Like the White Rabbit, I am late; however I don’t have an important date. It is just a regular Tuesday. The sun was here but now is gone, replaced by clouds. The weatherman says cloudy most of the day. I’m thinking today’s clouds are a rehearsal for tomorrow’s rain. The day is breezy and warm at 74°.

The backyard chimes are ringing and sweetening the air. I love the sound. It echoes throughout the whole yard. The only other sounds are the birds. How lovely is that.

When I was a kid, I was a dreamer. I wanted my life to be exciting. I didn’t want to be average. I wanted to explore the world. I wanted to meet new people, eat strange foods and go to places I’d read about in my geography books. I never told anyone my dreams. I held them close. I remember seeing PSA’s about the Peace Corps on TV. I always felt they were directed at me. I never told anyone that either. I sort of dreamed in secret.

My life has slowed. I haven’t traveled in a while, but life is still interesting. I actually play the ukulele, the first musical instrument I have ever played. That still surprises me. Every day, I take it easy, something which took me a long while to learn. So what if I don’t vacuum today. The dust can wait. The only day I set an alarm is on Wednesdays when I have a uke lesson.

I have a major dream. I want to go back to Ghana as a gift to myself on my 80th birthday. That gives me two years to make it happen.

I woke up to another lovely, sunny warm day. It is 74°. The windows are open. The air is sweet. Fall on Cape Cod is the best season.

I am grouchy today. I was restless last night. At one point some noise woke me up. It sounded as if something heavy had fallen to the floor. Henry is my barometer. He announces with the loudest barks any odd sound or any people near my house. He didn’t stir so I didn’t choose to investigate and went back to sleep. I found nothing today but the search was cursory.

When I was a kid, my father told us the story of the man with the hook. He said it wasn’t real, but it sounded real to me. I imagined some guy with a hook for a hand scratching screens and windows looking for victims. He wore ragtag clothes and a dark fedora. That last part, his wardrobe, is what I imagined. He came only at night. I remember one Friday when my parents went grocery shopping. My brother and I stayed home. We watched TV. It was then I heard the scratching on the screen. I heard it again and was so scared I went behind the couch to hide. I made the mistake of yelling we’re calling police. I was brave. I was also stupid giving away my hiding place. The front door opened. I was nearly catatonic. It was my father pranking us. I don’t think I have ever been as scared as I was that night.

I remember watching a really bad horror movie. I love them, the worst the better. In this one, some college students had bought a big, cheap house to rehab. They didn’t know it had been the site of a murder, and that a vengeful grandmother was a ghost there. She killed them one by one. I remember a window with only the glass at the bottom decapitating one of them, but the scene I remember most is similar to my having threatened to call the police from behind the couch. Along the stairs, the whole wall was covered in dripping blood. That would have sent me running the other way. Nope, they decided to go upstairs. You can guess their fate. I tried to find the title of that movie but I didn’t.

Movies don’t scare me much anymore, but I did jump when, in Jaws, Ben Gardener’s head suddenly appeared in the window of his sunk boat, and in Alien when the creature burst out of John Hurt’s stomach.

I do like a bit of a scare. I always smile afterwards.