I swear I saw the sun when I woke up. Now it’s gone, replaced by clouds holding rain. The temperature is the usual for a raw spring day, 52˚. The wind has just started blowing. I need a better day, a prettier day, a day with sun. That won’t be tomorrow either so I’ll have to be patient until Thursday.

When I was a kid, everything was simple. Every weekday was the same: get up, get dressed in my school uniform, a blue skirt, white blouse and blue clip on western tie, eat breakfast, walk to school and then spend most of the day in class doing lessons except for lunch and recess. When I’d get home, the first thing I had to do was change into my play clothes. If the weather was good, I went out on my bike while other times I played with friends. I remember roller skating on the sidewalk with the old key skates. Sometimes we explored the woods and the swamp beyond the field below our houses. I never felt bored.

When I got older, boredom struck. In hindsight I think it and adolescence struck at the same time. Every weekday resembled every weekday when I was a kid. I got up, put on my school uniform, a pleated plaid skirt, a white blouse, a grey vest, nylons and black loafers, ate breakfast then walked to the bus stop. The bus went through two towns. I used the time to study. Most of the day was spent in class learning. The exception was lunch and standing outside for a little while in a paved area surrounded by a metal fence. When I got home, I changed into play clothes then sat at the kitchen table and did my homework. I was bored.

When I was in Ghana, most weekdays were the same. I got up, got dressed in a dress made with Ghanaian cloth, ate breakfast, the same breakfast every day, taught classes, ate lunch, the same lunch every day and then I’d spend the afternoon correcting papers or preparing lessons for the next day. I’d eat dinner, pretty much the same dinner every day, take my shower then read before bed. I always went to bed early. I never felt bored.

Today is an ugly, chilly day. The sky is cloudy, nothing new there, and it rained for about two minutes while I was on my way home. I was cold when I went out to my appointments. I have winter coats, fleece jackets and summer shirts, but I have nothing for this mid season, for this not yet springtime on Cape Cod weather, but I’m home now and am cozy and warm.

When I was a kid, I moved into spring by putting my outside winter clothes away. I was happy to wear a light jacket with a sweater underneath it, always a cardigan. I ditched the knee socks for ankle socks. I didn’t even pretend to wear a hat.

Spring smells the best of all the seasons. After drab winter, spring is a miracle of sorts. The flowers are growing, the lilac trees are in bloom, and the sweet smell of mown grass is in the air. Some mornings I can even smell the ocean when I’m on the deck.

My mother never learned to swim. She took lessons once at the Y but quit before she had learned. I never asked my mother why she couldn’t swim and now I’m curious. My father was a great swimmer. He loved to body surf. He learned to swim at summer camp. I saw a picture of him from one summer camp. He is holding the bit of a horse and is wearing a bandana around his neck which looked like part of the camp uniform. He looked young, no older than 12 or 13. My father taught me to swim. He threw me off a wharf and hoped for the best, but he watched just to make sure I didn’t drown.

I am almost finished my book. It is called The Missing American by Kwei Quartey and takes place in Ghana. The author was born in Ghana to an American mother and a Ghanaian father. This is the third of his books I have read and is, by far, the best. Most of it happens in Accra, and he portrays the city perfectly as it now with all its blemishes. I’ll be lolling with my book the rest of the afternoon. I didn’t buy bonbons, but I did buy some pico, guac and tortilla chips, perfect snacks. I just wish I had a margarita.