Today is cloudy and a bit cooler than it has been though the weather report says it will get warm. I have nowhere I need to be.

Around 12:30 the dogs went out for the last time before bed. When Henry came in, his coat was damp. I checked. A mist was falling gently as mists do. I shut the door, turned off the lights, and the three of us to bed. I was with Jack for a while then we went to bed, the dogs and I. They settled. I read. That’s when the rain started in earnest. I could hear the drops from the eaves and the roof. They lulled me to sleep.

In my mind’s eye, I can still see my father coming in the front door from work. He always wore a fedora. In the winter, he wore a top coat, a black top coat. In the summer, he wore a suit, a white shirt and a tie. He always tied a Windsor knot. My father wore ties his entire work life and on Sunday for Church. He loved new ties at Christmas so I used to buy him an expensive tie as one of his gifts. He always said he could tell the good ties from the cheap ties.

My mother wore slippers around the house. They were the ones with open toes and no backs. I always wondered how they kept her feet warm. My mother’s toe nails were always red.

I have never carried a pocketbook or a purse. I have always carried backpacks slung over one shoulder. My early ones were vinyl. I remember a mustard colored backpack I carried until it got so dirty it was almost embarrassing. I was carrying it when I went to Hyannis to shop for new leather clogs which I wore to work every day. While there, I noticed they sold leather backpacks made in Vermont. I bought a black one, and that is what I have a carried for years though I do have a vinyl backpack waiting in the wings should I need it. My mustard backpack was unceremoniously tossed into the trash. It has never been missed.