Today is another beautiful day. I am being lulled by days of sun and blue sky into accepting spring has finally arrived and winter has gone, even brief glimpses are gone. Both my doors are open to the sun, but the storm doors are still on as it does get colder at night, down to the low 50’s, too cold yet for screens. There is a bit of a wind this morning but it is still warmish.

It is just about time to plant the front garden and deck flowers. I like to figure out what I want ahead of time. I know some of the deck boxes already have herbs growing so I’ll check those first. I did see the tops of the oregano plants breaking ground in one box and the mint box will fill this summer. The two old boxes are finished. They are falling apart. I’ve had them for quite a long time. I noticed a spawn was chewing on one box the other day. I suppose better the box than the deck or furniture.

Some phlox is still left in my front garden. My father planted it. Every time he came to visit, he needed something to keep him busy. My mother and I went shopping. My father would mow and trim the front lawn. One time he tackled the wild back yard. He planted flowers in the front garden, ground cover he told me. He came down another time to help me paint. He forgot his ladder. The new paint went only a far as we could reach. That stayed for a long time. It was red. I always made a chocolate cream pie for my father. By the end of the visit, the pie was gone and neither my mother nor I had a piece. We didn’t ask. My mother knew it was special for my father.

My nephew’s favorite cake is Boston Cream Pie. It is the official Commonwealth dessert. (Massachusetts is a commonwealth, not a state). Boston cream pie is a cake, not a pie.

I love lemon meringue pie. It is my favorite and was a Thanksgiving tradition at our house when I was a kid. I didn’t know anyone else who had a lemon meringue pie at Thanksgiving. They had the traditional apple and pumpkin and maybe sweet potato though I think it is too close to being pumpkin to have both. Anyway, we had the apple too. It was my father’s favorite. He was a true New Englander, and he enjoyed his apple pie with a slice of sharp cheddar cheese on top.

I had cheesecake on Mother’s Day. That dessert presents its own conundrum. It is made with cheese so that part of its name works, but it is not by any stretch of the imagination a cake. It is a cheese pie. I had cheese pie with caramel sauce on Mother’s Day.

I won’t even discuss crab cakes.

Today is cloudy. It rained last night and everything is still wet. It should get to 60˚this afternoon but without the help of the sun, which is currently on hiatus. I think I’m going out later. I need to get beyond the walls of my house. I have no destination in mind. I’ll just drive. I’m thinking up cape.

I talk all the time to Henry and Jack. Neither one pays much attention to me. I tell Henry to stay and wait, and he gets up or lies down. He is unclear on the concept of stay. Jack does pretty much what he wants. Right now he wants his morning nap and is lying beside me. Henry is upstairs.

I decided to forego my to-do list today, not from a lack of choices but from a lack of ambition. Today the dust will scatter into the air when I walk down the hall. I’ll try not to notice. I’ll think of it as the dry season.

I watched videos of Ghana, a food tour of Ghana. The guy went to great stops and ate the best local food, but he mispronounced the names of places, and he even called them Ghanians. I scream at the TV. The city of Tamale is not a Mexican staple.

Maybe it is just today being Monday. In my lifetime, Monday has always been a letdown, a back to work day. Even the newspapers are smallest on Mondays. I finish reading them before I finish my second cup of coffee. That throws off the whole day.

I’m watching Greenland, a science fiction movie. The world, or most of it, will be destroyed by an asteroid and pieces of the asteroid. Tampa has disappeared in smoke and ash, destroyed by a fragment. This is the perfect movie for my mood today or maybe not. Perhaps I need a Disney to pull me out of the doldrums. Maybe, too, I need to stop at Nancy’s Candies on my ride.

The sun is right now breaking from behind the clouds. I can see blue. The day has become so much brighter. The leaves are shining. Sun and chocolate will do it every time.

Special days have special posts. 

Today is Mother’s Day. It is the day I honor my mother and my memories of her. Every year I post basically this same entry with only a few little changes. 

I am amazed at how long ago I lost my mother. Sometimes it seems like a day while other times it feels like forever. I keep her close always, in my heart. 

