Today is another lovely day. We are in the mid-50’s. We have a strong breeze. The sun is sharp, glaringly bright, the way it is this time of year. Many branches are bare while some just have hanging dead leaves. Fall is becoming a memory.

My friend was older than I by a decade. She was a bit stubborn and used to do things by herself which she shouldn’t have. Her son would have done whatever she needed, but she didn’t ask. I’d be after her to have the heavy stuff done by me or him. She ignored me. I get it now. To do it yourself is a form of independence, of still hanging on to the reins. Yesterday I put in the other storm door. I carried it up the stairs from the cellar, through the living room then lifted it into the front door. It went so easily into the door I had to save my curses for another day.

During the fall, my father did all the getting ready for winter chores. Every Saturday he’d rake. He used a green metal rake. A few of the teeth were bent. I remember the sound of that rake, the sort of grating swish. My father would rake over and across and build a giant leaf pile as he raked. The pile would be raked down the small hill, the same hill we rode our bicycles down, across the sidewalk and into the gutter. He’d set fire to the leaves and stand and watch as they burned. The smell of burning leaves is one of my fondest memories. My jacket would hold the aroma.

The small front garden was cleared of the remains of summer flowers. Only the dirt was left. It was bare and drab, but I knew Christmas lights would be soon be on the bushes and brighten the garden for a little while longer.

Next, the storm windows replaced the screens which were then stored in the cellar where the storms had been. First, my father washed the dusty windows, he was big on clean windows, then while carrying a storm, he’d climb the ladder. That was always suspenseful. Would he make it? Would the window make it intact? The hard part, the scariest part, was when he’d reach the window frame on the house and had to use both hands to angle the top of the storm onto the hooks at the top of the frame. It took a few attempts. I know from whom I learned my cursing.

My dance card is fairly empty this week with just the usual uke events. On the mice front, I forgot to report the other night. There were two. Last night there was only one. That brings the total to 10. I didn’t set the traps last night. This mighty hunter needs a break.

This entry was posted on November 4, 2025 at 1:42 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.