Last night sometime after two we had rain, a deluge of rain. I jumped out of bed to shut windows. Henry followed. He always does. Nala stayed on the bed disinterest in what Henry and I were doing. I fell right back to sleep.

Right now it is 75˚ and dark and cloudy. Nothing is moving in the thick air. I don’t hear anything except the jangle of Nala’s tags on her collar. I keep track that way. She is elusive.

I choose to do nothing today except to shower for the sake of propriety. I will not notice the dust or the tumbleweeds.

I have no reason to go out. I did change the cat litter and get to the dump yesterday. I felt accomplished enough for a few days anyway.

My mealtime habits would make a nutritionist cringe. I don’t take the time to make a real dinner, one with a variety of foods, like meat, potatoes and veggies, on the plate. I’m big on cheese, sharp cheddar, and crackers, Club crackers. They make for an effortless meal.

We used to think of today as the last day of summer, calendars no nevermind. School always started the day after Labor Day. We had to take our baths on Monday, a bit disconcerting. My mother would set out our clothes so we’d get ready quickly in the morning. My uniform was a blue skirt, a white blouse and a blue tie, one of those bow ties with legs. I remember getting dressed, grabbing my school bag and loving that everything was new. My pencil box was pristine. The crayons were tall and had points at the end. My lunch box had first day goodies, usually something from Hostess. After breakfast I’d meet my friends, and we’d walk to school together. We’d be in the schoolyard until the nun rang the bell, the hand bell. We’d accept our fates, get into lines two by two and walk into the building. I swear the doors were slammed shut behind us.

The morning is cloudy. Google says it’s sunny, but he has no access to the windows. The air is a bit damp and makes today’s 74˚ feel cooler than it is. The small breeze is constant. Rain is predicted for tomorrow. Of course it is. I washed the kitchen floor yesterday. Maybe if I had known about this connection before, the one between rain and a clean kitchen floor, I could have prevented the drought we find ourselves in, and my kitchen floor would be immaculate. My only plan for today is a trip to the dump as it will be closed the next three days. Such an adventure!

I’m wearing my slippers, both of them. The former lost slipper feels a bit different, a little squishy in the toe. I don’t mind. I’m just happy to have my slipper back. I still need to collect the rest of Nala’s trash from the yard.

When I was a kid, Sunday was sacrosanct. The stores were closed. The churches were full. My church had masses up and down. I liked the down as the mass seemed to go faster, freeing us sooner. Back then women had to wear hats. I used to wear a small, round mantilla, the smallest not really a hat I could find. I used to crumble it up and put it into my pocket when I was out of church. Lace doesn’t crumble. It pockets well.

My grandmother lived down the street from the First National. She used to grab her wheeled basket, the sort you pull behind you, and shop. She had a closet in the kitchen where she stored some groceries, but I remember most the bottles of root beer on the closet floor. The kitchen’s top cabinets went to the ceiling. My grandmother was tall but stooped the way some some old ladies are. The only table in the kitchen was a built in with a bench. It was cozy, a better word than small. My grandmother wasn’t a good cook. She could do a roast with potatoes and canned veggies as that was an easy meal to fix, but her spaghetti was gross with stewed tomatoes plunked on top instead of sauce. I hated the clumps of tomatoes. When I was really young, we used to go there for dinner on Thanksgiving day evening. I can still see the wooden dining room table with matching chairs and the French doors facing the side yard. I don’t think I ever saw those doors opened. We used to use the side door which opened to the kitchen. All of the doors except the front were close to neighbors’ houses. My grandparents’ yard was open to all the backyards. Much, much later, a different owner fenced in the yard. It was a tiny yard. Once in a while I go by the house on my way to somewhere else.