Keep the Coffee Comimg

Yesterday we had rain. I stayed around the house the whole day. The dogs went out into the yard. Neither one of them minds the rain. Today is cloudy. Snow is predicted for tomorrow, but, according to Google, we’re getting only an inch and a half. That hardly merits mention, but just in case, I asked Alexa. She is is predicting closer to three inches, not exactly a nor’easter.

I’m going out and about today, maybe even the dump, but I’m not sure, and I don’t want to raise your hopes.

My first airplane ride was an Easter gift when I was in college. There it was sticking out of my Easter basket. My parents had given me a ticket to Boston from Hyannis, a spectacular plane ride over the cape and the ocean just off shore. I tried to find my house by following Routes 6 and 28. I didn’t. I loved that plane ride. I was hooked.

My second plane ride was to Accra, Ghana from Philadelphia. The plane flew over the Cape. I tried to find my house. I didn’t. It took over ten hours, with a stop in Madrid, to get to Accra. We ate, we drank and we watched The Love Bug. None of us slept. I remember my seat belt got caught around my seat, and I couldn’t pull it free to use it. I remember the clinking of the glasses on the drink cart as it was pushed up the aisle. The aisle was busy. I remember running to the left side of the plane to see the Sahara. I was awed. There it was, the actual desert as far as we could see.

During my two years in Ghana, I would go on short hops from Tamale to Accra if I was in the money. I remember leaving Tamale after my two years for what I supposed was the last time. I put my head on the tray and quietly cried for the entire flight.

I flew from Niamey, Niger to Ougadougou, Burkina Faso (Upper Volta in my day) at the tail end of my vacation. I had gotten there overland, but I had gotten sick in Niamey and couldn’t face all that travel, hours of travel, so we flew. It was an Air France jet. Given the time change, we arrived in Ouga before we left Niamey. We stayed and slept at the Ouga airport as it had been the wee hours of the morning when we arrived.

Since then I have traveled. I have traveled in both prop and jet. I have been up in a balloon and in a helicopter. I have taken one cruise. I love trains and travel them whenever I can. I have to get back to Ghana one more time with my friends, Bill and Peg. I need to see my town and my students one more time. I’ll hold them close and keep them with me.

Grab the women and children! Run for the hills! We’re doomed. Okay, maybe a bit of an exaggeration, but it has been a long time since we last had sun, and today is sunny. To add to the wonder, the sky is blue. It is, however, quite cold at 27˚ with a wind making it feel colder. I will admire the pretty day from inside the house.

I woke up and slid off the mattress to the floor propelled by dogs wishing me good morning. It wasn’t a long drop. It was mostly a slide. My mattress top had shifted beyond the side of the mattress. I sat on nothing; hence, the slide.

I have ordered delivery from Agway. The dogs will expect to eat today. Yesterday I went out the back door, looked into the yard and noticed cloth. I knew right away what it was from its colors. It was the Asafo flag I brought back from Ghana, a flag of the Fante tribe representing militias of a sort from villages. The flag has hand stitch appliqué figures and dates from sometime before 1957. I ran into the yard horrified but hopeful. Nala, the destroyer of worlds, usually just drags cloth and its kin into the yard and leaves it intact. I picked it up-intact, no damage.

I decided to clean the yard a bit. It had torn paper and pieces of cartons strew about the yard close to the end of the deck. I knew the perp. What comes next is the surprise. A few days ago, maybe three or four, my 4 Red Sox wooden coasters and a beaded giraffe from Ghana disappeared from a living room table. Without question or hesitation, I knew the perp. I found one coaster in the house, but the rest went missing. Yesterday, with cloth safely in hand, I noticed near where the cloth had been left were a couple of shallow dog holes. Near the holes, I saw one then another red disc. I turned the red discs over. Two Red Sox coasters found, only one still missing. Next to one disc was the beaded giraffe, intact, unharmed. The biggest surprise was the small tagine top lying sideways in the dirt. The top with a white background and swirls of black across the white was a piece from one of the three, wonderfully colorful, small tagines I had brought back from Morocco. The top went missing months ago. Only the saucer like bottom had been left on the hearth. I never found the top. I finally adjusted to its loss and stopped looking at the empty saucer. Without question or hesitation, I knew the perp.

