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.

Yesterday I did a few errands limping my way into the world. After that I just took it easy hoping my leg would hurt less. It did. Not moving is the key. The sloth in me never objects to that, to taking it easy. This morning, after a night of not moving, it feels even better. My cough is just about gone. I think I am on the way to getting better. I hope so as my mood needs an adjustment.

The railroad ran when I was a kid. An engine pulled a couple of cars. Up the street from my grandparent’s house was the station master’s house and a barrier which the station master dropped when the train was crossing the road. I used to watch from the front door if I was visiting my grandparents. It was always exciting to see and hear a train. It would cross two more roads before stopping at the chemical factory where it dropped off cargo and loaded more cargo. I remember walking right beside the still train and checking out the cars. Now, the station master’s house is still there but is a regular house like all the other houses. The tracks are gone.

I used to love to go to the record store. I’d browse through the records looking for a bargain. The first records I bought were folk music, Peter, Paul and Mary mostly. I remember buying a Roy Orbison. I have a collection of records. Many were my parents. Some were giveaways at Christmas. One is from a tire store and a couple are from Grants. I love to play them when I decorate the house. Down Cape in Orleans is a record store. A couple of years back I got money for my birthday and shopped there. I bought a couple of records. I remember one was a Gordon Lightfoot. It was fun browsing.

Sundays still seem to be quiet days. When I was a kid, nothing but corner stores were open so people mostly stayed close to home. My father would buy the paper and get donuts. We’d have breakfast. When I was older, my father often made the breakfast. He’d cook the eggs and bacon in the cast iron skillet. I was in charge of toast. I always had my eggs over easy. I like dipping toast into the yokes. The bacon was crisp. I can still see my father standing at that stove with a spatula in hand as he cooked the eggs.

I have an empty dance card. I’m waiting to see if I can start back to uke. It mostly depends on my leg. I’ll decide on Tuesday.