The cape will be setting a heat record today. The prediction is a high of 95° and a low of 76°, as if anyone around here would call 76° a low. It was already 86° when I woke up this morning. My AC is blasting.

Cats throw up, mostly hairballs. I give Jack stuff to prevent them, but it doesn’t always work. Jack hates me. Before I go to bed, I fill his water, his wet food and treat bowls then sit with him brushing and patting him for a long while, but Jack is a thankless beast. When he throws up, it is on exactly the path I use to walk into his room, his dark room, not yet lit by the lamp on the table. I’m usually barefoot. Last night I stepped in it. My feet and the bottom of my pants got wet. I yelled. I swore. Jack didn’t care. He watched with what I believed was a sly grin on his face, a sort of Cheshire Cat imitation.

When I was a kid, we always had pets. Over time we had a turtle, a parakeet, dogs and cats. The dog was the first, Duke, our boxer. He made me a lover of boxers, those gentle, crazy, sweet, protective and loving dogs. When I got my first dog, naturally, it was a boxer, and I’ve had one ever since, Henry being the only male dog and the only other sort of dog I’ve had. Nala is unique. Her skill is thievery, quick and silent escapes from the house with booty in mouth. Nala is a naturalist. She brings leaves, pine cones, pine needles and sticks of all sizes into the house. I never catch doing either making the superiority of my species in question.

I’m in the mood for an adventure. I haven’t had one in a while. It could be as simple as a ride on unfamiliar roads. I’m not picky. When I was a kid, I had adventures all the time. I’d ride to the next town over to sit and watch the trains. I loved the feel of the breeze from the speedy train whooshing by me. I’d ride by the ponds in the two next towns over. Sometimes I stopped. Sometimes I just kept riding. I’d walk to the swamp then check on bushes at the edge of the grassy hill for blueberries. I’d cross the street to see the horses in the field. I’d take the long way home. That was an adventure in itself.

The week will be hot, in the 80’s to start the week then the 70’s at the end of the week. The nights will be in the 60’s, a lovely relief. I’m think air conditioning.

I keep dropping things, hitting things with my head and knees, tripping over small things and big things. Tripping doesn’t discriminate. My dogs place themselves exactly where I need to go. I walk so cautiously you’d think there were land mines.

Last night, a memory popped into my head prompted by a scene in a movie, a scene of Greek dancers in traditional clothing. All of a sudden I remembered a night in Portugal. My parents and I heard music coming from the top floor of a small hotel where we were staying for the night. Curiosity took over and we went upstairs. We stood outside the door watching dancers celebrating in movement. It was a wedding reception. A few people noticed us and invited us to join them. We did, and we danced and ate and chattered with the people we had never seen before and would never see again, but we felt a companionship that night. We belonged.

When I was a kid, I never gave much thought to life, far too philosophical for a ten year old. Thinking about lunch was about as far into life as I got. That sounds simple but was far more complex than you’d imagine. What’s in the fridge? What if nothing is in the fridge? Is there marshmallow? That disappeared quickly. Peanut butter seldom did. Are there cookies? What if there are no cookies? That question was as close to philosophical as I ever got. Cookies were important in my world.

I always had wishes and dreams. Some wishes were as simple as my Christmas lists. I methodically added the item numbers from the Sears catalogue so they’d be no confusion. I wanted the elves to get it right. You all know I was in the sixth grade when I promised myself I’d travel the world. It was a personal promise I didn’t share. That promise has stayed with me the whole of my life. It is my only enduring promise.