Keep the Coffee Comimg

The morning is ugly. The wind is so strong the pine tree tops are swaying back and forth. The sky is covered in thick clouds which offer little hope for a sunny afternoon. The day is damp making it feel colder than it is. Right now it is 49˚. A few months ago I would loved a temperature in the 40’s but this is spring. Come on, Mother Nature. You can do better.

My plans for today are simple. I need to dust and vacuum downstairs. Yesterday I bought a couple of succulents at CVS for half-price, and they need repotting. I may need to nap.

Henry saw his vet yesterday, his behavior modification vet. She thinks he is doing well but also thinks he may need a trainer to stop his crazed barking at the door. Some of what she suggested for his other behaviors I have been doing already. I had put his halter on the floor to decrease his fear, and she suggested I do the same with his leash but add a biscuit so he’ll associate the two, the leash and the cookie. She suggested I put opaque window film on the three door windows to prevent Henry from standing on the stairs and barking at what he can see. She also suggested I help Henry associate the sound of a car/truck approaching with the immediate delivery of a treat. The only drawback is Henry already sees everything as treat worthy.

When I was a kid, we used to have pajama parties. Now they’re called asleep-overs, but I think pajama party is a better description. We never slept until the very wee hours. We ate junk food and drank tonic (the Massachusetts word for pop, for soda pop). We slept on the floor using the pillows and blankets we’d bought. I remember being at Kathleen Donovan’s for a birthday pajama party. Her house was three houses down from my school. We stayed in the living room. The furniture had been moved to the side so we camped in the middle. I also remember her mother telling us it was time for lights out.

We always had supper. The only time we had dinner was on Sunday afternoons. Dinners were more formal. We ate at the table together. My mother served a roast of some sort, the big difference between dinner and supper. We always had potatoes and a veggie or two. We never had bread on the table the way they did in Leave It to Beaver. We also didn’t have to ask to be excused. We bolted when our plates were cleared of food. We ate a lot of hamburger. My favorite was American chop suey. The name is confusing as it has no resemblance to Chinese chop suey and is actually more like Italian food with pasta and ground beef. My mother did make a Chinese chop suey of sorts. I remember watching her make it in the electric fry pan. It had pea pods, bean sprouts and water chestnuts. I put La Choy Chow Mein Noodles on the top. I loved the crunch. I also put the noodles in the middle. I did say I loved the crunch.

Now, I’m craving Chinese food. I’ll order it for this afternoon. Would that be a late lunch or an early dinner?

This morning is chilly and damp. It rained during the night. Today’s temperature will stay in the 40’s. Henry has his appointment today at 12:30. He’ll be scared after the car ride. I worry. Poor Henry.

Yesterday I decided not to notice the dust. That was more difficult than it sounds. You’d have thought the clumps of fur on the hall floor were flying tumbleweeds. Most of the fur is white, short white, Henry fur. The guest room is the home of Miss Gwen. When I go upstairs, I find clumps of long black hair, cat hair, on the hall rug and in the bathroom. Gwen roams upstairs. She never comes all the way downstairs. She does sit on the stairs at night and meows. The stairs are the dustiest of all.

When I was a kid, flip-flops were called thongs. I never wore them. I didn’t like anything between my toes. I don’t remember wearing sandals either. Sneakers, white sneakers, were my summer footwear of choice. Ghana was when I first wore sandals all the time. It was hot so I liked my feet in the open air. I still wear sandals but I also sometimes wear sneakers. Mine are red, pink or purple. I try to match my ensemble.

I see lots of old men wearing white or black socks with their sandals. I always want to ask them why wear sandals. They are useless with socks. They become shoes.

When I was a kid, Duke, our boxer, was a fierce dog when it came to protecting us and our house. I remember sometimes we’d be playing with my dad on the floor and howling. Duke, thinking we were being hurt, would put his jaw around my dad’s wrist. He never bit down. It was a warning. After my dad let go of us, Duke would remove his jaw. I was never afraid when Duke was around.

I bought some fireballs at the candy store. When I was a kid, I loved fireballs. I’d challenge myself to ignore the heat, but most times I’d lose and have to take the fireball out of my mouth. Nothing much has changed. I ate one yesterday, and it got hot, hotter than I remembered. I had to take it out of my mouth for a couple of minutes, but then I put it back and struggled through. When it was the smallest, I bit through it. I have one more fireball I’m saving for another day. The challenge stands.

Today is April on Cape Cod. It is cloudy, windy and cold. Henry is upstairs sleeping while Jack is here beside me. Gwen is in her room. All is right with my world.

My to do list is blank. It is just one of those days, a sloth day. I have a trash bag, a litter bag and boxes to put in the car but not yet because Henry has an appointment tomorrow with his therapist, and I need the back seat empty. I’m already nervous about Henry and the car. His new halter is still in the hall lying on the floor. I don’t want to traumatize him twice. This is his one year follow-up appointment.

