Today is another miserable day, cold and drizzly. To add to the misery, my computer will not charge so I am on my iPad. My front fence won’t stay up, and an animal broke into the trash. When I woke up, Nala was so asleep she didn’t move. I had to disturb her to make sure she was just sleeping. My coffee maker is being testy and stopping before being finished. I am holding my breath hoping the rest of the day gets better, but that is, I expect, a bad idea. I’ll probably gag.

One bright spot is uke. It starts again tonight with practice. Our music book is the 70’s. Some of the songs are difficult. Carole King is best for listening, not playing.

When I was a kid, I would plan my future, not what I’d be but where I would go. Using pamphlets from the airport and post cards, I’d cut out pictures and make scrapbooks of my travels. I even wrote the narratives as if I had been there. They were my dream books.

I remember one Easter Sunday when I was in Ghana. I was staying at the Peace Corps hostel in Accra, about fifty cents a night with breakfast. It was in a section of the city called Adabraka. I always stayed there, and it was a reunion of sorts with other volunteers I seldom saw who were posted all over, none near me. We made plans on Saturday to spend Easter at the beach. After breakfast, we jumped into taxis and went to a beach club. It was sort of ritzy. The beach was lovely. Tables with umbrellas were by the club. We swam and played in the water. We had lunch. We decided after lunch to take a walk down the beach. I remember all the palm trees. Husks of coconuts were under the trees. We found a piece of palm tree and half a coconut and played baseball along the sand. I remember laughing and getting only one hit. I remember the sunburn. It was fierce.

Other than uke, my dance card is empty. I ordered Easter dinner, a traditional dinner with ham. I still need to buy my Peeps so they have time to harden. I like them rock hard. I have no favorite color. Each one tastes the same.