Around 2, I was reading in bed. The dogs were comfortable, one beside me and the other at my feet. I thought I heard something so I put my book down to listen. It was an uncommon sound. I listened intently and then realized it was drops of rain. I listened longer just because it was the rain. This morning is still rainy, foggy and only 67°. I am so glad I chose not to wash the floors yesterday; instead, I planted the last of the flowers I had bought.

When I was a kid, the whole week loomed before me starting on Sunday nights when I had to go to bed early. “It’s a school night,” my mother would say as if I needed to be reminded. Monday mornings were the worst. Early was the word of the day: up early, dressed early and an early school morning breakfast of cocoa, eggs, cereal, either hot or cold, and toast. I’d bolt down my breakfast then grab my lunch box and my school bag before I was out the door for the walk to school.

When I was in the first grade, I had to memorize pages of answers from the catechism, the Baltimore Catechism. I remember some even now, 69 years later. Who made you? God made me. Who is God? God is the creator of all things. Where is God? God is everywhere. That last question had me thinking. Did that mean in bathrooms or at the movies? I pictured God in flowing robes enjoying himself on a Ferris wheel, but I never did ask those questions. I instinctively knew Sister Redempta would get mad.

One of the silliest things I remember was when we were told to make room for our guardian angels on our desk seats. I found sitting on half a seat uncomfortable, and besides, angels could fly. Why did mine need my seat? I didn’t ask that question either.

The best church service I ever attended was in Ghana, in Bawku. My Ghanaian sister invited me to a New Year’s Eve service at her church. It was amazing. It was filled with clapping, singing and dancing in the aisles. Women back then wore traditional clothing made from bright Ghanaian fabric. Flashes of color whirled by me as the women danced their way down the aisle. My sister grabbed me, and I joined the dancing, sort of, with my rhythmless steps, but the Ghanaians didn’t care I couldn’t dance. They smiled at me anyway, happy I had joined them.

My house still holds the night chill, but outside is warm, already 77°. It’s cloudy still, but the prediction is for sun and 82°. I have an empty dance card but still have a couple of things around the house to do, like washing the kitchen and bathroom floors. I bought some flowers on sale yesterday. One is a huge flowering plant which will need a big hole. I also bought some more rosemary and some lavender. I love the aromas of both of those plants. I run my hand up the rosemary stalks so my hand smells of rosemary. The lavender is for the front garden, the rosemary for the deck.

The nights are chilly now, down to the 60’s. They are not yet sweatshirt sweater, but that is coming. I did put socks on the other night, my first concession to the fading summer and the coming of fall.

Yesterday the roads were almost clear. Summer traffic has disappeared. Even the dump was nearly empty. I finished my three errands quickly. It was hot in the sun among the plants at Agway. I could have bought some more, but I needed to be in the cool store. Those plants are the ones waiting to be added to pots and to the garden. They will be the next chore. I bought two small pumpkins yesterday for the dining room table. They add color to my house.

Outside by the driveway one of the trees has red leaves. It is the first to wear fall.

When I was a kid, I used to collect and save all the red and yellow leaves. They were ironed into wax paper. Their colors never faded. My walk to school was under a canopy of tree limbs and leaves. I saw the leaves change color gradually. First came the reds, then the yellows, the brightest of all.

The mums on the front steps have bloomed, one is orange, the other yellow. They say, in their unique way, welcome to my house, welcome fall.

The morning is beautiful. The trees are still. The air smells sweet. The only sounds are the birds and the bugs. Today is starting to be a perfect day.

I have been busy whittling my list. Yesterday was an award winning day. I was able to cross off three chores. I planted the perennials I bought the other day in the buy one, get one sale. They are purple and red and are in the front garden. I hung the Ghanaian flag next to the Peace Corps flag. That sounds simple, but it wasn’t. I was screwing the holder into the tree, but my new tool got away from me and the screw went flying. I used my hand drill. The flag was already on a pole, but the pole was bent and wouldn’t go into the holder. Two poles later, the flag was in the holder and being blown by the wind. I figure anyone who notices the flag will probably wonder why I am flying the Black Star. I put down the contact paper in the medicine chest and threw away expired gels and such. Some were ancient. I did one chore not on the list and put new books into my little library.

This morning I have already been busy. The laundry is in the washing machine.

When I was a kid, Saturday was all mine. I could do whatever I wanted. Sometimes, mostly in the winters, I went uptown with my father while he got a haircut, brought his shirts to the laundry and stopped at a few stores to greet friends, townies. Mostly, though, I was a Saturday wanderer. Usually I was by myself.

