tried to pull him into the cage. I was all for it, but my father saved him. The next memory my mother told me. They were watching the big apes and one was spraying the crowd who were laughing at getting wet. My parents saw him pee then slop it into his mouth. That was what he sprayed. That was one smart animal spraying at not so smart animals.

If I just look out the window, I’d see a lovely day, but the sight of the sun and blue sky doesn’t take note of the cold. It is a sweatshirt or even a fleece day. There is a frost warning for tonight.

Yesterday I decided to face the closet in here, the den, to look for a frame. This closet is chock full of puzzles, games, photo albums, bric-a-brac and so much more. It is a giant junk drawer. I found neat things, including the frame, but I also found treasures. I found my Peace Corps passport. It has my residency permit and is filled with visas. I almost don’t recognize the picture of my young self, my so very young self. One page has writing on it. I remember being at the border between what was then Upper Volta and Ghana trying to enter without a visa. It had expired. The border guard let me in and wrote I was only going for the weekend in my passport. I also found the passport I had during my South American trip. It too is filled with visas. I can follow my route through my visas.

The best thing I found was an aerogram I had sent from Ghana, and my mother had saved. The pages and the sides are numbered and filled with tiny writing. In the first paragraph I mention that this is my first full day in Ghana. The date is June 30, 1969. It was 1:30 PM Ghana time. The letter is a chronicle. I write about the beauty of Ghana and about a walk I took through Winneba where we were staying and the surprise of hearing drums from one of the compounds. I gave a schedule of my first days of training starting at 6:30 with language and ending at 6:00 for supper. I love we had a tea break at 3:30. I do remember the tea and giant rolls. I talked about the first supper dish which looked like matted seaweed, even barf. It was made out of the leaves of a tree, palm oil and some sort of fish. I suspect it was kontomire. Later I found out they were cocoyam leaves. I never did have a fondness for kontomire. I mentioned I had been given my assignment in the far north and was going to learn Hausa.

So many memories flooded back as I read and reread this letter. In my mind’s eye I could see it all, the school, the town and the palm trees, my first ever palm trees, but most of all I remember the people, my fellow trainees and the Ghanaians with their welcoming kindnesses.

The morning is lovely. It is even in the 50’s already. Today will follow the pattern of the last few days with a high in the 50’s and a low, tonight, in the 30’s. I went to Dunkin’ earlier and got coffee and a donut, a butternut donut. Tonight and tomorrow I have uke, practice and a lesson, then nothing until May 3rd.

When I was a kid, the future was tomorrow or even as far away as next week. My weekdays were taken with school. Saturday was my day and Sunday was family day. That’s just the way it was. Life sort of meandered, and I went right along with it.

I didn’t know how to do much when I got to college. I was a babe in the woods. I’m a bit embarrassed to admit I didn’t even know how to use the washing machine. When the buzzing was constant and the machine had stopped, I had no idea what was wrong. I tried all the buttons and got nowhere. It was pure luck when I rearranged the wet clothes and the machine started. That’s when I learned about balance.

I never cooked. My mother always did. I made a superb bologna sandwich and could open any can. That was enough. It was in Ghana when I first made cookies, sugar cookies for Christmas. They were delicious. I was surprised. That’s when I learned I could bake.

The first few months in Ghana at my school I was homesick, massively homesick. I was alone with no one to talk to about it. I wrote letters home all about the way I felt then I destroyed them. I just needed to say them out loud, or write about them. There was another volunteer, but she kept to herself. We said hi if we ran into each other on the school compound. She left after a year. I don’t know if she went home or to another site. I never saw her again. It was close to Christmas before I stopped checking my mailbox twice a day hoping for letters, for connections. Some days I even forgot to check. I was still glad for letters, but I didn’t need them. I had learned to be content with myself.

Life is a series of lessons. We just have to notice.

The morning is lovely, finally. We have a blue sky and sun. It is in the high 40’s. We will get into the low 50’s before falling to the 30’s. This is an odd season. It is spring in the daytime and winter at night.

