We have sunlight despite the clouds. The light is diffused, a pale imitation of itself. It is cold, 39°, but the high 40’s are predicted for later. It is Sunday quiet. I don’t even hear any cars. Even the birds are quiet. The dogs are napping as they do every day about this time. They’ll also nap later. Such is a dog’s life, at least my dog’s life.

I often think back to my childhood Sundays. I went to mass, sometimes early with my father the usher. Other times it was mass at mid-morning. The last pew in the upstairs church had only room for two people, and it didn’t have a kneeler. I rushed to get that seat. I’ve have to sit the whole mass, such a tragedy say I with tongue in cheek. The church was always filled for Sunday mass. It was still expected that women would wear dresses and a hat. Most men were in suits. Fedoras placed on pews beside them. The mass was short or long, logical I know, but the length wasn’t a given. It was dependent on the priest giving the sermon. The oldest priests gave the longest sermons. When one walked out to start the mass, the entire church sighed, dismayed, knowing what was ahead.

On Sundays, we always had dinner, and it was always a roast of sorts, mashed potatoes, gravy and a couple of vegetables. Corn was the universal choice for favorite vegetable. Carrots and green beans were tolerated. After dinner, we’d sometimes visit my grandparents in East Boston. The house was always filled with relatives.

On Sunday night, we’d watch TV for a little while then were sent to bed early so we’d be bright eyed and bushy tailed and ready for school on Monday.

Sunday dinners stayed around. We still had a roast, mashed potatoes and vegetables, fresh and canned. I’ve mentioned before my last dinner at home before Ghana. It was a roast beef, my choice. It was the perfect way to finish.

What a pretty morning it is. The sun is bright. The sky is a deep blue. Though clouds were predicted, there are none. It is 45°. It feels warm with no wind. Dare I say this is a preview of spring?

Since I was a kid, Saturday has been my favorite day. I used to wander on my bike. I had routes I followed. Near the golf course, I hunted for wayward golf balls. I always found a few across the street from the course. Uptown, I walked my bike on the sidewalk and checked out all the store windows. Two had smells. The bakery smelled of bread. The aroma wafted up and down the street and seemed to swirl around the sidewalk in front of the store. Once in a while I had enough money to buy a loaf, a warm loaf. I’d tear off pieces and eat it as I walked. The last store, the fish market, was down a bit from Hanks’ Bakery. It had a fishy smell, an unpleasant smell, which carried to the sidewalk. In the store window was a tank with lobsters. I used to watch the lobsters swim around. That was my last stop in the square.

Winter Saturday fun depended on the weather. If it was snowy, we’d sled all day right down our own hill. If the weather was ugly, we’d go to the matinee in the theater uptown or just hang around watching TV. I remember westerns more than any other programs. Fury, My Friend Flicka, The Adventures of Rin Tin Tin, Sky King and my favorite, The Lone Ranger, were all on Saturday. I always sat on the rug right in front of the screen. Some Saturdays I ate not only breakfast but also lunch in front of the TV. I never went blind.

None of us ever complained about supper on Saturdays. It was traditional. It was a New England thing. We had baked beans, brown bread and hot dogs. The beans and the bread came out of cans. The brown bread had the markings of the can. It looked sort of decorative. The hot dogs were boiled or sometimes fried. The hot dog rolls always opened at the top. I used mustard and piccalilli on my dogs. No one would have ever have given any thought to using ketchup. That was sacrilegious. In summer the hot dogs were grilled, and the rolls were browned on the grill. We’d have ice cream for dessert. My father back then worked for an ice cream company.

As for me now, I am not a fan of westerns with a few exceptions like Blazing Saddles. I don’t sit close to the TV, but I do eat in the den. I love hot dogs. My sisters make fun of me as it is my go-to supper. I always have hot dogs and top loading rolls on hand. I never have brown bread, decorated or not.