The morning is perfect, with lots of sun and a temperature of 72°. The breeze is ever so slight. I can hear only birds. The dogs are quietly napping, one in the hall and the other on the couch. I am taking it easy on the couch, moving as little as possible. My leg feels better this morning as it does each morning. I hope in the afternoon when it usually starts to hurt it will continue to improve.

I have been housebound for a couple of weeks. Mostly I read or watch movies. The last few days, though, I’ve watched the Sox play afternoon games. They are fun to watch. You can never count them out. You hold on to hope until the very last out. That’s always been the way. Every Sox fan is born with an over abundance of hope.

Today is the first day of school around here. I remember the excitement of the first day when I was a kid. Everything was new, my school uniform, lunch box, school bag, notebooks and pencils. We’d gather on the school yard in groups happy to see kids we haven’t seen since school ended. Usually the teacher we were getting was not a surprise, one year a nun and the next year a lay teacher, always a woman. A nun would ring a bell, and we’d line up to go into the buildings, into the old school and the new school. In the new school, the second floor held grades six, seven and eight, two classes of each grade. There were so many of us each classroom was filled with forty or more desks. We were the baby boomers.

I remember my first day of classes in Ghana. I was scared. I had only done student teaching. I had 70 students, 35 in each class of T2’s, second years. I had planned the lessons as I had to give the principal a note book outlining the lessons for each day of the week. At first I didn’t know how much I could get done in a single class. I over planned. During my first class a student raise her hand and said they could not hear me which meant they didn’t understand a word I was saying. They didn’t understand my American accent, and I spoke too quickly. I was devastated. I had meticulously planned that lesson, and it failed. I failed. It took me a while to slow down and change my accent. It took my students a while to hear me. Once they did, though, they understand everything, had caught on to the American English which often seeped through the lessons I taught. I had learned and they were learning.

The day is cloudy and will stay cloudy. It is 74°, a perfect temperature. This time of year the nights are cool, wonderful for sleeping. Most schools around here start tomorrow. The summer went quickly.

I am discouraged. I know my leg will take a while to heal, but I am so impatient I expect a miraculous recovery. I walk noisily, oohing and ahing when I use that leg. The walker helps going up and down the hall, but sitting is the best.

The only time I went to the hospital when I was a kid was when I broke my wrist. I was around 4. I had been jumping backwards off the fence gate all afternoon. I wanted my mother to watch. She opened the window in our apartment and watched from there. I took my position on the gate and jumped. It wasn’t a clean landing. I had to use my hand when I touch the ground to brace myself so I wouldn’t fall. My mother applauded despite my poor performance. Later, my mother worried about my wrist. When I was sleeping, she turned it around. I didn’t wake up, but she called my grandfather who told her to have it checked. She did. I had broken my wrist, a buckle fracture. My wrist was put in a cast. I was so proud of that cast. I showed it off everywhere.

There are sticks all over the floors of my house, compliments of Nala. She brings a bigger stick inside and chews on it leaving smaller pieces all over. Small chewed pieces of paper towels are on the deck, Nala’s work again. She is so funny when I catch her with something in her mouth. She has a tell. She almost smiles, and her tail wags so much her tail almost touches her muzzle. When I go to get whatever she has, she takes off out the dog door.

I hate flies. Once in a while one gets into the house so I carry a magazine for swatting. Usually a fly lands on the screen, and I can open the door to let it outside. In Ghana, flies were everywhere. Babies had flies on them. Mothers swatted but there were usually too many flies. I remember one Saturday night at my school. The USAID guy had brought a projector, a cartoon and a movie to my school. The cartoon was about flies. My students laughed the whole time. It showed flies stopping at night soil buckets and flying off with night soil on their legs. The flies next stopped on food where the night soil was left on the food. My students were so enchanted by the cartoon they missed the whole point. I admit it was funny.