After all the rain, this beautiful morning is welcome. The bright green leaves are brilliant in the brightness of the sun. The flowers in the front yard, the blues and the whites, are striking. It is already 71°. I can taste summer.

When I was a kid, a day like today was my favorite sort of day. Walking to school in the warmth of the sun gave me the energy to face the grueling day ahead. I remember the trees with their overhanging branches filled with leaves. The houses along the sidewalk were old. Some had porches. Ivy climbed the walls. Along the way there were still railroad tracks crossing the road and continuing out of sight on both sides of the road. We used to jump over them. I remember the station master’s house. I always thought it would have been a great place to live. I’d get to hear the trains pass and watch the bar come down to stop the cars. On one side of the street was a long grass hill, part of the landscaping of the old brick high school. Before we got to our school, we could see part of the convent, the little building with the stone front. The convent was huge with so many windows in the front. We knew those windows were in the nuns’ rooms. I always imagined those rooms were stark with a bed, a bureau and a cross on the wall. Across the street from the convent was my school.

When I graduated from the eighth grade, we had a class picture taken. We sat in front of the convent. Many years later I found that picture. It was rolled, and the picture cracked when I unrolled it. I decided I wanted to save it so I took it to a photography shop where a copy was made and mounted for hanging. I see it every day. It is over the sink in my downstairs bathroom. That probably sounds like an odd spot for a school picture, but my bathroom has sorts of school stuff including a small rolled desk where I keep soap and hand towels. The room even has a blackboard. Ding Dong school artifacts are on the side of the sink and under the blackboard. On the walls are old class pictures and diplomas I bought. I don’t know anyone in the pictures or any of the names on the diplomas. I chose the school theme as something unexpected for the bathroom.

I have to miss my concert today to take Henry to the vet’s to check his leg, but not to worry, I have two more concerts this week and the usual practice and lesson. Uke events again are the only entries on my dance card.

For special days, I have traditional postings. This is one of them. 

Memorial Day is a day for reflection and a day to give thanks. It is a day for honoring the men and women who died while serving in the U.S. military, those who gave, as President Lincoln once said, their “…last full measure of devotion.” This is my annual tribute. 

Memorial Day, originally called Decoration Day, is a day of remembrance for those who have died in our nation’s service. It originated during the American Civi War when citizens placed flowers on the graves of those who had been killed in battle. There are many stories as to its actual beginnings, with over two dozen cities and towns laying claim to being the birthplace of Memorial Day. There is also evidence that organized women’s groups in the South were decorating graves before the end of the Civil War: a hymn published in 1867, “Kneel Where Our Loves are Sleeping” by Nella L. Sweet carried the dedication “To The Ladies of the South who are Decorating the Graves of the Confederate Dead.” 

While Waterloo N.Y. was officially declared the birthplace of Memorial Day by President Lyndon Johnson in May 1966, it’s difficult to prove conclusively the origins of the day. It is more likely that it had many separate beginnings; each of those towns and every planned or spontaneous gathering of people to honor the war dead in the 1860′s tapped into the general human need to honor our dead, each contributed honorably to the growing movement that culminated in General Logan, Commander in Chief of the Grand Army of the Republic, giving his official proclamation in 1868 designating May 30 as a memorial day “.. for the purpose of strewing with flowers or otherwise decorating the graves of comrades who died in defense of their country during the late rebellion, and whose bodies now lie in almost every city, village, and hamlet churchyard in the land.” It is not important who was the very first, what is important is that Memorial Day was established. Memorial Day is not about division. It is about reconciliation; it is about coming together to honor those who gave their all.

Even though it is 60°, I’m wearing a sweatshirt and socks. The house is so cold the butter hardened. The day is quite ugly. The sky is filled with clouds. It is an inside day.

I can hear a lawnmower disturbing the morning. A few cars went up my street. Somebody walked by the house. Henry barked. He always barks.

When I worked, Saturday was my chore day. I changed the bed and cleaned the house. I grocery shopped. Some Saturday nights I’d get together with friends. We’d eat and play games. Saturday has always been my favorite day.

When I was a kid, Saturday was the day to do whatever I wanted. On warm days I’d ride around. I never really had a destination. I’d ride by myself. None of my neighborhood friends were big on bike rides. My closest neighborhood friend didn’t even have a bike. I couldn’t imagine life without my bike, without the freedom of the ride. Nothing came close to the sound and feel of the wind as I rode down a hill as fast as I could. I’d take my feet off the pedals and hold my legs out. I’d let the hill propel me. It was as close as I came to flying.

