Today will be warm and sunny. It is already 61° and will get a bit warmer as the day moves on. The branch pile in my backyard is much larger. The Nala trash is gone. The bird feeders are all filled. I was busy yesterday.

The older I get the more often I have bouts of nostalgia. I remember my hometown as it was. When I drive on Main Street through the square, I can see in my mind’s eye the buildings of my childhood, but the years have not been kind, and most buildings just exist in my memory drawers.

 The square is much less interesting. I used to love to window shop. I’d ride my bike up town and walk it on the sidewalk. Woolworth’s had fun windows which changed with the seasons. My favorite was the Christmas window. Grant’s was far less interesting. Lobsters floated in a tank in the window of the fish market which had an unpleasant smell even outside the door. The diner was right below the square. Sometimes my dad took me there for breakfast. We always sat in a booth. He’d give me money to play the jukebox. When bread was baking at Hank’s, you could smell the aroma around the whole square. The movie theater had Saturday matinees and nighttime movies. I used to spend many a Saturday seeing a movie and a couple of cartoons and watching Oscar patrol the aisles with his flashlight while chomping on his cigar. Later the theater was sold but didn’t stay open long. It was closed for years and deteriorated. But it is back as a live theater and is anchoring the square. Three drug stores were in the square. The Chinese laundry and the barber shop were on the same block. A bank was near Woolworth’s. It had a sort of awning.

Further down the road, Hago Harrington’s Miniature Golf was adjacent to the China Moon which closed first. The Moon used to be the dinner spot before proms and special dances. My sister said nothing remains of Hago’s.

The bowling alleys are also gone. They were Saturday night spots when my friends and I would bowl a few games. I was an awful bowler. 

I have a fun singular memory. I had read about square dancing at Marconi Hall. My friend Jimmy and I decided to go. When we got there, we were told it was for adults only, but we asked to stay. They let us. We do-si-doed all night. 

Sometime last night thunder boomed overhead. The sound was like canon shots, not the usual claps. We all woke up, the dogs and I, but it didn’t happen again so we fell back to sleep. It was odd. 

Last night it rained. I didn’t hear it. Everything is still wet. The sky was cloudy this morning, a light gray, but the sun has made an appearance as has the blue sky. It is warm at 62°. Rain is predicted for later. 

When I think about growing up, I have good memories. I had everything a kid could want: a bike, a sled, roller skates and ice skates. I was equipped for every season. My roller skate key was on a string around my neck. I used it to tighter the grip of the skate clamps to the top sides of my shoes. Sometimes my shoes fell out of the clamps, and I had to reattach the skate to the shoe. I remember the silly walk with my skate hanging, still attached to my foot by the strap. It was lift the leg and swing the hanging skate in the air. I’d then sit on the curb and retighten the clamps. I loved the clicking sound of my skates on the sidewalk, and the way the bottom of my feet felt when I wore the skates. 

The eighth grade was the last grade in my grammar school. I had attended the school since first grade. I had nuns one year and lay teachers the next, all women. One, my second grade teacher, Mrs. Kerrigan, was an old time teacher. She had gray hair she wore in a bun. Her dresses were flowered. Her shoes, her black shoes, had clunky heels. She always carried a pocketbook. Mrs. Kerrigan lived on the second floor of a house across from the church. She walked to school. She was soft-spoken. In my mind’s eye, I can still see a glimpse of her.

I remember a trip we took, my family and I, to the White Mountains. We saw it all. We took the last bus to the Flume and had to walk back to the parking lot. The Man in the Mountain still protruded from the ledge. I thought the man looked amazing, craggy, grizzled. He would fall in 2003. I was so glad I had seen him in all his glory. My father drove up Mount Washington. I remember how slow he drove. I kept looking over the edge glad for the slowness. When we got to the top, it was cold. I couldn’t imagine living on the top of the mountain in winter. When we went back to the car, a bumper sticker had been attached, “This car climbed Mount Washington.”

My dance card has a uke concert tomorrow then nothing until Tuesday. I’m going to do some yard cleaning of Nala’s trash and fill a couple of feeders. That’s it.