The morning is chilly. It is sunny but only 51°. The wind is strong and makes the morning feel even colder. The leaves on the trees in the backyard are whipping about as they fall to the ground. I had decided to use today to shut down the deck, at least most of the deck, but I’m not sure now with the wind and all, maybe by afternoon.

Wearing the splint last night on my finger was a good thing. The finger didn’t hurt this morning. I have exercises to do each day, a couple of them are new and meant to straighten out the top of the finger. It tilts, perennially pointing.

Where I was growing up, my neighborhood was filled with kids. A few were my age but most were younger. My friend from up the street and I walked to and from school together. She lived in a duplex at the top of the hill. It was the same one where we used to live. I remember it had a landing going upstairs. I used to sit there and read. We moved from there down the hill to a bigger place, one with a third bedroom, after my sister was born. That’s the place I remember the most.

When I think back, I realize how wonderful a childhood I had. My parents were generous. I had everything a kid considered essential. I had a bike, a one time Christmas present, a wooden sled, roller skates with a key and white ice skates, the sort we all had. My parents were never restrictive. I went all over town and into the next towns on my bike. My parents always trusted me to tell them where I was going, and I did if I knew.

One Christmas, when I was older, I got what we all, my friends and I, had wanted for Christmas, a transistor radio. Mine was square. It was brown leather, actually fake leather, with rows of decorative holes in the front. It opened in the back to put in the batteries. I listened to it in my room. It was a bit heavy to carry, but I loved it. As I got older, the radios got smaller, the sort you could carry or put into a pocket, but they are not the ones I remember. It was that first brown leather radio. It was a marvel.

Today is a perfectly beautiful fall day in New England. The temperature is already 70°. The sun is bright with a sharpness of light. We had a short rain shower, and the leaves are still wet. The sun glints off them like jewel light. The breeze is strong enough to blow the wind chimes, and the sound sweetens the air.

I spent time in the backyard tracking down my shoe. It is brown so it sank and disappeared into the piles of brown leaves. I happened to have noticed quickly it was gone. I didn’t catch her stealing it, but I caught her with it right away. I chased her. She took off and dropped it.

I had PT this morning. I took the highway there but the long way home on 6A. I rubbernecked. I took my time. I stopped to look at the marsh in its fall colors. I wished I had cash to shop the wagons on the sides of the road selling flowers and vegetables. Next time I thought.

My finger now has a splint to wear at night. It will protect the finger and straighten the tip which bends. By the time I am scheduled to be finished with PT, it will be three months of this finger healing. I didn’t expect that. I have one more visit with the surgeon to schedule in two weeks.

Yesterday was a banner day for me. I finished, folded and brought upstairs three loads of laundry. Only a few bed linens are left. I vacuumed the kitchen, den and hall. I dusted places seldom dusted. I climbed the step ladder to get there. I cleaned Jack’s room. When I finished, there should have been applause.

When I lived in Ghana, Thomas cleaned my house and did my laundry which had to be hand-washed. He used two buckets. One was wash and the other rinse. I had a clothes line strung across the backyard. The air was so hot clothes dried in a short time. Thomas used a charcoal iron on my dresses. My house was small. It had four rooms inside: the living room, the dining room where the fridge and a table with a couple of chairs were, my bedroom and a spare room with a desk. My backyard was concrete. On one side was the toilet room and the shower room. The kitchen, seldom used as we couldn’t get gas for the stove, and Thomas’ room were on another side. A wall on the third side separated my side of the duplex from the other side. My water came from an outside spigot.

I loved my house. It was the last house before the back gate. In the field outside my walls, there were compounds where farmers and their families lived. They grew millet. Beyond the back gate was the pathway to town. On market day I could see women carrying their wares on their heads heading to the market. They were the entrepreneurs.

When I reflect on my life in Ghana, I remember the joy it gave me.