Keep the Coffee Comimg

Winter is sitting on the doorstep. Every day is in the 40’s and the nights are chillier. Most go down to the 30’s. Right now the sun itself is hidden by clouds so it is giving us only a bit of light, a muted light. It is 43°. I have to admit I have given in and turned on the heat. When I visited my mother, her house was often so hot I used to wear a short sleeve shirt. She was bundled. I always complained as did my sister. Now I get it. I’ve realized the older you are the less tolerable the cold is inside the house, especially when you are a sloth sitting on the couch. I wear a sweatshirt.

I need a few groceries so I may also go to the dump. My car is almost fully loaded with trash, only one more bag to go; however, I am not looking forward to either errand. I’m just not in the mood. I need a factotum.

Saturday has always been my favorite day. When I was a kid, I was seldom home all day. In the warm weather, I rode my bike. I was a traveler. I went from town to town. First, I stopped at the special places to visit around my town like the horse barn, the zoo, the library and the store windows uptown where I could watch the lobsters swimming in their tank, check out Woolworth’s window, always decorated for the season, and stand in front of Hank’s Bakery wishing for that chocolate cupcake. After uptown I sometimes went further abroad. I’d sit on a bench at one of the train stations and hope for a train. I remember my hair blowing in the wind of a passing train. I remember the clicking sound of the trains on the tracks. I remember wishing I could be on that train. Where it was going didn’t matter. It was the going which mattered.

Saturday supper was never a surprise, hot dogs, baked beans and brown bread. I never like the beans. I liked my brown bread toasted and slathered with butter. My hot dogs were always in rolls, top loading rolls with mustard and piccalilli. Now, all these years later, I am still a hot dog fan and I still don’t like beans. Not long ago I bought a can of brown bread, B&M brown bread, the same one we had back then. It had can ridges like cranberry sauce does. I toasted it and slathered it with butter. I didn’t like the flavor at all. I was surprised because I remembered eating a couple of slices every Saturday night or did I? Memory can be tricky. I ended up tossing the bread out for the birds.

I don’t know what today will bring. I vacuumed yesterday. I do need to water my plants so that may be enough to make me feel productive. I’m toying with maybe baking something. My psyche needs chocolate. Brownies? Fudge? A candy bar? The possibilities are almost beyond comprehension.

This entry was posted on November 14, 2026 at 12:00 pm and is filed under Musings. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. You can comment below, or link to this permanent URL from your own site.