Yesterday it rained both during the day and last night with a bit of space between them. I could hear the drops hitting the metal top of the barbecue, one of my favorite sounds. Today will also be wet with a high in the 60’s. I do love summer rain.

I used to love to ride my bike through puddles. If I saw any puddle, big or small, I’d aim. When I hit the water, I’d take my feet off the pedals and raise my legs up on each side. My bike would sort of surf through the water which rose up in waves on each side, my Red Sea moment. Sometimes I’d hydroplane and hope my bike would stay afloat. It always did.

I don’t remember how old I was when we got our first TV. We had one as long as I can remember. Our first set was huge, a giant console cabinet with a tiny screen behind two cabinet doors which took up a whole corner of the living room. It was best watched sitting on the rug on the floor in front of it. We had an antenna, rabbit ears, which got local stations. My father wrapped aluminum foil around each ear thinking it got better reception that way. We used to take turns getting up to the change the channel. On weekdays, we’d watch TV in the late afternoons before supper and for a little time before bed. Our best watch times were Saturday mornings when every show was a kid’s show. One of my TV milestones was the first time I stayed up long enough for the channels to go off the air to the stirring sound of The Star Spangled Banner which was then followed by the Indian-head test pattern and the sound of snow.

I remember the record player which played only 45’s. It was small. It had a chunky round spindle on which you loaded the records and which automatically dropped the next record. I never had one; instead, I’d put in the hole of the 45 one of those plastic adapters so the record could play on a regular size spindle, like on a hi-fi. I had a good collection of 45’s. When I was young, they were cheap to buy, and I could buy the song I loved instead of a whole album. Later, though, I always bought the albums. I still have many of my records, and I still play them.

Today I have a concert.

It is 79° and sunny though the clouds come and go. Rain is predicted for later. A strong breeze comes every now and then but does little to cool the air. I’ve turned on my fan. Nala has stopped panting and has fallen asleep with the breeze cooling her.

I have perfected being a sloth though yesterday I did sweep the floor as the dog hair had formed balls mostly in the hall, and I couldn’t take them anymore. I also had a concert, the usual Monday concert in Hyannis. That was the reason I got dressed. Most days I prefer to sit around in my comfies. My dogs reflect my lifestyle. They are both napping, the first of many naps. They sprawl. They don’t even move when I walk over them into the kitchen. I admire that.

When I was a kid, I never had quiet days, even in the rain. I had the playground with all of its activities, and I had my bike to fill in for any slow spots. I knew the best places in my town. A horse barn was behind the town hall. I used to look in from the open door at the stalls and the horses. The building is still there, but the horses are long gone. I’d walk the tracks. I always jumped over the double O railroad ties so my mother’s back wouldn’t break. That seemed perfectly reasonable to me. My mother never did break her back thanks to my jumping. I kept my heroics secret.

The junkman’s house was near the horse barn. The porch leaned. It had high piles of newspapers. A barn was beside the house. It is where he kept his horses. The clop of the horses on the street and the voice of the junkman calling for newspaper and rags always had me running to watch him go by the house. I didn’t realize back then that the days of the junkman and his wagon were numbered. They would be replaced by trash trucks.

My childhood was on the cusp of the old and the new. We still had that junkman, a knife sharpener on his bicycle with his grinding wheel propelled by the pedals, a milkman with clinking bottles against the metal bottle holder who delivered milk and left it in a case on the back steps and hand propelled lawn mowers which clicked and clicked as they cut the grass. I never thought about them disappearing, and they did disappear, replaced by trucks and machines which had no amazing sounds and no personalities.

The older I get the more nostalgic I am. Mind you, I don’t advocate going back to the old days. I do enjoy modern creature comforts, but I miss the fun of those days, of watching the sparks fly off the grinding wheel, of running to Johnny’s ice cream truck with a nickel for a popsicle, root beer if has one, and watching the horses drop poop on the road. We waited for and laughed at that last one. Every kid loves poop stories.