The morning is warm at 78°. It will only get as high as 80°. Today will be a sunny day. Tomorrow is supposed to be rainy.

The concert on the beach was perfect. We were under a canopy close to the shore. There were eight of us. We played Beach Boys’ music. I parked across the street and trudged through sand to get to my seat. I had to go back to my car as I had forgotten something. Today, my back remembers the trudging. I look like a question mark.

Sunday is different than any other day. It lends itself to quiet. Nothing was open when I was kid. I wish now it was the same. We all need a day of rest, a day to enjoy just for the sake of it. That is my plan for today.

Saturday has always been chore day. That dates back to when I was a kid. My father went up town to the Chinese laundry to pick up and leave his white shirts. I remember those white shirts with starched collars and Windsor knotted ties. My father would get his hair trimmed and visit his buddies, especially Pullo at his pharmacy. At home, he’d mow and rake the lawn. He always used a hand mower and a rake with wooden teeth. I still remember the sounds, the clicking of the mower and the scraping of the rake.

My mornings are spent with cups of coffee and two newspapers. Today I added a bagel. It got a little too brown as I watered my plants while it was toasting. The dogs got the brownest part. They do not have discerning taste.

When I worked, Sunday was laundry and dump day, but those chores no longer have a designated day. I’m thinking Monday for both if I am in the mood. My dance card has three events for the week: our usual uke concert in Hyannis tomorrow, practice Tuesday and my lesson on Wednesday. I doubt I’d leave the house if I didn’t have my uke. Last week I had 5 events in six days. My inner sloth was exhausted.

The morning is cloudy and humid. I noticed the darkest cloud just sort of hanging in the sky off in the distance when I went to get the paper, but the weather report claims sun and 77°. I hope so as I have a uke concert on the beach. I’ve ever pulled out my Hawaiian shirt. We’re playing Beach Boy songs.

Okay, it is now raining. That dark cloud has had its way, but I’m still expecting that sun!

When I was young, my world was amazing. Every day was a new adventure. Walking to school was the same route, but it was never the same. In the fall I collected red leaves and carefully stowed them away in a book in my school bag. In the winter we walked in the snow and sometimes threw snowballs at each other as we ran. The best time, though, was spring. I got to see the gardens come alive, and I saw the first shoots poke their heads above ground then I watched them get taller. I saw the buds then I saw the first flowers, a riot of color from garden to garden.

I check YouTube for films of Ghana, especially of Bolga. I recognize some of the buildings and the route through town. I see the market, the huge market compared to my day, and remember how much I enjoyed shopping on market day. Every third day, I went to town. I carried my shepherd’s bag which stretched to hold all of my purchases: the green oranges, the onions, tomatoes, eggs, meat, maybe garden eggs, and whatever surprises I’d find, like that watermelon.

I remember my first view of Ghana on the ride from the airport to our training site. I saw kiosks side by side a bit back from the roadside, women in bright cloths walking in front of the kiosks and men in white robes sitting under trees. The ride was just a glimpse of Ghana but enough to keep me glued to the window until I fell asleep. It was a long ride.

I was filled with the wonder of Africa on that first ride, and that wonder stayed with me the whole two years. I still think myself marvelously blessed for having lived in Ghana, for having had the adventure of a lifetime.