Today is cold. The rain has stopped but the dampness remains. The sky is cloudy. The wind is strong and cuts through my light jacket. It is an ugly day all around.

I met with my surgeon this morning. He unwrapped my finger. Though it is still swollen, he was pleased as the swelling has gone down, and the finger is not infected. I thought it looked ugly. There are two yellow pins holding my bone together. He said the finger had been quite bad. He had to repair the tendon and stitch the bottom of the finger back together. He finished his inspection, rewrapped it and said he’d see me in three weeks and would arrange for finger therapy, not physical therapy but finger therapy.

When I was a kid, this was the quiet day. The only place we ever went on Sundays was my grandparents’ house which was always filled with relatives. It was the Sunday gathering spot. I can still close my eyes and see the house. From the front door to the backdoor was a long narrow walkway. The small backyard had grass and its back wall was brick which was actually a wall of the church on the next street down. A small cave-like addition led to the backdoor and the kitchen. The addition had the refrigerator. The kitchen was small. On the stove was always the biggest pot filled with pasta. People ate when they got hungry. My mother and my aunts aways sat at the kitchen table. The air was filled with smoke from their cigarettes. Beyond the kitchen was another room, dark with only small windows. Up the stairs was another floor and beyond that was one more floor with two bedrooms and the bathroom.

I used to wander the city when I was older. It was so different from where I lived. On every corner there seemed to be a small store. People sold slices of pizza and cups of Italian ice. I remember just down the street from my grandparents’ house a woman sold the pizza out her window. That’s when I developed a taste for cold pizza like the bakeries sold.

Later on, when I started traveling, I loved to wander cities with no destinations in mind. I’d stop at small stores and get something to eat. Sometimes it was a sandwich on fresh, just baked bread. Other times it was pastry. Sometimes I’d sit, drink a cup of coffee and watch the world go by.

All those wanderings always reminded me of my grandparents’ city. That where my wandering was born.

When I woke up, far too early, I heard the rain. I groaned but got up anyway as I had an early appointment with the surgeon. I had coffee then struggled to get dressed from the inside, the foundation, out. When I got to Hyannis, the building was dark and the parking lot empty. Perplexed, I called. Come to find out, my surgeon uses the building on the weekends but not today. He was in surgery. I went back home and undressed from the outside in.

Last night wasn’t a good night. I woke up several times from the pain of my hand. One episode lasted for what seemed hours and hours when all of a sudden the pain disappeared. It was a miracle. I looked around for a heavenly figure but saw nothing, not a vision, not a light.

When I was growing up, I got bumps and scratches and one broken bone. I had stitches on my chin from a fall down the stairs. That’s it, the total from my childhood. In Ghana I got a burn from the exhaust pipe of my motorcycle. I had stopped to let a herd of goats pass by me. One goat veered and the others followed. They hit my “moto” unexpectedly, and it fell whacking my leg on the way down. The burn was odd looking, basically the shape of the pipe. I had an infected mosquito bite caused by my scratching it and wearing sandals. The Peace Corps doctor lanced it. I got a really bad sunburn one Easter Sunday spent by the ocean. It stopped hurting after a while. That is the entire list of my Peace Corps maladies.

I have fallen down stairs. On the first fall I broke my cheekbone and some teeth, injured one leg and my hand. On the second fall, all I did was knock myself unconscious. It was a fall from my deck stairs, sort of a long way down. The next fall was off a ladder I was using to get at the windows I was washing. I knocked myself out again and was lucky I missed the concrete wall and landed in my herb garden on the lemon verbena. It was that wonderful aroma I smelled when I woke up. I had broken my wrist, but I didn’t know it and just soldiered on and finished the window.

I’ve had other falls, but they only resulted in only a few welts, a black eye and some swollen body parts. I’ve been lucky.

My most recent injuries, both resulting in hospital stays, were caused by the dogs: one fell on me and the other bit me during the frenzy of a dog fight.

I figure the list isn’t all that long for 75 years worth of living though I do admit to more caution now.