Today is a spring day. The bright sun is framed by a cloudless, deep blue sky. The morning air has a bit of a chill, but, in typical spring fashion, the day will get warmer. I’m going to clean the backyard so it will look less like a vacant lot. Nala has been busy stealing trash and secretly taking it through the dog door. I caught her once yesterday with a box in her mouth. She dropped it and jumped when I yelled, but the odds are in her favor. I seldom catch her.

Henry is asleep on the couch. I know that doesn’t sound revolutionary, but my house cleaner is here, and Henry doesn’t care. He isn’t following her and barking. That’s the revolutionary part. Also, Henry has mastered the dog door. He stands outside and bangs the door, but I ignore him so he comes in on his own. That is also revolutionary.

When I was a kid, I walked more than I rode my bike. All week I walked to and from school. On Saturday mornings, I walked to the armory for junior drill. On Saturday afternoons, I walked uptown to the movie theater. When I was older, I still walked. On weekday mornings it was to the bus stop with a reverse walk in the afternoons. In the early evenings, on Tuesdays, I walked to drill and later at night I walked home. I never worried. I grew up feeling safe.

When my parents moved off Cape while I was in the Peace Corps, they couldn’t find a key to the house. It was never locked. I think they finally found the key in the junk drawer with all the other odd objects.

When I was a kid, I loved riding my bike to school. The bike rack in the schoolyard was under trees. It was wooden and painted green, the perfect color for St. Patrick’s School. I never had a lock, but I never worried about my bike. I knew it would always be there in the green bike rack at the end of school.