Oh! What a beautiful morning, a perfect fall morning. The sun is bright. The sky is blue and cloudless. It is in the low 50’s, a chill leftover from last night, but it will get warmer, even shirt sleeve warm.

When I was a kid, I often ate oatmeal on cold mornings. My mother was insulating us for the walk to school. She always added sugar and milk to the oatmeal. Sugar makes everything tasty, even lumpy oatmeal. I can’t remember the last time I had oatmeal. I know it is now instant and has no lumps. Too bad, I always thought lumps gave oatmeal personality.

When I was in Ghana, I loved the mornings. Even in the dry, hottest time of the year, the early mornings were comfortable. I had two eggs and two pieces of toast every morning for breakfast. The eggs were fried in groundnut, peanut, oil and were delicious. My stove seldom had gas so meals were cooked over a small, round charcoal burner. The bread leaned against the hot part of the stove for toasting. In Accra, I had bought a giant stein like mug for coffee. I had a cup before breakfast and one during breakfast. I’d have one more cup at the end of my first couple of classes. I used to sit on my small front porch to drink the first cup. I’d greet the kids cutting across school grounds to the elementary school just outside my school’s gates. They’d stop, salute and say, “Good morning, sir. How are you?” They were learning English and had started with memorizing greetings. I lived on the school compound so after breakfast I’d walk from my house to the classroom block. That walk never felt commonplace.

Yesterday I brought my flamingo inside the house off the deck. It is a fall ritual. The flamingo has several outfits. She is now decked in a black robe with a purple lining and a witch’s cap with pumpkins on it and hanging bright lime hair now draped around her head and beak. She is ready for Halloween.

Last night was cold, and the cold lingers in the house. It will be chilly all day, staying in the 50’s. The sun is shining. It is windy. I can see the top most branches still filled with leaves swaying.

I filled the bird feeders yesterday, and a riot of birds are flying in and out. They are nuthatches and chickadees. When she visited, my mother used to love to watch my birds. She also had feeders in her backyard, but her birds were pigeons and crows. We used to joke they were country pigeons. Spawns would hang from her feeders while they dined. We watched other spawns tightrope cross the clothes line to a feeder. Regardless, my mother faithfully filled her feeders.

When I was a kid, I used to love to visit Boston Common. We’d go in the summer and also in the winter near Christmas. In the summer we’d ride the swan boats. My father would buy us peanuts, and we’d feed the spawns. They came right to us and took the peanuts out of our hands. We were swamped with spawns. We were delighted.

I am reminded of one trip to London. I was traveling with my mother and father. My father and I went walking while my mother stayed back at the hotel. We stopped in Trafalgar Square. We bought some seeds. The pigeons attacked. My father laughed the whole time. He didn’t know I even put seeds on his head. The pigeons went after those seeds. He still laughed. I have a wonderful picture of him with the pigeons on his head and hand and other pigeons flying around him. We decided we’d bring my mother to the square. When we did, we gave her a cup of seeds. The pigeons attacked. She screamed and kept screaming. She threw her seeds to the ground. She gave us hell.

I voted. I never miss voting. My first time voting was 1968 for the Nixon-Humphrey race. My candidate lost. I was disappointed. I was in the eighth grade when I first got interested in politics. Kennedy was my senator so he was also my candidate for president. I wore Kennedy pins, still have them. I watched the debates. On election night, I watched the results trickle in. When I went to bed, there was still no winner announced. It was too close to call. The next morning Kennedy was declared the winner. Nixon graciously conceded.

This is a four uke week, a slow week. I have already had practice and a lesson. The first concert is today, another tomorrow. Nothing else is on my dance card.