Today is summer. It is already 81°. The morning is still and quiet. Nala was panting when she came back inside the house after her romp. She is now comfy on the couch. It is time for her morning nap.

Yesterday was a normal day. I drove, yup, drove, to my uke lesson then I had my hair cut. I’m working on crossing off all the errands I couldn’t do without a car. I feel free.

When I was a little kid, we went to visit one of my father’s relatives, an aunt I think. She lived on a pond. I remember an old rowboat filled with flowers was in the yard by the pond as were wooden Adirondack chairs. We, my brother and I, asked if we could go swimming. We stripped down to our underwear to swim as we didn’t have bathing suits. I remember there was tall grass by the side of the pond and water lilies floating. I didn’t know how to swim yet so I mostly walked in the water. When we got out of the pond, my mother took one look at my brother and me and screamed. Blood suckers were on our chests and legs and had made themselves comfortable dining al fresco. My father pulled them off. My mother just stayed horrified. I was mostly curious.

We have black and white pictures of a vacation in New Hampshire. I was probably around three. I do remember there was a screened porch, and we were on a lake. In one of the pictures my brother and I are sitting on the top of a very small waterfall. We were all smiles. I remember the moving water we sat on tickled and sort of tingled our legs. It made me laugh.

One other vacation picture, also black and white, brings back a few memories. We were in Islesboro, Maine. In the picture I look around ten maybe eleven. I’m leaning against a tree on a small hill. The picture taker was below me so the picture angle is weird. I look long and tall. I am wearing a visor. I remember that visor. It was white. I loved it and wore it that whole summer. I wore it everywhere until it wasn’t wearable anymore.

The morning is spring. The nighttime is still waiting for spring. When I wake up, the house is cold. Outside is warmer. I wear my sweatshirt inside and short sleeves outside. The weather is quirky this time of year.

I am no longer house bound. This morning I bought a used Honda Civic. I waved good-bye to my pedestrian life. I reentered the world.

When I was growing up, every family I knew had only one car. It was used every day mostly by the fathers to go to work. My father was a salesman. His job was on the road. He worked for a company called J.P. Manning. It sold tobacco products. I remember going with him once to the office in Boston. The name J.P. Manning was on a sign across the top front of the company. The background of the sign was red. His territory was mostly south of Boston, a distance away. He was never home for dinner. In my memory drawer, I have a picture of him coming in the front door of our house. I can see him wearing a top coat and a fedora. The first thing he always did was hang his coat in the closet near the door and put his hat on the shelf. In my hat collection I have a fedora. I bought it as it always brings my father to mind.

My mother walked uptown to shop the different stores or she waited until Saturday when my father could drive her. She did grocery shopping Friday nights. My dad would wait in the car or stop to visit his parents who lived right down the street from the First National. In the summer, one of my uncles would sometimes pick us up, and we’d spend the day at Revere Beach with uncles and aunts and cousins. I remember when I was really young, one uncle’s car had a running board. At the beach, we’d swim and play in the sand. The adults took turns running across the street to have a few drinks. One or two stayed behind to watch us, to keep us safe. We’d leave for home in the late afternoon. I usually fell asleep in the car.