Keep the Coffee Comimg

This is my annual Father’s Day post. Many of you read it every year. It is about my amazing father, my funny and loving father. It brings back a rush of memories every time I read it. It makes me smile and long for my father. He was one of a kind in the best of all possible ways. This morning, as soon as I woke up, I wished him a Happy Father’s Day.

In my front garden are a couple of ground cover plants. They have been there for years. My father planted them for me. One weekend he and my mother came down to visit. My dad brought his lawn mower, a hand mower, garden tools and those few plants. While my mother and I shopped, my dad mowed the lawn in the front and the back. Both yards were fields no longer. He weeded the garden. I could see the flowers. The garden was lovely. I get to remember that weekend every time I go out the front gate and see my father’s plants. They touch my heart.

I have so many memories of growing up, of family trips and my dad trying to whack at us from the front seat and never succeeding, of playing whist in the kitchen, with the teams being my mom and me against my dad and brother, of Sunday rides, of going to the drive-in and the beach and of being loved by my dad. Memories of my dad are with me always, but today my memories are all of my dad, and my heart is filled to the brim with missing him. When I close my eyes, I see him so clearly.

On a warm day he’d be sitting on the front steps with his coffee cup beside him while reading the paper. He’d have on a white t-shirt and maybe his blue shorts. He’d wave at the neighbors going by in their cars. They all knew him and would honk back. He loved being retired, and we were glad he had a few years of just enjoying life.

He was the funniest guy, mostly on purpose but lots of times by happenstance. We used to have Dad stories, all those times when we roared and he had no idea why. He used to laugh along with us and ask, “What did I say? What did I say?” We were usually laughing too hard to tell him. He was a good sport about it.

I know you’ve heard this before, but it is one of my favorite Dad stories. He, my mom and I were in Portugal. I was driving. My dad was beside me. On the road, we had passed many piggyback tandem trucks, all hauling several truck loads behind them. On the back of the last truck was always the sign Vehiculo Longo. We came out of a gas station behind one of those. My father nonchalantly noted, “That guy Longo owns a lot of trucks.” I was laughing so hard I could barely drive and my mother, in the back seat, was doubled over in laughter.

My father wasn’t at all handy around the house. Putting up outside lights once, he gave himself a shock which knocked him off his step-ladder. He once sawed himself out of a tree by sitting on the wrong end of the limb. The bookcase he built in the cellar had two shelves, one on the floor and the other too high to use. He said it was lack of wood. When painting the house once, the ladder started to slide, but he stayed on his rung anyway with brush in hand. The stroke of the paint on the house followed the path of his fall. Lots of times he set his shoe or pant leg on fire when he was barbecuing. He was a big believer in lots of charcoal lighter fluid.

My father loved games, mostly cards. We played cribbage all the time, and I loved making fun of his loses, especially if I skunked him. When he won, it was superb playing. When I won, it was luck. I remember so many nights of all of us, including aunts and uncles, crowding around the kitchen table playing cards, especially hi-lo jack. He loved to win and we loved lording it over him when he lost.

My father always said he never snacked, and my mother would roll her eyes. He kept chocolate under the couch, hidden from everyone else, but, we, everyone else, knew. He loved Pilot Crackers covered with butter. Hydrox was his preferred cookie. His vanilla ice cream was always doused with Hershey’s syrup. That man did love his chocolate.

My father was a most successful businessman. He was hired to turn a company around and he did. He was personable and funny and remembered everyone’s names. Nobody turned him down.

My father always went out Sunday mornings for the paper and for donuts. He never remembered what kind of donut I like. His favorite was plain. He’d make Sunday breakfast when I visited: bacon, eggs and toast. I can still see him standing over the stove with a dish towel over his shoulders. He always put me in charge of the toast.

If I ever needed anything, I knew I could call my father. He was generous. When we went out to eat, he always wanted to pay and was indignant when we one upped him by setting it up ahead of time that one of us paid. One Christmas he gave us all $500.00, not as a gift but to buy gifts.

My father left us when he was far too young. It was sudden. He had a heart attack. I had spoken with him just the day before. It was pouring that day, and I told him how my dog Shauna was soaked. He loved that dog and told me to wipe his baby off. I still remember that whole conversation. I still miss my father every day. 

Rain was predicted, a shower, but this morning so far belies that prediction. The breeze is wonderful and cooling. The high will be 74˚. The sky is a light grey. The sun was here earlier but has since disappeared. I have plans to go out today, to the dump and to Agway. I just have to rev up enough energy.

