The wind is tremendous. It howls and rushes. The trees and their branches in the backyard are bending at their waists. I’m surprised the pines haven’t cracked. Pines have shallow roots. Today is warm, in the high 50’s, and it could even reach 60˚. I’m home bound today with an empty dance card.

When I was a kid, we had a toaster, and that was about it for kitchen electrical. That toaster was notorious for burning toast. I remember using a butter knife or a fork, my preferred tool, to pull out the toast stuck in the toaster. Crumbs fell all over the counter and floor from my determination to free the toast. I never gave any thought to the combination of electrical and my fork. I was a kid. What did I know? I never ate the burnt toast.

My mother later got a Sunbeam mixer, one of those black and white ones. It sat on the counter for years before being replaced by a food processor. The toaster became a toaster oven. Progress marched into my mother’s kitchen one appliance at a time.

My mind’s eye can conjure familiar routes and count the lights. Take a left at the fifth light. If you ask me where I live on Cape Cod, I’ll point to my elbow. We determine distance by time. How far to Boston? About an hour and fifteen minutes. We don’t tell you east or west, and once you’re over the bridge, you’re on your own.

I just heard a buzz then another buzz. The biggest fly I’ve seen in a very long time has found its way to my den, a sort of refuge I guess, but I figure it won’t be here for long. Usually the buzzing flies find a closed storm door, and I’m always happy to open the door and free the fly, but I’m suggesting it move quickly. Jack likes to eat flies.

Yesterday was winter. Even though I wore my fleece top over a flannel shirt, I was still cold. It was mostly a run to and from the car. I finished three errands, and if I add the stop at the ATM, we’re talking four. I haven’t been to the bank in months. This is the first time in a long time I’ve money in my wallet. I even used it.

I watched MSNBC this morning. A governor from some state with a huge covid outbreak was being interviewed. He said he knows masks work, but there is no evidence that mandating masks work. I’m glad I don’t live in his state.

I remember getting shots before I started school. My smallpox shot was on the top of my leg instead of on my arm. When we visited my aunt one time, I was out playing and tore off the scab-like cover of the shot. I cried not because it hurt but because I was afraid of needing to get the shot again. I didn’t.

My life in Ghana was filled with shots. We got them before we left, when we arrived, every six months and when unexpected major diseases were rampant. Besides the shots, Peace Corps also expected, maybe demanded, we take Larium, mefloquine, an antimalarial, every week. It tasted awful if you didn’t swallow fast enough. I took the pills during the rainy season when insects, especially mosquitos the size of birds, filled the night air. During the dry season, not a bug was to be had. It was wonderful. Under a basket lamp shade hanging from my ceiling was a spot of light on the floor. In the rainy season there were so many bugs under the light you couldn’t see the floor, in the dry, none. I stopped being compliant in the dry season. I didn’t get malaria. Peace Corps looked unkindly on volunteers who got malaria.

Last night I went to get something to drink in the kitchen. On the way I got distracted by some dust and a crooked picture. I sleeved the dust and straightened the picture then went back to the den. I had forgotten I wanted orange juice. After I had sat down, I realized I needed my juice so back to the kitchen. While I was there, I rearranged the kitchen counter. I also remembered to get my drink, ice tea, not juice.