What a delightful morning! It is 67° with a strong breeze. I can hear the leaves brushing against each other as their branches sway. The sky is a Crayola blue, cornflower. The sun is warm. It is a day to enjoy, to embrace.

Today is a day for the senses, for sounds and smells and sights. That’s a bit of alliteration to start your morning.

A crowing rooster is a favorite sound of mine. The first time I heard one in real life was in Ghana. He crowed from my backyard. I listened then fell back to sleep. After that, I listened for him every early morning. When I returned to Ghana forty years later, a rooster crowed outside my hotel window. I smiled at the familiar sound. He made me feel at home.

During my live-in with a Ghanaian family, a part of my Peace Corps training, my room was off the balcony. Below the balcony was a small mosque. Just before sunrise, the muezzin sang the Fajr, the call to prayer. It was beautiful. I didn’t know what it was so I asked. My sister explained. After that, I sort of woke up when the prayer was sung. I listened then went back to sleep. Where I lived in Ghana had no mosque close. I missed the sound. The next time I heard a call to prayer was in Marrakech. I was sitting on the roof of my riad when I heard the call. I could see the minaret from my roof. All the memories came back.

The sunsets and the sunrises are often riots of color of reds and purples, oranges and pink. The colors are reflected on the trees, and the branches are silhouettes against the sky. The colors of fall here in New England are vibrant. The leaves turn red and yellow and orange. The maple trees turn such a vibrant blaze of red that I always stop to look. I am amazed, every year, every autumn.

The smells of evergreen and of cookies baking are Christmas to me. The smell of turkey roasting is Thanksgiving and Christmas, fancy dinners to celebrate the days. The smell of wood charcoal burning is Ghana. Every morning fires were lit to cook breakfast, mine included. I could smell the sweetness of the burning wood. When I bought a charcoal grill, I always used wood charcoal, never briquettes.

I have the beginnings of a summer cold. I skipped today’s afternoon concert and am waiting before I decide whether or not to go the 5:30 concert. Tomorrow we have a barbecue before practice, and I’d like to feel good to go.

I started with alliteration and am ending with an oxymoron, summer cold.

The lovely mornings continue. Today is bright, sunny. We have a breeze, a strong breeze. I can hear the chimes from my backyard. I can feel the breeze from the back door. According to the weather, we can expect light rain. That seems improbable given the sun and blue sky.

I was born in the wee hours of the morning. My father, never a patient man, left the hospital a few times before I was born to go to my grandparent’s house in the same town as the hospital to give updates. That infuriate my aunt. She was getting married that day and needed her sleep so she told my father not to come back. He did anyway. He was pacing in the hospital waiting room when the nurse came in to tell him I had been born. He said she ask for Mr. Ryan. Given that he was the only one in the waiting room, he got a bit exasperated. When he first saw me, my mother and I were just being wheeled out of the operating room. He kept asking her if it was a boy or girl. My mother remembers wearing her wedding corsage on her robe when she was still in the hospital. My aunt never liked we shared the day especially when I reminded her I was born before she got married so it was more my day than hers.

I used to wonder how it felt to be old. I can now attest I feel no different than I did when I was young. The surprise comes when I look in the mirror and see an old woman with a wrinkled face. I know. I know. Old is relative. I always hear that from old people. It is supposed to be comforting.

My sister sent money and said I was not to use it to pay bills so I’ll treat myself to Chinese food. It has been a long while since I last had it. I’m thinking jumbo shrimp for one appetizer and maybe crab Rangoon. Lo mein is always a good choice. I can almost taste it now. I always use the hot mustard. I remember my father used to put so much mustard on his Chinese food his eyes watered and his nose ran. Luckily he always had a handkerchief at hand. I don’t use as much, just enough for watery eyes!

Today I celebrate!