Keep the Coffee Comimg

The morning is downright cold, only 32˚. The sun is just decorative but framed by a deep blue sky. Every now and then the wind blows. The dead leaves left on the trees blow sideways. The tree branches sway in the wind. The sharp, cold sunlight slices through the branches. The dogs are loving this weather. They have been out most of the morning. Nala, the thief, took some stuff from my bedroom into the yard, a new pair of socks and a phone I bought in Ghana. I saved both of them. My sister suggested I hide everything which might attract Nala’s slippery paws, but that would mean clearing my house and leaving only heavy furniture as there is no guessing what she’ll steal next.

I have to venture out today. I need more needles for Gwen’s insulin, and tonight is uke practice. It is a bundle up day.

When I was a kid, every day was pretty much the same, but I don’t remember ever being bored. The walk to school was different in every season. My favorite time was the spring when we could put away our heavy coats for light jackets. The morning air had a sweetness about it. In the fall I’d look for the prettiest leaves and carefully put them in my school bag. They would later be enshrined forever in wax paper. I’d shuffled my feet through the leaves on the sidewalks and kick the piles. The leaves almost jumped into the air. I remember mostly yellow leaves. The winter was my least favorite season. Even bundled up, I’d feel the cold especially when the wind whipped across the field below my street. Getting ready in the morning took the longest time. I had to get into my uniform and my warm socks. Next came my ski pants and a buttoned up sweater then my winter coat. My mother helped me put the coat on as I had to hold the cuffs of my sweater so they wouldn’t slide up the sleeve. Finally came my shoes or boots, whatever the day demanded. I’d shove my mittens in my pockets, but I’d pull them out if my fingers got cold. Winter was the bulky season.

I have a winter jacket I don’t wear. If it is only cold, I wear a hoodie. If it is freezing cold, I wear my heavy sweater, a bulky sweater. You can’t ever escape the bulky season.

The sky is still cloudy. The sun right now is taking a break, but it is warm at 44˚. Tonight will be a snuggle under the comforter night as it will get to the 20’s. I am declaring today a sloth day. Yesterday I washed the kitchen floor. Anything is better than laundry which still sits upstairs with the heap getting taller. Last night it rained. The paw prints are back.

After Thanksgiving, it was time to start Christmas. We checked the mail every day waiting for the Sears catalog. I remember the pages were brightly colored, but it was only the toy pages we cared about. Decisions were never made lightly and were seldom permanent. I’d circle what I wanted but keep looking until something else caught my eye and then I’d circle that. I’d put a K inside my circles. I didn’t want my choices to go to someone else. When I was little, dolls and their wardrobes and furniture were within most of my circles. As I got older, dolls were off the list. I wanted games and books and maybe a sled or new ice skates. I remember the year I got a Sorry game. It was front and center under the tree. Sorry is a forever game.

We had two closets in the living room. One was right by the door, and the coats were stored there. Between the living room and kitchen was a small space within an arch. On the left was the door to the cellar. On the right was another closet. It mostly held cleaning supplies. I remember one year I was getting a broom when I noticed a few brown bags on the top shelf. I had to investigate. Inside were three books, all part of a series. I knew they were for me. I read two of them. I just couldn’t help myself. I think I practiced being surprised so my mother would never know I’d read them. She never did find out, but that never happened again. I love surprises.

Catalogues have taken over. Sears is no longer. I get catalogues every day. They fill my mailbox, but I go through them all, each a Sears in its own right. I look for just the right gifts for friends and family. I circle my choices and put names inside the circles. Christmas habits are hard to break.

The morning is cold and grey. It is only 38˚. Scattered showers are predicted. Today is a stay home day. It is also a laundry day. The poor day has nothing redeemable.

When I was a kid, Sunday was a lazy day. After church I just sort of hung around the house, at least in winter. Sometimes I’d watch TV while other times I’d hide up in my room and read. My room was my private place.

I loved to read anything. I think I memorized the backs of all the cereal boxes. They were my breakfast read. When I was really young, I remember Nan and Bert and Freddie and Flossie, the Bobbsey twins. I remember they were rich. I envied their travels. They were the first chapter books I ever read.

Later on, I read the classics. Black Beauty made me cry. I still won’t watch a Black Beauty movie. When I was in the fifth grade, I got Little Women for Christmas. During a good part of that school year we were bussed to the next town for school until our new school was built. I remember reading that book while sitting in the back of the bus. Little Women led me to Little Men which I bought for 49¢ at the Children’s Corner, a kids’ clothing store uptown with a bookcase of Whitman books in the back. I didn’t stop there. I read Jo’s Boys, the end of the March story. My favorite book back then was The Wind in the Willows. I loved the river, the sun and the boats. Mole, Rat, and Mr. Badger were such amazing friends to Mr. Toad, the crazy Mr. Toad. Treasure Island set me aback a bit. Like Jim, I was taken in by Long John Silver. I thought he was a good guy. When I found out he was a pirate, I was crushed.

