Keep the Coffee Comimg

Today is another delightful day with temperatures in the low 70’s. The sun is warm. A small every now and then breeze blows the low branches. Clouds come and go. Flowers are blooming. My front garden has new, tall white and purple flowers. I can hear my neighbors working in their gardens. Spring has arrived but so has the yellow, dusty pine pollen. I can see a light layer on my car. I don’t need to shut the windows yet, but that is coming.

I noticed some lily of the valley shoots across the street. They are probably from my side garden which is covered with lilies of the valley. More are on the small hill beside my house. My back yard too has lilies of the valley. Every shoot reminds me of my mother. Her front yard had lilies of the valley and violets. I brought some plants down here. The lilies closest to the violets had turned a light purple. Those I planted in my front garden, but they didn’t survive. The violets too have disappeared, but the lilies have survived and spread. They are everywhere.

When I was a kid, I wore the typical girls’ uniform of the day on Saturdays. That consisted of girls’ jeans, blouses and low rider white pointed sneakers, dirty white sneakers, but I was young and didn’t care. Many of my blouses had no sleeves. That was the style back then. My jeans had a zipper in one front pocket, but the pocket wasn’t deep so it was more of a half zipper. On the warmer days I substituted shorts for jeans, but the rest of my sort of ensemble stayed the same.

I wore dresses all the time in Ghana. It was the custom. I knew ahead of time so my mother and I shopped and found a few dresses and some skirts. I am not really a dress person. I did wear one to school here every day but changed in a heartbeat to cozies when I got home, and I never wore dresses on the weekends. On our shopping spree, we found a really ugly after shower sort of cotton robe which I wore every day in Ghana. It was white with black blotches. It had a zipper. I used to take it off and jump into bed still wet so I’d air dry and be a bit cooler to fall asleep. That was as close as I got to casual clothes in Ghana.

Each morning, when I first wake up, I look out the window in my bedroom. This morning I saw the brightest sun and a deep, deep blue sky, a beautiful day with a high of 78° and a low of 54°. The weather report, though, does say a moderate chance of scattered showers after 3 PM, but I figure moderate makes it unlikely.

It is time to put my factotum, Skip, to work. I have a long list of spring work, things like replacing boards on the deck rail, power washing the deck and wooden chairs, planting pots with flowers and herbs and decorating for the summer with flags and candles and the fish table. I’m ready for coffee and papers on the deck.

I need a new dump sticker. The town calls it a transfer station sticker, a euphemism. The cost is $190.00. That gives me the privilege of dumping my own trash and recycling five days a week. How exciting!

Once, on a bus, I saw a woman who was constantly talking light her cigarette then put the lit end in her mouth. She sputtered and spit. I have no idea why I remember that.

I have a confession. On my way to Sandwich a long time back when I was young and reckless I got stopped for speeding, not once but twice. I got a warning each time. I have never had a speeding ticket.

I loved riding my Honda in Ghana. When I bought it, they taught me how to shift. My trip home from buying it was 100 miles on a paved road. The ride took well over four hours. I was a bit nervous when the lorries and the buses passed me. I could feel the breeze. I only stopped once to stretch my legs and buy some fruit from an auntie selling along the roadside in some small village. I noticed people walking on the roads or in the fields without seeing a compound or a village. I wondered where they came from and how far they were walking. I had a helmet. Peace Corps insisted we wear one and sent one to me. I didn’t wear it much. It was hot and bulky. I was attacked, sort of, by a herd of goats. They turned into me and hit my bike. That surprised me, and I dropped the bike and got burned from the exhaust. Another time, in the bush, I saw a troop of baboons cross the road. I stopped. One of them gave me a long look, but I never moved and he lost interest. I used to ride into town for market day. I brought shepherd’s bags with me to load with my purchases. They are woven bags which stretch. I’d fill the bags with oranges, plantain, yams, eggs and even a pineapple. I’d put the heavy bags on each handlebar. They hung to my knees. I’d hope for the best.

It is a beautiful day. The sun is bright. The air is still. It could even get as warm as 70+°. The Cape is inching toward summer, and today is a preview, a delightful preview.

I have a concert this afternoon, the first in a busy concert season. In June alone there are ten. The fingers on my left hand are getting meaty.

