Keep the Coffee Comimg

My world is awash. It started raining yesterday and is still raining. It isn’t a heavy rain, but it is a noisy rain. I love it. The dogs don’t mind the rain. They do leave paw prints in the kitchen despite the rug by the door so I see washing the floor in my future. Right now it is their nap time. After all, they have been awake for about an hour.

When I applied for the Peace Corps, I wrote my preferences for placement as South or Latin America. My parents didn’t even know I had applied so I chose Latin or South American as I figured those places would be easier for my parents to accept, not so far away, somehow a bit familiar. When I was accepted for Ghana, I was over the moon. I couldn’t even imagine living in Africa. I accepted right away. The next hurtle was telling my parents, especially my father. I knew Africa would be a problem. I told my mother first. I asked her to tell my father. I just didn’t want to hear him. She reluctantly agreed. I called a day later. My father screamed, said some unkindly things about Africa and forbade me to go. I would have laughed outright but that seemed just the wrong time. I said I was going. He said he would stop sending money. I would have to support myself for my last semester of college. I said fine knowing that would never happen. It was one of his idle threats. I hung up on him when he started yelling again. That was where we left it.

I had to go home the next weekend as my parents were going to an off-Cape wedding and needed me to stay with my sisters. I persuaded a friend to come with me. He said I was using him. I said I was. My father picked us up at the bus station. He did not talk to me, only to my friend. It was sort of amusing. They all left the next morning.

My father finally accepted my choice. He never did stop sending money. Later, I found out he had talked to a friend of mine who convinced him this was a good thing. The preparations began. I had five months from acceptance to departure. I was allowed 80 pounds of luggage. I had a list from Peace Corps with suggested packing items. Women wore only dresses so that was first. I also had some skirts which would work, but we needed to shop. Check! We bought luggage, an Instamatic, the height of new technology, slide film, plenty of underwear, toiletries, sandals and sheets and towels. Those were the main items.

Peace Corps had sent me a bus ticket from Boston to Philadelphia for staging as I didn’t live far enough away for a plane ticket. My father bought the plane ticket. We drove to Boston, to Logan. We didn’t talk much. I think we were all afraid to talk. We walked to the gate together. I have mentioned before the hugs and that last view of my parents, and my mother’s little wave. There is more to this story, this start of my journey, but I’ll end here. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.

The rain came last night. It was heavy at times. It stopped but started again a while later. The weather for today is rain on and off. The air has a damp chilly breeze, but I love it after all that heat.

The dogs and I slept upstairs last night. It was the sleep of the dead. The morning had already started when I went to bed. The light had come, and the birds were singing. I slept until 12:30. My Monday night concert is already cancelled because of the weather prediction. I’m okay with that. We have two more concerts this week.

I watched a mouse here in the den come out, see me then run and hide. The beastie did it a couple of times. I set a trap and caught it, but I don’t think it was the same mouse. I’m going to reset the trap.

When I was a kid, I didn’t know anyone who played a musical instrument. My foray into the world of music had been a triangle in the rhythm band and a tin flute the nuns taught us to play in the third grade. My grandparents had a piano, but it was a status symbol and sat unused in the living room. Never did I imagine I would learn to play any instrument. Big Brother Bob Emery and Arthur Godfrey played ukes, but I always thought of ukes as mini guitars. I can actually play music now. I love my uke, have two of them. The one I use most times was a Christmas present from my sister. The other came from a friend. It had belonged to his sister who passed away. I cherish both my ukes, my very wonderful gifts.

When I was a kid, the future was the next day or even that day after school. I had no answer when my aunt the nun asked what I wanted to be when I grew up. I always made up the answer. Writing a Christmas list was one of the few look to the future things I did. I remember hoping for a bike, putting it first on my list. My mother taught me to ride. I can still see in my mind’s eye when I finally figured it out. We were on the road in front of the house. I was on my own headed to the hill. I got scared and fell off. I remember counting the days until Christmas and to my birthday. I needed to count to see so far into the future.

I’m back to thinking of the future as a day or two in front of me. That’s about as far as I need to see.

