Today is yesterday. The breeze is heavy at times, the sun and the clouds are taking turns, the dogs are napping, and I am a sloth.

Yesterday, late at night, I did polish the dining room furniture. I noticed the dust on the table. It guilted me. Maybe tonight I’ll wash the kitchen floor, but that will take an immense amount of guilt.

When I was a kid, Saturday was my favorite day of the week. It didn’t matter the season or the weather. Sometimes I went to the movies. Sometimes I ice skated. Lots of times I rode my bike. I knew all the best rides to all the best places. By the golf course, I’d find golf balls across the street on someone’s lawn. At the farm, I’d check out the cows in the field. It was a dairy farm. I have a couple of their glass bottles. I remember the route from the barn to the field was always muddy and thick with hoof prints. I’d bike to the next town over and circle the lake. I’d skim rocks across the water. I saved bird feathers. I’d stop at the library and take out as many books as they’d let me. I visited the town barn, the railroad station, rode by the junk man’s house and walked the tracks. I was never bored.

Saturday night supper was never a surprise. It was universal: hot dogs, baked beans and brown bread. The hot dogs rolls opened at the top. Back then I slathered yellow mustard all across the top of my dog then added piccalilli. I never ate the beans. The brown bread came from a can. it was fried in slices in the pan and topped with butter. I still love hot dogs in rolls which open at the top. I add mustard. Lately, it has been German mustard. I’m still a fan of piccalilli. My mother used to bottle it every year. It was the best piccalilli.

This entry was posted on May 31, 2025 at 1:24 pm and is filed under Musings. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. Both comments and pings are currently closed.