It’s a warm day which can’t seem to make up its mind. We had sun then clouds, then sun again, and now it’s cloudy. The weatherman said maybe rain, and that’s the forecast for most of this week, maybe rain. Sebastian, the younger, worked on my garden all morning; he is the younger as Sebastian, the older, is my neighbor and the boss of the landscaping crew. The Sebastians are not related and share only a name and a nationality, Brazilian. The younger planted grass seed on bare spots, moved day lilies, cut down the dead flower stalks, trimmed bushes, weeded my herb garden, got rid of the mint and planted the mums I’d bought and be given as gifts. The garden has been readied for winter.

My mother made great school lunches. She never gave us peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Most days we had bologna. On Friday it was tuna. On really cold days we had hot soup in our thermoses. Chicken noodle was a favorite. I remember my lunchboxes always had wire holders to keep the thermos from moving around and breaking, but one year the thermos broke anyway. I still remember how scared and horrible I felt hearing the sound of the glass shaking inside the thermos. That was the year of no soup. My mother sometimes put in potato chips and she always included dessert. The days after she had grocery shopped were the best for desserts. We’d get a Hostess cupcake or a sno-ball. Later in the week we’d get cookies wrapped in plastic, usually Oreos. We didn’t get fruit all that much, an apple every once in a while. I used to buy my milk. Just before lunch, a milk crate filled with cartons was delivered to the room. The milk was always in one of those small waxy cartons which were never easy to open. Good thing they gave us a straw.

We used to keep our lunchboxes under our seats. They never went in the cloak room. When the lunch bell rang, it meant we could talk and soon enough we’d be running outside for recess. For some reason I remember the fourth grade the best when my seat was in the back and my lunchbox was plaid.