The day is a pretty one again, but it is also a hot one again. We are in the mid to high 80’s every day. The dogs pant. Their morning naps are now on the cool tile of the kitchen floor, quite the change for my couch dogs. Despite the heat I did go to the dump yesterday. That means today I can loll. I have become quite adept at lolling.

I lived in a hot country. It was especially hot during the dry season, but I abided the heat. It was expected. Here, I grouse when it is this hot. I even grouse out loud though there is no one to hear me. The weather report predicts this same weather will hang around all week. I’ll get even more dramatic. I’ll swoon on the couch overcome by the vapors.

When I was a kid, I lived in a dark house. My mother pulled down every shade to keep the sun at bay. My sisters ran through the sprinkler. They laid out towels on the lawn as if they were at the pool or the beach. The sprinkler water was cold so they screamed and laughed. I sometimes went to the pool, but it was at the other end of town. I always got hot walking home. Sleeping was difficult. The upstairs never cooled down. I tossed and turned before I finally fell sleep. It took a while.

Every now and then I’d sleep outside with my friend in her backyard. It had a fence on the backside of the grass separating it from the big, white house on the street behind it, on Green Street. Close to the fence on the other side were pear trees. We’d eat the fallen pears. They were always hard. We’d put my father’s old, stiff tarp on the grass and sleep on top of it. I’d bring my sheet and pillow. I remember lying on my back looking at the sky filled with stars. They brightened the night. They cut through the darkness. Their light made shadows on the grass. I could see the old man in the moon. He was always smiling. Those were magical nights.

Today is a scorcher. Already it is 85°. The air is thick, humid. A thunder storm is predicted for this afternoon, but the sun and blue sky seem to belie the prediction. Every now and then a breeze strong enough to flutter the leaves and sway small branches gives a bit of relief. The dogs are stretched out, sleeping on the kitchen floor, the coolest spot in the house. I am in the den, the coolest spot not on the floor.

I will do my dump run this afternoon. The trash bags are in front waiting to be loaded into the trunk. I also need to water my house plants. I figure those chores are enough for today.

I have strange pictures in my memory drawers. They are single moments which have stayed with me. I don’t know why those specific memories are still fresh, recallable, but there they are. I remember riding a bus into Boston. In the front seats facing each other were two old ladies. They were dressed like my grandmother. They chatted with each other from the moment they sat down. I watched one woman take out a cigarette, light it and hold it between her fingers. She wasn’t paying attention. She put the lit end into her mouth. She sputtered and spit. I remember watching a woman who worked at Hank’s Bakery putting a pastry box together, filling it with cupcakes and then tying it closed almost in one motion. The string was red and white. I remember walking home through the square by the fire station. The firemen, not fire fighters back then, sat in wooden chairs outside the bays in front of the trucks. They wore blue.

Some of my travel moments are etched into my memories. I remember standing on the equator straddling the line between the hemispheres. I remember in Caracas going to buy a ticket to Merida. The building was huge with kiosks lined up on the sides and in the middle. I can still see the sea of booths. I was amazed I found the right ticket booth and later the right bus. In Columbia I toured the factory where salt was extracted from salt stones. I was chewing gum which disintegrated in my mouth and tasted awful from the salt permeating the air. I spit the remnants into my hand. On my first visit to a market in Ghana, I remember the table right beside the entrance. Round black balls were in piles on that table. I asked, goat dung was the answer. I threw up.

When I was young, probably 8 or 9, we went to Vermont for vacation. The house was huge, painted white and had a wrap around porch. A lake was across the street from the house. It was shallow for a bit then there was huge drop and the water was deep. My father would have me hold on to his shoulders, and he’d dive. I remember seeing fish.

I have flown. I was on my bike on the hill by my house. I swear my bike tires left the ground, and I was airborne.