I am a lover of mornings. The early sounds are bird songs. The dogs romp in the yard then nap on the couch. I read the paper and do the puzzles. The house smells of coffee brewing and bread toasting. I usually have a couple of cups of coffee. That’s how we begin the day.

The sun this morning was a bit late. The sky was cloudy and the air had a leftover dampness from last night, but the sun finally appeared framed in a blue sky. It is supposed to be around all day. It will even get to the high 50’s, sweatshirt weather.

When I was a kid, I always walked to school. I walked with my friend who lived up the street in the same duplex where my family lived for a few years. It had only two bedrooms. After my sister was born, we moved down the hill to another duplex, one with three bedrooms. We lived there until we moved to the cape.

While I was out yesterday, I noticed a carnival being set up in a field. That reminded me of the field below my street where a few carnivals used to set up. I liked carnival rides. The Ferris wheel was always a favorite ride. I loved when the Ferris wheel stopped to let people on or off, and I was stuck at the top. My friend was always afraid, and I didn’t help. I wiggled back and forth so the car moved, swayed. She always screamed. I just took in the view. The rides I didn’t go on went in circles because the worst ride I ever took was one which not only went in circles but also had covered cars so you spun around in darkness. When that ride stopped, I got sick over the side. That was the last time I rode in circles.

When I was young, my world was narrow. It was my town and a bit of the towns around me. That was enough for a while. I had a route when I was riding my bike. I stopped for golf balls by the course, I checked out the horses in the town barn, I stopped at the junk man’s house. I remember his porch was so filled with newspapers it leaned and looked ready to fall down The barn too was filled. I always wondered what he did with all those newspapers. The piles only got bigger.

When I was growing up, I traveled on my bike. I traveled my town and the towns around me. When I was eleven, I started to dream about traveling the world, a dream prompted by a classmate who went to England to visit his grandmother. I vowed I would out do him.

My family went to Niagara Falls. We went to the Canadian side, but for me, it didn’t count. We traveled by car.

Ghana counted.

The morning is lending itself to leisure. I’ve done all the newspaper puzzles, had a couple of cups of coffee and two pieces of toast, the heels from my last loaf. I then read the mail from the last couple of days and turned on a movie, 1956’s Indestructible Man. It is so bad it is good.

Earlier was cloudy, but now we have a combo of clouds, the sun and some blue sky. Last night was cold, but the morning is warmer, in the low 40’s. Tonight will get cold again.

The other day I replaced the finished toilet paper roll in the upstairs bathroom. That gave rise to the oft debated question of toilet paper, over or under. I prefer over. My mind then looped and didn’t stop there. It jumped to another question. I wondered about paper towel rolls. They go over, always over. Why is there no controversy?

When I was a kid, my father always went crazy if one of us left a dirty glass on the counter or an empty roll of toilet paper in the bathroom. He used to yell and call the perpetrator lazy for not washing out the glass and putting it in the sink. The toilet paper was stored in the linen closet. That was the excuse. He was right about lazy.

This is spring break week. We never went anywhere as my father worked. His vacation was always in the summer. We had to entertain ourselves. Every day was like a Saturday. We rode bikes. I usually went to the library at least once. I sometimes stayed home and read or watched TV. I don’t remember being bored.

In Ghana I lived alone on the school grounds on one side of a brand new duplex. At first it was difficult. I was homesick, my students didn’t understand my English and I was lonely. I had no one to talk to about how I felt. I wrote letters, not the newsy life in Ghana letters but ones where I poured out my feelings, my sadness, my loneliness. After I’d finished the letter, I’d tear it up. I never send a single one. I didn’t want my parents to know what was happening. I just needed to write those feelings down. After a few months, I didn’t need to write those letters any more. I only wrote newsy letters. I felt connected. I felt at home.

My dance card has only uke events this week, practice, my lesson and two concerts. We are still working on The Beatles book and also now on Jimmy Buffett.

(Side Note: Just in case you run into him, the Indestructible Man can be killed with a bazooka and a flame thrower. Arm yourself accordingly.)