I see the sun and a blue sky. The day is calm. It is in the low 50’s, typical weather for spring on Cape Cod. It is a quiet morning. Henry is waiting for his sip of coffee. Nala is outside sitting in the sun.

When my close my eyes, I can see the past. I remember places and moments and, most of all, I remember people. I don’t remember what my first grade nun looked like, but I remember her name, Sister Redempta. I remember she scared me. My classroom had two doors, one led to the cloak room and the other to the stairs. I remember sitting at my desk with my hands folded while I waited for my row to be called so I could leave at the end of the day. Sometimes I had soup in my thermos for lunch. I remember my mother always packed Saltines.

I once had a boy’s bike, an old bike with a thick middle bar. The bike had been painted. I rode it to school some days, warm days. I remember holding the handlebars and running then hurrying to put one leg over the bar so I could get on my bike.

On the day I checked into staging in Philadelphia for the Peace Corps, I waited in line for my turn. I remember standing there. We were downstairs in the hotel. I had a few papers with me I hadn’t sent. One was my physical and the other my fingerprints. I was asked for both. I handed them over, and I was officially checked in to go to Ghana. I remember Ralph was in line behind me.

Our flight to Ghana was a charter. I sat toward the back. I remember we got off and stretched our legs in Madrid. I remember when we were back on the plane ready too take off, and my seat belt was stuck, and I couldn’t unstick it. I wondered if anybody would notice.

The first person I knew who left Ghana to go home was from New York. He was a heavy set guy with black, curly hair. We had been in Ghana only a week or so. He told me he was going home. Peace Corps wasn’t what he expected. I wondered how he knew so soon. We were, after all, beginning training which we had been told was the most difficult part of our two years. I always wondered what he told people when he got home. I wondered if he just thought of his time in Africa as a bit of a vacation.

I am glad for my memory drawers. They keep me connected with all of my life, with the people I have loved, the friends I have lost and the experiences I have had. They hold treasures.