I couldn’t believe it. There it was, the tagine top, intact, lying on its side next to a mound of dirt. I felt a bit like an archaeologist. I held up my find, my serendipitous find, to the sun, proverbially. The tagine is back on the saucer on the hearth. I hope it stays there.

Wait!! There is more! As I was cleaning trash in there same area as the other finds, I unearthed the hand cream I had just bought. I didn’t even know it was missing yet, and here, I find it in the yard, near the dirt. The tube was fine, no holes.

The last find is a sad one. There were red thin slats on the ground in the yard. I knew right away what they had been. They were from the Santa’s suit basket, belt and below, my friend had brought me with some cookies, not enough, I think, warm, fuzzy socks, and bread. It was a neat basket. I found no large pieces. I could have collected all the individual pieces but it would have taken forever. I left them in the yard. Without question or hesitation, I knew the perp.

The impending storm got me out early, and I’m just back from finishing my errands. My fingers are about ready to break off from my hands. They are bordering on numb cold. The frigid air and the wind are shocking and take your breath away. Snow is predicted for this afternoon. At first it was a dusting to an inch. Now there could be up to four inches. My philosophy today is simple: Let it snow! Let it snow! I’m home, comfy and getting back to warm. I have cream for my coffee and a blueberry turnover. The dogs each got a biscuit in a cat shape. The irony was lost on them. I have no further need to go out today.

Dark clouds and cold days seem to invite a nap. I’m penciling one in on my otherwise empty dance card for today.

My kitchen floor will finally get washed today despite the impending snow. I break out in hives every time I go into the kitchen and see paw prints covering every inch of tile floor from the back door across the kitchen to the hall.

When I was a kid, I walked to school every day. The weather didn’t matter. Every kid in my neighborhood walked to school, meandering on warm, sunny days and fast walking on cold or rainy days. We didn’t complain. That was the way it always was.

In Ghana, my house was on school grounds as were the houses of most of the staff. My classroom block was about a two or three minute walk across the compound from my house. Every day I walked pass one of the dorms, the dining hall and the principal’ s office/ staff room combo then back again, sometimes there or four times a day. I got wet on rainy days, but my clothes dried quickly. If I were out and about in town and it rained, I’d just duck into a store or covered spot until the rain ended or lessened to mist. Life goes on in the rain.

A cloud follows me everywhere. It is right over my head. Sometimes I get wet. All the time I live in the shade. Okay, I’ve not fallen off the deep end here. I am spreading my wings, merely waxing poetic. I have moved beyond screaming into a far different realm where my words rhyme.

We have no sun. We never have sun. We have 49˚ with clouds. We had fog but it has dissipated as they say on the weather. It will get cold tonight. Snow is predicted for tomorrow, an inch or a bit more. I guess we’re easing into winter, real winter one inch at a time. Meanwhile, my sister in Colorado is living with snow, inches of snow, and single degree temperatures. She stays hunkered.

I had some groceries delivered today. I needed light cream for my coffee. It was the first item on my list. It was also missing, the only item they did not substitute. I don’t dare leave my house today, something about karma. I’m humming Clouds in My Coffee.

Henry came in the dog door twice today, but he is right now banging the door cover alerting me he wants to come in again, and I should open the door. I don’t get it.

When I was a kid, Sunday was a lost day. We were stuck with church in the morning. Most times I walked there by myself, but sometimes I went to early mass with my father. I was never a fan of early mass, but it had perks. I got a dime for the basket and a donut of my choice after mass as my father always brought home a dozen. His donut choices were boring, and he never remembered what I liked. He bought plain donuts, called old-fashioned at Dunkin’, in cruller and round shapes, glazed donuts and jelly donuts. His favorite was the plain. He used to spread butter across the top of the donut. His butter had texture with hills and valleys. I think he bought all those plain donuts as he knew they would be the last to go. I swear it was the same half donut left in the box every week in a sort of haunting. I never buy a dozen donuts.

