The rain started yesterday. It poured. I was glad for that. We really need the rain. This morning the rain continues. It is a heavy rain. I can hear it on the windows and the roof. It is coming from the south. I had to close the back door as the kitchen floor was getting wet.

Henry’s eye sockets look great. The swelling is gone, and the red has faded. He has stopped scratching them. I’m still putting the salve on, but he no longer minds. Speaking of better, my leg is almost there. It still hurts when I lift it in certain directions like when getting into the car, but I just wince and don’t moan as loudly.

When I was a kid, I loved rainy days. Sitting in my room, I always felt comforted by the rain as if it had arms spread around me, holding me tight. The lamp lit against the darkness felt cozy. Most times I read but sometimes I napped falling sleep to the sounds of the rain.

My father once said I was the most aggressive of his children. I think what he saw as aggression was just me following my dreams, me, letting nothing deter me. I always think I was born exactly the right time. The world was changing. Choices were widening. I knew I could be anything I wanted. I was only eleven when I knew I would travel the world. I was thirteen when I knew I would be a Peace Corps volunteer. Lots happened in between, but I never lost sight of what I wanted and where I’d be.

My 60th class reunion is this weekend. I am having trouble wrapping my head around it. I don’t think of myself as old though sometimes a look in the mirror takes me aback, but I blame it on the lightning.

The morning is cloudy but quite warm, 75°. The breeze is a leaf ruffler. We are at the napping part of the day. Each dog is on one side of me, Henry to my left, Nala to my right. Henry only sleeps on that side of the couch. Nala doesn’t care which side. I’m always in the middle.

When I was a kid, our dog Duke wasn’t allowed on furniture, but he knew the ways around that. He’d lie cross the bed with only the tips of his back feet on the floor. In the mornings we could hear him get off the couch before we got downstairs, but he was sly. He never got caught. When he was really old, he used to sleep on the rug in my room. He’d lick for so long it would drive me crazy, but I would never exiled him. He was my dog.

Yesterday I missed the significance of the day. It was the first day of fall. The first day of my favorite season. To me, it is the best time to be on the cape. Mostly the tourists are gone though the weekends are still busy. The weather is lovely. Pieces of summer hang around. The days are warm while the nights are a bit cooler, crisp, perfect for sleeping. The turning leaves are mostly red and orange, especially the oak leaves. The beaches are free of crowds, and the dogs are welcome back. The roads are clear. I love to take rides. I take my time. I don’t want to miss anything.

Yesterday was the birthday of the Peace Corps. On September 22, 1961, President Kennedy signed into law the original Peace Corps Act. In the 64 years since, nearly 250,000 American citizens have proudly served our country in more than 140 nations. I am one. Ghana was the first country. I remember the almost overwhelming joy of being accepted into the Peace Corps. I had three weeks after college graduation to get ready, and the time went quickly. I left home on a Sunday. We started training in Ghana in June of 1969. We were among the first to train completely in country. I remember those first days, the amazement of waking up every day in Africa, trying new foods, learning a language and getting to know everyone. We traveled during training from one site to another up and down the country. It really didn’t take long to find my way. It really didn’t take long for me to fall in love with Ghana.

My dance card is a little fuller than it has been. I’ll be busy today, tomorrow and Saturday, but I feel good enough to take on the week.