The rain is pounding the roof. It is supposed to rain all day, but I’m okay with that as I have nowhere I need to go. I love to listen to the sound of rain while I stay cozy inside surrounded by warm, sleeping dogs. The day is fall hottish, in the low 60’s. The air is still. Rain is all there is.

When I was a kid, one of my all-time favorite books was Little Women. I got it for Christmas one year and got so involved with the March family I read the book every chance I got. Jo was my favorite. She was out of the ordinary. She spoke her mind. She cut her hair against all convention so her mother could travel to Washington DC to tend to her father. She was brave.

Yesterday the concert was at an adult day care. Five of us played. The audience was in a semi circle in front of us. I watched them. In the back a couple of men sang along so quietly moving lips were what gave them away. On one side three women sat. One of the woman looked especially attentive then the next minute she was asleep. She woke up a few times, listened for a bit then napped again. I think they liked the concert. We got applause from the men in the back.

I do love chocolate in all of its incarnations. I think I inherited that from my father, the king of sweets. When my parents came to visit, I always had a chocolate cream pie for my dad. He didn’t share. I had biscotti for my mother, but I didn’t make it. I bought it at the bakery. She loved to dunk it in coffee though she was never a coffee drinker. She was a biscotti eater.

I love jigsaw puzzles. When my mother was here, we’d sit by the table in the den and do the puzzle together. She had one going on the dining room table at her house. I got a new puzzle every Christmas. As I got older, the pieces got smaller and more numerous. Now I favor 500 pieces. They fit best on my table.

I knew someone who used to steal a piece of whatever puzzle my friends and I were working on. She thought it was funny. We never did.

Nala has all her toys out of the basket onto the floor. I can hear squeaking. The one toy she wants is always at the bottom. Such is life.

The day is dreary. Rain is predicted for today and the next few days, but it is warmish, in the low 60’s. I have a concert this afternoon, but after that I will resume the sloth life at which I have become adept.

Today, my muse has deserted me. I keep writing then erasing when I hit a dead end. I guess this will have to be a stream of consciousness, scattered thoughts and ideas.

I remember sitting on a bus where a couple of women were facing each other at the front and chatting. One of them took took out a cigarette, lit it and absent mindedly put the wrong end in her mouth. She sputtered and spit.

I seldom sleep on planes, even long flights. I remember reading Gone with the Wind the entire flight to London. On my last trip to Accra, I read and played games on my iPad, all ten hours overnight.

My mother, sister and I went to Iceland. It was a cheap trip because it was winter. Our hotel was a short bus ride away from the center of Reykjavik. We had to wait outside for the bus. It was freezing, numbingly freezing. We wandered around the city where somehow we found an Irish pub. The Irish coffee warmed my mother.

Around the seventh or eighth week of Peace Corps training, a few of us, actually three of us, hitchhiked together to Accra for the weekend. We wandered the city getting to know it. I was carrying my pocketbook, a straw one with leather straps. It had a little bit of money, cedis, but nothing much else. I remember we were walking across a bridge when I felt a tug on my bag. A guy had grabbed one strap and was trying to steal it. I held on to the other and we both pulled in a tug of war. His strap gave and he ran off with the one strap. The two guys I was with just watched. They said I seemed to be doing just fine by myself and didn’t seem to need help.

In Finland I seldom knew what I was eating. The second language is Swedish which didn’t help. I pointed at pictures of food to order my meals. I was mostly lucky. It all tasted good. Besides, not knowing what I was eating was probably a good thing.

I backpacked through many European trips making me the typical young American traveler. Later, I used suitcases instead. I always figured that was adulthood.

I figured out long ago how to enjoy life. I still do every day.

If you checked the dictionary for fall day, you’d see a picture of today. It is 63° with a light breeze, a bright, warm sun and a cornflower blue sky with a few scattered clouds. Nala stays outside enjoying the day. Henry comes in hoping for a treat but disappointedly goes back outside to join Nala. Henry is the noisy dog. Nala is the sneaky dog.

My dance card has one item left, a uke concert tomorrow. If you’re counting, it is the 4th uke event of the week. We’re still playing cowboy songs. Yesterday I wore an old felt black cowboy hat and a bandana. The hat was once part of a cowgirl outfit. The crowd clapped and sang along. It was fun.

