The sun is simply glorious. The rug by the front door is dappled with sunlight and one of the cats has found the perfect spot and is stretched out for maximum sun exposure. The other cat, Maddie, and the dog are in here with me on the couch. It is their morning nap time. The house is chilly. It was 63˚ when I came downstairs. Given my druthers, I would rather have lolled under the warm covers for a bit longer but Gracie was impatient to go outside so I got up, put on my sweatshirt and followed her downstairs. I let her out and put the coffee on. My day had started in the same way it always does.

I don’t yelp anymore so my back is finally on the mend. I have decided not to fall again. My luck can’t go on forever. Luck? I’m talking broken bones and a commercial of me yelling.”Help, I can’t get up.”

I have been sitting here for the longest time and have deleted several paragraphs which led me nowhere. I can’t seem to get a handle on anything today. Maybe I should nap with Gracie on the couch.

Folding maps is a disappearing skill. GPS now takes us everywhere, but it tends to take us directly. I don’t have a GPS system. I am still a card-carrying member of the meandering travel club. I prefer old, once well-traveled turnpikes. Let me drive through small towns and stop at local places for lunch. I have all the time I need to get from one place to another. If a shop or store catches my eye, my car turns right into the parking lot. My mother and I used to ride around to see what we might find. We stopped at antique shops and once had lunch in an old house turned into a restaurant. I think we ate in the living room. Those were the best rides.

Breaking news is on local TV right now. The Quincy Police have arrested and turned over to federal agents a man related to the marathon bombing probe. The station has shown the same films over and over and described them in the same way. My favorite film is of the front door of the apartment building where a woman in a white coat carrying a blue bag gets to the door, sees the cameras, turns around and goes back downstairs. I’ve seen her do that at least six times. I just saw her do it again. My favorite interview was with a woman living two floors above the suspect. She was asked what she heard, and she gave her story about hearing bangs and seeing the swat team. The reporter then asked how she felt about the suspect living only two floors below her. Please! What did he expect her to say? We’re having a block party later.