Yesterday I was out and about with my friend so I didn’t get time to muse. I was able to get some errands done, including filling the larder. Today I have a concert and another friend is picking me up. Being without a car on Cape Cod is challenging at best so I am so grateful for my friends.

I am a night person. Usually the dogs and I head to bed around two. I let them out first then we all go upstairs. This early morning I stood on the deck while the dogs were in the yard. It was after 2:30. The night was warmish. I noticed lights in a few of the houses. Most nights only mine are lit. The house across the streets had all its outside lights on. I wondered if she heard or saw something. The house behind mine often has one lit room. This time several windows showed lights. I could see outside lights lit on houses on the street behind mine. The house a bit down the next street usually has a picture window lit most of the night. I noticed several lights this time. I found all these lights puzzling. The night was so quiet I heard nothing except the dogs rustling in the yard. Did Henry and I miss something?

Today is brilliant. I can see patches of the bluest sky through the leaves of the backyard trees. Only a few scattered white clouds mar the deep blue. The sun is bright and warm. It will be in the 70’s today.

I have never been fond of Sundays. Even as a kid, I wasn’t welcoming to the day. Sundays started with church, with mass. I had no choice but to go. I didn’t want to risk mortal sin, that black bottle in my catechism. I drifted off during the sermons. They were always a bit dire. I was a kid. Eternal damnation seemed a bit over the top. The best sermons were the short sermons. I liked the downstairs at my church where mass was quick and usually sermonless. I didn’t even mind standing in the back if the pews were filled. Upstairs was grand with stained glass windows, fancy carvings on the ends of the pews and a huge altar. There was always a long sermon. The priests took full advantage of captive audiences. Two altar boys dressed in starched black and white sort of short cassocks led the priest in and helped during the mass. It seemed endless.

Sunday was saved by dinner. It was always the best meal of the week. My favorite was roast beef. It was medium well and accompanied by mashed potatoes, a thick gravy and a couple of vegetables. My favorites were peas and corn, kernel corn, not creamed. I didn’t like that it spread. That was the dinner my mother cooked for me before I left for Ghana.

Well, I need to get ready to leave. I’ll finish this blog when I get home.

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.