Happy New Year!

I slept late this morning. I woke up to clouds and rain. I woke up and remembered it was a new year still filled with hope as are all new years. I jumped out of bed, ran downstairs, let the dogs out, put on the coffee, ran back upstairs, gave Gwen her shot and both cats their food, some scratches and pats, ran back downstairs, let Henry inside then went to the front yard to get today’s paper. I got rained on.

When I was a kid, we used to watch the Rose Parade every New Year’s Day. That the parade was in black and white was no nevermind. That’s all we knew. We’d eat our cereal sitting on the floor in front of the TV as close to the screen as my mother would let us sit. She didn’t want us to go blind. We all loved parades.

That New Year’s Day was the last day of Christmas vacation didn’t escape us, but we were ready to go back to school. It was easy to run out of stuff to do when you’re stuck inside because of the cold or the rain, and that always happened during Christmas vacation.

I prefer mittens to gloves. They keep my hands warmer, but I do have a pair or two of gloves anyway. I keep one pair in the car, as sort of part of an emergency kit. Actually, I think it’s the only item in my winter emergency kit or any emergency kit for that matter. Anyway, inside the house, under the coat rack AKA the clothes tree, I have a Bolga basket filled with mittens, one pair of gloves and two short scarves. My long new scarf is drying off from having been dragged into the rain onto the deck. The perp is known but will not be identified.

Ketchup on hot dogs and eggs is just wrong. In a bit of a stretch, I can see but not condone ketchup on a hot dog as it is a condiment related in function to mustard and or relish and maybe some chopped onions, the proper toppings.

People don’t put ketchup on fried eggs or eggs Benedict, poached eggs or eggs on toast as called them when I was a kid, or on egg salad, which I find a bit gross in appearance anyway, or on soft boiled eggs which we used to eat from chicken looking egg cups. People mostly put ketchup on scrambled eggs. What is it about scrambled eggs that invites ketchup? Why not on the other eggs? I use salt and pepper, mostly pepper.

Why do people put paper towels in only one direction with no arguments as to which direction? Toilet paper direction, on the other hand, is cause for war. Why one and not the other? The answer may be the key to solving all the mysteries of the universe.

The weather hasn’t changed. I looked out the window when I first opened my eyes and saw the clouds. I didn’t want to get out of bed but Nala did so I had no choice. The deck is wet. It had rained sometime earlier. The day is warm at 47˚. More rain is supposed to hold off until tomorrow. I’m not enthusiastic about a new year which begins with rain.

Today I have no plans. I have actually vacuumed a couple of room already. The pet hair was taking over. I also cleaned down the stairs. I do feel quite accomplished. I know the dump is looming, probably Sunday.

I don’t make resolutions. I did once but at some point I decided a resolution was too much of a commitment. I used to smoke. One Friday I decided not to go to the store to get a package of cigarettes even though I had only four left. I never smoked again. It had been time to stop. Changes are mostly like that for me. They just seem to happen at the right time.

When I was in Ghana, I went back to visit my Ghanaian family in Bawku over New Year’s. My sister insisted I go to church with her on New Year’s Eve. I smiled and said yes, but inside I was feeling trapped. The church service would be long, hours long. It was, but it was amazing. The church was filled with people. The women wore their traditional dresses made with beautiful Ghanaian cloth. Many men wore fugus, smocks, while others wore kente cloth over one of their shoulders. The church was beautiful, a bright, lively scene with all those colors. The singing started first. After that the dancing began up and down the aisles. My sister tried to drag me into the dance, but I had no rhythm and that held me back. I did clap and sing from my pew. The minister gave a sermon about old sins and new beginnings. The Ghanaians nodded, the speeds of the nods determined how much they agreed with the minister. It was fascinating to watch. I even tried my hand at it!! I tried nodding and mostly did okay. I don’t remember thinking the hours were long to be in church. The time passed so fast. That whole experience is one I will never forget. It was joyous and warm and lovely.

