The morning is chilly. It is in the low 50’s, fall weather. The rest of the week will be warmer, in the 60’s, but the nights will be cold. Constantly chilly weather is closer every day. I am not one to brag about how long I go without turning on the heat. I choose not to be uncomfortable and layered in my own house.

When I was a kid, a black oil tank took up on one side of the cellar. Near it was a small window, just a bit above ground. I remember when the oil truck would come. The man would pull the hose to the window, lower it inside and start to fill the tank. What I most remember about that is the smell of the oil and the sound of the truck pump. I used to watch from the cellar.

Oh where have you gone Waldorf salad? The recipe for it was in the first cookbook I ever bought. I remember making Waldorf salad for Thanksgiving a few times. I thought it was delicious. I haven’t made it in years. My mother used to make us Rice a Roni, the San Francisco treat. She never added anything. I remember the two colors, the white rice and the brown vermicelli. It was usually the side for chicken. We had green bean casserole at Thanksgiving and maybe Christmas, but I’m not sure. I made it a few years back, but I used fresh green beans and a bechamel sauce.

I have never been a fan of Jello. I remember Jello salads, some sort of Jello flavor with floating vegetables. It was frightening looking, almost as if an alien had concocted the recipe. It was made in a mold as if it were an exquisite dish.

We never had salads at dinner. The only salad we ate was my mother’s potato salad. It was a summer dish served mostly at barbecues. One dish I dearly miss is creamed onions. It was a Thanksgiving staple. It is easy enough to make so I don’t know why I haven’t.

When I was a kid, I only ate a few vegetables, some of them, like carrots, reluctantly. My mother hid the carrots in the mashed potatoes. They were also mashed. I grew up thinking mashed potatos were orange and white.

Now, I only don’t eat a few vegetables. You know my aversion to beans. I also don’t eat beets. I’ll eat many others vegetables if they are served to me, but I’ll not make them for myself. Ghana introduced me to vegetables like okra and garden eggs, which are baby eggplants. I never ate beans there either.

Like the White Rabbit, I am late; however I don’t have an important date. It is just a regular Tuesday. The sun was here but now is gone, replaced by clouds. The weatherman says cloudy most of the day. I’m thinking today’s clouds are a rehearsal for tomorrow’s rain. The day is breezy and warm at 74°.

The backyard chimes are ringing and sweetening the air. I love the sound. It echoes throughout the whole yard. The only other sounds are the birds. How lovely is that.

When I was a kid, I was a dreamer. I wanted my life to be exciting. I didn’t want to be average. I wanted to explore the world. I wanted to meet new people, eat strange foods and go to places I’d read about in my geography books. I never told anyone my dreams. I held them close. I remember seeing PSA’s about the Peace Corps on TV. I always felt they were directed at me. I never told anyone that either. I sort of dreamed in secret.

My life has slowed. I haven’t traveled in a while, but life is still interesting. I actually play the ukulele, the first musical instrument I have ever played. That still surprises me. Every day, I take it easy, something which took me a long while to learn. So what if I don’t vacuum today. The dust can wait. The only day I set an alarm is on Wednesdays when I have a uke lesson.

I have a major dream. I want to go back to Ghana as a gift to myself on my 80th birthday. That gives me two years to make it happen.