Saturdays were the best days when I was a kid. The whole day was mine, and I always spent it wisely having fun and exploring. I knew all the streets in my town. I had my favorites. The street behind the town hall had the horses’ barn. I used to stand outside and checked the horses through the door. I always wished for a closer look. To get to the zoo, I always biked around Spot Pond which was a reservoir. I could see a small island from the road, and I dreamed of sneaking there and camping. That I had no boat and no camping equipment didn’t stop me from dreaming. My first view of the zoo was the rocky, grassy enclosure with mountain goats and some deer. The zoo was small, but I was a kid and didn’t notice. The animals held my attention. My favorite was the elephant. The Girl Scout Camp was in the woods across from the zoo. I used to go into the pine woods, follow the wide path and come out in the next town, on the Fellsway Way. I rode home from there.

My house in Ghana was up the hill just a short way from town. I used to borrow a bicycle and ride to the market. Downhill was easy. Uphill was a chore. I usually walked the bike part way home. Sometimes I took the school’s bus into town when the driver was picking up the mail, but I’d have to walk home. Usually, though, someone stopped and offered me a ride. I never turned them down. Most people in town knew me. I was one of only a handful of non-Ghanaians, of Europeans as the Ghanaians called any white people, who lived in Bolga. I never rode that bike anywhere except to town. If I needed to go further, I usually took a mammy lorry.

One year when I was much older, I think in my thirties, my parents bought me a bicycle for my birthday. I rode it on the bike trail to P-Town a few times. It was a long but pretty ride. I remember getting off the trail and going down some streets thinking they were a shortcut. I actually got lost on the back, unfamiliar roads, but I kept riding. I remember being cold and a bit nervous. It was getting dark. I finally came out at a spot I knew and hightailed it home.

My bike is still in the cellar. I haven’t used it in a long while. I like to think I might just haul it out of the cellar, jump on it, pedal and go for a long ride.

The morning is a delight. It will be a hotter day than it has been with a high of 75˚and a low of 68˚. The sun is wonderfully warm, the sky brilliant and there is nary a breeze. I enjoyed coffee this morning, and the cream wasn’t frozen. I even had a bagel with cream cheese.

It is such a quiet morning I can hear only the birds. This is my favorite sort of morning.

The dogs are driving me crazy. They chase each other all over the house. I’m okay with that until they jump on and off the couch where I am sitting. Nala growls and Henry chews. They have a wonderful time. I don’t.

When I was a kid, I would have loved today. It is a roaming day, a day for a bike ride. The uniform of the day would have been shorts and a sleeveless blouse, the style when I was a kid. I always had what my father used to call a trucker’s tan. It ended at the shoulder. I wore low white sneakers and socks, whatever pair I could find in my sock drawer. Color didn’t matter, and I was known to wear two different colored socks if they were all I could find. Style was never a concern when I was young. I didn’t even care if my white sneakers were scruffy and dirty. One of my favorites rides was to Wakefield, the next town over. I’d stop and sit in the bandstand for a bit then ride around the lake. The houses facing the lake were huge, and I always wondered what it was like to live in such luxury. I wasn’t so much envious as curious. My ride ended when hunger drove me home.

Yesterday I went to Agway to buy my plants. I had a list, but I didn’t buy plants. The parking lot was filled; instead, I bought animal stuff. The biggest and most expensive was a water fountain for the cats. They drink a lot of water, and this holds a gallon.I also bought a pink collar for Nala. At least one of us will be stylish.

On the cleaning front, the frenzy continues. When I walked into the kitchen this morning, the counter was shining. I felt a strange sense of accomplishment. When I was in the bathroom, I looked out and noticed the glass in the the hanging lantern over the big table was dusty. Yup, I took it down, washed, dried then rehung it. I have one more from the living room to wash. This frenzy has run amok.

The morning is perfect. It is still a bit chilly from last night, but the sun is so bright the day is quickly warming. It will be in the low 70’s today and the high 50’s tonight. I’m thinking that’s ideal.

My cleaning frenzy continues. Yesterday it was upstairs in the cat’ room and the bathroom. I even washed both floors. The kitchen floor no longer has a road-mark of paws. The hall is immaculate at least for a day. As for today, the den needs my attention. It is the room where we all hang out and the dog hair holds sway.