When I was a kid, I never understood the hoopla of New Year’s Eve. As far as I could tell, the first days of the new year were no different than the last days of the old year, well, maybe a little colder, maybe not, but saying goodbye seemed silly to me. When I was older, I celebrated some years but not usually at parties. My friends and I did game nights. We’d pause at midnight, toast the new year, clink glasses and then drink our champagne. We’d go back to the game with our champagne glasses in hand. Of late, I am awake at midnight just because I am always awake at midnight. I keep an eye on the TV for the time, acknowledge midnight and say Happy New Year aloud into the air hoping it will be.

Today is warm at 47˚. It will stay cloudy and warm all day. Rain is a possibility tomorrow. We are stuck in an ugly weather pattern. Yesterday was another day like the day before it and the days before that. Today is the same, cloudy and damp. I am living in a Ray Bradbury short story, All Summer in a Day.

The weather is getting to me. I’m grumpy. I need a bit of sun to sweeten my mood. I gave the dogs their beef bones a little bit ago to keep them occupied. Nala is already tired from her bone and is falling asleep on the couch with her head resting on her bone. Henry is still gnawing.

I have a couple of errands today. I’d rather sit at home in my cozies and read, but I’ll dutifully complete my two errands and then I’ll need a nap.

When I was a kid, this week would have been a disappointment. With no snow, there was no sledding; with warm weather, there was no free skating at the swamp or the park. I rode my bike when it didn’t rain, but that wasn’t enough. The day was long. I’d ride to the library in the afternoon, looked through the stacks, pick a book then sit down to read at one of the long wooden tables. I always sat in a captain’s chair, the chair with arms. After a while, I’d take the books home, sequester myself in my room and read away the afternoon. That sounds just like my plans for today. Some things don’t ever change.

My house needs cleaning. I walk around with my eyes straight ahead so I don’t have to see the clumps of dust chasing me. My kitchen floor is hidden under muddy, but dried, dog prints. Rain is not predicted today so I might just bite the bullet and wash the kitchen floor, but I have an out. It may rain tomorrow bringing more paw prints.

My life of late has been quiet. My dance card is empty for the week. Mostly I’ve been home. I take my shower and change from set of cozies to another. I do everything I can to do nothing. Ponder that for bit.

We’re still stuck in an ugly day routine. Last night it rained. Today is still cloudy and damp but a bit warmer at 44˚. I have to go out for a few cans of dog food. It will be difficult. I am in total sloth mode. I have been sitting here just staring at the monitor for days, okay for hours at least. It just sits there and so do I.

When I was a kid, Christmas vacation fun depended on the weather. Rain was the worst. I’d be stuck inside with everybody else. When it was cold but pleasant, I’d ice skate. When I was little, I went to the swamp. It was a short walk through the woods from my house. The front of the swamp was open water and the best place to skate. We were there during the day. The bigger boys, the high school boys, took over in the late afternoon and played hockey. They sometimes had a bonfire right beside the water. When I was older, I’d walk to Recreation Park to the rink which the town put up every winter on the field. I’d carry my skates on my shoulder and walk to the rink with my friends. We chatted the whole way. I really liked skating at Recreation Park. The shed had a wood burning stove. It smelled amazing. The aroma wafted all over the rink and field.

It was at the park where I taught myself to skate backwards. At first I went really slowly, no gliding, mostly steps. In a while I could glide backwards, but I had to keep looking so I wouldn’t hit the wall or another skater. I got good at backwards. It was my one and only skating maneuver.

If we had money, we’d take the bus to the MDC rink. It had a heated area with benches and a refreshment stand and rinks outside, concrete rinks. It was always the best ice but it wasn’t as much fun. It was never haphazard.

I liked skating at the park best of all. I remember skating all afternoon. When it was time to go home, my feet had stopped recognizing shoes. My ankles hurt, my toes were a bit numb and my feet were tingly. It was a strange, funny feeling which wore off the more I walked, the closer to home I got. By the time I got home it was like I had never been skating at all.

