The morning is sunny and cool. A strong breeze is rolling the leaves on the oak trees. The birds are loud. The dogs are enjoying their morning naps curled on the couch. The weather, though, will probably change as there is a 68% chance of thunder showers starting this afternoon and continuing into the evening. The winds could be as high as 28 mph. I am a fan of thunder showers.

This will be a quiet week. My dance card is empty until Saturday. Because I have plenty of time this whole week to loll, I’m thinking of giving my sloth a bit of a vacation today. My house creates dust. Somewhere a machine is hiding in the walls manufacturing dust balls and strewing them about. The machine is run by a maniacal dust monster. My upstairs is a domestic dust bowl and needs to be vacuumed. Dust flies when I walk down the stairs. The hall I vacuumed two days ago needs the vacuum again.

The house where I did most of my growing up was actually small, but to me, it was big enough. The living room was the biggest room. It held a couch, two soft chairs, a table in front of the picture window, a TV in the corner and a desk against the wall behind the front door. The closet beside the desk was where my father always hung his top coat and put his fedora on the shelf. The kitchen was really small. The table and chairs were jammed beside a window. The fridge dominated the kitchen. I remember my father defrosting that fridge. He used a hammer and a screw driver to knock the ice off the sides. My father and tools were always dangerous. I don’t specifically remember, but I suspect he probably cut his fingers. The back door was beside the fridge. It had a screen door which always slammed unless you held it to close. The upstairs hall was tiny. Crowded around it were three bedrooms and the bathroom. I remember lying on the threshold of one of the rooms, my brother lying on another and my father on the third. We had flashlights and sent each other messages by Morse code. My father has taught it to us. He had been a signalman in World War II. In my room, my double bed was against one wall, and the other end of it almost touched another wall. I usually crossed over the bed to get to the closet and the bureau. I loved that I had a window at the foot of my bed. I got so see the morning first hand.

This entry was posted on June 30, 2026 at 12:38 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.