My morning had such a late start it blended into the afternoon. I’m only now having my second cup of coffee. The day is cloudy bright. The breeze is slight. It is 50°, typical for this time of year. Having no need to go out, I am staying home in my comfy clothes. The dogs have been in and out but are now on the couch for their naps, the first naps of many.

When I was a kid, life was easy. School was my only obligation through I never saw it that way as I really liked school. I loved learning, except for arithmetic. It was my bugaboo. I used to hide my fingers under my desk for counting when I needed them to finish an arithmetic problem. I remember learning to carry a number. I’d put the number on top of the problem and say carry the one or whatever the number was so I’d remember. We had to memorize the times tables. That was easy. My favorites were one, five and ten.

I remember coloring turkeys during art. The nun passed out a single paper with the outline of a turkey. We had to color it. That may sound easy, but most of us had only see a turkey plucked, cleaned and ready for the oven. We had to guess the colors. I remember his tail. I made it look more like a peacock’s tail with tons of color. His body was brown. I signed my masterpiece and brought it home for the fridge, a Thanksgiving decoration.

I don’t remember exactly who it was, but I do remember the horror when she found out the stuffing went into the butt of the turkey, not the head. I remember the bags in the butt were filled with the neck, the heart, the liver and the gizzard. I didn’t learn until I was older that they are called the giblets. My mother baked the neck, and my father ate the meat on it. She never used the giblets for the gravy though I knew other people did. She cooked the heart and liver for the dog. My mother always cooked the stuffing in the bird. Everyone did back then. She made great stuffing and used Bell’s seasoning for the flavor. I remember we had to send some to my sister in Colorado as back then they didn’t sell it in the grocery stores.

One mouse last night, and I didn’t reset the traps. I’ll do that tonight. I did sweep today, and I do have plants to water. I could do so much more, but I won’t. I’ll save some for another day or for many days.

I’m sitting here looking out the window at a pretty day. The sun is bright, glaringly bright, at least for the meantime as clouds are waiting, biding their time. The wind is blowing even the biggest branches. Yellow and brown pine needles cover the already fallen leaves. Even the driveway has disappeared. Outside, the dogs crouched when the wind was the strongest. Now it is their nap time.

Last night I trapped two more mice. They are small. I don’t know how long they were in the mouse hotel, but they ate the bait. I let them go. I’m thinking under that bed in Jack’s room is like a clown car only with mice instead of clowns.

My dance card is empty. I already had my uke practice and lesson so now I’ll stay home to rest my leg. It is so much better, finally. I wish I knew what I did to injure it so I won’t do it again. There are a few oddities in my life. I love red licorice, Twizzlers, but not black licorice except for Good and Plenty, black jelly beans and black Chuckles. I do love the taste of anise, especially Italian anise cookies. My uncle used to make the best anise cookies. He always saved some for me at Christmas. I’m not one into schmaltz, but I do love Hallmark movies. I like that each movie ends happily. I’m a sucker for Christmas movies. I love music, but there are singers I’ve never liked, no complaints about my list please. I have never liked Elvis, Neil Diamond or Barry Manilow. Others are on the list but none are as prominent.

I am a purist when it comes to coffee. I drink coffee from all over the world. I love the different nuances. Ghana was a glaring exception. It is a tea drinking country, a former British colony. I had to drink instant coffee with canned milk, an abomination, but I had no choice. After a while my taste buds went numb, and I didn’t notice. When I went back, it was still the same. Everywhere I stayed served instant coffee in little packets with packets of sugar and canned Carnation milk. It is still an abomination but being without coffee is worse. My taste buds knew what to do. They went numb.

Today is another lovely day. We are in the mid-50’s. We have a strong breeze. The sun is sharp, glaringly bright, the way it is this time of year. Many branches are bare while some just have hanging dead leaves. Fall is becoming a memory.

My friend was older than I by a decade. She was a bit stubborn and used to do things by herself which she shouldn’t have. Her son would have done whatever she needed, but she didn’t ask. I’d be after her to have the heavy stuff done by me or him. She ignored me. I get it now. To do it yourself is a form of independence, of still hanging on to the reins. Yesterday I put in the other storm door. I carried it up the stairs from the cellar, through the living room then lifted it into the front door. It went so easily into the door I had to save my curses for another day.

During the fall, my father did all the getting ready for winter chores. Every Saturday he’d rake. He used a green metal rake. A few of the teeth were bent. I remember the sound of that rake, the sort of grating swish. My father would rake over and across and build a giant leaf pile as he raked. The pile would be raked down the small hill, the same hill we rode our bicycles down, across the sidewalk and into the gutter. He’d set fire to the leaves and stand and watch as they burned. The smell of burning leaves is one of my fondest memories. My jacket would hold the aroma.

The small front garden was cleared of the remains of summer flowers. Only the dirt was left. It was bare and drab, but I knew Christmas lights would be soon be on the bushes and brighten the garden for a little while longer.

Next, the storm windows replaced the screens which were then stored in the cellar where the storms had been. First, my father washed the dusty windows, he was big on clean windows, then while carrying a storm, he’d climb the ladder. That was always suspenseful. Would he make it? Would the window make it intact? The hard part, the scariest part, was when he’d reach the window frame on the house and had to use both hands to angle the top of the storm onto the hooks at the top of the frame. It took a few attempts. I know from whom I learned my cursing.

My dance card is fairly empty this week with just the usual uke events. On the mice front, I forgot to report the other night. There were two. Last night there was only one. That brings the total to 10. I didn’t set the traps last night. This mighty hunter needs a break.