According to my Hey Google, it is partly cloudy and 77˚. That’s accurate as I was out in the backyard earlier picking up the papers, and it was cloudy. Yup, I was picking up Nala trash. Nothing is safe in my house. I’ll start with yesterday. She stole a bag of rolls, of brioche rolls, tasty brooch rolls I was saving for a lunch sandwich. They were hidden on the counter, but, obviously, they were not well hidden. Later yesterday I needed my wallet for a credit card number and foolishly left it on the table when I was done thinking a wallet is safe. How silly of me. When I went to put the wallet back into my bag, I couldn’t find it so I went to the deck to look. It didn’t take long. I saw the dollar bill first then the five dollar bill. The ten was still in the wallet. The credit cards were strewn on the deck. I picked them up, put them into the wallet, went back inside and checked the cards. One was missing. I found it under a chair. This morning I got the papers. They were in a single plastic sleeve which I tossed on the stove while I made coffee. I saw down in the den then went to let Henry in the back door. I noticed the Boston Globe was on the drive-way. It was missing a bit of the front page. I went down to the yard to get my paper and noticed the other paper, the Cape Times, still in half of the sleeve, under the deck near the giant holes. I picked up two papers, the plastic roll bag pieces and cardboard from an unknown source. Nala was a busy girl yesterday.

When I was a kid, we had trash day once a week. The big truck had a driver and two guys hanging off the back. Their job was to grab the barrels, empty them into the truck then toss them back onto the sidewalk. The barrels were metal back then so trash day was a noisy day. I used to like to watch the trash get pressed. I remember the compressor made sort of a humming sound. The trash would be crushed then pushed further into the truck body. Certain items couldn’t be collected, but everybody in town knew the forbidden items miraculously disappeared with the just as miraculous appearance of a cold six pack.

My dance card isn’t blank for a change. My uke and I are busy tonight, tomorrow night and Wednesday morning. We’re winding down our summer appearances. We’re practicing our last book, The Beatles. I am very bad at playing this last book. The changes are quicker than my fingers have ever been. When I get a chord or two behind, I stop, find my way, and strum. I also smile the whole time. It makes me look as if I know what I’m doing.