Did you hear it? I imagine it was so loud it went far and wide. That was a sigh you heard. The heat has finally broken. My world is getting back to normal. Last night it even rained, sort of a cherry on the sundae of cool air. I slept soundly though still on the couch as upstairs was beastly hot. During the night I even grabbed a throw as it got cold, yup, cold, at least in comparison. The dogs have stopped panting. Nala slept with me on the couch. I have stopped sweating without even moving. It is 74°. Tomorrow may even get down to the 60’s. Glorious!

I have hit that stage in my life when small things brother me while other things I can easily ignore. I am not fond of too much heat or too much cold. I have trouble getting up and sitting down. I have a stoop when I walk. I want comfortable shoes and loose clothes. I can ignore dust. Most times I am content just staying home. I eat at odd hours. My meals no longer have names, no longer breakfast, lunch or dinner. They don’t fit anymore. My bedtimes are whenever. Lately I go to bed close to when I used to wake up when I worked. My complaints are small, about little things. I have settled well into this stage of my life.

In Ghana, small cardboard coasters came with every drink. I used to put mine under my glass, American style. Ghanaians put theirs on the top rims of their glasses. I never gave that much thought. Since then, especially lately, I have appreciated those rim coasters. They are big deterrents. The gnats are back, but few bother me. They are drawn to the den light. Small black bugs are piled under the lamp. They are also attracted to whatever I am drinking. They float belly up on top of the liquid, but now I am using a coaster on the rim. In the way back days, before Ghana, bugs in my food would have disgusted me. Now I just pick them out

I can hear the world returning. The birds are singing. I heard voices earlier as people emerged from their caves. The people next door even had a bit of a spat, yelling at each other. I didn’t understand as they were speaking in maybe Portuguese. They do speak perfect English, but I guess fights are far better in a family language.

Today’s dump day. My trunk is nearly filled. The heaviest one is waiting by the front door. I’m going to go late in the afternoon. I also need a few groceries. That’s my day.

My life has become the plot of a cheesy science fiction movie. You know the one where, in the middle of a heat wave, a throwaway character says this can’t last forever, and, sadly, the opposite turns out to be prophetic. Cue the title.

Last night I was a pool of sweat. On the way back from the kitchen, I found a puzzle piece on the floor in the hall. It had hitched a ride on my arm.

The dogs are still asleep sprawled out on the floor. I was abruptly awakened when my legs slid off the couch. I had become one of those balance toys where the toy’s ends flip.

I heard a dog yipping for a while this morning. I think it was my neighbor’s very little dog. It’s yipping could have been a chair creaking.

If this heat is a preview of hell, I am going to change my ways.

My life has become a metaphor.

I have many memories of July 4th. One of my favorites was from when I was a kid. From my backyard steps, I could see the fireworks, from the next town over, break high in the sky. I oohed and ahed. One of my neighbors heard me and invited me inside for a drink. He had been a friend of my mother’s since high school. His wife and I sat around their kitchen table and chatted. They drank beer. I drank root beer. I felt special.

Every July 4th I marched with my drill team in the Wakefield parade. My father’s friend had a house with a huge porch along the parade route. He hosted a party every year. When I’d march by, the whole crowd, watching the parade from the porch, yelled my name. I was both embarrassed and pleased.

My grossest memory is from a cold July 4th. I was wearing a sweatshirt, and we were sitting around the fire drinking. I picked up my ubiquitous red cup and a slug was riding along the side. The crowd ughed, and I dropped my cup.

The heat wave will begin to break tonight starting at 8. Tomorrow will be in the low 80’s. That, according to the weatherman, will bring relief. We are in such a state that relief is the low 80’s.

A bit from one of my traditional July 4th posts:

On July 3rd 1776, John Adams wrote a letter to his wife Abigail. In it, he predicted the celebrations for American Independence Day, including the parties:

“It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shews, Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and Illuminations from one End of this Continent to the other from this time forward evermore.”

