”It’s funny how dogs and cats know the insides of folks better than other folks do, isn’t it?”
The weather is still a delight. It is 73° and partly sunny. Nothing is moving in the still air. The dogs are enjoying the day and have been in and out a couple of times. Henry was on the couch enjoying his morning nap when we heard Nala bark. Henry right away ran outside, and I was quick to follow. Nala never barks. I expected her either to have a critter of some sort in her mouth or a poor critter treed with no escape. She had neither and was just standing in the yard. A disappointed Henry and I came back inside. Nala followed.
This morning I was buttering some toast when I thought of my mother. I know that seems a bit odd, but a memory from a way back memory drawer connected with the butter and jumped into my head. My mother told us a bit about rationing and the war. She was in high school during the war. She was the third born of six during and before the war and third born of eight after. She told us how with rationing they couldn’t often get butter so they used lard. In order to make it more palatable, they colored the lard orange so it looked a bit like butter. She said it really tasted awful. When I was growing up, we always had butter, never margarine. The other story she told was how nylons were used to aid the national defense in the war effort. They were used mostly in the manufacturing of parachutes so my mother had to improvise. She painted a line straight line up the backs of her legs so it looked as if she was wearing stockings. That was as close to fashionable as she could get.
I am not Pollyanna today. I am a bit grouchy. I can walk okay, but if I move my leg too quickly in a side direction, it hurts. I yell. Last night I yelped, and poor Nala didn’t know what to do. She looked at me with the most sympathetic eyes until I comforted her. That made her feel better. It made me feel better too.
My dance card has a few items. I have a dentist appointment tomorrow, just a regular check up, and uke practice. I also have a lesson and a concert. That’s a full enough week.
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keepthecoffeecoming.blog 
September 29, 2025 at 5:32 pm
My mother left school at age 14. When war came, she worked in a factory making Lancaster Bombers. My dad commanded a tank in the Far East during World War II. They met, married, and had me in 1946. We lived in a city centre fire station until I was five years old. I can remember playing with other kids, on fire engines and amongst fire fighters’ equipment.
Kat, have you considered seeing a physiotherapist about your leg?
September 29, 2025 at 6:25 pm
Peter,
My father graduated from high school at 16, but his mother wouldn’t sign for him to go in the service. He enlisted the day he turned 17. His ship was sunk, and he was in the hospital for several months in England, during the Battle of the Bulge. He knew my mother before the war and reconnected when he got home. I was born in 1947 when we lived in South Boston.
My doctor whom I saw last week said it would just take a while because of which muscle it is, one which you can’t easily rest. It has come a long way since the start of the injury. I now walk without a limp. Only the weird motion causes pain. My nephew, who is a sports therapist, told me to be patient. I am not a patient person!