Today is a delight. It is warm at 71° and sunny. Last night had a bit of a chill and was perfect for sleeping. Our morning routine is always the same so this morning was no different. The dogs ran out to the yard, did a bit of business then ran back in for biscuits. I readied my coffee. The dogs waited for their second treat then both ran back outside to the yard. Nala came back in while Henry cried for me to let him in. I did. I don’t know why Henry won’t come in the dog door. That drives me crazy.

I loved walking to school in the fall. It was a bit chilly as the morning sun was less warm, sharper as it dappled through he curved leaves. The walk kept me warm. My route was mostly on one long street leading to the front of my school. I always walked on the side of the street bordered by houses and trees. Half-way down the street were the tracks and a station house. I never saw a train. The tracks ended not too far away. My school was old, a brick building with a statue of an angel in front. On each side of the school was a walkway to the school yard, but we only walked on one side, the side next to the rectory. I don’t know why. We stood in groups talking until the bell. The nun used to stand on the outside steps to ring it. We all then moved in tandem into the building. School had officially begun.

My reentry into the world was on Tuesday night. I went to my ukulele practice. I didn’t last the whole time as I got tired, and my leg started to hurt. On Wednesday morning I went to my uke lesson. I lasted the whole time. The hardest part of my reemergence was getting dressed. My leg hurts when I lift it. Try getting into pants and a sock without raising one leg. It wasn’t easy, but I did figure it out.

I have an empty dance card until Tuesday. That gives me more time to heal, more time to be a sloth. I’m happy.

The day feels like fall with a temperature of 68°. It is mostly cloudy. The leaves are barely moving on the oak trees. The dogs are having their morning naps. All is right with my world.

I am hoping to reenter the world today. My leg still hurts, and I still limp enough for sympathy, but, regardless, I need to get out of the house. I need to see people.

When I was a kid, I used to make adventure books. Once, when we were visiting my grandparents in East Boston, my uncle, only two years older than I, took my brother and me to Logan Airport. Because it was a far away walk, we didn’t tell my mother. We just went. Back then Logan was mostly one story buildings. The viewing spots were on the roofs. We watched the planes coming and going. They were props. We wandered inside the terminal. It was, at least I think I remember it was, one long building with a counter for each airline. Pamphlets were on metal spinning racks all around the terminal. I collected as many as I could carry. Some were for airlines, others for hotels and many for tourist spots in Boston. When we got back to my grandparents’ house, my mother was not at all happy. I really didn’t figure she would be.

Later in the week, I made my travel journal. I took all the pamphlets and cut out the pictures I wanted for my trip. I glued the pictures into my scrap book. On my journey, I took airplanes, stayed in hotels and visited historic spots. I wrote my own travel log. It wasn’t very sophisticated. I was young, but I was proud of that journal. It was, in its way, a prediction. I always knew I would travel the world. This first trip was pretend, but later in my life all the travels were real.