I’m on a peanut butter kick. I have it for breakfast and lunch. It is super chunky peanut butter. This morning I had it on the end piece of the loaf I had just opened. I put some honey on it in a decorative pattern. We all liked it. Even in Ghana I ate peanut butter sold in the market as groundnut paste, a soup starter. It was thick, bread tearing thick, so I used groundnut oil to thin it. I always had a jar of groundnut paste in the kitchen.

When I was a kid, my life was a certainty. Weekdays I went to school. What to wear was never a choice. I wore my uniform. I sat at my desk and plodded through the day. For lunch it was usually a sandwich and cookies. Both varied depending upon how close to shopping day it was. The lunch was bountiful early in the week. After school, we played on the street or in the field. We played hard. The afternoon was short.

Fall is almost in full swing. The leaves are changing. Yesterday I saw trees with red leaves and others with yellow leaves. They stood out from among the leafy green trees. Cranberries have been harvested from the bogs. The sun is sharper. At night the air is cool and even cold. Darkness comes early. My street seems to come to life at night. There are lights shining from every house. It has a cozy feel.

We seem to be in a rainy season of sorts. The street was wet when I woke up, and rain is predicted for today. I do think I just saw a bit of light behind the clouds, but that may be an illusion, the result of wistful thinking.

I am no longer Queen Sloth. Oh! the horror of it all. Yesterday I cleared out a large cabinet, washed all the bowls and pans I found and vacuumed the bottom of the cabinet. I then put the clean dishes in plastic bags and rearranged the cabinet when I put everything back. At least the effort was worthwhile. I found treasures. There is a fruit serving bowl with matching plates, Easter dishes, Mexican dishes and Day of the Dead serving pieces. I found my Marie Antoinette salt and pepper set, my favorite find. Her head comes off and holds the pepper, her torso the salt.

When I was growing up, we used plastic, unbreakable dinner plates and serving pieces my mother had bought at the supermarket every week. They had a decoration, what looked like sheaves of wheat. I remember if a plate fell it wobbled and made a noise on the kitchen linoleum. Once in a while one would crack but never break. We used those dishes for years.

Our glasses were a mishmash. The only matching glasses were aluminum in bright colors. A blue pitcher completed the set. We had several small glasses perfect for servings of pudding. They had held shrimp in tomato sauce, the key ingredient to a shrimp dip my mother always served at parties. We had the usual grape jelly glasses with cartoon figures. Roadrunner was my favorite. The best glasses were stored on the top shelf to keep them safe from slippery fingers.

When we were older and living on our own, we’d often visit. My mother would set a traditional table in the dining room for Sunday dinners and holidays. She had matching sets of plates, even a Christmas set. There was always a tablecloth, not plastic, and matching napkins. The silverware was placed beside the dishes, and we each even had a knife. I loved the look of those tables. In my memory, they are special times, festive times, family times.

Today is one of those fall days which can’t seem to make up its mind. It rained, the rain stopped, the sun came out but now the sun is gone. The house was chilly when I woke up. I wanted to stay in bed, but both dogs were insistent that I get up to let them out so I did. I am a mere peasant in my own home.

My dance card is filled this week. Besides household chores, I have a uke event every day from Tuesday through Friday with two, a lesson and a concert, on Wednesday. I’d stay home those days if I didn’t have my uke. I’d be the queen sloth.

When I was a kid, I didn’t know anybody who played a musical instrument except when I was in the first grade, and we were all in the rhythm band where I mastered the triangle. I remember being in the second row. The sticks were in the first row so they could rhythmically tap the floor with their sticks. Practice was in the big room in the cellar of the school. We had a concert. Parents came. I was so very proud of my performance. I played a mean triangle.

When I was growing up, I loved soup. My favorite was the universal favorite, Campbell’s chicken noodle soup with Saltines on the side. I used to break the crackers in half and put them in the bowl. They’d float on the top of the soup until they got soggy. That was when I liked them best. Sometimes, on the very coldest winter days, my mother would fill my lunch box thermos with soup, chicken noodle of course. She’d always add the Saltines. My second favorite soup was tomato. It was always served with a grilled cheese sandwich which was dunked into the soup. My mother made the best grilled cheese sandwiches with the bread perfectly browned and the cheese, always Velveeta, gooey.

