Fall is firmly entrenched. The sunlight is sharp, no longer diffused as in summer. The breeze is chilly and constant. In the mornings the house holds on to the night air and is cold. I bundle a bit, a hoodie and warm slippers. It is time to put the storm door on the front. It is time to prepare for the coming of winter.

I’ve always loved this time of year. I remember how crisp the air felt in the mornings on my walk to school. I wore a jacket. The day would warm, but I still needed my jacket on the walk home. Darkness came in the late afternoon. We were inside early. We’d watch TV, or I’d do homework or read to pass the time until supper. We’d eat at the table in the kitchen. We could hear the TV in the background from the living room. We’d finish eating then to go back to watching TV until bedtime.

I used to love walking in the gutters and kicking the leaves. They flew into the air and onto the street. My front yard didn’t have trees which dropped their leaves. They were mostly fir trees. The backyard had a big hill and no trees. The sidewalks, though, were sheltered by big trees and long branches and were covered in fallen leaves.

My father raked on Saturdays. He’d clear the sidewalks and rake and sweep the dead leaves into big piles in the gutters. He’d burn the piles. I remember the smoke was gray, and the burning leaves had the best smell. I’d watch them burn. My clothes would hold on to the smell long after the fire was out.

Nala is sneaky. She quietly gets into things. This morning I found torn paper napkins and paper towels in the hall. I think she stole them from the bag I keep in this room for recycling my newspapers and magazines. I am either too engrossed in what I am doing or too absent minded to notice. When I accuse her, that stub tail wags, and she sort of smiles. That is her tell.

I was tired yesterday after nine straight days of mostly uke so yesterday I didn’t go to my uke lesson or the concert. I went back to bed and slept until noon. I am still tired today, and after all that activity my leg is hurting. The pain woke me up a few times during the night. I heard moaning. What a shock to find out I was the moaner. This morning I have started taking Tylenol again. I do need a few things, my usually bread and cream, but I won’t go out; instead, I need to stay home and do nothing, to rest my leg. I’m getting good at doing nothing.

Today is another lovely fall day. The sun is shining, but clouds are predicted for later. It is 61°. The breeze is every now and then and is strong enough to blow the leaves at the ends of the branches. The dogs romped this morning.

I remember so much, and if I close my eyes, I can see pieces of my childhood. My third grade classroom is intact in my memories. We were in the cellar of the rectory with the walls and the floor painted and tables and chairs about the room. A clock was the only wall ornament. I remember my seat was at the last table in a chair not against the wall. My nun’s desk was across from the door and facing all of us. We kept our books in the center of the table while lunches and book bags went under the chairs. We used to line up in the middle of the room to go outside. We had to walk beside the cars in the garage. It was a strange place for a classroom, but we never minded. It was as if we were in our own school.

I remember the eighth grade. My room was on the second floor. My seat was by a window overlooking the school yard. A bookcase lined the wall under the windows. I used to hide candy in the bookcase beside my seat. I’d covertly eat it during the day. Later, I got more brazen and kept my transistor radio in the bookcase. I’d listen through ear buds and hide the buds with my hands. One day as I was listening and eating, I got called on. I pulled the candy out of my mouth but wasn’t fast enough to take out the air buds. Sister Hildegard thought I was hard of hearing and raised her voice. I almost laughed out loud. Later, she changed all our seats, and I was in the front desk of the second row. She never remembered my hearing problem, and I couldn’t hide my candy or music anymore.

I can still see the classroom block and my classroom at Women’s Training College in Bolgatanga where I taught. The windows had no glass. They did have shutters. We sometimes had to close them when the rains were heavy. The door was an opening. Once in a while a goat would make its way inside the room. We’d just keep going. The goat always left. There were small wooden tables and chairs. Each table held two students. The chalk board was at the front of the room. Some of it had cracks. I wrote around them. My desk was in front of the board. In my memory drawer is the most vivid picture of that classroom. It will always be with me.