 I know some people complain that the meaning of the day is lost in the barbecues and the fireworks, but they have forgotten John Adams’ hope. We are honoring the day exactly as he wished. Flags are waving everywhere. Families get together to celebrate and to break bread, albeit hot dog rolls. Fireworks illuminate the sky. Baseball is played on small town fields and in huge stadiums. Drums beat the cadence in parades. We sing rousing songs celebrating America and our freedom. We also sing heartfelt songs about what America means to us. We are many sorts of people, we Americans. We don’t all look the same, practice the same religion, eat the same foods or dress in the same way, but we all celebrate today.”

“You have to love a nation that celebrates its independence every July 4th, not with a parade of guns, tanks, and soldiers who file by the White House in a show of strength and muscle, but with family picnics where kids throw Frisbees, the potato salad gets iffy and the flies die from happiness. You may think you have overeaten but it is patriotism.” (Erma Bombeck)

Happy birthday, America, from all us Americans.

This weather has me reminiscent of Africa, of the hot, hot dry season. The only difference is I didn’t profusely sweat my life away as I do in this humidity, but I did sweat while sitting in a chair. When I’d get up, my body would be outlined in sweat on the cushion. I only had cold water. I took night showers, didn’t dry off then jumped right into bed. I air-dried which helped me fall asleep. Last night I air-dried. I slept downstairs on the couch which was cooler. I left the back door open, but I did shut the dog door. I do have an air-conditioner, but, to my dismay, it is not working and my finances are low. I’ll have to wait until next month, the hottest month, to have it checked. Meanwhile, I’ll sweat, and the dogs will pant. We make a lovely picture of panting dogs and a sweaty old lady.

The thick humidity dampens sounds. My neighborhood is quiet. I don’t even hear the birds. My dogs are finally sleeping. Nala is on the couch. Henry is on the tile floor in the kitchen in front of the back door. They have stopped panting for the meantime. I can find a way to feel cooler but not my poor dogs.

I am an idler. On the table in my den are my distractions to fill time. I have a crossword puzzle, a jigsaw puzzle, my book and my iPad. My TV is also here in the den. I have been watching movies and detective series on Acorn. My only movement is to drag myself to the kitchen or the bathroom.

When I was a kid, the weather never bothered except me for thunder and lightning storms and heavy rains both of which kept me housebound. I spent most days at the playground. I did crafts, played tennis and horseshoes and pitched for the softball team. I made gimp lanyards and bracelets. I knew all the different weaving styles. My bracelets were flat weaving, and my lanyards round until the hook end which was square. Sometimes I used three colors. I painted a tray. It was filled with flowers. It was the best thing I ever painted, still is for that matter.

I used to love to sit on the back steps in the darkness. It was the coolest time of the day. I could see fireflies. I could hear the clank of dishes being washed after dinner and the muted voices of my neighbors. I could hear TV’s. Usually I was the only one out, the only one enjoying the beauty of a clear, starry summer night.

My father would say it’s a scorcher. It is already 88° with 70% humidity. The cape is always cooler than near Boston in the summer so today is uncharacteristically hot for this early in the summer. My back door has a southern view so if there is a breeze, it comes from there, and I can feel one very now and then. Nala is lying in the hall to take advantage of that breeze. Poor boxers with their short noses don’t do as well as other dogs in the heat. Henry is stretched out in the kitchen by the back door. Both are asleep.

My mother always kept the shades down in every room on hot days. The house was a bit cooler but seemed cave-like in the darkness. I don’t have shades in my windows so the sun travels around the house and comes through the windows from front to back. I am in the back of the house so it is the coolest spot most of the day.

I was on a drill team for years. Every summer we had competitions on the weekends. Our uniforms had long sleeves, and the skirts too were long and were heavy. We wore boots. We’d stand outside in the sun waiting for our turn on the field. We’d start on the third line, move to the inspection line then on to the ready line. Marchers fainted. I remember one of my friends fainting on the ready line. They hauled her off so we could start. Nothing deterred us. If someone fainted on the field during maneuvers, you just had to sort of walk around or over them. If you didn’t, you could lose cadence and step counts which could result in a lower score. We were hardy souls back then.

I have no intention of doing anything today. It is the perfect day for all of us to embrace our inner sloths. Let’s find a big branch on a leafy tree and just lie in the shade. If we need a snack, we can just grab a leaf and take our time eating it. We can listen to the birds and nap a bit. If only….

