Today is cooler than it has been, and there are clouds to hide the sun in a sort of peek-a-boo game. The breeze is now and then and is strong at times. I’m back to wearing my sweatshirt.

My to do list isn’t. I’ve decided that holding myself to completing tasks on a list is too much pressure. If I happen to see something and I’m in the mood, I’ll clean it, move it or toss it. It is just one of those days.

Today, I am a risk taker. I am going to pull down the dead deck lights and give the spawns new targets by putting up another set of lights. Henry misses the deck lights and will not go out at night unless I turn on the porch light. Today, I am a realist so I’m going to order a couple of sets of lights from Amazon to keep on hand.

The other night I had to go to the car. My street is quite dark: no streetlights, few neighbors. Usually I just put on the front light, but it is broken, hanging from the socket. I opened the front door, surveyed the yard and decided it was too dark to make a run to the car, but I have a Coleman lantern. My friends gave it to me one Christmas. I keep it in the kitchen. Anyway, the other night, I lit the lamp and used it to light my way to the car. I felt like Florence Nightingale, the lady with the lamp. My mind is curious at times, actually strange at times, and it does hold far too many useless facts. Remembering Florence is an example. I don’t even know when last I thought about Florence Nightingale, but there she was popping into my head as I walked with my lamp held in front of me. It was a mini time warp.

When I was a kid, time just sort of moved without too much notice. Every week was the same so the weeks mostly ran together. Some weeks were highlighted by days like Christmas and Thanksgiving but time ran fast all around them. I’d lose track and wouldn’t catch up until spring when the world and I sort of woke up together. I walked faster in the mornings buoyed by the sun. I longed for after school, for playtime, for bike riding. The passing of the days mattered the warmer it got. Counting the days slowed down time. I understood the watched pot. About this time of year, we’d be about two weeks or just a bit more away from summer vacation. Those two weeks took months.

The blue sky extends forever and the sun is bright and warm. I have ditched my sweatshirt. I’m in summer t-shirt mode. Yesterday I cleaned the dining room. I’m talking moving furniture and clearing the webs of time. During the cleaning, I’d stop and sit down and figure I’d done enough then I’d get up and do more. I’m back to cleaning a room a day, downstairs. I close my eyes when I get upstairs where both bedroom are messy and cluttered. One room is the cats’ mess. The other is my mess. The to do list which first had cleaning upstairs on it is now brittle and yellowed. I keep adding upstairs to new lists as sort of a homage.

I’m living in a Goldilocks’ dilemma. Such is my life now. Last week my favorite coffee cup broke, one I’d been using for years. Since then I have been on a quest to replace that cup and have had no success. The first couple of cups were too small. Today’s cup was too big and too heavy. My cabinet is filled with cups. This could take a while.

I do need to go out today, the second time this week. One more time will be a new record. I have retired my previous outside clothes to the growing pile of laundry. They served me well.

My uncle died yesterday, my favorite uncle. He was my mother’s younger brother, ten years younger than she and ten years older than I. Uncle Jack loved Bing Crosby and fancied himself a bit of a Bing. When I was in Ghana, my sister sent me a mixed tape of songs off the radio. I played it as soon as I got it, and what a surprise I had. Right in the middle of the radio songs was my Uncle Jack singing. I loved it. My sister later told me he had asked what she was doing and then asked for the mike. On most Fridays, my Uncle Jack was at my parents’ house. They played card games, sang and had a few drinks. If my phone rang on a Friday around 1 or 2 AM, I knew who it was. I’d pick up the phone and say hello. My Uncle Jack would say, “Leenie,” his nickname for me, from Kathleen, and then start singing. I dearly loved my Uncle Jack.