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.

Today is a rest day. I again woke up quite late, let the dogs out, brewed a pot of coffee, had a couple of cups, read the newspaper and finished all the puzzles. By then it was close to 1:30. I decided not to write today as I have some things needing doing, but I figured I’d at least give you an update.

First, my leg is a bit better. I slept through the night and through the morning without waking up. I can walk pretty well, but I can’t bend over on my right side without some pain. It took a while to get my sock on my right foot. When I sit for a while, my leg does hurt when I get up, but all in all, it is better. This is week four of the three to five weeks the doctor told me it would take to heal. My nephew and my friend, both into sports medicine, gave me the same time line.

The floors of my house have dog hair everywhere, Henry hair, piles of it. They move when I walk by them. They need to be swept or vacuumed, but I’ll wait another couple of days. I admit I am being driven crazy by all that fur, but I’ll just have to dredge up some patience.

Today I am a sloth for all the right reasons.