The rain started last night. It is still raining on and off and will continue to rain through tomorrow. It is another chilly day.

My kitchen floor is covered in paw prints. They lead from the door to the hall. They drive me crazy but cleaning them would be an exercise in futility, the old rock up the hill. I’ll just have to close my eyes when I walk into the kitchen.

I loved puddles when I was a kid. I used to walk in the gutters filled with flowing water and shuffle or stomp my feet as I walked. I never minded the soddened shoes and soaked bottoms of my pant legs, but my mother did.

We stayed inside our classrooms if it rained, no recess, no chance to run around after lunch. We were allowed to talk and move around the room, a rare event, an inside recess. The rest of the school day went slowly.

My dance card for the week has uke events and this Friday is the first play. It will be a busy June.

When I watch old movies, I always check the cast to see if I recognize any names. Sometimes a familiar name is way back in the credits, but mostly I don’t know the actors, even the stars. Out of curiosity I sometimes look up a few of those unknown actors. Often I can’t even find them.

Yesterday I did little. I read the papers, swept a couple of rooms and chased Nala to wrest the branches from her mouth. She was leaving bark all around the house. Today she is carrying an empty water bottle. She likes the crinkling sound.

I don’t know much about my grandfather’s life. He was never a man to chat. I don’t even think my dad knew much about his father’s family. We knew my grandfather’s family came from Ireland. His father’s name was Patrick. He was rumored to have been an alcoholic. I have pictures of my grandmother and her siblings and of my grandfather with her so we do know about her family, a big family. When I was young, I met her mother, one of her brothers and a couple of her sisters. It wasn’t until long after my grandfather had died that we found out he had a brother. That’s about all we know.

Last night my feet were cold. I found some socks then wrapped my feet in a blanket. I wore my sweatshirt to stay warm. This morning the house was only 63°. The sky is gray. The wind is blowing. It is an ugly day.

When I was a kid, June was a special month. The weather got warm, sometimes even hot. School wrapped up for the year. On the last day, a half day, we’d get our report cards. The nun would call us up to her desk one name at a time. I’d check my report card as I walked back to my desk to make sure I’d been promoted. I always was.

All the school year rules ended. No more waking up early. Bedtime was later. Meals, except for supper, were catch as catch can. I’d make my own lunch, usually a sandwich and some Oreos if there were any left. Oreos went fast in our house. Bologna was my sandwich meat of choice. The bread was always white. I’d slather the bread with mustard and add a few chopped hot peppers. The juice from the peppers sometimes leaked through the top of the bread. I didn’t care. Sandwiches didn’t have to be pretty.

I have favorite smells. I used to love walking uptown when the aroma of baking bread from Hank’s filled the air. Sometimes I could smell popcorn popping at the candy store. My mother’s kitchen was always filled with great smells. Cookies baking were the best. I used to hang around until a batch came out of the oven so I could snag one. Chocolate chip was the summer cookie. On Saturdays the air was redolent with the smell of mown grass. Every father was out with a mower. Back then they were all hand mowers so you could hear the click click as the grass was mown. I could always smell summer rain before it came. The sharp odor of ozone filled the air. After the rain, I could smell earth, dirt from the gardens.

In Ghana, my favorite smell was wood charcoal burning. It was a sweet smell. In the mornings the compounds behind my house had smoke curling into the air from the fires when breakfast was being cooked. Every meal was the same, three times a day. The market had different smells as you walked around to shop. The fruit and veggie markets, the butcher’s shop and the live chickens for sale areas had distinct smells. When I first got to Ghana, I found some smells unpleasant. I even threw up after my first visit to a market, but it didn’t take long for my nose to get used to the smells. I stopped noticing.

Summer mornings have the best smells.