The morning is dark, breezy and chilly. Rain is predicted. The dogs aren’t anxious to be out in the yard. One is upstairs on the bed, and the other is asleep on the couch. The label of dumb animals doesn’t apply here.

When I was a kid, I thought my world was huge. I could wander all over, anywhere I wanted. I had favorite places in town. I used to stop at the horse barn behind the town hall. Around the corner was the ragman’s house. Its porch was tilting from the weight of all the papers stored on it. The tracks weren’t far from there. I always thought of them as a shortcut. When I walked the tracks, I’d sometimes walk on the rail. I’d use my arms to help my balance. They didn’t help much. Usually, I wandered alone. My neighborhood friends and I walked to school together, but they weren’t roamers. I wanted to see everything.

My mother was a master at ground beef. My favorite was always her meatloaf. I also liked her ground beef in gravy over mashed potatoes. We didn’t have it often, but I liked her Chinese dinner. It was Chinese because it had water chestnuts and bean sprouts with the ground beef. She’d make it in her electric frying pan on the counter. It was topped with chow mein noodles. All we needed were chop sticks.

On cold days, my mother sometimes gave us soup in our thermoses for lunch. Mostly it was chicken noodle, the universal soup for kids. She’d include Saltines, and she always remembered to add the spoon. The rest of lunch was a half sandwich and dessert. I remember there was a skill in pouring the soup into the thermos top, into the cup. A plop of the meat meant a splash landing on the desk or sometimes on my blouse.

Today I have a concert, the second one of the week. Right now I am watching Attack of the Crab Monsters from 1957. I love these old black and white science fiction movies. In this, the navy is checking to see if radioactive dust did anything to the plants and animals. They have a surprise coming.