What a surprise! Today will be mostly cloudy, but it will be Cape Cod spring warm at 59°. I have a few errands, mostly Agway for dog and cat food and a few flowers for the front pots by the steps. I’m thinking pansies in honor of my father who always planted them in the front garden of our duplex. I’m thinking perky yellow flowers. I also need to stop at the hardware store for some blue paint and some heavy duty glue.

I always call my dogs’ paws their feet. The front two have elbows while the back two have knees. Nala uses her front feet for whacking me and Henry. She is, after all, a boxer. Henry jumps off his back feet into the air when he is excited, especially around dinner time. All four feet get off the ground.

I tend to graze. Most days I don’t feel like cooking. I’ll grab cheese and crackers or peanut butter and crackers or just crackers. The other day it was fig jam and crackers, a gourmet delight.

When I was a kid, I watched westerns. They were the popular shows. Jim Bowie was a fearless adventuring man. Bat Masterson had a cane and wore a derby. He was dapper. My favorites were Sugarfoot, Cheyenne and Maverick, but I am no longer a fan of westerns though I do watch The Lone Ranger every now and then for a bit of nostalgia.

I watched The Horror of Party Beach released in 1964. To say it is bad is a compliment. The monster has two legs. He is covered in what looks like palm leaves. His eyes don’t move except to jiggle. His head is ridiculous looking with fins, an open mouth and several teeth. The man inside sees through his neck. The first victim took the longest time to die. She was screaming the whole time. No one noticed. They were too busy dancing the Zombie Stomp on the beach practicing, it looked like, to be extras in The Walking Dead. The scientist smokes a pipe. I wonder if there are patches on the elbows of his jacket. Eulabell is his maid. I’ll stop here as I wouldn’t want to be a spoiler.

The dogs are sleeping beside me. The house is quiet. It feels like a good day.

Today had sun which as since disappeared. The morning is chilly, only 50°. The dogs’ barking, especially Henry’s, got me out of bed. It was a neighbor at the door. It was 9:30. Now, an hour later, I am ready to face the world fortified by two cups of coffee.

When I was a kid, every day was new and every day was old. On week days, I walked to school. I sat at my desk until lunch and potty break. Geography and English were my favorite subjects. I always had a book hidden in my desk hoping I could sneak in a few pages, but in the eighth grade, I got lucky. I hit pay dirt. I sat by the window and the bookcases, and that is where I hid my book. I used to slip it between the pages of my textbook to read it. I read The House of Seven Gables, Oliver Twist, Dracula and more that year. I never got caught, but I came close once. I was reading, wearing the head phones from my transistor radio and eating Mint Julep candy, the hard green candy which needed a strong jaw, when Sister Hildegard called on me. I heard my name and stood up. She spoke louder. She thought I was hard of hearing or why else would I have head phones. She didn’t notice the lump in my cheek.

Saturdays were always new. Mostly the weather determined what I’d do. Winter was easy. I’d often go to the matinee in the movie theater up-town. That’s where my love for movies started. They never showed new movies. I even saw The Wizard of Oz there. Of all the cartoons they showed before the movies, Road Runner was my favorite. I had a nickel for candy and always chose something long lasting like Sugar Daddy Pops. My teeth took a beating. Other winter Saturdays were for skating and sledding.

Once the weather warmed, I walked all over town or rode my bike. I remember trips to the library and filling my bike basket with books. I remember jumping over the railroad ties which had double OO’s on them or I’d cause my mother’s back to break.

Sundays were old and new. Church never really changed except for the sermons. I always wished for a hidden book. We sometimes spent the day at the beach. We went to Gloucester. The water was cold. My mother packed great lunches. Pepper and eggs in a roll was my favorite. Other times we went to East Boston to my grandparents’. Those visits were always the same.

We went to bed early on Sunday nights.

I see the sun and a blue sky. The day is calm. It is in the low 50’s, typical weather for spring on Cape Cod. It is a quiet morning. Henry is waiting for his sip of coffee. Nala is outside sitting in the sun.