My mother was amazing. She was generous, fun to be with and was the perfect martyr when she needed to be, a skill I think most mothers have. It was her tone of voice so filled with pain that caused our guilt to well to the surface. “I’ll do it myself,” she’d say. We’d scurry to do whatever she wanted. She was tricky, that woman.

My sisters and I laugh often about the curses she inflicted on us: the love of everything Christmas and never thinking you have enough presents for everyone, giving Easter baskets overflowing with candy and fun toys and surprising people with a gift just because.

My mother had a generosity of spirit. She was funny and smart and the belle of every ball. She always had music going in the kitchen as she worked so she could sing along. She played Frank and Tony and Johnny and from her I learned the old songs. My mother drew all the relatives to her, and her house was filled on holidays and weekends. My cousins visited often. She was their favorite aunty. My mother loved to play Big Boggle, and we’d sit for hours at the kitchen table and play so many games we’d lose track of the time. Christmas was always amazing, and she passed this love to all of us. We traveled together, she and I, and my mother was game for anything. I remember Italy and my mother and me after dinner at the hotel bar where she’d enjoy her cognac. She never had it any other time, but we’re on vacation she said and anything goes. I talked to her just about every day, as did my sisters. I loved it when she came to visit. We’d shop, have dinner out then play games at night. I always waited on her when she was here. I figured it was the least I could do.

My mother loved extreme weather shows, TV judges and crime. She never missed Judge Judy. She also liked quiz shows and she and I used to play Jeopardy together on the phone at night. She always had a crossword puzzle book with a pen inside on the table beside her chair, and I used to try to fill in some of the blanks. On the dining room table was often a jig saw puzzle, and we all stopped to add pieces on the way to the kitchen. My mother loved a good time.

She did get feisty, and I remember flying slippers aimed at my head when I was a kid and one time a dictionary, a big dictionary, was thrown which luckily missed me though the binding broke when it hit the wall. I pointed that out to her and that made her madder. She expertly used mother’s guilt on us, her poor victims. We sometimes drove her crazy, and she let us know, none too quietly. We never argued over politics. She kept her opinions close. We sometimes argued over other things, but the arguments never lasted long.

Even after all this time, I still think to reach for the phone to call my mother when I see something interesting or have a question I know only she can answer, but then in a split second I remember. When I woke up this morning, my first thought was of her, and how much she is missed. No one ever told me how hard it would be. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!!

The sky is cloudy, and the day feels damp. It is a blah day, a day for staying home cozy and warm. I did go out to pick up my Mother’s Day dinner, the only item on my to-do list. I am treating myself. Dinner tomorrow will be steamers, fish chowder, salad, cole slaw and the crowning glory, lobster. Did I mention cheese cake is dessert?

For Mother’s Day, I always gave my mother a gift certificate to the nursery. She had window boxes below the front windows and filled them every year. I remember the red flowers and the trailing ivy. My mother also had a small garden next to the house, below the kitchen windows. A statue of St. Francis held seeds for the small birds. We used to kid my mother because her bird feeders attracted pigeons and crows, city birds we told her. Her squirrels were tight rope walkers. They walked across the clothesline to get to the bird feeders hanging off the line. My mother threw out food for the crows. Her backyard was food central for crows, squirrels and pigeons. She got really excited when a different bird flew into the yard. She loved watching my birds with not a pigeon or a crow among them.

When I am traveling, my favorite part of the day is the morning. I love watching places wake up. Mornings smell different. Here this time of year mornings smell green. In Ghana mornings smell of charcoal smoke. In Europe I liked to walk before breakfast. I could smell the exhausts of all the trucks lined up on the street for delivery to the stores before they open. White exhaust smoke was in the air. If I happened on a bakery, I’d buy a croissant and munch as I walked. Back at the hotel it was breakfast time, coffee time.

