People were screaming and running amok through the streets. They feared for their lives. What is that flaming ball of fire? Are we doomed? Don’t worry I told them. It is the sun. It has returned. The day is bright and pretty. The sky is blue. Both, though, are deceiving. It is cold, 33° cold. The wind is blowing. The pine branches are swaying. It is a day to bundle.

Today is a mishmash.

On my kitchen bookcase are bobble heads triggered by the sun. Their heads haven’t moved in days. This morning, after I opened the door to let the dogs out, the sun hit those heads. All of them are bobbling. I can hear the clicks as they move.

When I was a kid, Sunday was special. The big stores were closed. Corner stores, donut shops and some restaurants were all that were open. People stayed close to home. It was a family day. It was a quiet day. My father always brought home donuts after he ushered at mass. I had cocoa with my donut.

My wardrobe was divided into play clothes, church clothes and school clothes. The school clothes were a uniform of a blue skirt, white blouse and blue tie, the sort you’d wear at a square dance. Church clothes were a dress or a skirt and a blouse. Play clothes were just about anything else.

I wore two piece pajamas to bed. In the winter, they were flannel. In the summer, they were cotton. For Christmas, they were always brand new.

I was never without a book. I sneaked one into church and hid it between the pages of the mass book. I looked reverent with all my attention directed to the mass responses and hymns, but I was really reading about Trixie Belden and her detecting. In school, I’d hide the books in textbooks. Instead of studying science, I went somewhere else. I was quite adept and never got caught.

My mother taught me to tie my shoes. I remember sitting on the floor by the arm of the chair. She showed me a few times how to tie the bow. My first attempts were failures. The bow was too loose and fell apart, but the more I tied it, the better I got. I can honestly say I now tie a tight bow.

My mother also taught me how to ride a bike. I remember we were on Prospect Street. She held on to the back of the seat. The bike wobbled. I tried to maintain my balance but failed. I tried again and again, but I did it. I rode off into the sunset.

Explore posts in the same categories: Musings

This entry was posted on February 4, 2024 at 2:10 pm and is filed under Musings. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. Both comments and pings are currently closed.