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The only thing I did on Sunday was vacuum downstairs which has become a daily chore. Wispy balls of Henry hair with a few from Nala thrown in for texture and color rise into the air with the slightest movement. I vacuum. They reappear. I walk down the hall. They fly. I grab the vacuum again.

I never noticed my mother cleaning the house. She did it while I was in school. I did know when she’d done laundry as it was hung out on the lines in the backyard. I loved the smell of fresh sheets dried on the line. My mother ironed. I remember she ironed my father’s handkerchiefs. They were rectangles when she was finished. He kept one in his back pocket, and he always used it.

I have an iron. It was a house warming gift in 1977. It works perfectly. I know because I had to iron napkins a few months ago after they exited the dryer quite wrinkled. I used to iron clothes for work. I’d set up the ironing board in the den and watch TV while I ironed. I once ironed a tablecloth. The logistics alone were trying. I keep my iron near at hand in the cabinet under the sink just in case it is needed. It is a steam iron.

Sometimes I wish I had a tree house or a yurt in my backyard. People used to have summer kitchens. I’d like a vacation house under or in the trees in my backyard.

I don’t like black licorice, but I do like Good and Plenty. I also like the Chuckle’s black jelly square. I pick out and eat all the black jelly beans in any assortment. Once I was given a bag of just black jelly beans. It was bliss. I love anise cookies. My uncle used to make them every Christmas. I have his recipe. He said to use anise oil. I always do. I’ve even been known to throw down a shot of Sambuca. I don’t choose to reconcile this apparent contradiction. Life should have some mystery.

It has started lightly raining. I can hear drops on the leaves from the opened window behind me. The rain is unexpected, but it’s nice, a sweet rain, a calming rain.

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