Keep the Coffee Comimg

My air conditioner is blasting even though it is cooler outside than yesterday. I was hot when I woke up and figured I’d chill the house for a bit. The day is pretty with a strong breeze and lots of sun. The dogs were chasing each other in the yard, and both came inside with tongues hanging. They are lolling in the AC.

Yesterday I cleaned my living room, everything in my living room. On the bookcase, long neglected, was enough dust for me to write a short story in it. I polished and washed everything I could. The problem is now I have to do the rest of the house because the living room looks so good.

My hall has bits of bark on the floor. Nala brings in branches, albeit small ones but she gnaws each trophy and spits out the bark. On the floor are several toys which used to be in the toy box. Nala likes the squeaks of the rubber toys. Henry prefers soft toys. They share.

When I was a kid, I was seldom inside in the summer. I especially went out when it rained. I loved getting wet in the softness of a summer rain. I’d stomp on the puddles in the gutters and watch the water spray out on each side. My sneakers would get soaked and bubbles would surface through the canvas when I walked. I never bothered to change. My clothes dried in the sun.

Sometimes, if the rain falls straight down, I sit on the deck under the umbrella. Rain surrounds me. I hear the drops hitting the leaves and the deck being pelted. Over my head, the rain makes a tapping noise on the umbrella and drips down the circle. I sit where I stay dry.

In Ghana, my house and the classroom blocks had tin roofs. When the rain came in torrents, I couldn’t be heard by my students. The lesson had to be taught using the chalkboard. The tin roofs made the rain sound tremendous, dramatic. Since then, I have always wanted a tin roof.

My hall is empty. The basket of laundry is only a memory. I finally bit the bullet and washed it yesterday. I didn’t realize how long it had been until I found my Christmas pajamas and socks on the bottom. It took two trips to carry it back upstairs.

When I was a kid, we didn’t even have a fan. My mother used to pull all the shades down to keep the house cool. I remember the living room was dark all summer. Upstairs, the bedrooms were hot, but I never had a problem falling asleep. I was usually exhausted from playing or bike riding all day.

Today is a bit cooler than it has been, 81˚. A breeze is coming from the window behind me keeping the den cool. Yesterday I lived in a closed house with the AC blasting.

I have no reason to be out and about today. My plans include a bit of cleaning, mostly upstairs, a bit of reading and maybe a disaster movie or two. The one I am watching now is just awful. It is called 40 Days and 40 Nights, with the title giving away the whole plot. The movie opened in the Sahara which wasn’t the Sahara. A jeep, a red jeep, was doing wheelies. There was underbrush but very little sand. The two couples in the jeep saw the storm coming over the mountains, yup mountains, and decided to do more wheelies in the same spot and in the exact same way. I guess the director didn’t think we’d notice. All of a sudden a flood came over the mountains and the jeep went under, no more wheelies. The plot is Biblical.

Every night I move the cat’s gate to my doorway to keep Nala inside with me. She had been going downstairs while I was asleep and using the dining room floor as her port-a-potty. It worked except for Henry. He won’t come inside my room. He suspects something. In his roaming, Henry realized my bedroom was inaccessible but the cats’ dishes were fair game with no gate for protection. The last two mornings the cats’ bowls were clean. I thought of a couple of solutions but discarded them. I can’t force Henry inside my room. That would scare him. I could entice him with food but he’d take the biscuit and run. My best solution is to put the cats’s dishes on one of the beds until I buy another gate.

I went out with the dogs this morning. They chased each other a little bit until Nala grabbed the tiniest branch which had a couple of oak leaves. She ran with the branch in her mouth as proudly as she could be. Nala had caught something.

The morning is bright, filled with sun. The air is still, and today is Sunday quiet. I can already feel the heat. It will be in the low 80’s today. I’m thinking it might be a day for the air conditioner, but I’ll wait a bit as this room is still dark and cool. Nala has taken to the window behind me. Last night she was lying on the couch top looking out hoping too see anything. There was nothing to see. The rental is empty.

When I was a kid, Sunday was often beach day. My mother packed the lunch, the blanket and the towels. My father packed the car. We’d drive to Gloucester, to Wingaersheek Beach, the only beach I remember. If I close my eyes, I can still see it all. There were rocks to climb. Giant houses faced the beach. I always thought it would be neat to wake up beside the water. Most of the time we didn’t swim until low tide when the pools were warm. I used to walk the beach for shells to save. We had to wash off the sand before we could take them into the car. It was the same with our feet. We usually stayed the whole day. I don’t remember most rides home. I usually fell asleep.

