Today will be warm, close to perfect, maybe even 60˚. The sun is brilliant. The sky is a dark blue. The trees are still. The wind of yesterday is gone. The dogs appreciate the weather and have been in and out all morning. They wake me up every day far too early. Both of them sleep on the couch then follow me upstairs usually after one. I spend time with Jack and then read before turning out the light always after two and even closer to three. The dogs’ schedule has to change.

When I was a kid, I was up and about early even on weekends, especially on Saturdays. I didn’t want to waste a single minute of my favorite day. Sundays were different. The day was out of my hands. I had to go to mass. I hoped for mass downstairs where there was no sermon, and the mass went quickly. Sometimes it was so full I had to stand in the back. I didn’t mind as it meant I was among the first to leave. The downstairs was small and dark. The altar too was small.

The main church, upstairs, had long stain glass windows on each side. I used to read the names, the dedications. The sun sometimes poured through and lit the church. There were three altars, two small on each side and a large one in the middle. Pendant lights hung from the tall ceiling. Everywhere was wood.

In the winter I sat in the warm church toward the back. In the summer I stood if I could or even sat outside on the steps when the church was full. The priest always gave a sermon. We were his captive audience.

Sunday afternoons we often visited my grandparents. The house was filled with aunts, uncles and cousins. On the stove was the pan of pasta so we could help ourselves. Usually it was shells, my favorite. The sauce was already on the shells. The cheese and the grater were on the table. The women sat in the kitchen. The men usually watched football upstairs. In the summer we often went to the beach after mass and stayed all day. I loved those Sundays!

Today is dump day.

The morning is chilly. The sun though bright in the sky is merely an ornament. The breeze is every now and then. It will stay in the 50’s today. The dogs love this weather. They have been in and out most of the morning. They have a routine. They wait in a line of two until I first open the door then out they run. They are quickly back and stand by the cabinet door for their morning treats, dog biscuits, then out they go again. I shared my breakfast with them. Each got a spoonful of coffee and a piece of biscotti. They seem to be partial to the lemon biscotti.

Yesterday I was a woman of leisure. I finished one book and started another. Today I have a few things to do. I’m going to iron. Yup, I still have an iron, a steam iron. It was a house warming present in 1977. I can’t remember the last time I used it, but I need to iron some placemats which were washed and are quite wrinkled. Nala had stolen them from a basket and taken them to the backyard. Nothing is safe from Nala. I only wish she could iron. It would be a fitting punishment.

When I was a kid, my mother ironed all the time. The wringer was tough on clothes. I remember her sprinkling water on the clothes then folding them for a bit so they’d be damp. That made the ironing easier. She had a stand which could be folded and unfolded. It had a base and a rod. On the rod, she’d put the hangers with the newly ironed clothes on them. I once had a similar rod. I used to iron every week. I’d set up the ironing board and the rod in the den so I could watch TV. I used spray starch. I always thought the sleeves were the hardest parts to iron.

In Ghana, they still use charcoal irons. They are wedge shaped and made of cast iron. The top comes up so you can put in the charcoal. I was always glad I had someone to iron my clothes. I would have burned myself for sure.

My dogs have an apple basket filled with toys. Some are perfectly intact while others are missing parts. The worst are just empty shells of themselves. I’d stand on the deck and sometimes see the white stuffing sort of looking like snow and wonder which creature, which toy, had met its demise. Some I triage by sewing seams. Nala likes the rubber toys. I find them in the yard. One toy, once red, was Gracie’s favorite. It was in the yard a long while and lost its color, but Nala doesn’t mind. She carries it in her mouth and runs the yard. Better that toy than another possum or squirrel, toys to her and the prizes of keep away.