Robert Louis Stephenson was, for a long while, my favorite author. Besides Treasure Island, I read Kidnapped, Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde and The lost World. One year when we were in Maine for vacation, staying in Islesboro, there were a few books in the sun room, the one with the wicker furniture. One of those books was A Child’s Garden of Verses. I fell in love with poetry.

I loved mysteries. I read most of the Nancy Drew books. I also read the Trixie Belden mysteries. When I moved into my house, my mother brought down all my childhood books. One of them was the very first Trixie Belden I ever read, The Secret of the Mansion. Back when I was a kid, I wanted to be Trixie Belden and live at Crabapple Farm. I think in some ways I still do.

Today is cold. Outside even looks cold with a clear, steely blue sky dotted with white clouds. The breeze borders on a wind. The sunlight is sharp. Leaves are falling. The oak tree by the deck is almost bare. It is 37˚ but feels much colder. I have to venture out today, three stops. I dread the dump stop. With a wind whipping across, it feels like Siberian steppes must feel in the dead of winter. I’ll have to brace myself.

When I was a kid, even on the coldest days, I never wore a hat despite my mother’s demands. I’d take the hat and put it on to satisfy her but then tuck it away when I was out of sight. I did wear mittens, but mittens had a drawback. When covered with snow, they weighed hundreds of pounds.

When I was little, I wore ski pants. They matched my jacket. When I wore them to school, they went under my skirt. The ski pants made noise when I walked, a sort of swishing sound. In the confines of the cloak room, I’d take my shoes off first then the ski pants. They’d hang from a hook underneath my jacket. It took a while to get both of them to stay on that hook though sometimes the clothes on the hooks on each side held them up.

Outside my front door and below the steps was a small grassy hill. A street light shined on the sidewalk. When it snowed, I used to sit at the picture window in our living room and watch the flakes fall. I remember they sometimes fell sideways in the wind. I always hoped the snow would fall all night so in the morning I’d hear the no school whistles blast from the fire station tower. You had to count the whistles to make sure it wasn’t a fire alarm.

When I moved to the cape, I went to public school for the first time, the high school. My mother and I had to shop for school clothes that year because before that I had always worn a uniform. I actually remember my first day of school. I wore a black wraparound skirt and a madras blouse. I stood in the bus port by myself. I didn’t know anybody. My homeroom was the first room on the first floor. I sat in the back hoping not to be noticed. I feared being called the new girl, but I wasn’t.

This morning I kept asking Nala the time and the weather. When I heard nothing, I checked the connection. Still nothing. I was going to disconnect and try again when I realized her name is Alexa.

The morning is dreary but warm. It is supposed to rain all day, light showers. The dogs love being out, even in the rain. Last night Nala stole some candy off the table. I went outside and chased her. I was playing get you, and she was playing keep away. Below the deck is light from the spotlights but beyond is dark. I fell into a hole. Luckily, there was no sharpened bamboo. It was a Nala hole covered by leaves. I had run outside in a t-shirt and my slippers so after fifteen minutes I was so cold I gave up the game. I think Nala was disappointed.

My kitchen floor has a new layer of paw prints. Archaeologists would start stratigraphy and map each layer and check for artifacts. I was glad I didn’t wash it yesterday.

I got my booster on Wednesday. It only hurts when I touch it!

Dinner was delicious yesterday. I filled the air with a chorus of yums. I have leftovers, enough for lunch. I even have more apple crisp. What I don’t have is the toffee. Nala stole it.

When I was a kid, Friday suppers after Thanksgiving were open turkey sandwiches on toast and covered in gravy. Stuffing was on the side. I loved those sandwiches. The white bread was soft and absorbed the gravy. The stuffing was even better reheated. For dessert, I had lemon meringue pie.

I find myself yelling at odd plot details in movies. I’m watching Behemoth. The title gives the plot away. One of the characters, a teenage girl, refused to leave the restaurant where she worked until she’d saved the money in the register. The restaurant fell into a sink hole. She hasn’t stopped screaming. I keep telling her it is her own fault (which is a wonderful description given the earthquakes). The behemoth just rose from the mountains. Our hero is on it. His companion is screaming.

Spiders and snakes have never scared me even after I saw The Fly. The ending of that movie is still etched in my memory drawers. The fly with the human head is caught in a web with a spider advancing. He? It? was yelling, “Help me. Help me.” Someone did and smashed both the spider and the fly with a rock.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I wish you all a day filled with family and good friends. As you sit around the table enjoying a good meal and each other, think of all your gifts and blessings and give thanks.