I have been a sloth of late. I did vacuum Jack’s room, the stairs and my room, but that’s it. I can live with the dust, but I admit the dog prints returning to the kitchen floor after the days of rain bother me. I know I’ll end up washing the floor.

When I was a kid, if I was lucky enough to have a nickel, I’d buy a Welch’s Fudge Bar. I don’t think they are around anymore. I remember a Forever Yours bar, sort of a vanilla Milky Way, and a Midnight bar, a dark chocolate Milky Way. I used to buy semi-sweet Hershey candy bars. They were square in shape and were a bit bitter. Now I just use semi-sweet chocolate in cookies. I am a fan of Cadbury Fruit and Nut bars. I first tasted them in Ghana. They were big time treats. Now, my chocolate bar of choice is Snickers with Milky Way a close second.

When I was growing up, I remember this time of year and playing outside after school. It always got cold by late afternoon, but we never went into the house until we had to, until the streetlights. I remember how warm the house felt and the smell of supper cooking. My mother was always in the kitchen. We’d settle down in front of the TV and watch The Mickey Mouse Club. We’d sing along with the “Hi there, Ho there,” opening song and the closing song, the sort of sad, “Now it’s time to say good-bye.” The Mickey Mouse Club is where I learned to spell encyclopedia. It was Jiminy Cricket who taught me. Even now I don’t just spell encyclopedia. I sort of sing it.

The sun is still missing. The clouds covering the sky are milky white. It is 48° but damp. There is actually a frost warning. Tonight will get down to the 30’s. What’s going on here? It is mid April, and the gardens are awake. Jack Frost should be sleeping.

Sunday was a wasted day for me when I was a kid. I had to go to church or risk a mortal sin, the one where the milk bottle in the catechism was all black. I always wondered why milk bottles. There were three. One was pure white, the other spotty with black dots, and the third all black. I think mine was spotty.

The one thing I did look forward to every Sunday was dinner. It was the only meal in the whole week we called dinner. It was usually served around two o’clock. It felt special. We were all together. We always had a roast of chicken or beef. My favorite was the roast beef. It was served well done with maybe only a tinge of pink in the middle. My mother made the best gravy with never a lump. I used to make a hole in the middle top of my mashed potatoes for the gravy. I tried not to have the gravy overflow the sides. It reminded me of a volcano. Mostly we had corn or peas. I liked the niblet corn more than the cream corn. I think it was the consistency.

The Sunday newspaper had pages of funnies. My father would read the paper, and I’d lie on the rug and read the comics. I liked The Phantom. I wasn’t a big fan of Prince Valiant. I liked Nancy. I remember the orphans, Dondi and Little Orphan Annie with no eyes. I always thought her a bit creepy, and this was long before the ubiquitous Tomorrow. I never followed Mary Worth, the soap opera. I did follow Lil’ Abner and Snuffy Smith who was funny.

We sometimes went go to East Boston to visit my grandparents. I remember wandering the city with my uncle and walking all the way to Logan to watch the planes. That was my favorite adventure.

My mother always reminded us Sunday night was a school night. It was an early bedtime.

The rain has already started. It will be rainy all day, but the temperature will be warm, in the low 50’s. What a waste.

I have always loved Saturdays. When I was a kid, I could pretty much do whatever I wanted. In the winter, it was a movie, ice skating, bike riding in good weather or reading the day away. During the rest of the seasons, it was exploring, wandering with no destination in mind, sometimes by foot, other times by bike. I’d ride by the golf course looking for errant golf balls. I’d sit on a bench at the station in the next town over and watch the trains. I’d stop and pick blueberries in summer. I’d lie on my stomach on the grassy side of the swamp in spring to watch the tad poles dart through the water. I’d keep track of their progress. I remember when they developed legs. The legs looked long, almost like foal legs do. That memory came back to me when I first ate frog legs. I tried to imagine the reaction of my ten year old self at the idea I was looking at dinner as I was lying there on the grass watching the tadpoles. Disgust comes to mind. The only given on Saturday was supper, hot dogs, brown bread and baked beans.

I have an empty dance card. I’m happy about that. This has been a busy week. Yesterday was our third uke concert. Our next one isn’t until May 3rd in Plymouth.

