Last night was so chilly I had to wear what my grandmothers would call a wrap. I shut the windows, but I had to leave the backdoor open for the dogs to come and go. Today is supposed to be warm, in the low 70’s. The sun is shining now, but a cloudy day is predicted. I’m going to do house and deck chores.

My father always carried a white handkerchief. He kept it in his back pocket. In the old days, my mother used to iron them, but I remember his handkerchiefs as always being crumpled. I gave him handkerchiefs every Christmas. When I was really young, if he saw the need, he’d pull his handkerchief out of his pocket for my nose. He always said, “Blow,” as if I needed instruction. My mother always had a Kleenex in her pockabook, as New Englanders say. When she hunted for the Kleenex, it was usually on the bottom. It was always used. I remember mostly lipstick marks.

This morning I had my usual two cups of coffee and my occasional toast. It was rye toast. I got to thinking. Why do we toast bread in the morning? Why do some sandwiches have toasted bread? Why do restaurants offer jelly and butter for toast when you eat breakfast out? Why not peanut butter? I guess I’ll just chalk that up to one of life’s mysteries.

My backyard is wild. It has trees and tall grass and some poison ivy I keep trying to kill. I think of it as the dogs’ yard. They love to romp through and around it. Nala thinks of it as her hunting ground and her trash dump. Henry sniffs around but doesn’t stay outside for long. Nala loves to lie in the sun. I have two bottle trees in my yard. The bottles are upside down on hooks so they can catch evil spirits and protect the house and yard. The best visitors to my overgrown backyard are the fireflies. They appear when it is warmer. They flit around the trees. I pick one and watch it blinking all over the yard. I’m always reminded of Tinkerbell. I keep wanting to clap.

Today is amazing. Everything about the morning is beautiful. The sunlight is dramatic. It shines in and around everything. The sky is dark blue. It is 65° with a strong breeze. I even had to shut the window behind me. The dogs were joyful. They romped with wild abandonment through the backyard. Nala circled the yard over and over. I wished I could have joined them.

I have a list for today. I need a few groceries to tide me over for the weekend. I also want to buy the rest of the plants for the deck, for the clay pots. I have a concert this afternoon, Songs Across America is our current book. It will be a busy day.

For July 4th my father sometimes bought us punks. We’d twirl them around as if they were fireworks. We’d blow on the ends to brighten the embers, and we used them to light sparklers. I loved the sparklers. They spurted beautiful white sparks. They were fireworks in my hand.

One year my mother left up her Christmas tree. It was in a corner in her living room, and she lit it every night and decorated it for every holiday. For July 4th it had flags and streamers and red, white and blue garlands. It was festively patriotic.

When I was a kid, we went to the July 4th parade in Wakefield, the next town over. It was a wonderful parade with floats and bands and drum and bugle corps and drill teams. We watched the parade from on the porch of my father’s friend’s house. It was a huge event. I remember the food. The kitchen counters and kitchen table groaned under the weight of all the food, and barbecues in the backyard were always cooking hot dogs and burgers. When I was older, I marched in that parade. I was in St. Pat’s drill team. I both dreaded and looked forward to passing that house still filled with people on the porch, including my parents. They cheered when we walked by, and they called my name, prompted by my father. I sneaked a wave.

I have a concert this July 4th. I also have a few punks and some sparklers. I’ll decorate the front fence with flags and banners. I’ll cook a couple of hot dogs for myself. I’ll have a banner 4th.