The morning is crisp, not yet winter cold. It is a beautiful morning filled with sunshine, a squint your eyes sunshine. The sky is a very dark blue without a cloud in sight. The air is so still nothing is moving. The leaves just sit at the ends of the branches. Their demise delayed. The dogs went out, and I followed. They ran around the yard, and I watched from the deck. I also retrieved my shoe, stolen by Nala, and a hat which came from my bedroom. I did a bit of trash pick-up while I was out.

On Thanksgiving morning when I was a kid, we’d all be sitting still in our pajamas in front of the TV watching the parade. We’d be noshing, as my mother would have said, on tangerines, mixed nuts in the shell and M&M’s. The aroma of the turkey would have already filled the house. My mother woke in the early morning to stuff it and put it in the oven. Every year it was a huge turkey, good for days of leftovers. My mother filled it with sage stuffing, still my favorite. While we watched the parade, my mother stayed in the kitchen peeling vegetables. Potatoes were always first, and there were plenty. My father’s asparagus, canned asparagus, was put in a small pan on the back burner. My mother peeled the small pearl onions for creamed onions, one of my favorite vegetables. Niblet corn and sometimes carrots filled out the menu. I remember the heat and steam when my mother opened the over to baste the turkey with butter and steal a bit of the crusty stuffing, hers by right of being the cook. On the table would be a paper Thanksgiving tablecloth. I remember it was the same very year, covered in turkeys and cornucopias. Even though the table was set with our usual plates, it looked festive and beautiful. Once the food was on the table, it became a groaning board. The pies waited in the kitchen for their turns, apple, maybe pumpkin and definitely lemon meringue. I always chose the lemon meringue.

I am so thankful for these memories filled with family.

Lord, ’tis Thy plenty-dropping hand

Lord, ’tis Thy plenty-dropping hand
That soils my land,
And giv’st me for my bushel sown
Twice ten for one.
All this, and better, Thou dost send
Me, to this end,
That I should render, for my part,
A thankful heart.

Robert Herrick

The morning is windy, cold and grim. The dead leaves at the end of the branches are falling, raining to the ground. The tallest branches of the old pine tree sway against the white grey sky. I didn’t just go out to get the paper. I also loaded trash bags into the trunk and picked-up yesterday’s mail. It was so cold my sweatshirt wasn’t enough. The wind blew right up my sleeves. I even think they billowed.

When Nala was among the missing, I called her from the yard. No Nala. I went outside to look for her. Henry followed. I called her over and over and checked out the yard. No Nala. I went upstairs to see if she was napping on my bed. Still no Nala. I kept calling. My voice gave away my panic. It was then Nala sauntered in through the dog door. I’m not enjoying her hide and seek game.

My dance card has a few events. Tonight is uke practice and tomorrow is my lesson. Tomorrow is also dump day and booster day. I have a chore list for today. I have to unearth my kitchen floor. I’m hoping to find artifacts. One chore is already crossed off the list. I’ve changed the cat litter and put it in the trunk. I’m exhausted.

When I was a kid, I had no chores. My mother made the beds, did the laundry, cooked meals, washed the dishes and cleaned the house. When I got home from school, my rumpled bed was made. The bureau drawers were filled with clean laundry. It was like magic.

On the night before I left for Ghana I called home to say good-bye. My mother told me she had folded the sweatshirt I had left on my bed and she had put it away. It was then my mother started to cry. I hated hearing her cry. She told me she realized that would probably be the last time she did that. It was the first time I had heard her cry about my leaving. It was the last time she folded my clothes.

The morning is grim, rainy and dark, but it is warm, 55˚. Nothing is moving in the stillness of the air. The rain will be with us all day. Already the wet leaves are matted to the ground and cover the deck. They stick to dog paws. I’m not venturing today. I’ll stay cozy and dry at home.

What was most exciting about Thanksgiving week was we only had two and a half days of school. We got out on Wednesday around 10:30. I remember doing no school work on Wednesday; instead, we made Thanksgiving cards or we colored turkeys. My favorite part to color was the feathers on the tail. I was a creative genius in the second grade. I remember using a couple of colors on the tail to soften the brown. Red was one of them. I added green grass at the bottom of the page. I remember clumps which looked like blades of grass. The cards always had a turkey on the front. Inside, the Happy Thanksgiving often slanted down the page. I couldn’t fit the whole message across. My mother always loved the cards and gushed compliments. The cards went on the table. They were works of art too beautiful for the fridge art museum. .

The morning is grim, rainy and dark, but it is warm, 55˚. Nothing is moving in the stillness of the air. The rain will be with us all day. Already the wet leaves are matted to the ground and cover the deck. They stick to dog paws. I’m not venturing today. I’ll stay cozy and dry at home.

