Winter is still heavy handed. The other night the water in my birdbath froze. It was in the low 30’s. Last night was only a tiny bit warmer. The days, though, are giving me a bit of hope, a hint of spring. They jump into the 40’s and feel warm if there is no wind. Right now it is 46°. The sun, with its deep blue background, is bright and magnificent, after all the rain. The vibrant yellow of the goldfinches at the thistle feeders cuts through the drab. There are so many of them they have to wait in line. I swear I saw one goldfinch take a number from the deli machine on a branch. 

When I was a kid, I knew I would travel. It was the only known. I made that vow to myself when I was eleven. The when and the where weren’t part of my vow. The idea of traveling was enough. 

Over my lifetime I have been surprised by experiences I never imagined. 

It is sixty-six years since my vow to travel. My young self would be amazed at where I’ve been. I still marvel that I lived in Africa, that it holds a special place in my heart. About Africa, I only knew what the geography books taught me. I could talk climate, capital cities, exports, rivers and mountains. I had so much to learn, so much to experience, and I took in everything I could. Ghana became a comfortable place. I think my eleven year old self would have thought that remarkable.

I can play a musical instrument. I thought my debut with the triangle in the second grade would be it. I saw no symphony hall in my future. I saw no ukulele in my future. I didn’t even know what a ukulele was. Big Brother Bob Emery played the uke on his TV show when he sang The Grass is Always Greener, his theme song. I thought it was a guitar. When I decided I wanted to play a musical instrument, the uke came to mind. I thought it might be easier than the guitar. It only has four strings. I still don’t see Symphony Hall in my future, but it doesn’t matter. I love my uke.

When I was growing up, I never did laundry, make a bed or cook. I was just fine with that. During college I had to figure out how to work the washing machine. I seldom made my bed. Cooking was out of a can. Dinty Moore’s beef stew was a favorite. I loved chicken noodle soup. In Ghana, I never did laundry. I always found someone to pay to do it, by hand as there were no machines. Ironing was a necessity. It was a charcoal iron. I didn’t do that either. I didn’t cook. I had no stove, only a small charcoal burner, a sort of forerunner for the hibachi but round. I cook and bake now. I’ll try to make anything, nothing phases me. That was a surprise. I still seldom make my bed. My washing machine died so I have my clothes washed at the laundry. Some habits don’t change. 

The rain has stopped as has my work on the ark, but scattered showers are predicted so I’ll keep the tools handy. The kitchen floor is filled with paw prints. The backyard is soaked. 

My sloth must have been napping this morning as I have already changed my bed, taken my shower and cleaned down the stairs. I’m exhausted!

In the winter, my mother usually made us a hot breakfast before school. My favorite was soft boiled eggs. She used to serve the eggs in yellow Fanny Farmer duck egg holders. She would cut off the top of the egg and have toast around the plate. The toast was cut into strips the perfect size for dunking. When I first moved into this house, I had only a few pieces of furniture, a frying pan and two pots, a few dishes, a TV and a couch for my bed. My parents came to visit to see the house. My mother brought a few memories. She brought down two duck egg cups. Each duck had lost its beak. I loved those ducks, beaks or no beaks. They are still in my kitchen.

I remember classmates from grammar school. Many of us were together for eight years. After graduation, I lost touch with most of them. I wonder about them. I had a crazy, old nun in the eighth grade, Sister Hildegard. It was our life’s mission to take advantage of her. She hated us. One poor classmate was somehow related to her. Her name was Eleanor, and she sat in the last desk in the fourth row. I remember one day when Sister Hildegard went off on Eleanor who had rolled her skirt at the waist to make it shorter. Somehow Sister Hildegard noticed and went up the row toward Eleanor so fast her veil was blowing behind her. She yelled and pulled the skirt so far down you could see the top of Eleanor’s slip under the skirt. Eleanor started crying. No one made fun of her or laughed. We were horrified for her. I have never forgotten.

When I was a junior in high school on a late Friday afternoon, only a nun and I were left to finish decorating the gym for a dance that night. She was on a ladder. At some point she dropped the decoration and said, “Shit.” I was taken aback. A nun swearing? I never really thought of nuns as regular people. They were a breed unto themselves. We had three sexes: men, women and nuns. 

My dance card has three entries, all uke related. I have practice, a lesson and a concert on Friday. We are still singing funny food songs.