When my close my eyes, I can see the past. I remember places and moments and, most of all, I remember people. I don’t remember what my first grade nun looked like, but I remember her name, Sister Redempta. I remember she scared me. My classroom had two doors, one led to the cloak room and the other to the stairs. I remember sitting at my desk with my hands folded while I waited for my row to be called so I could leave at the end of the day. Sometimes I had soup in my thermos for lunch. I remember my mother always packed Saltines.

I once had a boy’s bike, an old bike with a thick middle bar. The bike had been painted. I rode it to school some days, warm days. I remember holding the handlebars and running then hurrying to put one leg over the bar so I could get on my bike.

On the day I checked into staging in Philadelphia for the Peace Corps, I waited in line for my turn. I remember standing there. We were downstairs in the hotel. I had a few papers with me I hadn’t sent. One was my physical and the other my fingerprints. I was asked for both. I handed them over, and I was officially checked in to go to Ghana. I remember Ralph was in line behind me.

Our flight to Ghana was a charter. I sat toward the back. I remember we got off and stretched our legs in Madrid. I remember when we were back on the plane ready too take off, and my seat belt was stuck, and I couldn’t unstick it. I wondered if anybody would notice.

The first person I knew who left Ghana to go home was from New York. He was a heavy set guy with black, curly hair. We had been in Ghana only a week or so. He told me he was going home. Peace Corps wasn’t what he expected. I wondered how he knew so soon. We were, after all, beginning training which we had been told was the most difficult part of our two years. I always wondered what he told people when he got home. I wondered if he just thought of his time in Africa as a bit of a vacation.

I am glad for my memory drawers. They keep me connected with all of my life, with the people I have loved, the friends I have lost and the experiences I have had. They hold treasures.

Rain started yesterday afternoon and continued into the night. Today will be cloudy and chilly with a high in the 40’s, maybe even the low 50’s. I’ll stay close to hearth and home. I’m thinking a nap nestled under warm covers might be the best way to pass the afternoon.

When I was a kid, afternoons were sacred. During the school year, they were the times of day I got to play or bike ride. They were so short in winter I’d change into my play clothes as soon as I got home from school and bolt out the door. When I was young, I stayed in the neighborhood where we had woods for exploring and fields for catching grasshoppers. When I was older, I went further afield but always kept in mind I had to be home when the streetlights came on. In the darkening late afternoon, I did any homework I might have had. Usually I had a few work sheets or a story to read and questions to answer. Dinner wasn’t much later than that.

The kitchen in the duplex where we lived was small and narrow. Counter space, though on both sides of the sink, was limited, and one side was only big enough for the dish rack. The other side was where the turtle’s bowl was tucked below a couple of cabinets. The stove was on the opposite wall from the fridge. Both of them were small. The backdoor was to the left of the fridge. I can still see battered pans on the stove filled with potatoes and veggies for dinner and my mother standing at the sink washing dishes. I used to do my homework at the kitchen table.

When I was looking to buy a house, I wanted a dining room, and I wanted a downstairs bedroom for a den. I got both. When I have guests for dinner, I love to decorate the dining room table. Mostly I have pottery dishes. I like the den for watching TV instead of having one in the living room. The den is for leisure. The living room is for company and the Christmas tree.

I am wearing my cozies. I am happy and comfortable. It is enough.

Rain is predicted. Right now it is windy and damp. I have to do a dump trip today as it is closed the next two days. My car is almost loaded. I only have papers and boxes left.

Okay, I have returned. I left because everything was disconnected: no telephone, no internet so no computer and no TV applications. I decided to the dump run at that point then I went to the library parking lot to use their wi-fi to call Xfinity. The person I got frustrated me so much my stomach roiled. She claimed to forward me to help but she didn’t. We did that dance four times. Finally I got a woman who knew what to do. She hung with me from the library all the way home. We got the phone back, the internet on the computer but not on the TV. I lost her then. I decided to figure out the TV problem. I actually did it, figured it out. I now have all my apps back. I want to do a triumphant Rocky run up the steps.

