The morning is lovely, already 62°. The birds are at the feeders which were filled yesterday. The dogs scared away the spawn, and I moved its favorite feeder hoping to thwart its thievery. Every time I see that bushy spawn tail, I see red, okay grey but you know what I mean. I’m tired of being a spawn lunch counter.

When I was little, the nuns scared me even though I had an aunt who was a nun. We saw her only once a year, an obligatory visit, so we didn’t know her well. On every visit, we’d sit in the living room of the convent. I remember a nun would bring cookies and milk for us and ginger ale for my parents. It was always the stiffest visit. Her habit was off-putting. We’d sit quietly on the living room chairs. She’d asked about school, and that was the extent of our conversation. Every though it was only once a year, we dreaded the visit.

I can close my eyes and still see the living room in the duplex where we lived for so long. The house, the duplex, was on a hill on a hill. The picture window was centered. It looked out on our front yard, a grassy hill. From that window, you could also see three roads, the houses across the street, a mail box and a street light. My father always parked his car by the steps which led to the house. In the living room the couch faced the picture window. A desk was by the front door. We sat on it for professional pictures one year. My father’s chair was also by the window. The TV was in a corner, the same corner where the Christmas tree always stood. The room was small, but I never really noticed. It had everything we needed and more.

In my kitchen, I have an old school chair and desk. My microwave is on the desk and on top of it are some cookbooks, all with African recipes. Included is Ghana Chop, a cookbook from my Peace Corps days. Measurements are in cigarette tins, like two tins of sugar. I don’t have any tins so I guess. When I was in first grade, my desk and chair were exactly the same as the one in the kitchen. The space for my school books is underneath. I used to have pull out a couple of books to find the right one. I keep my kitchen towels there. I pull them out to find the right one.

This entry was posted on May 12, 2025 at 10:24 am 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.