My father hated European breakfasts except for Ireland and England. My mother loved them. She was a seagull. She always ate odd things together. She loved cucumber sandwiches and cold hot dogs. At our hotels, the different cold cuts and breads put out for breakfast were perfect for her and me. My father said it was lunch. He wanted eggs. He didn’t get them except for hard-boiled. That always disappointed him.

When all of this quarantine began, I tired quickly of the daily routine. I was in a rut. Even the few new things I tried didn’t work. I just slogged through my days. At sometime, I don’t remember when, the carping was lost in the background. It was just gone. What had been routine, a rut, became ritual. I take pleasure in each part of my day starting with the papers and a pot of coffee. Today I added a bagel with cream cheese. I enjoyed this deliciously tasty morning breakfast while I read both papers and finished the crossword and the cryptogram. So far the day has been perfect. I’ll see what the afternoon brings. I’m always hopeful.

Today is warm and the sunlight is the brightest in a while. It shines on everything with almost a yellow light. Every now and then there is a small breeze which moves only the ends of branches. The birds are loud. They know a great day.

Last night I watched West Side Story. I am not especially fond of musicals but West Side Story is one of the exceptions (1776 is another for July 4th). I mentioned Rocky Horror and The Wizard of Oz the other day so add them to the list. Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, there are far more. Willy Wonka is another. I watch it every time it is on, the Gene Wilder Willie Wonka. I have always loved Singing in the Rain. Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without musicals. I love The Muppet Christmas Carol, Holiday Inn and White Christmas, but my favorite of all is Emmet Otter’s Jugband Christmas, Muppets all. I saw 42nd Street and My Fair Lady on stage in London. I went only because it was London. They were good. I loved the sound of tap shoes in 42nd Street. I bought the record when I got home. Many songs are just the cadences of the dancers wearing tap shoes. That makes me laugh every time I hear it. That’s the list of musicals, far longer than I anticipated. I think Christmas skewed the line. I guess I’ll have to say I like musicals, movie musicals, not so much stage musicals. There could even be more. I’m still surprised with this list.

Yesterday was a sloth day, my first in a while. Today I have to vacuum the cats’ room which will scare the heck out of both of them. I always try to steer them under the bed where I wouldn’t go with the vacuum. Sometimes that works. I go as quickly as I can. I also clean the box and give the cats fresh food and water. They are demanding critters. Seriously, I have been meowed at by Jack who wanted more treats. He was serious.

Henry has changed. He wants attention, and I oblige by scratching and patting him. He’s become a bit of a licker mostly on my hand. He needs to get to know other people, to be socialized. He is a sweet dog, a good boy, when he is with me. He is a big love with a wiggle butt and a whacking long tail. I hope all of this transfers to other people, but his barking at the door is uninviting. We’re working on that.

The rain is gone. The sun and blue are back but so is a bit of wind. It will only be in the high 50’s today. Welcome to spring on Cape Cod.

I’m treating myself to lunch today. It is opening day at Captain Frosty’s. I never miss opening day. I can already taste the shrimp and the onion rings or the scallops and the onion rings or the clams and said onion rings. So many choices! Maybe a seafood platter?

When I was a kid, we started practicing May procession songs in April. Every day in class we’d sing the songs particular to the procession always held on a May Sunday. The route was a square, a couple of blocks, from one side of the school to the other, to where the grotto was. The whole school marched in grades from eighth to first. The second graders wore all white, the clothes from their First Communion. We’d sing at the grotto where the statue of Mary was in a niche off the ground, “Mary, we crown thee with blossoms today, Queen of the angels, queen of the May.”

I was the crowner when I was in the eighth grade. It was quite an honor. I was at the end of the procession so the first groups of grades got to the grotto well before me. I admit I did stop for pictures when I saw my parents. I posed. That slowed me down a bit. At the grotto, I stood off to the side waiting for my cue to climb the small ladder with the handrail on one side, important to the story. I was in a long dress, a wedding dress, so the stairs were scary. When it was time, I grabbed the handrail with one hand, and I held the flower crown with the other. I climbed trying not to walk on the bottom of my long dress. I kept trying to lift it and still hold the crown. The priest saw my struggle and graciously put out his hand. I held it until I reached the top of the ladder. The statue was taller than I was so I needed to be on tiptoes to crown Mary during the right part of the song. It was precarious, but I did it without mishap, even getting down the steep stairs when it was over.