My fridge has been wonky. The ice maker stopped working. I was okay with that and bought ice until yesterday when I woke up to a fridge where everything was frozen. The small consolation was the ice maker worked. Luckily, the repairman came this morning. All is right with my world.

When I was a kid, everything was easy. My only responsibilities were school every day and wearing clean underwear when I went outside so I wouldn’t embarrass my mother in case I was in an accident. I liked school. As for clean underwear, it miraculously appeared in my bureau drawer every day. I thought it a bit like the elves and the shoemaker; however, because I was never in an accident, I did think all that clean underwear sort of went to waste.

When I was in Ghana, I appreciated my mother and the miracle of daily clean underwear. I had to wash mine in a bucket. Though I became proficient at washing my clothes in said bucket, it was not a talent I perpetuated, but I suppose it is like riding a bicycle. You never forget how to do it, and I do have a metal bucket just in case.

I always had to take cold showers in Ghana. Hot water was a luxury, but I became proficient at washing my hair in the warm water which first came out of the shower head. The pipes had been warmed by the sun. During the dry season, the water was often turned off. I had three or so buckets which were kept filled and lined up against the shower walls. I took bucket baths when there was no shower water. The technique was easy. First my hair then the rest of my body. The last step was dumping the water over my head. It was wonderfully refreshing. It is also a talent I still have should it be needed.

The morning is humid, damp and dark. It rained earlier but not so much. A slight breeze stirs only the leaves at the ends of the branches. I’m tempted to put the screen in the front door but not yet the back door. That has to stay open for the dogs, and it still gets cold at night. Yesterday I went out for a time. Nala enjoyed herself. She surfed the baskets under the table and pulled out the strangest things like coasters, bottles and a couple of books. They were strewn all over. Not satisfied with one floor, Nala went upstairs to my bedroom. Luckily, the only things she found were grocery bags. They were in pieces all over the floor.

Last night wasn’t great for sleeping. The room was hot so I turned on the window air in my bedroom. Nala spread out and took my blankets with her. I got cold. Henry joined us, and I had no room. Usually they stay on their side, and I stay on mine, but not last night. Both sides were their sides. I had to fight for every inch.

When I was a kid, Duke, our boxer, wasn’t allowed on furniture. At night he sneaked on the couch to sleep but was never there when we came down the stairs in the morning. He was too smart to get caught. When Duke was young, he jumped out the window in Reading Square. My father stopped the car in the middle of the road and gave chase. Duke was caught. The other Duke story I remember was when we were visiting my aunt the nun. Duke was left in the car. He got bored. When we got back, strings of ceiling material hung down in front of the windows. Duke had chewed all along the from window to window. My father went crazy. I don’t remember what happened next. I think I erased it from my memory.

I don’t think my mother ever worried when we were gone all day. We’d pack our own lunches and take off for the whole day. Sometimes we walked. Other times we rode our bikes. We rode to East Boston once. That was the furthest we ever went. My mother was not happy, an understatement. I think the ride along the Revere highway scared her the most. We weren’t scared at all. There were sidewalks and lots of lights. We rode passed the dinosaur statue at the miniature golf course, the dog track, the tankers lined up at the oil terminal and the giant holy lady statue on the hill. We had taken that route more times than I can remember on the way to our grandparents’ house. It was as familiar as the streets in our town. My brother and I thought it was an adventure.

It is a cool morning at 69˚ but another lovely day. Rain is predicted, but I have trouble believing the weatherman given the beauty of the morning. My to-do list for today includes the dump now that I have my sticker. I can hardly wait.

My father took charge of the barrels on trash day when I was a kid. I remember him dressed for work in his top coat and fedora dragging the barrels out of the cellar. He’d drag them back in when he got home, always late. He was never home for dinner. My father worked a long day. We never saw much of him during the week. On Saturdays I loved going with him to do errands. My favorite place was the Chinese laundry. It was in a small building on a corner in the square. The long broad iron was on the right in front of a window as you came inside. I remember the steam rising from it when the laundryman ironed. There was a big counter as you walked in with shelves behind it which held cleaned shirts and stuff wrapped in brown paper. My father always had his shirts cleaned. He wore only white shirts to work.