I am a fan of sandwiches. I use my panini press. I fill the bread with anything left in my fridge. My favorite has cheese, avocados and a meat of some sorts, all topped with horseradish sauce. Even thinking about it makes my mouth water.

I am way behind my time. This morning I went to The Owl show at the community center. A slide show was first then came the owls. I saw owls of all different sizes and one kestrel up close. One of the moderators mimicked a few different owl hoots. Most of the owls had been injured in some way which prevented their return to the wild. It was fascinating.

It is a bit chilly today. I am glad for the storm doors. I’m wearing my chilly weather ensemble: flannel pants, socks and a hoodie. I’ve no plans for the rest of the day. I still have that maybe I’ll do it list, but I’m feeling sloth like. After all, I did set an alarm this morning.

The weather report is for rain tomorrow. We’re supposed to have an outdoor concert in Hyannis, but that looks doubtful. But if the rain holds off and we do have the concert, they’ll be no Coffee tomorrow.

When I was a kid, on a Saturday sometime before Halloween, we’d pick out our pumpkins. I was always partial to one with a tall curved stem on the top. Either my mother or father would cut a circle around the top so we could take it off intact. Our jobs were to clean out the insides of the pumpkin, the gross insides of the pumpkins. We did the cleaning with the pumpkins sitting on pages of the newspaper covering the kitchen table. I didn’t mind the seeds, but I did mind the strings of pulp, the guts, hanging from my fingers as I pulled them from inside. I think I gagged. After I had pulled out as much as possible, it was time to give my pumpkin a face. The finished pumpkins pretty much looked the same every year with their triangular eyes, a matching nose and a wide grin. When I was older, I sometimes jaggedly cut the mouth, or I gave the pumpkin a tooth right in the middle of his grin. The look of it didn’t matter. I loved seeing my pumpkin lit up by an inside candle and sitting on the front steps.

I have a small sugar pumpkin on the front steps, but I think I may buy a big one for carving. Given my artistic talent, it will have triangle eyes, a matching nose and a big grin with a tooth or two.

Today has a bit of a burden being Friday the 13th. Though I don’t think of myself as superstitious, the day does give me pause so I’ll not walk under a ladder or open an umbrella in the house. I’ll have to keep an eye on Jack, my black cat.

Yesterday I did my to do. I was exhausted. I brought up the two storm door windows by moving them corner to corner and one stair at a time. I then cleaned the glasses and hoisted the windows onto the doors. Those glass sections were so heavy I was surprised I didn’t break one of them or parts of me. Next, I dragged out boxes of fall and halloween decorations. They were under other boxes which had to be moved first. I then brought the boxes upstairs and decorated parts of three rooms. I still have two more boxes to rummage through as I’m missing my monsters, my crows and my rats.

I have some new cardboard decorations. They remind me of the cardboard figures we had when I was a kid. We used to tape them to the picture window in the living room. One new figure, a skeleton, is exactly like the one we used to have. Its arms and legs can be moved. The other is a witch whose arms around her broom can be moved. I also have a pumpkin and a black cat. I have a heavy cardboard pumpkin bowl with short sides. I put that on the table in the living room. Later, I heard something landing on the floor in the dining room. I investigated. It was that bowl. Ghosts?

Hung on my front storm door is a skeleton dressed in a nun’s habit. It always reminds me of my aunt the nun. I even call the skeleton Aunt Helen. I swear the habit looks exactly as hers did when she wore one except there is no rosary around the skeleton’s waist. It would bang against the glass.

I love the old black and white horror moves. I have a collection of all the greats: Frankenstein, Dracula, The Wolfman, The Invisible Man and the Mummy. They get me into the spirit.

Today is shot day, three of them.

Today is another perfect fall day. We have a bright sun, and the temperature is 66 degrees. The tallest leaves on the trees in the back of the yard are shining in the sunlight, and an every now and then bit of a breeze stirs them. Nala is lying in the sun in her favorite spot. She comes inside panting.

When I was a kid, I walked when I couldn’t ride my bike. I had to walk to and from school. I’d walk uptown to the movie theater on Saturdays. I walked to church on Sundays. I didn’t complain unless it was raining. I hated to spend the day in school with wet, squishy shoes and wet, stringy hair. Back then, my mother didn’t know how to drive so we only had the one car, the one my father drove to work everyday. My mother didn’t learn to drive until we lived on the cape, but when she did, it didn’t matter much to me. I still walked to school everyday.

