Earlier, clouds covered the sky, but the sun has broken through. After all the rain, the sunlight is brilliant. Some leaves are in shadows while others shine in the light. According to the weather report, though, the sun is transient. The day will be cloudy and in the high 50’s, but I’m skeptical or maybe hopeful. I see blue. (Aside, the sun is gone as is the blue. The day is dark.)

Some things are sacred. My morning coffee is on the list, always at least two cups with cream, not milk. I drink coffee from all over. My last coffee was from Vietnam. I don’t like girly coffees like French vanilla or peppermint. They are ice cream flavors.

Since my retirement, almost twenty one years ago, I have lived in mostly cozy clothes, a sacred ensemble. Every day when I worked, I wore a dress or a skirt and blouse and panty hose, yup I said panty hose from an egg. Now, I wear flannel and corduroy in the winter and short sleeves and light pants in the summer. The last time I wore a dress was Easter a few years ago. The dress was blue and flowered, perfect for spring and Easter.

My house is a sacred place. It is all of me. It is filled with treasures from my travels. They hold my memories. So many are from Africa, from my town and from my trips back to Ghana. I have baskets, tablecloths, napkins, art, wooden figures and gold weights. I remember a first time visitor to my house called them knick knacks. I was horrified. I wanted to snarl at her. I still have a few pieces from my South American trip in the 70’s and from my trips to Morocco, Panama and so much of Europe. I love the memories the different pieces conjure, of the singular experiences in each country, the different foods, the shapes of houses and shops, the smells, and colors. The strongest memories are of markets, of me wandering the streets and the souks and meeting new people. My memory drawers are the most sacred places.

Yesterday’s storm was epic. The trees were bent by the wind, and the rain was, at times, torrential. The thunder was so loud it scared Henry who began to shake. Usually thunder does not bother Henry. I held him tightly, and he stopped shaking. The lights flickered and died a few times, not for long but long enough to be annoying. You’d think that storm was the only excitement but it wasn’t.

At night the dogs sleep on the couch. Henry is to the left and Nala to the right of me. Last night they were not on the couch. I assumed they were upstairs on my bed sleeping off the storm. Around 1:30 I went upstairs to bed. The dogs were not there. I panicked, ran downstairs and opened the back door thinking they were by the back door, but they were not. It was pouring so I thought they might be under the deck. I grabbed a jacket and a flashlight, no dogs under the deck. I did a circuit of the yard to check the fence, and it was fine. I walked to the steps and saw the gate was open. The dogs were loose outside the yard for the first time. I screamed their names and Henry, some minutes later, came running through the gate. I put him inside and started screaming for Nala. I went out to the street and started calling as I walked, no Nala. I ran back into the house for a better flashlight. I turned around and there she was. She had found home.

Both dogs were soaked, as wet as I’ve ever seen them. I don’t know how long they were on the run, but given how wet they were, it was a while. I went out to make sure the gate was closed and heard a voice. It was my neighbor who had heard me yelling and came to help. I told her both dogs had come home. I could breathe again.

My dance card is empty, and I couldn’t be happier. I’ll stay in my cozies, read my book and nap if I feel like it. I earned a sloth day.