I always thought most Sundays were wasted days when I was a kid. I had to go to mass and then hang around the house waiting for dinner. The only good Sundays were in the summer when it was often early mass and then the beach for the rest of the day. Lunch, at the beach, was a sandwich, a gritty sandwich. Oreos were snacks. They never got gritty.

When I was a kid, dogs roamed. I remember Duke, my dog, and his son Sam would meet up and roam together in a pack of two. One time my father got a call from a neighbor that both dogs were in the neighbor’s front yard and wouldn’t move. The neighbor was afraid to leave the house thinking the dogs would attack, but both were boxers, gentle dogs who looked fierce. Come to find out, the neighbor’s dog was in heat, and neither Duke nor Sam had any inclination to leave. My father went and put both dogs into the car. I suspect they were disappointed.

My friend Bill sent me a video filmed in Ghana. It was filmed in the Northern Region, about 100 miles from where we lived in Bolga. The tourist was a Ghanaian who hadn’t ever been north. She flew from Accra to Tamale and filmed the approach and landing at Tamale Airport. Out her window I could see the savannah and the brown grass. That went to my heart. I wanted to be there, dry season or not. When I wrote to Bill about my reaction, my longing, he said he had felt the same way. It is not easy to explain why. Just know that Peg, Bill and I love Ghana, and we’d like to make one more trip, one more return home.

The morning is mostly cloudy, but the sun is just waiting its turn. It will even get as high as 60˚. Yesterday my iPad fell out of my hands and went down the stairs a single step at a time, bang, bang, bang. I was horrified. I screamed and ran after it. The cover is cracked but it works fine. I looked on-line and found a place in Hyannis to have the cover replaced. It is now on my to-do list. I went to the dump yesterday. At one convergence there are lights for all four roads. I turned to wait in the right lane. When the light changed, I went right on the arrow and got honked at a couple of times. I had no idea where the car came from as the only cars moving at that green light went right, left or forward. He had to have jumped the light on the other side. That car then seemed to follow mine. We went left together then right then right again. We both turned left. I decided to drive to the police station, but the car turned right while I went straight ahead. That car spooked me. I wished Henry was with me. This morning I had no newspapers. I hate the start of today. Did I mention a cheeky chipmunk was in the no squirrel feeder?

When I was a kid, my father always started his day with coffee and the newspaper. My mother didn’t like coffee, and I don’t remember if she read the paper or not. They are my father’s mornings which are clearer in my memory. I can see him at the kitchen table, coffee cup to the right, ashtray beside the cup and the newspaper opened in front of him on the table. He always sat with his back to the rest of the kitchen. After his retirement and when the mornings were warm, he’d sit on the front step with his coffee and he’d read the newspaper. Cars honked and my father always waved. He became the neighborhood icon.

I don’t know what I’m going to do with today. It being a Saturday carries responsibilities. When I was a kid, it was the best day of the week. I got to eat cereal in front of the TV. I could go to the movies on a winter Saturday afternoon or hike around town or ride my bike hither and yon. I could read the day away if was rainy or cold. Saturday was all mine.

I’ve been retired almost 17 years. I’ve come to view every day as Saturday, and I have the same sense of property I had when I was a kid. Every day is all mine to do what I will. Wow!

Today is glorious. The morning is warm and we may reach 60˚. The sky hasn’t a cloud. It Is deep blue from end to end. Everything is still. I plan to go out today. It is a day not to be wasted.

When I was a kid, I relished a morning like today, a spring morning. I’d take my time walking to school not wanting to waste what little freedom a weekday gave. Recess was too long in winter but not long enough in spring. We huddled in winter. In spring we ran around the school yard in wild abandonment but only as wild as the one or two nuns watching us at recess would allow. I figured the nuns were there to prevent a schoolyard break-out.

I love the colors of spring when the garden is lit with yellow daffodils and purple crocus gather in the small circle garden out front where a tree used to be. The grape hyacinths are three different colors, all variations of purple. They are by the walkway so I get to watch them poke their heads out of the ground and grow tall. I am so excited when the tips of the bumpy buds appear. I get to watch them grow and flower.

When I was a kid, we once went on vacation to New Hampshire. I remember the ride up Mount Washington. I kept looking out the window. The side of the road seemed awfully close to the edge and the drop down the mountain. My father had to use first gear the whole drive up the road. When we got to the top, it was cold, see your breath cold. It was also foggy, and there was snow on the side of the building. I didn’t have a sweater or a jacket. It was summer everywhere else but Mount Washington.