Every summer when I was in college, I worked at the Hyannis post office. We temps were hired so the regulars could get weekends free. I sorted mail. Behind the sales windows was the open floor where we sorted at different stations for different places. I first worked the main board where all the mail was sorted into stations for further sorting. I was quick so I often ended up with the postcards. I swear there were thousands of post cards on each two foot storage tray, but the problem wasn’t the number. It was the post mark. Because the post cards were thin, they went through the cancelling machine in piles. The top one would be the only one cancelled. I used to throw the uncanceled ones on the floor below my feet. The foreman would pick them up. He never complained to me. He was just happy I’d agree to sort them.

I don’t have a to do list. That seems to be such a burden, sort of being obligated. I might do, but I might not do.

It rained earlier, but I missed it. The sun was here, but it is now gone. The wind is blowing even the tallest branches. Today is not the best of days, but it does have one saving grace. The temperature is warmish at 64°. The house was colder than that when I woke up so I turned on the heat. It is still blasting. I’ll turn it off once the house is warm.

My larder is just about empty. I see a trip to the grocery store in my near future. I need bread, the staff of life, because I ate the last piece this morning, toasted. I need cream for my coffee and peanut butter. I’m also thinking hot dogs and rolls, my go to dinners.

The uke dominates my dance card this week. My practice is tonight, my lesson tomorrow and a concert on the weekend. We are singing cowboy songs this month. One of them is Happy Trails. I remember Roy on Trigger and Dale on Buttercup singing that song at the end of their TV show while they were riding off, proverbially, into the sunset. Another dance card entry is for Friday, shot day for flu, Covid and RSV.

The shot day I remember most was just after I got to Ghana. On the first or second morning at our Winneba training venue, the cafeteria tables were moved into an L shape. The area behind the tables was manned by needle toting health aides. We were in one giant line which went slowly because of the stops at each vaccine station. I got typhoid, paratyphoid, diphtheria, tetanus, rabies and the easy one, polio vaccine. In a separate room we got gamma globulin as it was a butt shot. We had gotten yellow fever before we left the US. We also started anti-malaria pills, aralen. The day after these shots I had a fever as did most of us.

Before our travels to South America, my friend, who was my fellow traveler, and I got shots. We had to drive to Boston to get them. I don’t remember how many we got, but I do remember it was in two visits. My friend was afraid of needles. After each shot she had to put her head between knees so she wouldn’t faint. All I could think of was that day in Ghana. She would never have lasted that line-up of shots.

Today, despite the bright sun, is chilly at 62°. The chill will stay around all day, but I don’t mind as I’m warm in my trusty sweater shirt and socks and have no inclination to go outside.

This morning I had my usual cups of coffee and I added toast. I don’t know why, but the toast reminded me of breakfast in Ghana. It was the same every morning, but I didn’t really mind. The water for my coffee and the eggs were cooked on a small round charcoal burner. The bread was toasted by leaning it around the burner. The eggs were fried in groundnut oil, peanut oil here. They were delicious. I’d also have another cup of coffee after teaching my first class. My house was on school grounds, a walk of a couple of minutes from the classroom block. I always went home between classes.

Lunch was fresh cut fruit: bananas, oranges, pineapple, pawpaw (papaya) and mango. That was the first time I tasted mango and papaya. Probably even the first time I ever saw them. The oranges were small, sweet and green. I remember mountains (slight exaggeration here) of oranges for sale in the market.

Dinner was generally beef but sometimes chicken. The beef was cooked for a while in a tomato sauce to help tenderize it, but you could also rub the beef with pawpaw, a natural tenderizer. I always had yam, mashed yam. I’d slather it with margarine, butter being an expensive import, as the yam was usually dry. I drank water at lunch and dinner.

For sweets, I could buy Cadbury chocolate bars or Tree bars from Ghana. I also used to buy Fan ice cream, a term used loosely here, in small triangular packages. They were sold by bike riding vendors with a freezer box on the front of their bikes. I also bought bofrot, sold by small girls from a wooden box with glass sides carried on their heads. The bofrot were puffy and round like a donut hole. They are still one of my favorite Ghanaian foodstuffs.

My all time favorites are jollof rice and kelewele. I never tired of them. On all trips back I did the same, eaten my fill as often as I could. On my last trip I think I had jollof rice every dinner.