We seem to be in a rainy season of sorts. The street was wet when I woke up, and rain is predicted for today. I do think I just saw a bit of light behind the clouds, but that may be an illusion, the result of wistful thinking.

I am no longer Queen Sloth. Oh! the horror of it all. Yesterday I cleared out a large cabinet, washed all the bowls and pans I found and vacuumed the bottom of the cabinet. I then put the clean dishes in plastic bags and rearranged the cabinet when I put everything back. At least the effort was worthwhile. I found treasures. There is a fruit serving bowl with matching plates, Easter dishes, Mexican dishes and Day of the Dead serving pieces. I found my Marie Antoinette salt and pepper set, my favorite find. Her head comes off and holds the pepper, her torso the salt.

When I was growing up, we used plastic, unbreakable dinner plates and serving pieces my mother had bought at the supermarket every week. They had a decoration, what looked like sheaves of wheat. I remember if a plate fell it wobbled and made a noise on the kitchen linoleum. Once in a while one would crack but never break. We used those dishes for years.

Our glasses were a mishmash. The only matching glasses were aluminum in bright colors. A blue pitcher completed the set. We had several small glasses perfect for servings of pudding. They had held shrimp in tomato sauce, the key ingredient to a shrimp dip my mother always served at parties. We had the usual grape jelly glasses with cartoon figures. Roadrunner was my favorite. The best glasses were stored on the top shelf to keep them safe from slippery fingers.

When we were older and living on our own, we’d often visit. My mother would set a traditional table in the dining room for Sunday dinners and holidays. She had matching sets of plates, even a Christmas set. There was always a tablecloth, not plastic, and matching napkins. The silverware was placed beside the dishes, and we each even had a knife. I loved the look of those tables. In my memory, they are special times, festive times, family times.

Today is one of those fall days which can’t seem to make up its mind. It rained, the rain stopped, the sun came out but now the sun is gone. The house was chilly when I woke up. I wanted to stay in bed, but both dogs were insistent that I get up to let them out so I did. I am a mere peasant in my own home.

My dance card is filled this week. Besides household chores, I have a uke event every day from Tuesday through Friday with two, a lesson and a concert, on Wednesday. I’d stay home those days if I didn’t have my uke. I’d be the queen sloth.

When I was a kid, I didn’t know anybody who played a musical instrument except when I was in the first grade, and we were all in the rhythm band where I mastered the triangle. I remember being in the second row. The sticks were in the first row so they could rhythmically tap the floor with their sticks. Practice was in the big room in the cellar of the school. We had a concert. Parents came. I was so very proud of my performance. I played a mean triangle.

When I was growing up, I loved soup. My favorite was the universal favorite, Campbell’s chicken noodle soup with Saltines on the side. I used to break the crackers in half and put them in the bowl. They’d float on the top of the soup until they got soggy. That was when I liked them best. Sometimes, on the very coldest winter days, my mother would fill my lunch box thermos with soup, chicken noodle of course. She’d always add the Saltines. My second favorite soup was tomato. It was always served with a grilled cheese sandwich which was dunked into the soup. My mother made the best grilled cheese sandwiches with the bread perfectly browned and the cheese, always Velveeta, gooey.

I am a fan of sandwiches. I use my panini press. I fill the bread with anything left in my fridge. My favorite has cheese, avocados and a meat of some sorts, all topped with horseradish sauce. Even thinking about it makes my mouth water.