The morning is sunny and cool. A strong breeze is rolling the leaves on the oak trees. The birds are loud. The dogs are enjoying their morning naps curled on the couch. The weather, though, will probably change as there is a 68% chance of thunder showers starting this afternoon and continuing into the evening. The winds could be as high as 28 mph. I am a fan of thunder showers.

This will be a quiet week. My dance card is empty until Saturday. Because I have plenty of time this whole week to loll, I’m thinking of giving my sloth a bit of a vacation today. My house creates dust. Somewhere a machine is hiding in the walls manufacturing dust balls and strewing them about. The machine is run by a maniacal dust monster. My upstairs is a domestic dust bowl and needs to be vacuumed. Dust flies when I walk down the stairs. The hall I vacuumed two days ago needs the vacuum again.

The house where I did most of my growing up was actually small, but to me, it was big enough. The living room was the biggest room. It held a couch, two soft chairs, a table in front of the picture window, a TV in the corner and a desk against the wall behind the front door. The closet beside the desk was where my father always hung his top coat and put his fedora on the shelf. The kitchen was really small. The table and chairs were jammed beside a window. The fridge dominated the kitchen. I remember my father defrosting that fridge. He used a hammer and a screw driver to knock the ice off the sides. My father and tools were always dangerous. I don’t specifically remember, but I suspect he probably cut his fingers. The back door was beside the fridge. It had a screen door which always slammed unless you held it to close. The upstairs hall was tiny. Crowded around it were three bedrooms and the bathroom. I remember lying on the threshold of one of the rooms, my brother lying on another and my father on the third. We had flashlights and sent each other messages by Morse code. My father has taught it to us. He had been a signalman in World War II. In my room, my double bed was against one wall, and the other end of it almost touched another wall. I usually crossed over the bed to get to the closet and the bureau. I loved that I had a window at the foot of my bed. I got so see the morning first hand.

The day is stunningly lovely. It is sunny. The leaves glint in the light. The birds are singing. It is 74°. It won’t get much warmer. The heat starts tomorrow when we may even finally get some rain.

My mother had a wringer washing machine. She didn’t have a dryer. The backyard had clothes lines for both sides of the duplex. My mother had three long lines. A cloth holder hung on one line. It held the wooden clothespins. I remember how she used to hang the clothes. To save on clothespins, shirts were connected at the bottoms while sheets and towels were connected at the tops. Pants were hung by their legs. Some of our neighbors had metal pant forms which hung the pants folded. I guess it made ironing easier. In the winter the clothes froze, sometimes straight out as if they were being blown by the wind. My mother couldn’t fold those clothes. She left them in the cellar until the ice melted. She’d hurry outside to take down the clothes if it started to rain then she would hang them in the cellar to finish drying. I remember the towels were always a bit rough, but the sheets smelled of outside, of fresh air and the wind.

I have a huge number of paper grocery bags. The grocery store double bags. I use the bags to hold my recyclables like dog food cans, newspapers and magazines. I like the ones with the paper strap holders. When I was a kid, we used them as book covers for our school loaned books. First you cut the bag apart then you lay the book on it to measure. You had to make sure you had enough paper to make the folds, the parts that slide onto the book ends. Sometimes we’d tape the folds at top. The finished covers had folds in the front. I didn’t know anyone who ever bought a book cover.

I have to vacuum today. The dust balls are beginning to come alive or maybe it is just my imagination because they move. They sort of skip up and down the hall when the wind blows. My outside uke concerts begin today on the Hyannis village green. I also have a concert on Saturday from 7 to 9. I have nothing in between, no practice or lesson this week. It will be a quiet week.

Today is sunny. The temperature is only 75° but feels much hotter. It is Sunday quiet. I can hear only a single bird. Even the hums of insects sound quiet and uninspired. I’m sitting in my dark den. It is always the coolest room in the house as the windows face west and north. I have a dump run planned for today but nothing else. I am embracing the feel of Sundays of my childhood.

