Today is a pretty day with lots of sun. It is warmish at 44˚. My plans for today are simple: change my bed and take a shower then maybe nap from the exertion. I don’t even have a full load of laundry yet. Yesterday I took down ornaments from the tree near the driveway, unplugged all the extension cords and then put everything down cellar, but the lights themselves are still on the fence and deck. I am saving them for another day. Wow, something to look forward to say I sarcastically.

My house is being cleaned. Nala is barking and trying to eat the vacuum. Henry barked like a crazy dog when my cleaning lady rang the bell but has since settled on the couch. His work is done until the mailman stops his truck at my mailbox. That will send Henry into a frenzy.

When I was a kid, my mother always prepared breakfast for us so we would be fortified for the walk to school. I remember the oatmeal, the lumpy oatmeal, on winter mornings. Sometimes I added sugar and milk while other times it was maple syrup. I also loved cinnamon toast. When it was a cereal morning, a box of Rice Krispies and a box of Cheerios were on the table. I never chose the Cheerios.

My father joined the navy during World War II the day he turned 17. He had already graduated from high school. His mother had sent him to school at 4 just to get him out of the house. My father was a signalman. I don’t remember how old I was, but he taught my brother and me Morse code. We used to darken the upstairs. My brother and I were in one room while my father was in another. Using his flashlight, he’d send us messages in Morse code. We’d answer him with our flashlight. I don’t remember Morse code except SOS and the four opening notes of the movie The Longest Day which were the opening bars of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony and Morse code for victory, dot-dot-dot-dash, or three short clicks and one long. It was played on kettle drums which was the dramatic opening of that movie. V for victory became the leitmotif for the Western Allies (I had to look up leitmotif, a new word for me).

For a long time, I knew I wanted to join the Peace Corps. When the recruiter came on campus my junior year of college, I was front and center to listen. His description of his experiences cemented my Peace Corps wish. I applied in October of my senior year then I suffered through the waiting game. In real time it wasn’t a long wait, but for me, it felt like an eternity. I received a special delivery letter in January inviting me to accept an invitation to the Peace Corps. I accepted immediately. I was going to Africa. I was over the moon.

The sun is shining in a sky of blue. It is a bit chilly, only 48˚. The forecast is for rain but not until after five. Yesterday I cleaned the papers and cans in the yard, Nala’s mess. While I was cleaning, she tried to eat the convict pick up stick. I use stop instead of no, but it doesn’t matter. Nala ignores me either way, but she comes in when I call. I’m good with that.

When I was a kid, my dog Duke, another boxer, ignored everybody. That used to drive my father insane. He was known to chase Duke in the car when the dog ignored him and still ran off to follow kids to school. My mother tried a different tactic to get him into the house. She bribed him with bologna, but he could snatch a slice from her hand and leave her only with the corner of the meat she was holding. If Duke was out, he’d follow us to our school. The nuns had me walk him home. I didn’t mind the walk, and I loved missing school with permission. I took my time.

I had all the regular subjects in elementary school and only one nun every year who taught them all. We didn’t have art or music every day which was fine with me. I can’t sing and I draw stick figures. We were taught a few weird subjects. I can translate Roman numerals, and I can read and transcribe Gregorian chant music. Mighty skills, useless skills!

I am watching Unknown World from 1951. It has a woman scientist who is described as an ardent feminist. She is in charge of the diet and the animals. The other day I watched a video about a moose. The narrator described it as a quiet Gentile. I wondered. Are all moose Gentiles? I have no idea what the program was, but I loved the description of the main character as a plucky underdog. At one of my high school’s graduations, a speaker, the head of the school committee, made a speech. He wanted to share with the graduates an antidote.

The English language and mathematics are strangely similar. There is one answer to a math problem and only one correct grammatical structure. I find the sounds of incorrect grammar grating. I reject the argument that only being understood matters. That is like telling a musician that singing on-key isn’t important. Just belt out that song. Only the singing matters, not the tone or the key or the notes. My third grade teacher, Sister Eileen Marie, told me just to mouth the words to the May procession songs. I still remember exactly where I was standing when she had me sing to her. She then embarrassed me in front of the whole class when she told me to mouth the words. I was eight. That is when I stopped singing when anyone could hear me.