I almost slept through the whole morning. When I finally stirred, it was after eleven. I talk to my sister every Sunday at 11, but she figured rightly that I was still sleeping so she didn’t call. We did chat eventually.

My house was so cold when I woke up that outside was warmer. The dogs were stretched across the bed so I had just a corner of the covers. I could see my breath, okay a slight exaggeration here for descriptive purposes, but when I checked the temperature, the house was only 63°. Mark the day as the first time I turned on the heat this season. It is blasting now.

I have been home lately. I haven’t seen anyone. My leg hurt which didn’t help. Only the dogs heard me moan and watched me limp. I talked to people but minimized my leg. The leg conversation was getting tiresome. Today, finally, my leg is so much better. It only hurts a bit when I stand up and sit down. This is week five. The doctor did say 3 to 5 weeks.

I am not a beer drinker. I liken it to cow urine. No, I haven’t tasted cow urine so I’m guessing. I do have a beer story. When I was in training in Ghana, we got a couple of cedis, Ghanaian paper money, a day. We were housed and fed so the money was for snacks or travel or recreation. One night a bunch us met at a spot which was on the corner of the main road between our two training sites. A spot is basically a Ghanaian bar. We sat outside. There were 5 or 6 of us. We ordered beer as that was all we could afford. I would take a sip of beer then puff on my cigarette hoping to disguise the taste of the beer. We decided to play a few drinking games. We stayed drinking until we ran out of money. By then we were all a bit in our cups. We left to go back to our schools. I few of us had to walk on a path through palm trees and greenery with family compounds set among the trees. We started to sing as we walked. I don’t know why but we sang church, mass, songs. We sang all the way. I can’t imagine what the Ghanaians thought. I slept well that night.

This week I have uke practice and a lesson and one concert. On Saturday is my 60th high school reunion. It is in the afternoon. That always makes my sisters laugh.

The morning is lovely, sunny, bright and warm, 65° warm. My neighborhood is quiet, odd for a Saturday, but I’m thinking the Saturday work on the yard and mow the lawn rituals have passed. We are between the seasons of mowing and raking. Few of the leaves have turned color. Summer hangs on.

When I was a kid, I never hung around the house on a Saturday unless it was pouring rain. I explored or went to the movies or the library. If it rained, I’d stay upstairs in my room and read. I always had books. I still always have books. I’d get comfy under the covers with my pillow propped behind me and lose myself in the pages of my book. My mother used to think I ignored her when she called, but I just didn’t hear her. The world outside my room had disappeared.

I always had dreams of what I’d be or where I’d go. I knew I’d travel. That was a promise I made to myself when I was eleven. I didn’t know anyone who traveled, but that didn’t matter. It was my dream, a dream I never shared with anyone. I’d go through the pages of my atlas and read National Geographic at the library. I’d plan my trip. When I was in the eighth grade, John Kennedy, in a campaign speech, asked students at the University of Michigan if they would be willing to serve their country and the cause of peace by living and working in countries like Ghana. I knew I would. I never told anyone about that either. It is serendipitous that President Kennedy chose Ghana.

I have had favorite experiences. One was a balloon ride. My sister and I stood in the balloon’s basket as we floated in the air. The only sounds were the wind and the now and then whoosh of gas to keep the balloon inflated. I saw people in bathrobes hurry out of their houses to see the balloons as there were many of us on this perfect day for flight. On the way to Ghana the plane flew over the Sahara Desert. We all rushed to a window to see it. That was when the realization that I was starting an amazing adventure became real. My ride in the desert on the runaway camel is on the list of unexpected experiences. I came really close to face planting myself in the sands of the Sahara. Taking a horse and carriage ride in Marrakech, Morocco was stepping back in time. We rode among the old houses and the warrens of small streets not open to cars.

I have been so very lucky in this adventure of my life.