At first I thought I was dreaming. When I woke up, I could see sun and blue sky through my bedroom window. The day looked early so I figured I’d fall back to sleep. I didn’t because the dogs heard a noise outside, jumped off the bed and barked as they ran downstairs. I followed but without the barking. It was the landscaper doing my neighbor’s yard. He did mine yesterday. The dogs had heard his truck. I put a pot of coffee on, grabbed my paper and officially started my day.

My dance card is empty this week, not even uke. Our fearless leader is sick. We were going to start The Beatles, but that will have to wait. I do have a couple of errands so I’m going to go out and enjoy the day.

My outsides belie my insides. I feel the same way now as I did when I was young, but when I look in the mirror, I see a wrinkled face and lots of grey hair. My classmates are starting to plan our 60th high school reunion. My youngest sister will be 70 this year. It was 55 years ago when I started Peace Corps training. Life passes so quickly.

When I was a kid, I never gave time much thought. I did count days to special events, especially to Christmas and my birthday, but the rest of time just kept moving along without me paying a whole lot of attention. I’m there again. Some mornings when I wake up, I ask Alexa what day of the week it is as I had lost track. Sometimes I’m surprised.

When I was in Africa, a pompous man named Mr. Edwards was the local head of education. He sometimes spoke at my school. In each speech he always said, “Time and tide wait for no man.”

The sun is coming but just not today. The temperature will rise out of the 50’s but just not today. I will get ambitious but just not today.

When I was growing up, we had a phone with a party line. It was less expensive than having your own line. We counted the rings as to whether the call was for us or for Mrs. McGaffigan who lived at the foot of the hill in a big house on the corner. We’d sometimes try to listen, but she usually caught us and would tell us to hang up. I think we breathed too loudly.

I miss the wonderful sounds from my childhood. I loved the sound of the rotary phone when I dialed a number. I’d turn the dial until my finger hit the stop and then I’d pull my finger from the dial. It would go back to the start, counterclockwise, with a clickity-click sound. Typewriters made a similar sound every time I’d hit a key. My typewriter was a high school graduation gift. My house, when I was a kid, had radiators. I loved the sound of the steam from the radiator on the wall at the foot of my bed.

In the coffee percolator, in the little glass on the top, the coffee sort of popped up and down as it brewed. It was one of my favorite sounds. I loved the clicking sound of the needle on my 45’s. It was sort of a cackle. I even liked the sound when the needle skipped.

My father would never wear corduroy. He said he hated the swishing sound. When he was a kid, he wore knickers. They were corduroy. They swished. I bought him some corduroys one Christmas. They didn’t swish. He loved them and wore them so often the wale disappeared.

Cash registers had bells. The fire alarm rang and the rings told us where the fire was. They also rang for no school. Hand bells were rung in school for every change, for the start and end of school and recess and for classes.

My parents gave me an Instamatic to take with me to Ghana. They also gave me a few flash cubes. They were four-sided. The cube made a clicking sound when it turned.

I still have my typewriter and an old rotary phone. My furnace makes noise. I can hear the hot air blowing. My coffee maker does give a beep when the coffee has finished brewing. Those about the only sounds left like those from my childhood.