The dogs scared the heck out of me around four this morning. Both of them, at the same time, jumped off the bed and ran downstairs. Henry was barking though that is not unusual. He is a loud boy. I decided not to go check, but, instead, went back to sleep. The dogs joined me.

In reading the paper this morning, I saw scrum used in a different way. I had only known it as a rugby play. The sentence read, “A scrum of reporters…” I checked and it also means a disordered or confused situation involving a number of people. It was used to describe the reporters surrounding Santos and yelling questions.

When I was a kid, I used to keep a dictionary close in case I ran into a word I didn’t know. Even now there is one by my bed but down here I just ask Duck.

When I was growing up, my house and yard were filled with sounds. I loved the turning sound of the phone dial, the click click. My father always used a hand mower. It too had a click click sound. Our fridge didn’t hum. It always made all sorts of what sounded like grunting noises as if it were having trouble keeping up with its responsibilities. Floors creaked. The stairs creaked even more. The back door always slammed despite my mother yelling about closing the door. We knew when the milkman and the garbage men came. They had a metallic sound. The milkman’s bottles hit the wire basket. The garbage man used his foot to open the metal cover then pulled out the metal bucket filled with garbage. When he was done, he’d use his foot to slam the cover down.

I remember the sounds of the stores uptown. Cash registers had bells sounds and their drawers had metallic clangs when they slid open. There was no music in stores, but every now and then the supermarket had an announcement. Bells hanging on the door frames rang when shop doors were opened. At the bus stop by the movie theater, the bus engines were noisy and smoke always came out of the exhaust.

In my house and yard the sounds are intermittent. The sweetest sounds are the birds greeting the day, and the chimes ringing in the wind. When the school bus goes noisily down the street, Henry barks. The landscapers are the noisiest. Henry barks at the sounds of the motors. In the house, I can hear the furnace working, and the clink of ice cubes falling into the tray. I hear the beep when the coffee is brewed and when the microwave has finished.

In the darkness, the night birds sing and the frogs croak. The streets are quiet. It is my favorite time of the day.

The sun has managed to poke through the white clouds hiding the sky. Today is a bit cooler than yesterday. It is in the 50’s. The air is still. Everything is quiet.

The new string of lights on the deck rail keeps the darkness away. The spawns ate through my last string so this time I bought two with one in reserve. The deck side and the gate look lovely. I walk outside just to see them. Around them is darkness. Close to them is light.

When I am driving at night, I am surprised by how many houses have white lights shining from their windows. Some have strings of white lights and lit bushes, and I have even seen colored lights outside a couple of houses. I think we are all looking for the light to dispel the darkness.

When I was a kid, I never realized my days were all the same from morning to bedtime. They never felt stale or repetitive even though I got up at the same time every weekday morning, ate breakfast, got dressed then left to walk to school. I’d sit at my desk through subject after subject until lunch and recess then after lunch it was back to my desk for subject after subject. I’d race home after school to have some playtime before homework and supper. I’d stay around the neighborhood. We watched a bit of TV before bed. I’d read a little in bed before I had to turn off the light. I’d sometimes sneak and read under the covers with a flashlight or the bed lamp from the headboard of my bed. I got caught but only sometimes so I always thought the peril of discovery was worth it.

Every day I got to learn new things. I was always surprised by the lunches my mother made. I remember chicken noodle soup in my thermos on cold days with a side of Saltines. The sandwiches were top notch, never PB&J. We had cookies for dessert and sometimes a Hostess goodie. I liked the chocolate cupcakes with the swirl on the frosting or Sno Balls, pink ones covered with marshmallow frosting and coconut. After school, my friends and I sometimes played in the field or the woods or even at the swamp. Other days we played games like Red Rover and Red Light, Green Light. We roller skated. We sat on the front steps and talked.

I have come to realize that days of sitting with a book or watching an old movie are fun days. They remind me of when I was young, when I wasn’t ever bored, when each day felt new even when I was doing the same things.