My town was a remarkable place. It was small, but it had everything I ever needed. The library was my favorite spot. I browsed Woolworth’s even when I had no money. I watched at the side window of the Chinese laundry where shirts were being ironed on a big, flat machine. The barber shop had two chairs. I remember the hair on the floor. A bank was at end of the square as was the post office. Two funeral homes were across the street. One was always Catholic and the other was not. A little bit down Main Street were a few more stores just out of the square. My favorite was Santoro’s sub shop, a tuna sub with pickles and hot peppers please.

I pull out memories every now and then from my memory drawers. Most drawers, especially from my childhood, are overflowing, filled beyond the brim. I can close my eyes and see it all as it was. I find comfort in those memories. I get to see my mother and father again. I see my childhood hopes and dreams. I see my becoming.

The heat is coming back but not quite yet. Today will be sunny with a high of 75° and a low of 60°. Right now it is a gorgeous day. It is a day to be outside. I have a few perennials I bought on sale which need to be planted, and I found the perfect spots in the front garden, a garden now alive with fall flowers. The clematis has bloomed. The fence is covered in white flowers. The flowers have also grown up the trunk of the pine tree. The pink hibiscus is bright with color. I noticed a few plants in the small bed have buds. I have no idea what the plants are. I’ll just have to be patient until they bloom.

When I was a kid, my father planted pansies in the front garden. I remember the purple ones with yellow and white faces. Winter pansies are the first flowers I bought for this house. They felt like old friends.

My lawn is green with mostly moss. I even pulled up a few lawn weeds when I went to get the paper this morning. Across the street, my neighbor’s yard is brown. That is the color of summer this year.

On the TV weather last night, the map showed the cape in high drought. The weatherman noted most storms have skipped the cape this year. I want a rainstorm with claps of thunder and jagged lightning across the sky and a deluge so loud it makes it difficult to hear anything but the rain. If the rain falls straight, I can sit on the deck under the umbrella and become part of the storm.

The dogs hurry outside in the mornings. Nala always goes first out the dog door followed by Henry. They do their business quickly then come inside for their morning biscuits. Henry takes his to the rug. Nala eats hers in the same spot where I handed it to her. She eats even the smallest crumbs. When they are done, they go back outside. They only came in for the biscuits. Smart dogs!

Today is dump day, a sacred day. It is also outdoor chore day. I have a lot to do: plant the new flowers, water the deck plants, see to my little library and sweep a bit of the deck where I spilled some dirt. I’ll also take lunch on the deck and eat to music playing from my deck Alexa. This sounds like a wonderful day, a perfect day.

The rain comes and goes. Everywhere else seems to have deluges. We have sprinkles. It rains just enough for the dogs’ paws to get muddy and leave prints on my newly washed and waxed kitchen floor. I clean the prints off even though I know they will reappear again and again. I just can’t give in to the mud, a bit of compulsion I know.

The windows are shut against the rain. The dampness makes it feel colder. Today will be chilly. Right now it is 66° and will rise only to 70°.

When I was a kid, I walked to school every day whether it was a pretty day or a rainy day or a snowy day. I didn’t mind pretty or snowy, but I hated walking on rainy days. I had to sit in class with my socks and shoes and even the bottom of my skirt wet. I had snow boots but not rain boots. My shoes squished when I walked. My socks got heavy when they were wet, especially on the bottoms. Sometimes I would wring them out in the girls’ room. They never seemed to dry.

In the winter on a rainy day, the classroom smelled like wet wool. All of the windows were shut so the air didn’t clear. It was a bit thick, almost stifling. We didn’t go out for recess on a rainy day. We ate lunch and, afterwards, we could walk around the classroom, but it didn’t help much to get over not going outside and not having recess. The last classes went slowly. The clock never seemed to move. The minutes took hours.

Afternoons at home, after another walk in the rain, were comfy and cozy. I’d put on dry, warm clothes, get comfortable in bed under the covers and read. It was my private place, my quiet place. I always had a book, sometimes two books, waiting to be read.

Even now, I love being cozy on a rainy day. The sound of the rain beating against the windows and the roof is comforting, holding me close and lulling me to my quiet place. I do love the rain.

The morning is pretty but warm and humid. It is already 74°. Rain is predicted for this evening into tomorrow. I should have foreseen that forecast. Yesterday I washed and waxed the kitchen, bathroom and hall floors. I figure rain is a direct consequence of this frenzy of activity. I am driving myself crazy with all this cleaning. It has to stop.

Today I’m heading out to Agway to buy a few flowers. The perennials are on sale. I also want to buy a certain cat food which Jack devoured last night. I have been buying a variety of tastes to find out which Jack will eat. Most mornings, when I clean his dish, I end up throwing away just about a whole can but not today. Almost all of is gone. It is also the most expensive of any I’e bought. Of course it is.

