As the White Rabbit declared, “I’m late. I’m late.” I slept in. It was one of those put a mirror under her nose mornings. Nala woke me up when she decided to lap me awake. Sometime during the early morning it rained. Right now it is misty and dark. It is damp chilly at 69 °. It will stay cloudy and in the 70’s today.

Horror upon horror! I am out of coffee, no beans left. I have my coffee delivered, and it will be here in a couple of days so I don’t want to buy another whole bag. I can’t remember a morning before this without coffee. Maybe I was a toddler says I tongue in cheek.

My bird feeders are busy this morning. Yesterday I added a beautiful decorated glass feeder in the shape of a crescent moon and opened on one side. The chickadees have found it as has a cardinal. If it were a nicer day, I’d be on the deck watching my birds.

When my mother visited, she was always jealous of my birds. She had feeders in her backyard. She attracted crows and pigeons. We used to call them country pigeons. Once, even a seagull showed up. The spawns were frequent visitors. She started to hang the feeders on the clothes line. The spawns became tightrope walkers. They were fun to watch for us not so much for my mother.

When I was a kid, I had favorite places to ride my bike. I used to like to ride by the golf course as I usually found errant balls across the street from the course. I used to ride a loop from my house to the square, down Main Street over and down the hill to Spot Pond which was a reservoir back then. I remember an island I always wanted to sneak on and stay and camp. I’d ride along the pond then take a left and ride pass some greenhouses. I’d take a right to another road. Up further was a house build beside a tall random rock wall. The wall was kind of neat and in an unexpected place. Next, I remember a small, old, empty garage just sitting on the corner. It was made with some sort of stone. I’d take Green Street, a back way to get home. I was gone for hours. When my mother asked where I’d been, I’d always tell her around.

The morning was already hot when I dragged myself out of bed. I flipped on the AC, let the dogs out and grabbed a cup of coffee. My morning had officially begun.

Today will be in the low 80’s. Right now it is both sunny and cloudy with a barely noticeable breeze. Yesterday I watered the deck plants and noticed the spawn had dug up the same flowers in the same clay pot. I reburied the flowers. I’ll check again later.

When I was a kid, my father worked long hours. He was a salesman. His territory was the South Shore, a distance from where we lived. He came home late, well after dinner. Because we didn’t see much of him on the weekdays, I always thought of Saturday as his day. In the summer he’d mow the lawn. My father always had his mower sharpened at the hardware store in the beginning of the summer. I loved the sound of the clicking mower. My father had a technique for mowing, a pattern. It never varied. I remember the side lawn and the lines from the mower. My father never got a power mower. He loved his hand mower.

I am not one for violence except there was a single incident, a never repeated incident. I was a senior in high school. My friends and I were sitting in the grandstand at a Sox game. We were enjoying the game until the guy beside me started yelling at the team and swearing big time swears, not your harmless hells or damns. I asked him nicely to stop. He didn’t. He got worse. I asked him a second time. I got the same result. By this time, I was getting angry. The request wasn’t unreasonable, and his language was way out of bounds. I asked one more time. He kept swearing. He was even smug about it. Without even thinking about it, I punched him on the cheek. I didn’t hold back, and I didn’t think of the consequences. He was the most surprised person I’d ever seen. I was the second most surprised person. Despite my response, I would never advocate violence as a solution, but he stopped swearing. He even offered me popcorn. I took some.