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.

The morning is again lovely. It is warm at 67°. The oak leaves are spinning and twisting in the breeze. The sunlight brightens even the darkness corners of the backyard. The sky has a few light clouds but is mostly blue. I love spring.When I was a kid, my neighborhood was filled with kids. Every house had kids. Most houses had many kids. It was only quiet in the evenings.

When we lived at the top of the hill, I played in the field and at the swamp, the four season swamp. We picked blueberries along the side of the hill to the water tower. Woods were on both sides of the field. We buried our turtle in a metal box in the lower woods. The turtle had been a painted Woolworth’s turtle. His house was oval and made of see through plastic. A small island in the middle had a palm tree. The house sat on the counter for years. Over time the turtle lost his paint. We used to swat flies to feed the turtle. We made sure the flies had a bit of life left as the turtle love catching them. That turtle lived into double digits. He got a little bit bigger but never outgrew his home. One day he just died. I think it was old age.

When I was in high school, my friends and I walked all over town. We were in that awkward age between bicycles and drivers’ licenses. We walked to drill and home again. Sometimes we stopped at O’Grady’s Diner for a brownie with fudge sauce. I walked in the early morning, before seven, to catch the bus to school. It was usually late afternoon before I walked home again. I never really minded walking, even at night.

I remember the circles of light below the street lights. I remember being able to see living rooms lit and TV’s flickering through the windows of the houses on the sidewalks. I could hear my footsteps. Few cars went by. The nights were quiet back then.

I live now in a quiet neighborhood. The house next to me is a summer rental, empty all winter. I am retired as are many of my neighbors. We greet each other with a wave. After the car crash, my neighbors stepped in to help. They were wonderful.

With no car, I have been house-bound. I have missed uke concerts which I thoroughly enjoy. Yesterday, I ended up cleaning just to keep busy. Oh, the horror! I have no cream for my coffee, no bread and no cheese. The larder is nearly empty, not a Snickers in sight.