I don’t like plain black licorice. I do like black jelly beans, Good and Plenty and black Necco Wafers. I used to buy a box of Good and Plenty for a nickel at the movie theater. Sometimes the pieces were stale. The outsides cracked when I bit them. I didn’t really mind, mostly because I had low standards. Candy is good almost no matter what. Besides, the stale pieces lasted longer than the fresh ones did. They were a workout for my jaw.

I remember eating TV dinners. They were a treat. The dinners came on aluminum foil divided sort of dishes and were baked. I remember chicken, mashed potatoes, peas and a cherry dessert. The package had a picture of the dinner on the front which looked delicious. The only thing I was keen about was the hot pie desserts.

The bookcase in my bedroom goes from side to side on one wall. It is plain wood. A friend build it maybe forty years or so ago. On it I keep, beside books, some treasures. The only Barbie doll I own is on the top shelf. Barbies came after my childhood. This one is a Ghanaian Barbie wearing Kente cloth, the handwoven cloth from Ghana. There are nostalgic pieces on the shelves like small plastic Howdy Doody, Mr. Bluster and Dilly Dally toys. A stuffed Mikey Mouse is there as are a few small tin toys. That filled bookcase is my of my favorite pieces of furniture because of those treasures and memories it holds.

I apologize for the lateness of the hour, but it has been one of those mornings. The pine pollen has started. It covers my windshield and most of my car; consequently, I am wheezing and having trouble breathing. I guess, though, that too has a weird sort of upside. If I do anything requiring exertion, I have to stop to breathe. I figure I’ll just have to relax for most of the day except I do need to put bags in the trunk, but for that I’ll use my carriage, the one for hauling all my uke stuff. My nose is permanently clogged. I should probably carry a handkerchief in my back pocket the way my father did or stuffed up the cuff of my sleeve the way the nuns did.

Henry has a vet appointment for Tuesday to check the reason for his limp and to get the medication for his eye allergy.

We are back to needing sweatshirts. The high today will be 59° while the low will be 50°. The sky is mostly cloudy but a glint of sun is managing to break through.

When I was a kid, my dog was Duke, a boxer. He gave me a love for boxers which has never diminished. Henry is my first non-boxer, but the tradition continues with Nala. Duke was scrabby and stubborn. He was also protective and loving. Nobody would have dared mess with us if Duke was with us. The house down the street had a dog Duke hated. They went after each other when they could. The dog was bigger than Duke who was small, the runt of his litter. One fight was horrendous. Duke got the worst of it. His neck was torn. My mother wanted him taken to the vet. My father said Duke would take care of it, licking it and cleaning it. That was when my father was away working all week so while he was gone, my mother took Duke to the vet where he got medication against infection and his wound cleaned. He got small stitches below his neck. You could’t see them. When my father got home, he mentioned how great the wound looked, how well Duke had done. My mother said nothing.

When I was growing up, I believed most things I was told. My mother had her admonitions about blindness, balls of stomach gum, giant knuckles and death from drowning, and I never questioned her. The nuns too had their warnings about sin and hell so I stayed on the straight and narrow rather than risk the devil and eternal hellfire.

My weekend dance card is empty except for a dump run. I figure I’ll go on Sunday as sort of paying homage to my father.

Yesterday was hellishly warm for May, maybe even for August. The heat had me reconsidering my life. Was I virtuous enough to avoid hell? Could I escape eternal damnation? I certainly hope I am.

Last night it rained for only a short while, but it set the stage for today’s weather. It is 61° with light showers. Earlier, my usual quiet morning was jolted by the sound of a tree company parked next door felling some pine trees and chipping the downed branches and trees from that big storm a while back. The tree which had landed on my back fence is gone. I now have to brace the fence as it is leaning. I tried before, but the fence is heavy by itself let alone with a leaning pine tree. That chore is for another day.

My dance card has only chores on it including a dump run tomorrow. Today, I’m going to finish cleaning the dining room and try to start on my room which has boxes and clothes all over, the start of my switching winter for summer clothes. I figure it being the end of May that task needs to be completed.

My father was a lawn specialist in his own way. He used a hand mower his whole life. Every spring he had it sharpened. He cut his lawn in the same pattern most summer Saturdays. I loved the sound of that mower, the click click as he pushed it across the lawn. The grass flew out from the blade. He always raked with his bamboo rake, later his metal rake. Some teeth of that rake were bent but made no difference. I remember the cuffs of my father’s pants had grass in them from the flying blades of his mower.