I have a calendar of interesting facts. On Friday I learned rats laugh when you tickle them. That brings up a few questions. Who thought it might be a good idea to tickle a rat and why? Did the rat lie on his back with its legs in the air to have his belly tickled? How do rats laugh? I’m thinking they have a high pitched laugh, maybe even a giggle. I’m also thinking it might be a Willard and Ben sort of leisure activity.

When I was in high school, I had two hamsters, two male hamsters is what I was told. If they were, a miracle happened as one of them gave birth. I took the real male out of the cage as the fathers are known to munch or hurt their young to attract the attention of the Mrs. He got his own cage. The babies went to good homes. Unbeknownst to us, the hamster escaped by lifting the bar on the door. The cat found him and was playing with him in the tub. We saved the hamster. When one cage was too close to the rug, the hamster chewed the rug, brought pieces inside and made a comfy nest. The adults were kept apart. A while later the mother hamster got loose. We couldn’t find her. Later we found her behind the stove, the site of her demise. She had tried to chew the wire. Big mistake. After that we called my mother the Lord High Executioner.

Today is cold. It is only 53°. The sun is giving light but little warmth. The sky is blue with a few white clouds here and there. It is a good day to stay home. I have nearly finished the Stephen King. I slowed down as I got closer to the end. I wanted to save the last of it as long as I could. I can’t anymore.

When I was a kid, I made myself some promises. When I was eleven, I decided I’d travel the world. My geography book seemed alive. The pictures gave me an aching to be somewhere else. There I was living in a smallish town where traveling meant New Hampshire or Maine, and I was dreaming of far, far away, of other countries, of places where no one spoke English. I never told anybody. It was a promise I kept in my heart.

When I was in the eighth grade, President Kennedy was elected. I had followed his campaign. We had things in common. He was from Massachusetts, and he was a Catholic fighting the belief that the pope would run the country if Kennedy was elected president. I watched the debates, the counting on election night and his inauguration. I heard his hope to establish what would become the Peace Corps. I watched television spots advocating joining the Peace Corps. I was hooked. It was another promise I kept to myself.

I was the first in my family to go to college. I majored in English and took education courses so I could be certified to teach, but all along I still held the dream of Peace Corps. I listened to a recruiter on campus and took the language test. I laugh at that as I must have done poorly because Ghana’s national language is English. Anyway, I applied. That application was part of the promise I had made to myself when I was 13. I told my friends but not my family. My father, after watching a PSA about Peace Corps, thought it was a waste of time and money. I said nothing.

When I read the letter from Peace Corps, I thought my heart would burst. I had been accepted and was going to West Africa. The promises, the dreams, I had kept for so long were coming true. I called immediately and accepted. That was never in doubt.

Every day I am thankful for what life has given me. The promises I had made were kept. When I came home, I took a job at the same high school from which I graduated. I was there 33 years. I had found my spot. I doubt anyone is luckier than that.

Today looks delightful with a bright morning sun and a blue sky without a single cloud. The breeze is slight, only the top most branches of the tallest pines are blowing. The dogs love this weather. They haven’t even taken their morning naps.

When I was a kid, my bicycle expanded my world. I could pedal my way to the towns on all sides of my town. Once, my brother and I even rode to East Boston. That scared my mother. We thought it was an adventure. My bike lived in the cellar. It took maneuvering to get it out of the cellar and up the concrete stairs beside the tall wall outside the cellar door. I had to lift my bike so it stood on the back wheels, turn it then haul it up the stairs. Getting it back inside was no easier. I rode my bike all seasons. Only snow kept it in the cellar.

Every kid I knew rode a bicycle. None of us started with training wheels. My mother taught me to ride. I remember her holding the back of my seat and running along beside me telling me to keep pedaling. I remember the bike would tilt sideways on its way to the ground because I couldn’t keep my balance, but my mother saved me every time. I still remember when she let go, and I kept going. It was pure joy.

I walked to school and home again. I walked the railroad tracks. On Saturdays I walked to the movie theater. I never minded walking, but I loved my bike more. It was freedom, but I never thought of it that way. It was just my bike.

I remember when I learned to ice skate backwards. It was on the rink the town erected every winter at Recreational Park. At first I sort of jerkily walked backwards looking behind me the whole time. I was afraid of hitting the wall or other skaters, but I was determined. I kept at it until I could glide backwards. It was my skating triumph.