Somewhere in this house are the pictures from that day. I put them away for safe keeping, and there they are, safe from even me.

The rain is loud and heavy. Henry wouldn’t go out further than the deck steps. He kept looking at me soulfully so I let him in figuring he’d know when he needed to go. It wasn’t much later, after his morning snack, that he went without urging. He came back inside soaked.

It will rain on and off all day. The house is dark. I always feel comforted somehow by the darkness and the rain. The house seems to circle around me, keeping me safe. I watched the rain out the front door for a while. It was coming from the north but is just a rainstorm, not a nor’easter.

When I was a kid, I hated getting to school wet. My shoes were the worst. I never had rain boots. My feet sloshed when I walked. My socks got soaked, but I wore them anyway. They dried during the day. Now I wonder why I didn’t pack another pair of socks.

When I was in the fourth grade, my classroom was on the top floor of the old school. The long windows were both behind me and on the right wall away from my desk. I could hear the rain hitting the windows behind me, but I couldn’t see without turning around and looking. When I did, Miss Konapacka would suggest I turn around. The word suggest is tongue in cheek.

I vacuumed yesterday with my new hand vacuum. It did the best job particularly in cleaning the kitty litter off the floor, but when I went in this morning, there was more litter all over the floor. There is a large mat under the box, but I would need a room size one to catch all the litter scattered about by the cats. Jack barely fits in the box. I have a larger one, but the cats won’t use it. I’d make the larger one the only box, but I’m afraid they’ll find a spot outside the box. That would not be a treasure hunt.

My mother always grocery shopped on Friday nights when I was a kid. My father drove her as my mother didn’t have her license back then. We’d help bring in the bags. We’d also hunt for the Oreos. They never lasted long. I still have a fondness for Fig Newtons, another cookie my mother bought. They lasted far longer than the Oreos.

I have one more grocery order to do, for me at the regular supermarket. The animals are all set. Henry’s food came in this morning. The cats’ food arrived the other day. Because I continue to have an empty dance card, I need food to raise my spirits, food like cookies and chips and chocolate, lots of chocolate. It drives away even the dullest mood.

Today is cloudy and warm, in the 60’s already. The rain will be here tomorrow and the next day. I don’t care so much. I have no plans to go out. There is quite enough to keep me busy here. As always, there is wash. I need to lug it down from upstairs so it can sit in the hall a day or two or even more until I feel guilty enough to wash it. There are well established steps to follow in the battle against laundry. I have just started.

Some words need to be on hiatus. I watch a YouTube video today, and the word amazing was used to describe everything. Some things were A-mazing while others were a-MAZ-ing. Rad was also thrown about a few times. I thought I was in a time warp.

Okay, time warp brought to mind The Rocky Horror Picture Show. The Cape Cinema used to play it at midnight on Saturday nights. I saw it many times. I love the scene when Dr Frank-N-Furter is coming down the elevator and all you can see are his heels. I can sing along with all the songs, and I can do the Time Warp with a jump to the left and a jump to the right. I also saw the play and I have the vinyl. “Lips. Lips”

When my favorite movies are on TV, I usually watch no matter how many times I’ve seen them. A single scene is sometimes enough for me to identify the movie. I can even speak along with the dialogue of some of them. There are days when I need to watch my favorite movies. I’m happy to know what’s coming. It’s comforting.

I remember the first time I saw The Wizard of Oz. It was actually at a Saturday matinee. I remember the awe and amazement when the movie turned to color, when Dorothy landed over the rainbow.

When I first moved into my house, all the walls were white. They stayed white for a long time. When it was the year for another repainting, I went wild. Every room got colored walls except the den, but that’s a different story. The living room is red, a bit dramatic but it works. The dining room is nutmeg, the kitchen green and the hall blue. The bathroom downstairs is lavender. Upstairs, rooms are blue or yellow. I live in colored rooms now.

