The house is cooler than outside. It is already 73°. The air is calm without even the whiff of a breeze. Earlier, I was in the yard looking for something Nala stole last night, but I had no idea what I was trying to find so I just did a spot clean-up of a bit of trash. Nala did zoomies over and over until she started panting and her tongue hung out. She is now inside with me getting cool. I took the cover off the table and chairs and left it spread to dry. I want to open the deck this week. It is time.

This morning I enjoyed my coffee from Uganda with Bob’s bread toast slathered with black fig mission jam. It was the perfect way to start the day. I’m thinking I need another cup of coffee.

Our house in South Yarmouth didn’t have a deck. It did have a big backyard. My father used to barbecue near a back window. He’d get what he needed for cooking through the open window. He’d also have a few drinks. We’d hear, “Pop me,” his request for more so one of us would pop him through the window. He was the happiest of cooks.

My father was a big believer in using a lot of charcoal starter fluid. He’d squirt it at the fire if it wasn’t burning fast enough for him. A huge flame usually whooshed into the air. He did set his shoes and the bottoms of his pants on fire a couple of times. We’d keep the hose handy.

When I was young, we had hot dogs and hamburgers or cheeseburgers. My mother made her potato salad and peppers and onions. The rolls for the dogs were top-loaded New England rolls. I always had mustard and piccalilli on my dogs. On my burgers I put mayo. I am not a big ketchup fan except I sometimes dip my fries in ketchup. When we got older, my father cooked chicken, ribs and steak tips. My mother still made her potato salad. We were not a green salad family.

I have a few chores for today, uncommon chores like cleaning a couple of cabinets. I may even paint the small chest of drawers, but I’d hate to go too far, get too, too busy. The sloth in me complains loudly.