Brown dead leaves hang from tree branches, and the ground is covered in the fallen leaves. A few trees still have some red, but many of their branches are bare. The only color is the blue sky. Today is cold because of the wind. I was out earlier and was glad to get home to my comfy, warm house. I have no plans for today or even tomorrow. I’m thinking of a couple of quiet days reading and lolling, sloth days.

When I was a kid, I loved fall. I’d walk on the curb and kick leaves. My friends and I would throw leaves at each other in sort of a rehearsal for our snowball fights. I’d watch my father burn the leaves he raked from the yard. I liked to see the smoke curl into the air. The aroma of those burning leaves is my favorite fall memory.

Once the weather got chilly, the heat came on. I could hear the hot water coursing through the radiators. I remember the steam. If I felt cold, I used to sit on a radiator until I was warmer. In the cellar was the furnace and the black tank holding the oil. It took up half of one wall. I remember when the oil man came and filled the tank. The hose from his truck was a long one as it had to reach from the street. I could smell the oil in the air.

We usually had supper around six. I could always count on potatoes as one of the dishes. Usually they were mashed. Even now, my favorite potatoes are mashed. They are one of my comfort foods. The only fresh vegetables besides the potatoes were carrots. They were disguised, mashed with the potatoes. I liked canned corn kernels and creamed corn except the cream corn was messy and sometimes seeped into the potatoes. I loved canned baby peas. We never had salad at supper nor was bread on the table the way it was on TV, like on the Cleavers’ table. If there were cookies left, they were dessert. We’d grab a couple and eat them in the living room while watching TV.

The house is quiet. Henry is asleep upstairs on my bed while Nala is beside me on the couch. They inspire me. I’ll nap later.

The earlier morning had a chill, but it didn’t feel cold. It is in the 40’s and will stay that way all day. The bright sun has a sharpness which shines only in the fall. The sky has a few clouds but is mostly blue. With no wind, it is still sweatshirt weather. I think it is a lovely day.

My dance card has a couple of events today. I have PT again for my finger which is still swollen. Some days it hurts to the touch while other days it doesn’t hurt at all. It is a weird injury. Tonight I have uke practice, the first I’ve been to since the big bite.

I have a couple of errands. Jack needs treats, and I need to go to the post office. I have a package to mail, and I need stamps.

Last night, Nala, the marauder, had white strips of white plastic, like trash bag white, in her mouth. I just took it out of her mouth and threw it away. This morning she had more. I also saw a pile of leaves just inside the back door. I tried to throw it away, but I couldn’t. It was wrapped in thread which continued outside. I followed the thread and found the source, a spool of thread. It had come from an antique wooden box under my table which holds spools of antique thread. While I was rewinding the thread, I saw the shredded white trash bag in the yard. It had come from Jack’s room. I missed Nala taking it outside. She has become stealthy.

When I was a kid, there was no countdown to Thanksgiving, not like Christmas. In school, to celebrate the holiday, we colored turkeys imprinted on paper. They were always Tom turkeys with their tail feathers spread. I remember I used my Crayola crayons and colored each feather differently. My Tom had a rainbow tail. My mother bought a few cardboard turkeys we’d put in the window, the picture window. That was about it until the big day with its traditions.