The house is cold. The furnace died again last night. This time it feels ominous. I could have had an emergency visit last night but chose to wait for a regular appointment to save money. I do have one electric heater and have put it here in the den. The dogs are asleep on the couch beside me. Jack is in his house upstairs and is also sleeping. I’m wearing a sweatshirt under fleece and socks under muk-luks. Our appointment isn’t until tomorrow.

The morning is cloudy. Rain is predicted. It is now 48° but it will get a bit warmer. I’m hoping for 80’s, as if….

I always knew I’d travel. I made that vow to myself when I was a kid. I had no places in mind. I  just wanted to go somewhere. Canada was my first foreign country, but it didn’t seem foreign. Everybody spoke English. Both sides of Niagara Falls looked the same, but I still counted it as country number one. It wouldn’t be until years later that I added to my list. Country number two was Ghana. I had read about Ghana before I went, but when I arrived, Ghana was so much more, a place filled with different sounds and colors, strange foods and sights, sights I had never imagined. Over time Ghana became familiar but never common. 

I traveled by myself to Morocco. My first view of the city was from my calèche, a horse drawn carriage, I had chosen to take one at the airport instead of a car to take me into the city, into  Marrakech. The air seemed to be filled with the aroma of spices. The buildings were red from red sandstone. I was so excited to be there I even waved at people as we passed their carriages. We got to the main square, the Jemaa el-Fna. From there I had to walk to my riad, a small hotel once a house, in the old section of the city. I memorized how to get to my riad, how to get there by navigating the small, narrow turns. Most days I wandered all over the city. I walked through the maze of the Medina. I followed a small boy to a restaurant at the back of a furniture store. I saw sheep heads being baked in large, tall round ovens. I didn’t stop to try any meat. I stopped at souks to look and to shop. The spice souks were amazing with mounds of colored spices on tables in front and on shelves lining the walls. Every afternoon I stopped at the same cafe for coffee, a cup or two. I ate at night in the square. I watched the dancers. I bought dessert at kiosks and ate it as walked to my riad. Marrakech was different. I loved it for all those differences.

I have no plans for today. I’ll just bundle and try to stay warm.

Last night it poured. I could hear the rain hitting the windows. It made me wish I had a metal roof. When I lived in Ghana, that was my favorite sound. I always felt surrounded by the rain but safe inside my house.

The morning was cloudy, but now the day is lovely. The sun is bright and is framed by a deep blue sky without a single cloud. It will be warm, Cape Cod spring warm, with a high of 50°. The dogs are loving the sun. Both of them are outside. Nala is lying on the one patch of grass in the sun.

Happy April’s Fool Day!! My mother was the champion of April Fool’s Day. She pretty much always caught my sister which was really funny as my sister knew it was coming and got caught anyway. My mother sounded so sincere you had to believe her. 

When I was a kid, I loved days like today. I got to play outside after school until it got cold in the late afternoon as the sun was going down. It wasn’t yet spring, but I had my favorite places. The field below my house was still brown, and the grasshoppers had yet to make their appearance, but it didn’t matter. I ran through the grass leaving a path behind me. I checked the swamp for tadpoles. I ran up the hill pass the water tank, crossed the street and checked on the horses. They always came over to the fence and took grass from my hands. I wished I could ride them. As it got colder and was heading toward darkness, I hurried home to beat the street lights.

I remember a night when I believed in aliens. I was in Ghana. My school was at the top of a hill, not too steep a hill but long. My friend Patrick and I were riding our bikes, our motos, the Ghanaian name for motor cycles, back from town. The road was empty. We were the only vehicles. Patrick was ahead of me. The sky at night was brilliant. You could even see the Milky Way, a pale blanket of stars across the horizon. I was checking the sky, awed by the stars. When I looked to the road again, Patrick was gone, an impossibility as the road was straight. I should have seen his lights. I checked the side road, no lights. I checked the fields on both sides as the light was bright enough to see, no Patrick. I got a bit scared. Where did he go? Was he taken? I yelled his name then I heard him, “Help!”I moved toward the voice. He and his moto had fallen into a big hole in the middle of the road. No aliens, just a hole. I helped get him and his bike out. I admit I was a bit disappointed to find him. He ruined a great story.