We used to go to the pool. It was on the opposite side of town, a long walk from my house. The pool cost a dime. The changing room had benches, a couple of showers and those metal baskets for our clothes. The basket key was on a twisted plastic sort of bracelet to put around our wrists. I used to dive from the board, nothing fancy just a regular dive. I’d lean over on the board with my arms straight in front and dive in. One time I went deep and hit the bottom of the pool. My teeth jammed into my lips which bled. There were even teeth marks. I went to the lifeguard who right away tried to stop the bleeding. My lip had already started to swell. The lifeguard called my mother and then drove me home. I don’t remember diving again for a long time.

My sisters ran into the sprinkler, one of those old metal ones which spun. I think my father had the same sprinkler for years. Usually it was set on the side of the house as running room was essential. The front had a small grassy hill, slippery when wet. My sister broke her leg riding her tricycle down that hill.

I have no plans to go out today. I think I’ll vacuum. I always need to vacuum.

The morning is glorious. I first work up at 5:15 and went downstairs to open the door for the dogs. It was the best of Cape Cod early mornings and gave hint of the lovely day to come. The air was still night cool. The fog was just below the tops of the pine trees. The sky was still a bit cloudy. It was quiet except for the birds greeting the day. The dogs ran in the yard a bit then came inside. The three of us went back to sleep.

Last night Nala started to go down the stairs then I heard what I thought was her falling. It wasn’t. Running up the stairs was poor Jack being chased by Nala. I stopped Nala. Jack escaped. Nala went to the hole in the gate and looked through. Jack was sitting there defiant, just staring. Nala cried.

Today will be hot, 75˚. In Boston it is already 83˚and will hit 90˚. I’m glad I live here.

When I was a kid, I believed in UFO’s, Bigfoot and the Loch Ness monster not to forget the man with the hook. That they had never been seen made no never mind. They were good at hiding. The man with the hook appeared only at night. He scratched cars and windows before attacking. I know that was true. My father told me.

Summer nights have always been my favorites. I used to sit on the back steps and enjoy the coolness of the evenings. My house was on the corner of the street. It was a duplex. The backyard was at the bottom of a grassy hill. My house was one corner of a square, a right angle. There were two houses on the left and two houses on the right. There were three above the grassy hill. I remember the lights on at every house. Through screen doors I could hear muted voices and televisions. I was usually the only one still outside. I liked it that way. The night belonged to me.

When I was in Ghana, I went to Accra, the capital, just about every school vacation. I went out to restaurants, saw movies, shopped at High Street where the Hausa traders were and roamed the city. I was never afraid to walk at night usually back to the Peace Corps hostel. I chose to save the 20 pesewas of a cab ride. The streets were mostly quiet. The shops were shuttered. Men sat together outside talking. I never knew what they said. It was usually in Twi, the local tribal language. I did know how to say good evening in Twi, and I always did. Sometimes I was first while other times the men were. I loved those evenings.

My evenings are still quiet. I still savor the night.

The day is uninviting. I was asleep when it rained and didn’t even hear it. I woke up to a damp chill and wet grass. Today will stay cool, in the mid 60’s. Mind you, I’m not complaining. It will be hot every day soon enough. I have to go out, a doctor’s appointment. That will be out two days in a row, one short of my record.

On the dog front, Nala makes me laugh. She has so much energy. She pulls every toy out of the toy box to find the perfect one. She loves toys which make noise. As for the cats, Nala lies in front of the cat room gate. Jack sits on the other side of the gate and stares. Nala cries.

Boxers are smart dogs. Nala already knows how to go in and out of the dog door. I’m hoping she’ll teach Henry it is safe to go into the house through the dog door. Henry is still a bit skittish, a bit fearful. Right now Nala is asleep on the couch. Henry is upstairs asleep on my bed. The cats are asleep in their room, Gwen on the bed and Jack in the kitty tent with a flap.

When I was a kid, I remember my father taking the whole family to a Hood dairy farm in New Hampshire open to the public, a Sunday family jaunt. I remember the house, barns and fences around the pastures were white, a New England farm, but I remember the barns the best. Music was piped inside for the cows. It seems cows like music though I’m not sure what genre. I doubt rock and roll. Cows lumber.

When I was graduating from the eighth grade, we went on a class trip to Nantasket, to Paragon Park. My mother came as a chaperone. My friend Jimmy and I went all the rides together. The roller coaster was our favorite, a wooden coaster aptly named The Giant Coaster. The rotor, a sort of giant looking barrel, went fast in a circle and stuck us to the walls. We even went on the carousel. I chose a mighty steed. The carousel is the only ride left.

A couple of friends and I spent the day at Paragon Park just before it was closed and torn down. I rode the roller coaster four times. The ride was spectacular. I loved the clicking sound as the coaster moved on the track. It slowly went up the hill then sped down and around corners. I screamed only for effect.

Once I went on a coaster that went upside down around circles. It was fast and a little scary, but I missed the quirks of the wooden coaster with so much personality.