I am watching another science fiction movie. This one is about total destruction of the Earth. It’s called Doomsday Prophecy. The Black Sea is gone. It just disappeared. New York was destroyed by earthquakes. Volcanoes have erupted. Never fear though. Our two heroes are on it.

I didn’t realize there is a limit as to how many lovely spring days we get in a row. This morning I found out the limit is two. It is a rainy, damp, chilly, uninviting day. I do need to go out, though, to a concert, the second of three in a row, and to get some dog food and a comforting Snickers bar.

Last night I had a flutternutter. The peanut butter was super chunky. The bread was soft. I was in sandwich heaven.

I watched Ice Quake, a B+ movie. In it, people died by falling in crevasses, being buried by snow and inhaling methane gas. The dog, Yeti, ran away from his humans and was running all over the mountain. He survived. Dogs usually do except for Old Yeller.

I am done cleaning for a while. The kitchen floor looked great for a couple of days, but now the paw prints are back. In the hall and den, the dust balls again stir when I walk by them. Cleaning is futile.

In the play Our Town, Emily has died, but before she takes her place among the dead, she gets to relive a day. She chooses her 12th birthday. She sees the town as it was and how young her parents look. She sees George who would become her husband. She finds the experience devastating and returns to the afterlife. She says, “Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it?”

I can answer Emily. I found an old, really old, aerogram I sent from Ghana, just a few months away from closing service. In it, I worry about going home, what I’ll do and what I’ll find. I also talk about Ghana and what I’d learned. I’m going to share some of this aerogram.

”I’m beginning to realize how lucky I am. This is the sort of experience that no one should or can do without. In a way it is a bit mind blowing. All of a sudden you’re awake to sounds, sights and feelings you never knew existed before, and it is the sort of experience you can never forget because you’ve tried to absorb every particle that you can so it can all be brought back whenever it begins to dim.” I figure I realized how wonderful and beautiful my life was, and those two years taught me to hold close to every day.

I still do that now, realize the joy in every day. I’d hate to miss anything.

I am still infected with the cleaning bug. Yesterday it was the kitchen, hall and bathroom floors and vacuuming and dusting the dining room. They look great, but I am exhausted.

Mother Nature is doing her spring dance. Today is another beautiful day. It is 58° with the deepest blue sky and not a cloud in sight. The sun is so bright it highlights everything. Even the pine trees look lovely. My front garden is awash with flowers. More dafs have bloomed. The deepest maroon hyacinths have appeared. The forsythia is bright with yellow flowers. The world is wild with color.

When I was a kid I loved spring not so much for the flowers but for the warm days. I got to bring my bicycle out of the cellar. It would stay parked in the backyard just waiting for me. I even liked riding to the white store for bread or milk, things which never lasted in our house. The afternoons were long. The sun stayed around. We got to play outside until just about supper time.

We played games like Red Rover. It was a game of strength. We stood in two lines facing each other. Each line held hands. We’d call over a member of the other side. If the kid we called broke through, he got to take one of us back with him, but if he didn’t, we got to keep him. I remember some teams got down to two. They were doomed.

My other favorite games were Red Light, Green Light and Simon Says. There was always a lot of groaning with Simon Says. The caller had to be clever. It was easy to get caught.

After supper, we always watched TV. My father got home late and seldom ate supper with us. I remember him coming through the door. I can see him in my mind’s eye wearing his fedora and top coat. He always wore a suit and a white shirt, a starched white shirt. His tie was always in a Windsor knot.

My house is quiet. The dogs are elsewhere. Nala is outside lying in the sun and tearing apart a cardboard box she stole. She is a happy dog. Henry is napping upstairs, but he comes down every now and then to bark at something outside only he sees.

My dance card is filled this week starting tonight with uke practice. We are beginning to work on Songs of the 70’s, Book 2. My lesson tomorrow will be practicing the same music. There are three concerts this week. I will definitely go to two of them. As for the rest of the week, the only thing I know is I will not be cleaning.

Restoring Coffee is still a work in progress.