I should be standing on my deck singing O What a Beautiful Morning. Everything is perfect: the sun, the sky, the temperature and the still air. It is already 62°. The sky is dark blue with not a single cloud. The breeze sways mostly the smaller branches. The sun is brilliant.

The forsythias are still in bloom. The bright yellow bushes dot yards and lend color to the remnants of winter. The oak trees have just started to bud. We are always late to spring on Cape Cod.

When I was a kid, I loved everywhere around me. I had the woods, the field, the swamp and blueberry bushes. Every season gave me something wonderful. I watched the tadpoles grow into frogs at the swamp. I ate the blueberries. I chased grasshoppers and fireflies. I ice skated on the swamp in the middle and followed the frozen channels. One day, though, all of that started to disappear. Heavy equipment took down the trees, plowed under the field and destroyed the swamp and the blueberry bushes. All of these wonderful places, enchanted places, were replaced by brick buildings, apartments for the elderly, what my father called wrinkle city. The woods where we had buried my turtle disappeared one day when I was in school. The first brick buildings were built around there. My grandmother moved into one of the first buildings. I remember how small her apartment was. My father visited her just about every week. He’d con me into going with him when I visited my parents for the weekend. That visit could not be short enough.

My sloth has been holding sway for a while. I did sweep the hall but only because the amount of dog fur had formed clumps which covered the floor. My mop has been in the kitchen for weeks. I had intended to wash the kitchen floor but haven’t yet. I just step over the mop. The polishing cloths are on the counter. They haven’t moved in a while. I have a list. It is gathering dust.

My dance card is fairly empty for the week. I have a doctor’s appointment today, my usual uke practice Tuesday and my lesson on Wednesday but only one concert, on Friday. The book for the month is Beach Boys.

Last night it rained. The rain was loud and heavy for a while. Surprisingly, both dogs went out before bed. They didn’t mind the wet. The rain just started again. I saw it against the den window. It will rain on and off all day.

I had a late start this morning. I slept in for the first time in a while. The dogs stayed with me. I woke up first. Nala was reluctant to get off the bed. Henry got up and waited on the stairs for me. I love that he does that. They both went out, came in for treats and then got comfortable for their morning naps. My father used to say he wanted to come back as a pet in any of our houses.

Sundays in Ghana were different than any other day of the week. The cafeteria was reconfigured so that the benches became pews for a morning service. My students wore their three piece traditional dresses. Each of the four classes had their own prints. Religious figures from town sat in chairs at tables in front of the students. Hymns were sung and there was one sermon. The speakers alternated from among the town’s religious leaders: the white father, the minister from one of the churches or the imam from the mosque. One Sunday I got stuck. It was about the scariest thing I did in Ghana. My inspiration wasn’t the Bible. It was Aesop. I talked about the grasshoppers and the ants and the boy who cried wolf. I still remember the look on my principal’s face. She never asked me again.

After the service, the older students were allowed to go to town. Photographers came to the school grounds and took pictures. My students changed from their uniforms to their best dresses. Every Sunday was a sort of celebration.

If I could, I would travel back in time to my favorite Sunday dinner, roast beef, gravy, mashed potatoes and peas. It was the meal my mother cooked for me before I left for Ghana. I left on a Sunday. I remember the ride to Logan. We didn’t talk much. They walked with me to the gate. We waited together until the gate was open, and I could board. We hugged. I told them I’d call to let them know I had arrived in Philadelphia, our staging area. When I looked back before I went into the jet way, my mother waved. I think we both cried.

I am going to the dump today.