When I taught in Ghana, I became close to some of my students. They were FraFras, the local tribe in Bolgatanga. The students to whom I was the closest were Grace Awae, Francisca Issaka, Bea Issaka and Francisca Ateri. Francisca Issaka lives in the United States. The others stayed in Ghana. Grace spent time between Accra and Bolga. Bea stayed in Bolga as did the other Franciska. On my first trip back, the only one I didn’t see was Grace, but she met me at the airport on my second trip. We traveled Ghana together. Grace saw places she had never seen. When we reached Bolga, Bea joined us for our explorations. Both of them were in their 60’s but still called me madam. I had the best time. We laughed a lot about their school days, and Grace told me how she used to sneak into my backyard to have her hair plaited during the week which was against the rules as that was only supposed to be done on the weekends. I told her I always knew and even sneaked a picture. She laughed for so very long.

This morning my friend Peg called me. She told me Grace had passed. She was in Bolga, had trouble breathing and was taken to hospital where she died. I have no words.

This morning I dragged myself out of bed to watch the coronation. The pomp was perfect to consecrate and crown a new king. The ceremony and the traditions kept me interested. The music was beautiful, the audience colorful. I watched for three hours then went back to bed. Long Live the King!

Today is beautiful. It is 62° and will get even warmer. The sky is as blue as it ever is. The air is so still not even a leaf blows. Nala is asleep on the deck in the sun. A dog’s life is well lived, at least in this house.

When I was a kid, we had milk delivered. I remember the milkman’s truck and the jingle of the bottles clinking against each other in the wire carrier. The box for the milk was on the back steps. We always got a bottle of chocolate milk. We never drank it straight but mixed with the white milk so it would last longer.

I remember eating Rice Krispies while watching TV on Saturday mornings. I always lifted the bowl to my ear so I could hear the snap, crackle and pop.

I had winter boots. I never had rain boots. Nobody I knew had two sets of boots. My shoes and socks always got wet in the rain, even sodden. My socks sometimes got so wet I’d leave prints on the kitchen floor.

Saturday was my father’s errand day. He always wore white shirts to work and every Saturday he’d take them to the Chinese laundry uptown and pick up his clean shirts. Each shirt package had a sheet of cardboard keeping the shirt from wrinkling. My father gave the sheets to me, and I’d use them for crafts or drawing. My father used to get a trim at the barber shop. It only had a couple of chairs. The barber always wore a white coat.

When I was a kid, my favorite sandwiches were bologna with yellow mustard and sliced hot peppers. The peppers came from a jar, and I had to slice them. I also had to slice the bologna as it was from a roll. The slices I cut were irregular and sort of lumpy. The soft white bread collapsed around the lumps. Those were the ugliest sandwiches but they were also the tastiest.

I still like bologna, but I get it sliced from the deli. I don’t even have any yellow mustard. I often change the sandwich up and buy different mustards. My favorite of late is German mustard. I don’t buy white bread anymore, at least not soft white bread. Right now I have rye bread.

I have no beans, but I have hot dogs and top sliced rolls. I also have cole slaw. I toast the rolls with a bit of cheese. On the cooked dogs I add toppings, my mustard and Stonewall Kitchen’s Farmhouse Green Relish. That’s my dinner tonight.

Rain is the prediction for today with a temperature only in the 40’s. The sky is gray, a darkish grey. The wind is slight. The weather will change for the rest of the week and will be in the 60’s with lots of sun. On Sunday we may even reach 70°.

Nala has changed her tactics. She doesn’t bring much out but brings in plenty. My house has twigs and chewed pieces of bark on the floor and the rug. Henry even chews a bit. The nuns would call Nala an occasion of sin.

I saw some new flowers in the front garden this morning. They are purple and look a bit like grape hyacinths

When I was a kid, this was my favorite time of year. I loved walking to school in the morning. The air was filled with the sweet smell of flowers. The birds were many and loud. The gardens had come awake and brought color to sweep away the drabness of winter. I skipped joyfully.

In grammar school, recess meant hanging around in groups and talking or sometimes jump roping. I was only an okay jump roper. I knew all the rhymes to say, and I could the turn the rope as well as anybody could, but my feet after a while always got in the way. Fast jumping was way out of my league.

