We had rain last night. It started after one. Today is damp and dark, and more rain is predicted. I did have flower shopping on my to-do list, but I’ll stay inside and do around the house chores. Gee, maybe I’ll vacuum!

Today is quiet. I can hear the birds outside and Jack meowing inside. Both dogs are napping. Henry is upstairs on my bed while Nala is beside me on the couch. I can hear her deep breathing. She sleeps soundly. Henry is ever vigilant.

When I was a kid, summer lasted forever. Every day was mine to do whatever I wanted. I walked out the door in the morning and sometimes didn’t get home until late afternoon. Those were the days when I’d make my lunch, a sandwich and some Oreos, and take it with me. If I stayed close, I went home for lunch, a sandwich and some Oreos.

My brother and I would ride our bikes to Horn Pond in Woburn and fish. We always caught fish, and we always put them back. We’d walk to the zoo or to the pool if it was really hot. Both of them were on the other side of town from where I lived so they were long walks. Walking back from the pool was hot and tiring. I carried my bathing suit wrapped in my towel. I stooped and rested. The best spot for a rest was on the benches under the trees by the town hall.

I remember summer nights in my neighborhood. The screen doors were on the back doors of all the houses. You could hear TV’s and people talking. From the houses on the top of the hill behind my house kitchens lights shined through the windows. On my street, the picture windows in the living rooms sent arcs of light across the grass lawns. Sometimes I’d sit outside in the early evening on the back steps by myself. Night birds sang. I still cherish that memory.

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.