When I was a kid, Labor Day confused me. How is it that people don’t work on Labor Day? I figured it should have been called Day Off Day. Back then everything was closed except corner stores. The red store was open, but I don’t think the white store was. Labor Day was also the last day of summer for most kids. School started on Tuesday. I was always excited for school to start, for a change in my day. I filled my school bag with the new pencil case, binders and white lined paper. My mother always made an amazing lunch on the first day. Hostess usually made an appearance.

Last night when the dogs went out I did too. I sat on the deck for a while. All the houses but mine were dark. I could hear the dogs in the brush of my backyard, and when Nala ran, I could hear the jingle of her tags. Henry joined me and kept watch. Nala stayed in the yard. They both followed me into the house.

The coffee is delicious. I think it is from Honduras. The toast with peanut butter hit the spot. I even shared a little with the dogs, and that was a huge sacrifice. This morning is quiet. The only sounds I hear are the insects singing as they warm their wings in the sun. It is a chilly morning. The house is so cold I put on a sweatshirt. The sky is a bit cloudy. It will be in the low 70’s today. It will be a pretty day.

When I was a kid, Saturday was the best day of the week. I didn’t have to go to church. I had no homework to do, and my favorite programs were on in the morning. I could lie on the rug in front of the TV, eat my Rice Krispies and watch my programs. I loved Captain Midnight. He gave me my first taste of science fiction, and I was hooked. Sometimes, after my breakfast, I roamed. I walked around town. I loved to window shop in the square. I always wished I had enough money for a chocolate cupcake from Hank’s. I loved the sweetness of Hank’s window and the aroma of fresh bread baking wafting out the door. In the Stoneham Spa, I always wanted a lime rickey. On the wall there was a sign touting the drink, but I had no idea what a lime rickey was, and I had never tasted a lime. The drug store always made their cokes. My favorite was a vanilla coke. I looked at the cheese shop windows and the barrels of cheese in front of the store, mostly cheddar, but I wasn’t tempted. My fifty cent allowance would allow me to buy a new book and have a penny leftover for a fireball.

I remember wearing sleeveless blouses in the summer usually with a pair of shorts and sneakers. The tan on my arms started at the shoulder. My face and arms have always had freckles, compliments of my mother’s gene pool. Every summer I’d get more, and the ones I had popped in the sun. They always made me look even more tan than I was.

Today I have some house chores. The bed needs changing, and I need to hang my new American flag and the Ghanaian flag already on a pole. My front yard will be adorned. I have a few things needing to be placed somewhere in the yard, an oil lantern, a metal bird and a couple of whirligigs. I bought a new tool, a rechargeable screwdriver type drill. I’ll use it today for the first time. I’ll be careful. I know how I am around tools.

The clematis on the fence and the pole has started to bloom. The bees are back. They just loved the clematis even more than I do.

I should be singing “Oh, What a Beautiful Morning.” Today has the feel of fall about it, a lovely feel of fall. The temperature is 63°, and the high will only reach 73° with little humidity. The sun is really bright. Everything is still. All the doors and windows are open. The dogs skipped their morning naps to stay outside.

I am going out and about today. I’m going to the hardware store to buy a screw gun or whatever it’s called. I have a few things to hang outside. I’m getting so handy!

I have had a burst of energy the last couple of days. I have rearranged all sorts of doohickeys in the living room and kitchen. This morning I brought up old pictures from the cellar which I had totally forgotten. I was down the cellar to wash the spread from my bed when I saw a box with frames sticking out of it. Yup, you read that right. I was washing my spread. It never sat by the cellar door for days growing legs. I’ll have to note this event in my diary. Anyway, I found an old woven frame with a print of beautiful flowers inside. I’ll be carrying it around the house until I find the perfect spot.

When I was a kid, I never noticed pictures on the walls except for the one in the bathroom right across from the toilet. I read it all the time I sat. It was a poem. A small boy in a blue robe holding a towel, soap and a brush was beside of the poem. It was a Mabel Lucie Attwell wall plaque. I read it so many times I had it memorized. “Please remember – don’t forget – never leave the bathroom wet,” was how the poem started. On a trip to Ireland, that every same picture, the original, was on the wall of the bathroom. I tried to buy it, no deal. I then went hunting on line and found a metal reproduction. I ordered it and gave it to my mother in her Christmas stocking. She was thrilled when she opened it and couldn’t believe I had remembered the poem. When she passed away, I took the metal plaque and put it in my bathroom. I see it every day and every day I am reminded of my mother.