When I was young, we had hot dogs and hamburgers off the grill for Saturday suppers in the summer. We had corn. My father ate his corn typewriter fashion. I was mesmerized. When we were older, my mother expanded the menu. She had sausages, Italian and Chinese, steak tips and chicken. I was partial to the chicken and the Chinese sausages. My father manned the hibachi. They never had a big grill by choice. He’d sit outside have a drink or two and watch the meat. My father was the consummate grill master. My mother made all the sides. She made a great potato salad, and I loved her peppers and onions.

Nala is a chewer and a digger. The other day when I got home I found a chewed pen and some chewed trash she had pulled from the bag. She dug a hole beside the driveway deep enough to hide a body.

Last night around 12:30 I started to clear the den. I went through some boxes, threw all sorts of stuff away and filled a trash bag, just what I needed, another trash bag. The den looks neater. I did the test, the walk in, to see how it looked. I did that about three times moving stuff each time. Finally, I sat down for a bit. It was around 1:30. I hate this compulsion to clean. I think I need an exorcist.

Last night got downright cold. I shut the windows downstairs but left the ones in my bedroom open. That was a mistake. The dogs hogged all the covers. I burrowed as far as I could but was still a bit chilly. This morning, when I went out to get the papers, I was surprised how warm it feels outside. It is 75˚, the high for the day. Tonight will get down to the 50’s. I could go out today or not. I haven’t yet decided.

Yesterday I cleaned a bit. Downstairs got vacuumed. I cleaned all the bark and pieces of branches Nala brought inside for chewing purposes. One branch was about 2 or 3 feet long. She dragged it through the dog door. The kitchen floor is all muddy paw prints. I’ll clean that today. Upstairs I vacuumed and cleaned the cats’ room and the bathroom. The bathroom toilet seat had cat hair on it I suspect from Jack’s drinking at the toilet, his indoor fountain. The bathroom floor had small clumps of cat hair. The bathroom is pristine for now.

When I was a kid, I was never afraid of spiders or bugs. I didn’t believe the darning needle bugs would really sew my lips together. I thought girls who screamed at bugs were silly. I could understand being afraid of a swarm of killer bees attacking but not much else. I did get stung by a bee once, but that didn’t scar me for life. In Ghana I was wary but not afraid. Centipedes were the longest bugs I had ever seen. Flies were plentiful. I remember watching a wide swath of ants travel across the school compound. Those ants were better left alone. Snakes never scared me when I was a kid. I had seen garter snakes in the garden and knew they were harmless. We used to pick them up and sometimes keep them a while. In Ghana I saw boas. They were scary. The one I remember the most ate a live chicken. When I was teaching one time, a few students coming back from the latrine starting pelting stones at the ground beside the classroom block steps. They were killing a poisonous snake. Life was seldom dull in Ghana.

The rain on the roof was the first sound I heard. It was early. Nala jumped off the bed, and I went downstairs to let her out. She didn’t go out into the rain. Henry did. I waited to let him in, left the door open and went back to bed. We all slept another hour.

The rain has stopped. The day is dark and damp. No breeze ruffles the leaves. Everything is still in the heavy air.

A rainy Saturday would never have stopped me when I was a kid. Saturdays were not to be wasted. I used to love to ride my bike as fast as I could through the puddles. The water parted and a tidal wave flew out from each side of my bike. I used to lift my feet off the pedals so my sneakers wouldn’t get wet. I never bypassed a good puddle.

My allowance was fifty cents. My father expected me to save it. He was wrong. Fifty cents was wealth to me. I could shop at Woolworth’s. I loved that store in the square. It was an old building with wooden floors. I remember the toys were in the aisle on the left. I could buy a balsa wood plane for around ten cents. I learned to be careful sliding the pieces as they split easily. The tail was red plastic. My planes dipped and fell when I tossed them in the air. Their landings were seldom soft.

I remember cereal submarines. They were grey plastic, and when filled with baking powder, they dove and surfaced. The tub was the perfect spot to let the sub go. I’d lean on the side of the tub and watch until the baking powder dissolved, and the sub had to be reloaded. We used to open cereals boxes on the bottoms so we could get the prizes. We used to fight over whose turn it was for the toy.

The milk left after I ate all my cereal was sweet. It had cereal crumbs, bits of Rice Krispies floating on the top. I always drank the milk straight from the bowl. Sometimes I was messy, and the milk spilled under my chin.

I heard the gobbles of turkeys this morning. They were close. They were the only bird sounds. I saw the male cardinal fly right by me. The female is usually close, but I didn’t see her. They like the sunflower seeds.