The only ukulele players I remember are Arthur Godfrey, Big Brother Bob Emery and Tiny Tim. Bob Emery was the host of Big Brother, a show on TV in the 50’s when I was a kid. His theme song was The Grass Is Always Greener in the Other Fellow’s Yard which he accompanied with his uke. I sang along but didn’t really understand what the song was about. Toward the start of the show, we drank a milk toast to a picture of President Eisenhower while Hail to the Chief played in the background. I remember I saw him in person one July 4th during the yearly festivities in Wakefield, the town next to mine. He was in the middle of the bandstand surrounded by kids. I was one. He was wearing his usual sports coat and tie. I remember the coat always looked checkered on TV. I was right behind him. I remember a bug was on his neck.

We are still enjoying the loveliest weather. The sun is just brilliant. Everything seems to gleam. The blue sky is deep and cloudless. A breeze moves through the branches. It is already 70°. Tomorrow will be similar but the rest of the week will fall back to the 60’s. I guess Mother Nature doesn’t want to spoil us.

My house is out to get me, not to the Amityville Horror degree but still noticeable. The front door you know about. It ate my finger last week and sent me crashing to the ground. This morning the shower curtain fell again. I left it on the floor and took my shower anyway, cleanliness being next to Godliness. I’m going to haul my step ladder upstairs and try again. When I walk through the house, I am ever vigilant. Where are the ants, the gnats and the mice? They are either hiding or my attempts to eradicate them are working. Speaking of mice, I saw what I thought was part of a branch on the floor, one of Nala’s trophies. Nope, it was the carcass of a petrified mouse, probably another Nala trophy. I tossed it away from the house.

When I was a kid, I was never a girly girl. I preferred pants and blouses to dresses. I wore sneakers. In the summer, I’d wear clam diggers or shorts. In the winter it was jeans. I reluctantly had to wear a uniform to school and a skirt or dress to church. We had to wear dresses or skirts to drill competitions. It was usually hot so we were often uncomfortable. Ironically, I was posted to Peace Corps Ghana where women, at least back then, did not wear pants. Given the heat, though, dresses were actually cool so I adapted.

My mother made supper every night. It was usually meat, potatoes, usually mashed, and a vegetable. The veggies, except for summer corn, were canned. The food wasn’t elaborate, but it was always tasty. She only served vegetables we’d eat making for a peaceful mealtime. We’d grab cookies for dessert. Oreos were a favorite. We’d usually eat those in front of the TV after dinner. Because I live alone and don’t want to make the effort, I seldom make supper. My friend Elaine has been feeding me. She doesn’t have leftovers. She has supper for me. I’ve enjoyed her cooking and like having elaborate dishes instead of a sandwich or buttered crackers. The other night was an exception. I had a pork tenderloin which had lived in my freezer for a longtime. I had bought 3 pounds of potatoes for 48¢ from the bargain bin. Even though they still had a couple of weeks of life, this seemed the perfect time. I had peas and corn in the freezer so I used them. I cleared out my oven which I use as a cabinet and baked the meat and potatoes. Supper was delicious. I even got to enjoy it again last night, will again tonight and probably tomorrow night.

I have a concert this afternoon and practice tonight. I do need cream and cat food so a grocery stop is also on my dance card. Tomorrow too will be uke busy, but for the rest of the week I have only a dump run. I’m looking forward to doing pretty much nothing.

Today is more May than yesterday. For the concert we sat in the sun on the concrete sidewalk. It was in the mid-70’s. The sun beat me down despite the straw hat and the cold water. The concert though was wonderful as was the audience.They hung around and sang along with The Beach Boy songs. Today will stay in the 60’s. It is clear and sunny with a breeze. While my coffee was brewing, I stood outside for a while and watched the dogs. It was pleasant standing there.

I will continue my cleaning frenzy today. The dining room is next. It is better than the living room was. I can’t write a novel in the dust, only a short story.

When I was a kid, I think May was my favorite month. The air was sweet with flowers. The trees were green and full. Some mornings a sweater was enough. We dawdled a bit on the walk to school. In the afternoons we could play outside longer every day. My bike stayed out of the cellar.

I believed pretty much everything my mother told me. She was the explainer. Carrots helped me see in the dark. Beggars can’t be choosers though I had no idea what that meant until I was older, but it did stop me in my tracks as it was meant to. I had this vision of a lump of gum sitting for years in my stomach. Lying not only made my nose grow but it also turned my tongue black. Santa keeps his eyes on you all year long which is sort of creepy if you think about it. Crossing my eyes and sticking out my tongue could be causes of permanent facial deformation. Drinking coffee would stunt my growth. Eating too much chocolate would cause acne. I never went outside with wet hair as I didn’t want to court a cold. I believed that chocolate milk came from brown cows. When I was older, I realized that my mother believed some of these things she told us like not swimming after eating so we wouldn’t get cramps and drown and not sitting close to the TV so we wouldn’t go blind, but others were lies with good intentions.