Today is the usual, cloudy and cold with a bit of wind added to make it even more miserable. I saw stuffing from Nala’s latest victim blowing across the driveway section in the backyard. I am staying inside again. Outside is just too uninviting. I have no plans. I will take a shower and make my bed, my only exertions for the day. I have a new book, some cookies left and some egg nog still in the bottle; however, the kitchen floor is a mess of paw prints. I hope I can resist the need for clean.

After writing about being at my grandparents during Christmas time, I got to remembering. I remember I used to hang in the kitchen and listen. My mother and usually her two adult sisters would sit at the table with my grandmother. My grandmother always wore a housedress under an apron with a bib. Her slippers were bent down in the back and her stockings were rolled to her ankles. My mother and one of my aunts smoked. My mother and the same aunt who smoked usually had a drink. My other aunt was a bit prissy in her own way, one of her own ways, and she did not smoke or drink. They talked about all sorts of things. Christmas was foremost. Sometimes I got a little bored and went wandering but always ended back at the kitchen, the best spot for me. The only other choice was to watch football with my father and uncles, and I couldn’t pull that off, as if I knew anything about football back then. I was comfortable in and loved the kitchen. That’s what I mostly remember about Christmas at my grandparents back then. 

I do have some memories of my other grandparents, my father’s parents. After midnight mass, they’d come back to my house where my mother had prepared dips and snacks and drinks. My grandparents insisted they wanted to see us come downstairs to be surprised by what Santa had brought so we got awakened on purpose and were told Santa had come so we went downstairs. I was a kid. I didn’t know or care what time it was. It was late enough, or maybe early enough, for me. Santa had come. We got to play with our new toys for only a little while before we were sent back to bed. We all hated that, but we did fall back to sleep. I don’t have any memories of my grandparents ever leaving. We even slept a little later in the morning. I remember waking up and thinking about my presents and being so excited to get up and run downstairs. What an amazing way to wake up for any kid, even a kid who had played for a bit with some of her toys, to realize Santa had come and there were presents and surprises waiting under the tree and in my stocking.

I don’t have other Christmas memories with those grandparents though a dinner one night at their house was the usual custom. I’m just forgetting the exact day. I was young. 

Today has little to commend it. The rain is still here. The sky is a dark, dismal gray. All the expectations are gone. The surprises have been revealed.

I love my Christmas presents. Moe found neat little stuff like the uglies snowman and the plastic bride and groom to add to my collections. Sheila too knows me well. She found neat gifts. Bill and Peg sent some fun presents and my sloth calendar. Sloths are cute. Please don’t disparage if you haven’t seen them. Moe found an old Bolga basket with the leather handle totally wrapped. She does find amazing gifts in her travels. My presents are in a pile so I can go through them again later.

Christmas dinner was scrumptious, and I get to have it again today. I also have some sugar cookies and more breads and a box of See’s chocolates, cinnamon drops and cinnamon lollipops. I always think Christmas is delicious in so many ways.

When I was a kid, the day after Christmas was a slow day. All our presents were piled under the tree, and we played with them over the course of the day when we were home. Usually we went to East Boston to visit my grandparents as did everyone else, all the aunts and uncles and the hundreds of cousins. There was a gathering in the kitchen, usually the women around the table. The men were watching football. The cousins were running and chasing each other. They were all younger than I, mostly my sisters’ ages. I stayed out of the way. At some time, usually earlier rather than later, my grandmother called us all to the living room and she gave out presents. She always had presents for us every holiday. That quieted the troops down for a bit. Food was on the stove. Eat when you’re hungry was the rule of the day. By early evening, it was time to grab the gifts, load the car and head home.

We usually fell asleep on the way home. It had been a long couple of days and one long night. The house was dark when we got home. I remember we raced to the windows to turn on the orange candle bulbs. Someone turned on the tree and someone else the outside lights. It was quiet. We sat around watching some TV and checking out our gifts again. I remember going through my stocking one item at a time, making a small pile then putting each item back inside the stocking. I went to bed early. I was really tired.