The rain started a couple of hours ago. It was an easy rain then it got heavy. Even Nala wouldn’t go outside. She poked her head out the dog door then backed inside. Her head was wet. I’m wearing my sweatshirt.

Nala and Henry are getting along wonderfully. Henry was even licking Nala’s head. They sleep beside each other on the bed leaving me scrunched. Last night Nala and Jack faced each other with the gate between them. The gate has a hole so the cats can move in and out of the room. Jack was maybe three feet from Nala. That gave me hope then later Nala chased Jack.

When I was a kid, my dog Duke, my first ever boxer, was the best protection. Nobody got near the house without Duke’s notice. He ignored passer’s by but loudly announced anybody coming toward our house. Boxers are fierce looking. Duke’s bark was deep. Some people just turned around. Nala doesn’t bark yet or maybe she is just being polite as Henry barks and scares people. They leave boxes away from the door. The two of them, Nala and Henry, stand together looking out the front door surveying their yard, making sure it is safe. Henry gives warning. I always check.

I’m glad I didn’t wash the kitchen floor yesterday, the one sunny day.

I have two cookies, both cranberry-oatmeal. They are the sum total of sweet food in my house. I feel bereft. Where is the chocolate?

My laundry sits in the hall in front of the cellar door. I walk by it several times a day. I give it a quick look. I have no guilt that the laundry has been sitting there close to a week. I still have clothes left, that’s the barometer for needing to do laundry.

When I was in Africa, I didn’t do my laundry so maybe this reluctance started back then when the only way to wash clothes was in a bucket. I saw it done, my impetus for paying to have my laundry washed by someone other than me. That also including ironing. Hand washing makes wrinkles. Charcoal irons are sort of neat, in an old-fashioned way.

Today I have to go out. It would rain.

The earlier sun has become clouds, but it is warmer than the days of rain. It will get as high as 73˚. I’m not even wearing my sweatshirt. This morning I went out to watch the dogs. Nala goes in and out the dog door by herself but still hasn’t realized the varied uses of the backyard, like for peeing. She and Henry are doing just fine together. I make sure Henry always comes first. He grins and wags his whole butt when he is happy. He did that this morning.

I am the servant of animals. Four of them live here. Jack hisses at Nala so I go into the secure cat room and scratch and pet them. I give them treats. I give Henry and Nala treats. Each of the dogs is on medication so I hide their pills in turkey. The cats I feed a couple of times a day. The dogs eat once. I clean litter boxes every day. I wish my house were as clean.

This morning I decided I need a lot of things. I need to do my laundry. I need to take a shower. I need to vacuum my house. I need peanut butter.

When I was a kid, my life was simple. Most kids’ lives were. Much of the year, I had school. I had church on Sunday. We had family dinners and supper every night. The rest of the time was mine. In summer almost all the time was mine. It was filled with playing with friends, bike riding, watching TV mostly in the evening, trips to the library and family jaunts to the drive-in and the beach. Many days I spent at the playground playing softball and tennis, games like checkers and horseshoes and doing crafts. Such was my life. It mostly had no complications, no demands and no responsibilities. School and church were the only exceptions. I had to go to both.

My life right now is so very quiet. Mostly I’m at home but being home day after day, I sometimes get bored. That’s when I clean. Today I’m cleaning. The dust rises into the air when I walk. My kitchen floor is filled with paw prints. Two dogs do make a bit of a mess after being outside in the rain. I can write my name in the dust on the table. I blame the pollen though it’s gone now. I could also blame the animals. They shed. Mostly, I think, actually I know, my inertia is to blame. If I were living in the Victorian Age, it would be called malaise. I’d be sitting on the lounge with the back of hand on my forehead and looking anguished. Instead, I vacuum.

Memorial Day is a day for thanks and a day for reflection. I hope you remember those to whom we owe so much. This is my annual tribute. 

Memorial Day, originally called Decoration Day, is a day of remembrance for those who have died in our nation’s service. There are many stories as to its actual beginnings, with over two dozen cities and towns laying claim to being the birthplace of Memorial Day. There is also evidence that organized women’s groups in the South were decorating graves before the end of the Civil War: a hymn published in 1867, “Kneel Where Our Loves are Sleeping” by Nella L. Sweet carried the dedication “To The Ladies of the South who are Decorating the Graves of the Confederate Dead.” While Waterloo N.Y. was officially declared the birthplace of Memorial Day by President Lyndon Johnson in May 1966, it’s difficult to prove conclusively the origins of the day. It is more likely that it had many separate beginnings; each of those towns and every planned or spontaneous gathering of people to honor the war dead in the 1860′s tapped into the general human need to honor our dead, each contributed honorably to the growing movement that culminated in Gen Logan giving his official proclamation in 1868. It is not important who was the very first, what is important is that Memorial Day was established. Memorial Day is not about division. It is about reconciliation; it is about coming together to honor those who gave their all.

