“There is a crack in everything.That’s how the light gets in.”
Mother Nature toyed with us this weekend. She gave us two days of sun then snatched the sun away. Today is another cloudy, dampish day. The temperature will fluctuate between 50° and 39°. Where is spring in all of this?
Dinner was delicious yesterday. I even gave the dogs a taste of ham and a bit of mashed potatoes. They were lucky I shared.
Today will be a sloth day. Yesterday I did some odd chores, infrequent chores. I organized my little library, took down the outside colored Christmas lights and sweatshirt sleeve dusted a few tables. The colored Christmas lights have been burning every night. I’ll miss them, but, as always, the white lights are still on the rail and gate. They brighten the night. They break through the darkness.
Yesterday, I found two pictures of me taken in December 1969 at my house in Ghana. I was twenty-two. In one picture, I am standing outside near my house wearing a Bolga hat and my blue flowered culottes. It is the dry season. The grass is brown all round me, and I can tell the road is sandy. Off in the distance are white buildings with black trim. They are the bathrooms for the middle school just out of the picture. I am smiling. The second picture was taken in a room I don’t recognize. I look so young. I am still smiling broadly. I am wearing a sleeveless sort of house dress and holding a yellow Bic pen with a red cap. A blue aerogram is on the table beside me. I guess I was writing home. I don’t know why I noticed that. I loved finding those pictures.
Today I have another odd chore. I have a few wooden boxes filled with vinyl albums. I am going to go through them to see what I have. They date from the 60’s and 70’s. I know two of them are poets reading their poems. One is Robert Frost and the other is Edna St. Vincent Millay. Two others are drum and bugle corps music. One was recorded at Symphony Hall. I don’t remember about the other. I expect surprises.
The dogs are asleep head to head. My house is quiet. I like it that way.
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April 1, 2024 at 5:14 pm
Hi Kat,
We’ve been cloudy all day while awaiting for the thunderstorms this evening.
Today is April Fools’ day and I’m afraid to write something crazy or bad because at my age I don’t want to put out anything bad into the universe.
Unfortunately, I don’t recognize myself in old pictures. I can remember the time when the picture was taken, I just don’t recognize myself. When I shave in the morning I also don’t recognize that old guy in the mirror. 🙂
I just saw a commercial for a company called, 1-800 Junk. They will haul away your overstuffed garage starting at $197. My uncle Harry made a living in the 1950s and 60s in the Junk business. He would clean out basements and garages for free and then he would keep anything he found of value. The last time I visited him he had moved to Miami Beach and retired. He had a stack of aluminum pieces and other metal scraps in his garage. He collected this stuff from the street on his morning walks. He remarked, “Do you realize how valuable that stuff is worth?” You can move the Junk man out of New York, but you just can’t take the junk out of his soul.
April 1, 2024 at 7:45 pm
Hi Bob,
The rain starts tomorrow. That is all it seems to do. I am so tired of it.
My mother was the best at catching people on April Fool’s Day. My sister Moe was her favorite target. I thought of my mother this morning.
That same company is here as well. I often see their commercials on TV. My cellar is a mess and needs to be cleared. I’m thinking of calling them. I remember the junk man and his horse and wagon when I was a kid. He’ ride up and down the streets yelling, “Junk. Junk.” I know there are many thefts of copper from places being built or places already abandoned. Your uncle was a visionary!
April 1, 2024 at 9:50 pm
My uncle drove a pickup while collecting junk, but I remember the junk men with a horse and wagon when I was very young in Brooklyn.
April 1, 2024 at 11:27 pm
I was also young when the junk man drove a wagon. I also remember the knife sharpener man on his bicycle with a grinding wheel.