The weather was perfect yesterday. Today will be the same. I’m going to Hyannis, the big city. I hope I don’t look like a rube.

Yesterday was a banner day. I finally did my laundry, three larger than life loads. Now I know where all my clothes have been hiding. Hauling the piles up two flights of stairs was the worst part. One load is still in the dryer. I just couldn’t carry another load. I’ll finish tomorrow. I do feel accomplished.

When I was a kid, we went to Boston a few times a year: in the summer and near Christmas. In the summer, It was usually on a Sunday. I remember going to the Public Garden, sitting by the lagoon and being amazed at how friendly the squirrels were, coming up and begging for peanuts which, conveniently, were sold from carts on the street. The squirrels would come up to us, and we could feed them by hand. I was thrilled. I was feeding wildlife. We’d take a ride on the swan boats. I was impressed that they were powered by pedaling. In the middle of the lagoon was a swan’s nest. I never saw eggs or baby swans, but I did see the couple, the adult swans, swimming together.

Our winter trip to Boston was for Christmas. We’d go look at the decorated store windows and the Boston Common where all the trees were filled with lights. I remember once my father bought us roasted chestnuts from a cart. I wasn’t particularly impressed. They tasted awful. Our next trip to Boston was to go to Jordan Marsh to see Santa and the Enchanted Village. My mother took us by bus to Sullivan Square and then we took the subway to get to Boston. That was always so exciting, the subway and Santa in one day.

Yesterday was chilly. Today will be much warmer. The high is supposed to reach 70˚. I’ll pack away my flannel shirt again.

Hanging in my bathroom is a picture of my eight grade class. It is a graduation picture. I am wearing a frilly dress. Trust me. I am not the frilly type. As to why the bathroom, it is decorated with school stuff like an old school bag, a chalk board, some Ding Dong School artifacts and old school books. The picture is hung over the sink so I give it a look when I’m brushing my teeth. I know the names of many of my classmates. Some I don’t remember at all. That makes sense as it was sixty years ago. I think that was the last time I wore a puffy dress.

The school principal was Sister Eileen Marie. That wasn’t her real name. That was her nun name. Her office was just across the hall from my class. I was a class officer. We, the other officers and I, were summoned to the principal’s office. One of us would be picked to crown the Mary statue during the May procession. I was the one. My aunt Mary, my favorite aunt, told me she had also crowned. That made it a family tradition, one which ended with me.

My wanderings were all over town mostly on my bike, but one of my favorite places was a short walk from my house. I walked there so many times I can close my eyes and see it. Below the houses was a huge field, my grasshopper hunting grounds. On one side was a dead tree with its biggest branch still attached but on the ground. The other side was wooded. Once my brother and I found a tiny shack in the wooded side. It was made of boards, poorly made, as there were holes. We went inside. There was a pile of magazines, the sort you hide. We figured the guy who made it wanted a private place where his mother wouldn’t go.

Just up the path was the swamp. Just at the water’s edge was sand. The swamp was a wonder to me. I could watch tadpoles grow into frogs, skate on it and work my way through trees and undergrowth and branches to get where the swamp ended. In the winter it was easy as I could walk on the ice. I remember under the ice was perfectly clear. I could see plants and twigs. It was a marvel.