The morning is pretty but a bit chilly, only in the 50’s. The last few days had me thinking that the warmth of spring was here to stay so the chill is unwelcomed. Yesterday was a tee shirt day. Today is a sweatshirt day. 

Right now I am watching the very first Perry Mason. I remember watching later episodes when I was in high school. I love this episode with the men in their fedoras, the ancient looking cars and the women’s fashions, the small hats and the white gloves for every day wear. Perry is quite dapper in his patterned sports jacket with a handkerchief in his pocket. He is wearing light slacks. The music is dramatic. Perry is facing the forever prosecutor Hamilton Burger, and Lieutenant Tragg arrested his client. Years back, Perry Mason was on in the afternoons, and my friend Joan and I watched together a few afternoons a week. It was a tradition of sorts. I thought of her today when I started watching.

Memories, even some of the smallest memories, seem to hang around forever in the far back corners of my memory drawers. They jump to the fore when something clicks, when something taps that memory, sometimes something unexpected. I know smell triggers memories. The smell of wood burning takes me back to Camp Aleska, the Girl Scout camp in my hometown. It was in the woods at the end of a dirt road. The main room had a giant fireplace. It had seating all around which also served as storage. That’s where the cots were. I remember the room always smelled of wood and fire. We’d light the fireplace, and I’d fall asleep watching the light from the fire flickering and jumping. The sweet aroma of the wood burning filled the room. 

In Ghana, in the mornings, the compounds behind my house lit wood fires for cooking. I woke to the aroma of the burning wood wafting across the fields. One time, I was hitching from Tamale to Bolgatanga, my home, a hundred mile trip. One of my rides was turning off the main road so he dropped me by a tiny village. It was a charcoal village. Trees were lying on the ground and smoldering in the middle, in a sort of hewed trough. The smell from the smoke was sweet. It clung to my clothes and my hair. It stayed with me.

I am hanging around the house today. I’m missing a concert. I overdid the last few days thinking all was well. Today I’m hurting. I figure I shouldn’t have collected all the fallen pine branches in parts of my yard. I have a concert Saturday I’m looking forward to so the day of rest is in preparation. The dogs and I are comfortable on the couch. It seems the perfect spot.

Today is spring in all its glory. It is already 63° and will get warmer. The sun is glint your eyes strong. The sky is a light blue. A slight breeze is swaying the small branches and the dead oak leaves. It is a day to bring a smile.

Yesterday I got a rental. I am mobile again. Three of my errands were crossed off the list. This week I have uke practice, my lesson and three concerts. I’m glad for the car.

When I was a kid, this was my favorite time of year. The winter clothes were gone, no more layers. The mornings were warmer, and the air smelled sweet. Gardens bloomed with early flowers like the dafs. Their bright colors pushed away the gray of winter. I was so glad for the bright yellow. The afternoons were longer. The street lights came on later. I remember going inside to watch my afternoon TV programs while I waited for supper. I remember The Mickey Mouse Club. It was how I learned to spell ENCYCLOPEDIA, thanks to Jiminy Cricket. Even now, if I spell it, my voice is sing songy. We always had mashed potatoes, a vegetable and maybe ground beef or chicken. I loved meat loaves. I loved when my mother frosted them with mashed potatoes. Peas and corn were my favorite vegetables. I only tolerated carrots. I ate green beans but didn’t like them much. They always seemed squishy. 

When I was young, I was never into girly clothes. I was into comfort even back then. During the colder weather, I wore dungarees, girls’ dungarees. In the winter they were lined. I also wore flannel shirts and long sleeved blouses. Sweatshirts didn’t have hoods. I always wore sneakers, Keds. I had to wear uniforms to school, mostly skirts and blouses. Even in college I had to wear skirts until the winter of my sophomore year. It was so cold they allowed us to wear pants. That was the end of skirts and dresses. In Ghana I had to wear dresses, but I didn’t mind. I had my seamstress make my dresses with Ghanaian cloth. They were beautiful. On my trips back, I wore pants as did many Ghanaian women. I did miss the women dressed in traditional clothing made with local fabrics.

My yard needs a clean-up from Nala’s trash. I’ll use my prisoner’s stick. The bird feeders need filling. It is a good day for outside work.