When I was a kid, my mother made all the preparations for Thanksgiving. She shopped and bought gigantic turkeys which lasted for days. First was Thanksgiving dinner in the afternoon then a repeat that night. For our Friday dinner, we had open turkey sandwiches covered in gravy with stuffing and cranberry sauce on the side. I used to make my favorite sandwich: toasted bread, turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce and a dollop of mayo. My mother used to put butter on her turkey sandwiches. When the turkey was nearly bare, my father took over. He stripped the turkey of almost all the meat, and my mother made turkey salad. The swan song, so to speak, of the turkey was soup. The bone and the rest of the meat went into the stock pot to boil. Meanwhile my mother chopped carrots, onions and celery. After the carcass was removed and ceremoniously put into the trash, my mother added the vegetables then finally the noodles. My father loved turkey soup. His mother made it with rice, but he was perfectly happy with the noodles. I never got tired of the turkey. It had so many different transformations, all of them wonderfully tasty.

Today is cloudy, even a bit ominous. The sky is getting darker. The white clouds have been replaced by deep gray clouds. The dead leaves still hanging from branches twist and turn, fluttering when the wind blows. Some drop and add to the pile in the backyard. When Nala runs, I can hear the crackling of the leaves beneath her paws. Henry saunters.

When I was a kid, many Sunday afternoons we’d watch a movie. I remember sitting on the rug in front of the TV. Lassie Comes Home was one of those movies. I even think it was the first one. Why I remember I have no idea. Memory drawers can be tricky. Sometimes the simplest memories are saved. I can often close my eyes and see places from long ago but not where I put my glasses just this morning. I remember all the houses on the walk to school, the same walk I took for eight years. It is etched in my memories. Most of those houses are gone now, but I remember each of them. At one house I shoveled a woman’s walk. I was with my friend but she gave up and went home. I finished. The woman gave me money and a cookie. I walked across the tracks. A station house used to sit beside the tracks. It was where they raised and lowered the gate. Another house was where a friend lived. It looked a bit like a cottage and was red and white. There was a trellis. The big house on the corner always had kids’ toys in the yard. I remember a doll carriage. At the stop sign, we all waited. The street was busy on school mornings. From there it was a three minute walk to the school yard.

I like to roam. When I was kid, it was on my bicycle. Now I roam in my car. I just ride for the sake of the ride. The beach calls me on those days. I like to watch the noisy gulls circle and the waves hit the shore. I used to take my dogs to the beach. Shauna hated to get wet, but she would squat and pee at the water’s edge. Maggie, another of my boxers, preferred woods to water. She was the best dog off leash. If she got far ahead of me, she’d patiently wait until I caught up. She loved the path near what is now the dog park in Dennis. Nala needs a leash.

I’m revving up for Christmas. Yesterday I did a bit of shopping, small stocking stuffer toys for the grands. I ordered their Christmas books. All but one arrived today. I shopped at Oshkosh for thermals. My oldest grand, a grand nephew, is fifteen. I shop differently for him. His thermal came from Old Navy. No Christmas book, I bought him The Outsiders. Nothing says Merry Christmas more than The Outsiders!

The morning is chilly, 43˚, but it is a pretty morning. The sun is bright in a deep blue sky peppered with a few white clouds. The dogs stay out long enough for me to worry. Most of the leaves still on the trees are brown, and a bit of a breeze sends them fluttering to the ground. Soon enough the trees will be bare. Winter is impatiently waiting in the wings.

By 8:30 my morning had already been busy. Gwen got her insulin. The vet called with the results of Gwen’s last test. Her glucose is still high. We are upping her dosage. I asked if I am doing something wrong. The vet reassured me I wasn’t. I called the Cape Cod Times as I had received no paper. The on-line page said I had no account. I called and got a woman who spoke her patter so quickly I needed it repeated. She said I had two accounts. I responded by saying neither account got a paper. She assured me I’d get one shortly. That doesn’t happen, and when I told her that she said she was sorry. I wish there were no scripted responses. They sound ingenuous. I don’t expect my paper. My kitchen floor had paw prints but not muddy prints though they were the color of mud. I doubt you need your imagination to figure out the composition of those paw prints. I cleaned the floor.

I’m watching the Thanksgiving parade in Plymouth. It reminded me of my first Memorial Day Parade when I was seven. I marched in my brownie uniform with my troop. When I got home, I told my mother everyone was out of step but me.

In this parade, there are several alumni drum and bugle corps. They are military-like in their marching, and they play the music I remember from my drill team days. Three of my cousins march. I am aching with nostalgia.

Nala is at it again. She destroyed an old papier-mâché puppet I have had for years. I also caught her trying to make off with a Donald Duck puppet. She made it to the yard where she played keep-a-way. I followed and found one of her toys and a fairly large book with the covers torn. I convinced her to drop Donald for her own toy. I foolishly thought the puppets were safe. The bedroom is now off-limits until I figure how to make everything Nala safe.

Today I have a few errands. I’m happy to get out of the house.