Today is cloudy and warm. It is 67°. It is a quiet day. The air is still, thickened by the dampness and the clouds. It is the sort of day which encourages laziness. The dogs are napping on the afghan on the couch. I’m thinking they’ll have to make room for me later.

My mother never learned to drive until she was in her late 30’s. I remember when I was a kid we took busses and trains to visit relatives. We’d take a bus from uptown to Sullivan Square where the bus station was downstairs, and the subway station was upstairs. There was a kiosk selling papers, magazines, drinks and candy on the bus level. I loved riding the subway. We waited on the platform for the train. My mother kept an eye on us so we didn’t get too close to the edge. I could hear the train coming. There was a breeze from the few cars which passed me before the train stopped. I’d kneel on the seat and look out the window. In the tunnels, I was still glued to the window looking through the darkness. I loved the clicking sound of the train on the tracks. We never got separated, but if we did, the plan was always to go to the next station and wait.

My love of trains continues. When I travel, I often take trains. I rode the Metro in Paris, the Underground in London and the Moscow Metro in Russia. The most beautiful stations were part of the Moscow Metro. They were elegant architectural works of art. I remember an escalator down to a station that was so long you couldn’t see the bottom. In those days, a woman sat at the end of every escalator. I guess she was watching for any problems.

I’d take night trains so I wouldn’t need a hotel or a hostel. Sometimes I’d pay extra for a sleeping compartment while other times I’d sleep in a chair as best as I could. I slept in a couchette from Helsinki to Rovaniemi. There were two bunks on each side of the car. I slept the night away. I was in a compartment from Copenhagen to Hook of Holland. In Ghana I often took the train from Accra to Kumasi. I went first class. I always felt like a character in an Agatha Christie mystery, maybe Miss Marple. The first class compartments had soft chairs and sliding doors. I rode an overnight train once from Kumasi. I went first class and had my own compartment. It had a sink. I was asleep when the train derailed. It was a rude awakening.

It is time for me to car shop.

The day is cloudy and rain is predicted, but it is warm at 65°. I went to the deck to clean the mess caused by a spawn. The thistle feeder had a hole, and all of the seed was on the deck. One of the clay pots was in pieces and shards. Its soil was in a mound also on the deck. My prayer flags had fallen and were hanging, no longer attached to the deck rail. I cursed all spawns while I cleaned.

The morning has been leisurely. My sloth is in full rein. I took my time reading the paper and doing all the puzzles. The aroma of coffee has filled the house, and I’ve already had a couple of cups. The dogs are sleeping beside me on the couch, one on each side of me. It is that sort of day.

The dogs have become whiners. Henry stands outside the back door, bangs the dog window and whines. Nala looks at me and whines. Her stub tail wags her whole back end. They are guilting me.

The classrooms in my grammar school had banks of floor to ceiling windows. The lights hung down from the ceiling. On days like today, the room was shadowed. Noise seemed dampened by the darkness. Only the rustling of paper, the shuffling of feet and the creaking from our chairs as we shifted could be heard. Even the nun seemed a bit listless. She had us silently read from our literature books and then answer the questions at the end of each story. I could have done that all day.

In grammar school, My classes had at least forty kids in each room. We defined baby boomers. Each grade had two classes, one with nuns and one with a regular teacher. All the teachers were women. I had nuns in grades one, three, five and eight. My sixth grade teacher was Miss Quilter. She had thick glasses and wore her hair in a bun. She wore mostly suits. She was the stereotypical spinster teacher. She was the best teacher I ever had. I flourished in her class. She challenged me. She awakened in me a love for learning I still have. She has my thanks for ever.

The last couple of days have been busy. My friend Holly picked me up on Tuesday for uke practice, and we stopped at a store for bread and cream and a couple of snickers. Yesterday morning another uke friend picked me up for my lesson and even stopped at the dump so I could dump my trash. I went to the concert yesterday, again thanks to a uke friend. I’d have been homebound without them.

No car yet, still waiting for my check.