My dance card has my weekly uke events but the schedule is a bit weird. On Tuesday I have both a concert and my usual practice while on Wednesday I have my lesson and an afternoon concert. I still need a dump run and a few groceries. Life goes on.

Today is perfectly lovely. It is a day to sit outside and bask in the warmth of the sun. We have already hit 64°. A slight breeze is ruffling the oak leaves. The blue sky is striking. I think I need a bit of deck time.

When I came downstairs this morning, I noticed I had forgotten to shut the back door. I’ve done that before so it is not an indicator of creeping dementia. The last time I did Henry went out and didn’t come in because for him the dog door is only one way, out. That time his barking woke me up so I went downstairs to let him back into the house. This time he stayed put.

Things seem to carry with us the whole of our lives. When I was a kid, I read all the science fiction books in the town library. They were on a tall, narrow shelf on the wall behind the librarian’s desk. There weren’t so many of them so it was easy to read them all. I still read science fiction. I loved the classic monster movies like Dracula and The Mummy. Every Halloween now I watch one or two of them. I alternate. When I was 11, I vowed I would travel. I would see the world. It is a vow I have kept the whole of my life. The sights I have seen amaze me, tickle me. It was when I was in the eighth grade that President Kennedy started the Peace Corps. I knew I’d serve some day. I held on to that dream, maybe even that expectation, through high school and college. I still remember the joy I felt when I received my acceptance letter. I was going to Africa, a place I hadn’t imagined.

As for the more mundane hanging around after all these years, I have always hated beans of any sort but especially baked beans. I find them disgusting looking. I liked cream corn but hated to look at it and didn’t want it to slide into any other food on my plate. I feel the same about oozing cream corn. When I was young, people served Jello with fruits suspended inside. I didn’t like Jello anyway, and, when served with the fruit, it looked almost alien. I could imagine the fruit having huge teeth and chomping on the spoon. I have never eaten Jello.

I have a to do list for today including a trip to the dump. I want to polish the living room furniture with a real cloth instead of my sweatshirt sleeve. I’ll vacuum the dog hair balls in the hall. They mar my sensibilities. I’ll water the plants.

I may not have time tomorrow to write and publish Coffee. I have an early concert and will be leaving home around 10:40. It is our first outdoor concert, and the weather will be perfect, in the 70’s, yup, the 70’s.

Today is an ugly day. It is cloudy and cold, at 56°. It is a hold your cup between your hands to keep your hands warm day. The dogs stay in and sleep on the couch. They are into comfort. They are my role models.

When I was a kid, I never thought about really getting old. I couldn’t wait until I was a teenager then I wanted to be the magic age of twenty one which brought voting and drinking legally. My first presidential election was between Humphrey-Nixon. My choice lost though later I felt vindicated. When I was in Washington the summer of Watergate, I saw Senator Humphrey and had him sign the book I was reading, Isaac Asimov’s Foundation series. Somehow it seemed the perfect book for him. I still have the book and have flagged it as a keeper on my bookshelf. My next milestone was turning thirty, the mantra of never trusting anyone over thirty in my head. After that, celebrations on my birthdays got sketchy. I remember 50 and 70 as special. I figure the next special will be 80.

I see the world through young eyes in an old body. It has been a while, but I’m still adjusting. I keep thinking I can do what I can no longer do. I can’t, but I keep trying. The problem will be solved if I get a Sherpa, a handyman, a house cleaner and a lady’s maid. Maybe I should take out some ads!

I love roosters welcoming the morning. It is like they know how good a new day is every day. I had a rooster in Ghana. He was brown. He was loud. He was still around when I left. When I went back for the first time, a rooster crowing outside my window woke me up. I listened for a while then fell back to sleep. I was happy to hear the rooster. He made me smile.

I have an Alexa and a Google. I favor the Alexa. The Google is ridiculous at times. Yesterday I asked my Google how far it is between the Hawaiian Islands and California. He told me he couldn’t find driving instructions. I reframed the question, necessary for using Google, and asked again, same answer, common for Google. I asked my Alexa the exact same first question. She told me 2400 miles. Sometimes my idiot Google doesn’t give an answer but says something nonsensical. I’ve decided to switch the kitchen Alexa for the frustrating den Google. I’m hoping Google can figure out kitchen equivalents. Alexa surely could.

On my dance card, tomorrow is my household work day. I want to dust and water plants and maybe do a dump run as I can’t on Sunday as I have my first outdoor concert of the season. It is supposed to be the warmest day so far this spring, 68°, so I’m looking forward to lots of sun and strumming.