Today is cold. It is only 53°. The sun is giving light but little warmth. The sky is blue with a few white clouds here and there. It is a good day to stay home. I have nearly finished the Stephen King. I slowed down as I got closer to the end. I wanted to save the last of it as long as I could. I can’t anymore.

When I was a kid, I made myself some promises. When I was eleven, I decided I’d travel the world. My geography book seemed alive. The pictures gave me an aching to be somewhere else. There I was living in a smallish town where traveling meant New Hampshire or Maine, and I was dreaming of far, far away, of other countries, of places where no one spoke English. I never told anybody. It was a promise I kept in my heart.

When I was in the eighth grade, President Kennedy was elected. I had followed his campaign. We had things in common. He was from Massachusetts, and he was a Catholic fighting the belief that the pope would run the country if Kennedy was elected president. I watched the debates, the counting on election night and his inauguration. I heard his hope to establish what would become the Peace Corps. I watched television spots advocating joining the Peace Corps. I was hooked. It was another promise I kept to myself.

I was the first in my family to go to college. I majored in English and took education courses so I could be certified to teach, but all along I still held the dream of Peace Corps. I listened to a recruiter on campus and took the language test. I laugh at that as I must have done poorly because Ghana’s national language is English. Anyway, I applied. That application was part of the promise I had made to myself when I was 13. I told my friends but not my family. My father, after watching a PSA about Peace Corps, thought it was a waste of time and money. I said nothing.

When I read the letter from Peace Corps, I thought my heart would burst. I had been accepted and was going to West Africa. The promises, the dreams, I had kept for so long were coming true. I called immediately and accepted. That was never in doubt.

Every day I am thankful for what life has given me. The promises I had made were kept. When I came home, I took a job at the same high school from which I graduated. I was there 33 years. I had found my spot. I doubt anyone is luckier than that.

Today looks delightful with a bright morning sun and a blue sky without a single cloud. The breeze is slight, only the top most branches of the tallest pines are blowing. The dogs love this weather. They haven’t even taken their morning naps.

When I was a kid, my bicycle expanded my world. I could pedal my way to the towns on all sides of my town. Once, my brother and I even rode to East Boston. That scared my mother. We thought it was an adventure. My bike lived in the cellar. It took maneuvering to get it out of the cellar and up the concrete stairs beside the tall wall outside the cellar door. I had to lift my bike so it stood on the back wheels, turn it then haul it up the stairs. Getting it back inside was no easier. I rode my bike all seasons. Only snow kept it in the cellar.

Every kid I knew rode a bicycle. None of us started with training wheels. My mother taught me to ride. I remember her holding the back of my seat and running along beside me telling me to keep pedaling. I remember the bike would tilt sideways on its way to the ground because I couldn’t keep my balance, but my mother saved me every time. I still remember when she let go, and I kept going. It was pure joy.

I walked to school and home again. I walked the railroad tracks. On Saturdays I walked to the movie theater. I never minded walking, but I loved my bike more. It was freedom, but I never thought of it that way. It was just my bike.

I remember when I learned to ice skate backwards. It was on the rink the town erected every winter at Recreational Park. At first I sort of jerkily walked backwards looking behind me the whole time. I was afraid of hitting the wall or other skaters, but I was determined. I kept at it until I could glide backwards. It was my skating triumph.

I always did well in school. I loved learning. The only subject I hated was arithmetic. I still hate math of any sort. My advisor in college remarked that he had never seen such a difference between the scores of the English and math portions of the SAT’s. It didn’t surprise me.

Today I have a uke concert. That is it on my dance card until next week. I am almost finished the Stephen King. I have been reading all day and well into the night. I don’t want to be rash, but I was even thinking I might do my laundry.