The morning is chilly at 64°. It is also cloudy. It is a day to stay close to hearth and home. Luckily my dance card is empty for today, but I still have a to-do list of the chores I didn’t do yesterday because I got an e-mail telling me about a uke mini-concert not on the schedule. I had to dress quickly and get on the road. The concert was at an assisted living facility. They were a wonderful audience clapping and singing along. We are still singing bluegrass. I have a concert tomorrow if the rain holds off, my fifth uke event of the week.

Cats throw up. My cat has an uncanny ability to throw up exactly where I walk. Before I go to bed, I go into the dark room to give Jack night pats and food. I walk to the table to turn on the light. I walk on something squishy.

I like pasta, but I am not fond of spaghetti though I’ll eat it if it’s served to me. Spaghetti just takes too much effort. At my aunt’s house, the aunt whose husband owned a fish market, I tasted spaghetti with clam sauce for the first time. I was surprised I liked it. I never thought clams and spaghetti could be a thing.

Though I love seafood, I don’t like salmon. A pink fish just seems wrong to me. My mother told me that when she was a kid the traditional July Fourth dinner was salmon and peas. She ate it poached in an egg sauce. Once on a British Air flight to Germany from London, I was upgraded to first class. Dinner was salmon without the peas. I didn’t eat it.

When I was a kid, they took my field and swamp away and built what my father called wrinkle city, apartments for the elderly. I remember a fire in one of them. We kids all gathered and watched the firefighters. We watched them put out the fire and bring a lady out on a stretcher. She was burned. I can still see it in my mind’s eye.

Henry just scared me. He was sleeping then jumped up and barked. He had heard a dog on TV. I patted him and thanked him for saving me. I didn’t explain about the TV.