I liked to play hopscotch. We used to draw the hopscotch pattern on the sidewalk with chalk. It had single and double spaces. At the start of our turns, we had to toss a rock to the right numbered square so we’d pick out rocks without many sides so they’d land and not roll. The double spaces were easy as we had to land on two feet, one in each square. The hardest part was picking up the rocks in the single squares as that meant balancing on one leg and reaching down to pick up the rock. I was good at hopscotch.

Today I’ll do the errands I didn’t do yesterday. I was just too comfortable to be out and about.

Today is bleak and rainy. The sky hangs low. It will be chilly all day. Going out on a day like today is uninviting, but I need cat food and dog treats. Without dog treats, I put my life in jeopardy.

On Tuesday I put my first load of laundry into the washing machine. Later, when I went down the cellar to move the wash into the dryer, I could smell death, machinery death. I opened the washer. The clothes were soaked. They had been cleaned but not rinsed. My washing machine is currently dead. I consider it a sign. Yesterday, I brought my laundry to the laundromat to be washed, dried and folded. It should be finished today.

If you are keeping score, that is 2 down: first the TV and now the washing machine.

I don’t have an electric can opener. I once had one, but it died of old age; instead, I use what is described on E-Bay as a vintage, retro old-fashioned can opener. It is silver. It is a struggle to use. The dog food cans I open now have no tabs so I turn and turn that old can opener. It takes a while because of my dog eaten finger. I’m almost tempted to go electric.

When I was a kid, my father ranted sometimes over silly things like not washing out a glass. I learned to let him rant without answering him or giving the slightest grin. He was harmless and just needed to vent. Once in a while, though, my mother stood behind him and made faces. It took all of my self-control not to laugh. I think I bit my lip.

When I was a kid, our dog Duke was not allowed on furniture, but he was smart and sneaky. At night, he’d sleep on the couch but he’d jump off when he heard someone coming down the stairs. He’d lean across the beds with only his toes on the floor. When he was older, he roughed it and slept on the rug in my room. He snored.

We had to be quiet in the library. We got shushed if we even whispered. The librarian spoke so quietly I had to lean in to listen to her when we interacted which was usually at the desk when I was taking out books. One side of the library had easy chairs. That’s where the newspapers and magazines were. Mostly old people sat in the chairs. The papers rustled. On the other side of the library were wooden tables and chairs. Teens sat there at night. The library was a meeting spot. Parents didn’t object to going to the library on school nights. In the middle, across from the doors, was the desk. Behind the desk were the card catalogues. I loved going to the second floor to hunt for books. I’d stand at the rail and make like Ozmandias.

Rain is predicted for today. The sun was straight out earlier but now just comes and goes. Today is warm, already in the high 50’s. The prediction is for 62°. When it is that warm, I almost want to run in the rain the way I used to when I was a kid.

When I was growing up, we always played board games. Every Christmas a new game was one of our presents. I remember Chutes and Ladders. I also remember the long slide we all wanted to avoid. We played Go to the Head of the Class with our parents. My brother was always Cowboy Joe. I still have our old game. Sorry was and is our all time favorite. My friends and I even played it the other night.

My parents taught my brother and me to play whist. It was the girls against the boys. The girls usually won. Even when we were older, we played cards around the kitchen table. Every time I visited, my father and I played cribbage. All of us played High-Low Jack or Pitch as it is also known. I remember one game when we were playing with partners, I don’t remember my father’s hapless partner. I do remember whoever it was trumped my father’s ace. My father went crazy. Somehow he hurt his back and fell off the bench to the kitchen floor. There he was lying there on his back still complaining about his partner. We just watched.

When we traveled, my parents and I, we always brought cards and a cribbage board. After dinner, my father and I would play a few games. My mother always packed whiskey so they’d have a couple of drinks. She usually did crossword puzzles while we played. I loved those evenings being with my parents enjoying each other’s company.

We, Bill, Peg and I, played games at night in Ghana. We had no radio and no TV so games were our diversions. I’ve mentioned the alphabet game before, but I’ll give a recap. The alphabet is put on paper top to bottom, A to Z. Beside each alphabet letter another letter is put, usually from a random sentence in a book. The game was to come up with names which matched the two letters like AL for Abraham Lincoln. Bill claimed the names he found were football players. Peg and I never believed him so we’d vote on whether or not to accept his answer. Bill always lost 2-1.