Today is the ideal day. The breeze is constant. The bright sun is glinting off every leaf. It is 74°. I’m thinking it is time to put on the screen doors.

The other night I watched a WWII movie, The 1000 Plane Raid. The title is a spoiler. It is the entire plot. Though I had already seen the movie, I watched it again. The movie was released in 1969. I saw it in 1970 in Niamey, Niger of all places. It was at an outside venue. The showing was sponsored by the American Embassy. I don’t remember if there was popcorn. What I do remember are the mosquitoes. They were relentless.

When I was a kid, my father hunted mosquitos. He’d chase them with a rolled up magazine in hand. He’d go from room to room weapon in hand. I’d wake up when he was on my mattress and juggling his feet back and forth to keep his balance. The mattress rolled so much I remember thinking I’d get seasick. I remember his cursing when he killed a mosquito which had already bitten. The bloody spot stayed on the ceiling. I remember the blotches.

Summer suppers were more casual. The oven made the kitchen too hot to use. The heat just stayed there lingering in the air. We were not a salad family except when I was older, but it was potato salad, not green salad. We ate a lot of corn on the cob mostly in August. My father loved his native tomatoes slathered with mayo. I ate hot dogs often and never minded how frequently. I topped them with mustard and piccalilli. We only had yellow mustard back then. Nobody ever put ketchup on a hot dog. That seemed like desecration. When I was older, I ate cheeseburgers. That pattern still continues. I eat a lot hot dogs. My mustard right now is honey pineapple. I don’t cook burgers at home, but I order them often when I eat out. Sometimes I use mayo and other times ketchup. I like my roll toasted.

My dance card this week is uke heavy. In addition to practice and my lesson, I have three concerts. Our book this month is across America.

The morning is pleasant, cool and sunny. It is 66°. Outside is calling. I’m thinking it is time to clean the deck furniture, to start the day outside with my morning coffee, the paper and my dogs. I love the look of the backyard this time of year, early summer. The trees are laden with bright green leaves. They dance in the breeze.

My deck is high off the ground like a treehouse. I sit at the table under the umbrella and watch the dogs romp in the backyard. Nala is prone to a zoomie or two before she collapses on the grass. Henry mostly walks the yard. After a bit, both of them usually join me on the deck. They lie down. I just sit.

By the time this time of year came round, I was done with school. The days were too pretty to sit inside all day penned at a desk. I longed to be free. We got out fairly early in June. The last big hurtle was end of year tests. I always did well. The last day of school was a half day, a wasted day. We sat around until we got our report cards. The grades were hand written on the cards. On the back my mother had signed each term that she had seen the grades. On the bottom was promoted to grade and then a line for the number. I don’t know anyone who was not promoted, but who knows.

When I was five, my aunt gave us Duke, our first dog, our boxer, as a present. He was the runt of his litter who came from a breeder in our town. He had been bought then returned because the first owner did not know what to expect. Boxers are unique dogs. They stay puppies until they are about three. They love to play. Nala still carries her stuffed elf around the house. They are smart dogs. They are also stubborn and sassy. Boxers are wonderfully protective. When Shauna, my first boxer, was at my mother’s house, the man from a siding company came to show her house siding colors. Shauna immediately got up and stood beside my mother. The man wanted to know if he was safe. The only problem with boxers is they don’t have long lives. Gracie lived to be twelve, the oldest so far of any of my dogs. Duke died when I was a sophomore in college. My mother was with him. It was, up to then, the worst day of my life.