Memorial Day

“Dulce et decorum est”

The bugle echoes shrill and sweet,
But not of war it sings to-day.
The road is rhythmic with the feet
Of men-at-arms who come to pray.

The roses blossom white and red
On tombs where weary soldiers lie;
Flags wave above the honored dead
And martial music cleaves the sky.

Above their wreath-strewn graves we kneel,
They kept the faith and fought the fight.
Through flying lead and crimson steel
They plunged for Freedom and the Right.

May we, their grateful children, learn
Their strength, who lie beneath this sod,
Who went through fire and death to earn
At last the accolade of God.

In shining rank on rank arrayed
They march, the legions of the Lord;
He is their Captain unafraid,
The Prince of Peace . . . Who brought a sword.

Joyce Kilmer

Check yesterday’s weather. It is the same today. The rain doesn’t stop. It is only 49˚ and won’t get much higher. The wind is far lighter than yesterday’s. I am staying home again today. It is the driest spot I know.

Big news here! My family has an addition. Nala joined us yesterday. She is a one year old boxer. Nala is fawn but has interesting coloring. She has a black tail and a bit of black across her back. She has all the energy of a one year old. Lala lived with my cousin Mitch and his wife Kelly. They are boxer lovers from way back. Besides Nala, they had another boxer, an almost three year old female. The two of them started fighting with Nala being the aggressor. She got the worst of the deal each time and yesterday had to go to the vets. When Kelly brought Nala home from the vets, she went after the other dog again. Mitch and Kelly’s baby grandson and his parents live with them so they wanted to protect the baby just in case. Mitch called me shortly after that knowing I am a boxer lover. Both Kelly and Mitch were devastated. Poor Kelly was crying, and I knew exactly why. Losing a dog in any way is so very heartbreaking. Lovers of dogs know that all too well.

Nala checked everything out room by room, got hissed at by Jack and Henry bared his teeth once. It was a warning. Nala follows Henry everywhere. She eats his bones and sleeps on his side of the couch. I keep moving her to the other side. Last night one dog was on each side of me sleeping while I watched TV. Going to bed took a while. Henry would jump on the bed then Nala would jump on then Henry would get off and Nala would follow. Finally I told both of them to work it out and I turned off the light. I woke up at 5:30, and the two of them were sleeping beside each other. I took them out and back and then went to sleep. When I woke up, Nala was beside me resting her head on my arm. Henry was sleeping at the bottom of the bed. When I got downstairs, I found she had peed and pooped on the dining room floor. I had taken her out before bed and at 5:30, but I didn’t watch her outside. Now, the three of us will go out together.

Today I’ll keep an eye on both dogs and hope Nala will find outside a better bathroom, lots more choices. Right now is nap time on the couch. I may join them.

Today is cold, dark and rainy. The wind is spectacular. My house was cold when I woke up. It was only 61˚. The heat for a little while, a sweatshirt and hot coffee solved the cold problem. Rain is predicted for the rest of today and tomorrow.

When I was a kid, a rainy Saturday was the worst. The four of us were stuck inside the house in close quarters. The living room couch was my spot for the morning where I sat with my cereal bowl in hand. I had a good view of the TV. I’d watch until my shows were over then I’d read a while or play in the cellar or pull out a game hoping for an opponent. I’d pray the rain would stop. Nothing was worse than a wasted Saturday in the house.

In Ghana, the rainy season meant rain just about every day. Sometimes the rain was unbelievably fierce and heavy while other times it was gentle. I never minded going out in the gentle rain. I was in Southern Ghana, perpetually green Southern Ghana, during the first two weeks of training. I enjoyed the daily rain. Everything washed clean and the aroma of the greenery was thick, especially in the mornings. The second part of training was in the Upper Region, in Bawku and Bolga. The trees were full of leaves. The fields had tall millet and corn growing. The market was filled with stalls offering vegetables, especially tomatoes and onions. Later, when I lived in Bolga, I found out brown was the color of the dry season. Brown fields, leafless trees and dusty roads were the hallmarks of dry season in the Upper Region.

Yesterday I didn’t organize my albums; instead, I cleaned the cat room. I chose a worse task which sort of matched my mood. I vacuumed, wet mopped the floor, cleaned food dishes and organized the litter and food. The room looks good. A while back, I bought Jack and Gwen their own little houses. I put them on the bed. Twice now, I’ve gone into the room, and Jack has come out of his house. He must feel cozy as I suspect he sleeps in a ball so he’ll fit.

The other day I found two desiccated ears of corn in the back of the fridge. I threw them into the backyard figuring a spawn would find them. The other day I saw a piece of corn husk in the backyard. The spawns better be appreciative.