Today I clean upstairs. I noticed cat hair on the toilet seat. I guessed Jack was getting drinks. I know Gwen likes to lie on the cool tile floor. The upstairs is their domain.

Yesterday was a banner day. The heat and humidity disappeared, and it was chilly. I even closed windows. I got my dump sticker and had my car inspected. I even bought a few groceries. I felt accomplished.

The morning is lovely. The sun is shining and glinting through the oak leaves. The temperature is only 65˚. The high will be 68˚. The house is cold even though the windows are shut. The dogs were in the yard so long I went to check. They were chasing each other. When they saw me on the deck, they ran to me jumping. Henry was smiling. He has a nice smile.

When I was a kid, I loved riding my bike to school. I used to raise my arms in the air going down the hill where I lived. The bike rack at school was under trees. It was wooden and painted green. My bike didn’t have a lock, but it had a license plate from the police who registered our bikes and gave us the plates. The licenses were green and were long so they could fit on the back fenders. They even had Stoneham, my town, in white down the sides of the plates. They looked official.

My town had two golf courses. I used to ride my bike to both of them to hunt for errant golf balls. Sometimes I’d find some by the road and even across the street from the course. I’d put them in my bike basket, and they’d jump out at the bumps. I’d get off to get them and wish my basket had a cover.

My town library was built with money from Andrew Carnegie. I remember reading about it on a plaque in the foyer between the inside and outside doors. I only noticed it because it was raining, and I was keeping watch by the door for my father to come and get me. I was surprised.

The square used to have a spa. My aunt would sometimes take me there on Sunday after church. The inside was mostly wooden. It had a soda fountain and tall booths. I remember a sign on the wall for a lime rickey. I had never heard of a lime rickey. I hadn’t even ever seen a lime. My aunt met her friends there. I always felt a bit grown up among them as the Spa wasn’t a kid my age place. I remember it used to be near the movie theater, maybe even beside the door to the bowling alley.

O’Grady’s diner was just below the square. It is one of the places I miss the most. I remember going there with my father. He would give me a dime for the jukebox. Sometimes we sat on stools while other times in a booth. Every time we went my father met somebody he knew, townies. When I was in high school, my friends and I would sometimes go there after drill. We’d get a brownie, ice cream and fudge sauce.

When I was in Russia, at every museum we had to wear foot covers, like the ones police wear at crime scenes. I figured we were really cleaning floors. With two dogs running up and down the hall, there are clumps of fur. I clean them every time I go to the kitchen. I’m thinking of buying a few foot covers to hand to my guests and directing them to through the hall. I figure foot covers are a bit less conspicuous than a vacuum or a broom.

Nala woke me up about 6:30. I let her and Henry out and went to join them. I turned around immediately. It was actually cold. It is warmer now, 72˚, the high for the day. The bright sun is framed in a cloudy sky. Tonight will get down to the 50’s. I may have to wear a sweatshirt again.

I am still grossed out. Last night I found what I thought was a scab in my hair. I pulled it out. It was a tick, a tick!! I scratched again and found another one. I smashed them both. The smash was far more satisfying than tossing them into the toilet. I always check both dogs. They have had no ticks. I have had three, the most I can ever remember.

The dogs are driving me crazy. They play with each other on my bed, on the couch, in the hall and even in the bathroom. They are now on the couch beside me, both of them playing with mouths open. Their heads are wet.

Nala loves the dog door. She goes in and out several times a day. I know Henry could come in if he chose. He pushes the dog door with his nose so I know he is ready to come inside. I have tried ignoring him. He just keeps whacking the door. I get up and open it.

When I was a kid, buses stopped in the square usually in front of the movie theater. I used to take a bus to the skating rink along the Fells. It was fancy compared to my other skating spots, the swamp and Recreation Park. I remember the bus stop at the hospital in front of an old stone house with a porch. Student nurses lived there. Sometimes one or two would be waiting for the bus. They wore white uniforms and square hats. Other times I took the bus to Sullivan Square. I remember the big staircase. We used to go upstairs to board the subway trains. The buses were on the lower level as was a kiosk which sold newspapers, magazines and candy. I remember standing on the platform watching a train arrive. My mother kept telling me to move back from the track. I kept trying to watch the train’s arrival. It came into the station with a whoosh and a breeze. To go inside, I always jumped over the small gap between the train and the platform. Once inside, I knelt on the seat to look out the window. I loved seeing the city. It was the start of my love affair with Boston.