When I was a kid, I was never squeamish. I caught grasshoppers. I picked up garter snakes. A praying mantis could hold my attention for what seemed hours. They looked prehistoric to me. I think a giant version starred in a black and white science fiction movie and ate people and destroyed towns. If you were afraid of bugs or snakes in Ghana, you were doomed. My childhood had prepared me though a centipede did take me back a bit.

On Sunday mornings, we got to have donuts. My father usually brought a dozen home after his ushering duties at the early mass. I remember his favorite was a plain donut slathered with butter. Back then I ate jelly donuts and had perfected eating one without the jelly oozing through the hole. It was when I was much older that my father made bacon and eggs for me for breakfast. His sunny side up eggs always had unbroken yokes.

I stayed close to home on summer Sundays. My bike stood outside in the back yard waiting for Monday and new adventures. I’d read the comics in the paper. Sometimes I’d watch the afternoon movie matinees. They were movies kids could could watch. My favorite was Treasure Island. I was pulled in by the arrival of Billy Bones and his black spots. I still remember how horrified I was to find out that Long John Silver was a treacherous pirate.

My mother seldom used the oven to cook Sunday dinner. The kitchen was small and held the heat. We often had corn on the cob and, if we begged enough, my mother made peppers and eggs as the main course. From the grill, cheeseburgers were my favorites. They were topped with yellow American cheese. I used ketchup on them back then. I never turned down a hot dog in a toasted bun.

My dance card is pretty empty this week. I don’t even have my uke practice or lesson. Our first concert on the green in Hyannis is tomorrow at 5:30. On Saturday we are playing from 7 to 9 in front of the Kennedy Museum in Hyannis. For the rest of the week, my sloth will reign supreme.

Today is Mother Nature’s thanks for abiding yesterday’s ugly day. It is sunny and warm, 74°. The humidity is just about gone. A light breeze is coming in through the window behind me, a north window. The day is wonderfully lovely.

I was lying in bed this morning trying to decide whether I would go back to sleep or get up when memories of my senior prom popped into my head. I thought it a strange memory to surface as it has been sitting way back in my memory drawers gathering dust, sixty-one years of dust. I have no idea what prompted it.

My mother and I shopped for my dress but didn’t find one I liked so she offered to make one for me. Though my mother had never sewn anything like a prom dress, I trusted her.

We went to Hyannis, to Buttrick’s, to find a pattern. I always thought of Buttriick’s as an old lady’s store. The window had mannequins wearing aprons and house dresses. I remember one section of the store had full and half slips and support hose. Anyway, we found the perfect dress pattern, a two piece dress with a straight bottom half. Next was the fabric store in South Yarmouth. The material I chose was lilac colored with brocade for the top and plain lilac for the bottom.

My mother sat on the living room floor to cut out the paper pattern pieces then she pinned the pieces to the dress material and cut around the pattern. The living room rug was covered in the pinned pieces. She sewed for days. The finished dress was gorgeous.

I invited a friend to be my prom date. We had been friends and co-conspirators since the eighth grade. He sent measurements, and my father reserved a tux locally for him, a white tux. My mother ordered the flowers. The day of the event I went to the beauty shop to have my hair done. Every chair in the shop was taken by one of my classmates. My hair was the style of the day. It was puffy on top with the little flip-ups on the bottom.

Getting dressed was almost a solemn occasion. I got into my dress then put on my tiara, my elbow length white gloves and my rabbit fur stole, also white. My mother took pictures. I have one of us standing in front of the fireplace. I remember the rain. My mother and father held a sheet over the two of us as we ran to the car, no limos in those days. We doubled with friends of mine. Our prom was at the Chatham Bars Inn, ritzy even back then but now a 5 star resort. The closest door was through the kitchen. The kitchen staff stopped to watch us as we walked through. The prom was perfect.

After the prom, we changed then went to a house party. The highlight of the party was a scavenger hunt. I remember two of the stops, one was at a cemetery where there was a clue at a certain gravestone. The other was at the principal’s house where we had to find out his middle name. It was Adolph.

It was so exciting being out late. Cars on the road were sparse. Houses were dark. I got home in the wee hours.