The weather report says partly cloudy and a high of 65˚, but it is still morning chilly. I have to go to the dump today so I’m hoping for a bigger bit of sun, a warmer bit of sun. I want another nice day. Come on, sun!

My neighborhood is always quiet on a Sunday morning. On Saturdays I can hear kids playing basketball down the street and lawn mowers, many lawn mowers from all directions. The roads are busier. Today, though, I heard only birds when I went outside. I stood by the car and listened. I enjoy Sunday mornings.

When I was a kid, I wasn’t such a fan of Sundays. Every Sunday started the same way. I had to go to church. After church I could go out, but I had to stay close. I had to be around for Sunday dinner. That left only the late afternoon for me. Sometimes I’d ride my bike or find a quiet place and read or even visit friends who lived on the block. Sunday evenings meant early to bed for school the next day. We abided Sundays. We had no choice.

On Saturday nights I watch all the science fiction shows I saw when I was growing up or even some from when I was grown. All but two are Irwin Allen’s. Lost in Space is 60’s couture. Most of the clothes are pastels. Lime green is a favorite. Pink is a close second. Only Dr. Smith is wearing dark clothing, a character tell. Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea is another. The Seaview is the biggest sub even imagined with corridors, rooms, labs and offices. The corridors are wide, and everyone walks upright. It carries a flying sub, a yellow flying sub. Then there is The Time Tunnel. The main characters travel back and forth through time solving problems when and where ever they land, but solving their travel problem is out of reach. I don’t watch Land of the Giants. I do watch my favorites, Kolchak: The Night Stalker and The Invaders, the only non Irwin Allen programs. They are on quite late, and I usually manage to watch a couple. The rest I DVR. Today I have already watched The Invaders and Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea. I have had two cups of coffee and a bagel with cream cheese. It has been a good Sunday so far.

Pulchritude is the word of the day. Outside is stunning. The blue is a deep color. I can’t see even a single cloud. Every now and then a branch moves. The sun is bright, this time of year bright, sort of for looks, not utility. I was out on the deck earlier, a couple of times, to chase the spawns of Satan away from one of the feeders. I tiptoed and hid so he couldn’t see me. I jumped out and he leapt to a tree trunk, turned around and chattered at me, his tail shaking the whole time. He was pretty angry. The tip toeing gave me a laugh later. How silly.

I hope I can explain well why this is one of those mornings which feels like Ghana to me. That memory is triggered on chilly mornings like today’s. They remind me of mornings in Bolga in December during the harmattan. Here, the morning feels chilly, but you know it will get warmer. You can sense it in the air. In Bolga the mornings have a chill left over from the cold night, and you relish the feeling of being cold because you know it will get hot, really hot by afternoon, 3 digits hot.

I’ve jumped ahead a bit to those languid afternoons in Ghana which have nothing to do with the paragraph above. The memories jumped in, prompted I think by talk of hot afternoons. I’d be in my living sitting on one of the red cushioned chairs, my only real decor, probably reading or preparing lessons. If I got up, my outline was on the chair cushions in sweat. It was a hot time of year. The afternoons were sometimes really quiet. The students had a forced time to be in their dorms in the late afternoon. I know I heard insects, but I never saw them. They almost sounded like crickets. Sometimes I’d nap despite the heat. Other times I went to town to shop. I loved going to town. I loved shopping in the market with all its colors and sounds. I could hear the women chatting among themselves, mostly in FraFra but many knew Hausa so I could greet them, and they were delighted I knew their language, even if only a few words. The women wore cloth made in Ghana. It was colorful and filled with designs. Many women wore three pieces: a top, bottom and a sling for the babies on their backs.

It is strange how some memories jump out prompted by something else. I went from the chilly mornings to red cushions and lazy afternoons and finally to the market. When I’ve gone back to Bolga, I always shop in the market. It is so big now I could easily get lost, but I don’t think I’d mind that. It is still noisy. It is still one of my favorite places.