I always did well in school. I loved learning. The only subject I hated was arithmetic. I still hate math of any sort. My advisor in college remarked that he had never seen such a difference between the scores of the English and math portions of the SAT’s. It didn’t surprise me.

Today I have a uke concert. That is it on my dance card until next week. I am almost finished the Stephen King. I have been reading all day and well into the night. I don’t want to be rash, but I was even thinking I might do my laundry.

Today is sunny and bright. Rain is predicted for later, but the sky is blue with only a few white clouds. The breeze gives the air a chill. It is 57°.

Nala is bringing the outside inside. Yesterday it was some papers she had taken from the house. She loves to tear papers. This morning I heard noises at the dog door. Nala was trying to bring in a branch wider than the dog door. She dropped it when I asked, an unusual Nala behavior. I had to pick up some pine needles from the branch she brought inside yesterday. Nala makes messes.

Duke is the dog I grew up with, another boxer. He was intimidating to people who didn’t know him. His chest was wide and muscular. His bark was deep. He’d stand his ground. He protected us. He also followed us everywhere, even to school. My father was totally frustrated by Duke who ignored him. My mother offered bologna so he’d get close enough for her to grab him by his collar; instead, he’d snatch all but a small piece of bologna from my mother’s hand and then he’d run.

My book came yesterday, and I started reading it right away. I carried it upstairs and read it while I sat with Jack then took the book to bed. It rested on Nala who was lying beside me.

When I woke up the morning, Nala’s head was resting on my arm. She sensed the change in my breathing and jumped on me. Henry followed suit. They always seem surprised and excited when I make it through the night.

The dogs have a wonderful routine. They exemplify a dog’s life. In the morning, when they sense me awake, they jump on me to get me moving. We go downstairs and both of them stand at the door waiting for me to open it. They run to the backyard. Henry comes in first and stands at the treat door. We wait for Nala then they both get a biscuit. They go back to the yard. When they come inside, their morning nap is next. Around 3 or 3:30, Henry scratches the rug and looks at me. He does it again and again until I get up to feed them. After dinner they go out again then come in for thei

r late afternoon nap. They go out another couple of times before their evening nap which lasts until my bedtime. They go out for the last time then run upstairs to claim room on my bed before I get there. They sleep through the night. I should live a dog’s life, at least one in this house.

Today is ugly. It rained during the night, and everything is still wet. Rain is not predicted, but the clouds will be hanging around. It is in the mid 50’s, the high for the day. It is a day for socks and a sweatshirt.

Today will be a stay around the house day. I have been waiting for a book delivery for over a week and a half, Stephen King’s Fairy Tale, from Barnes and Noble. Last Wednesday it was in Providence. I have no idea where it is now. The tracking delivery date changes every day. On Friday, it was Friday by 7:00 then Saturday by seven, Sunday by seven and now today by seven. I am not optimistic.

This is school April vacation week when the weather is usually iffy. I remember warm weeks, and I remember chilly weeks, and I remember one memorable April vacation. That was the year we made a Christmas album with Guy Lombardo and the Royal Canadians. I was eleven. We were at the town hall, my classmates and I. The band was on the stage. The equipment was under the stage. Guy Lombardo was on the stage as was his lead singer, Kenny Gardner. He’d sing solo then lead us through our parts. I remember hearing, “Cut!” a lot. Winter Wonderland took the longest to record. I have a one note solo, a too soon entry to one verse. They kept that recording. I always make people listen to it a couple of times. I still have the original vinyl. The record jacket has the lyrics on the back. It is the worse for wear.

My sisters make fun of me because I could eat hot dogs every day. I buy New England frankfurt buns, the top-split rolls perfect for hot dogs and lobster and fried clams. I toast my rolls so the outside is crisp and the inside soft and still a bit fluffy. I top my dogs with mustard and piccalilli and onions if I take the time to chop them. Sometimes I eat chips with my dogs or potato salad from the deli, but dogs by themselves are just fine. I consider hot dogs a staple in my kitchen.