When I was sixteen, we went to Niagara Falls, and I groused about the trip, about being stuck in the car and missing summer, but this vacation turned into my favorite of all vacations, and that doesn’t even count the falls. It was everything else. We stopped at the Eisenhower Lock on the St. Lawrence River to watch a ship go through. I was amazed. We stayed in a house on Lake Ontario for a night. The lake was across the street from the house. We walked over to the shore line and skipped a few rocks. It was a competition of sorts. I remember the water lapping the shore the same way it does at the ocean. I watched the water for a while then walked across the street and went to bed. The next morning we started home. I think that was our last family vacation.

Yesterday was a quiet day. I wasn’t very productive. I had to fill two of the bird feeders I just filled. The hungry birds are many. After I went back inside, I watched from the kitchen window for a while. Dining at the new mixed seed feeder were goldfinches, mostly males with their bright yellow plumage. A lone, drab female goldfinch was in and out quickly. Chickadees ate at the new sunflower seed feeder. They all still avoid the third feeder, the one where a spawn’s weight trips the feeder and the sides come down to cover the seed holes. I’m going to replace it.

This morning I caught a spawn at the new feeder. When I chased it away, I checked and found the new feeder chewed at one seed hole. I moved the feeder to a spot further away from the deck hoping the space will give the spawn some second thoughts. If not, I will.

The early morning was chilly and cloudy, but it is supposed to be warm today. I noticed the sun is beginning to make an appearance as it bobs in and out of the clouds. I see a bit blue.

When I was a kid, the house across the street, the one with the grape arbor, had a bird house the same colors as the house. It was on a pole in their backyard. I never saw any birds in it, but I did see a few birds stealing grapes. My grandparents had a similar feeder also on a pole. I never saw birds there either. I always wondered why those bird houses were avoided. They were up high enough, but I remember they were a bit ugly being blunt squares with layers of paint. I figured they may have offended the sensibilities of the birds.

I remember getting a new pair of roller skates one Christmas. I remember sitting on the curb while I put my new skates on. There was a procedure to follow when putting on skates. First was the slide. It was moved, slid to fit my foot then the screw had to be tightened so the slide wouldn’t move. My shoes were next. I put my shod feet on the skates fit to the grips and then took off the lanyard, really a rope, from around my neck. It held my roller skate key, the one made infamous by Melanie. I liked to skate. could even skate backwards which I thought was a great feat. Sometimes, when I was skating magnificently, Olympic quality, my skate came off at the grips. I’d let it hang by the strap while I walked to the curb to put the skate back on. I always felt a bit silly with a hanging skate.

I loved the way my feet felt when I roller skated. They seemed to become part of the skates. It was quite Zen.

When I woke up, it was cloudy. That was almost a couple of hours ago. Now, every now and then, the sun is breaking through the clouds. My weatherman, aka Hey, Google, said 50˚ and partly cloudy today. The optimist in me would have preferred partly sunny.

When I was a kid, my family played games together. My parents taught my brother and me to play whist. It was always the girls against the boys, and the girls almost always won which irritated my father. He blamed my brother and wanted to trade partners for me. I wasn’t having it. My father was a in-game yeller. We played dominoes. I was the only kid I knew who could play the game and not just use dominoes as building blocks. Sorry was our favorite game. Our killer instincts were in play, and a Sorry card was the weapon of sorts. We could send any opponent’s man back to start. When I was young, a scream was the reaction. Now curses, vile curses, have taken the place of screams.

I learned to play cribbage by watching my father play my brother. I wasn’t very good at first, and, to his delight, my father usually won. Fast forward: I became competitive and knew the game. When I visited my parents, my father always wanted to play cribbage. I did too. We sat at the kitchen table where we played at least a couple of games and more than that if my father hadn’t won. He always said I was lucky. He also said he was the better player. I always scoffed. My favorite games were when I skunked him. I’d cheer for myself and raise my arms in triumph. He’d immediately demand another game. My favorite times were when we traveled. My father and I played cribbage just about every night after dinner. We had bought our cribbage board in Ireland as we had forgotten to pack one, a mortal sin. The only board we could find tilted a bit. That board traveled everywhere with us. We played on planes, and boats, in parks and hotel bars.

In my memory drawers, I remember those cribbage games we played overseas as my favorite among the hundreds of cribbage games we played. It didn’t matter if I won, okay it mattered a bit, but what mattered the most was I was playing the game with my father. We made memories together. I remember in Germany my mother read while my father and I played . He’d have a drink, my mother always packed whiskey. We’d eat some crackers and cheese from packs with yellow cheese, Ritz crackers and a small wooden spreader. My mother packed those too. We usually played until bedtime when I’d say goodnight and go to my room. I always slept well even if I lost.

The morning is damp. I think it rained during the night because the sides of the street are wet. Though it is 46˚, it feels colder with no sun and a bit of a breeze. Rain is predicted for later. I have no errands today so rain is just fine with me.

On Saturday afternoon, I filled then hung the new bird feeders. Almost immediately the bright male goldfinches were back. They dined at the thistle feeder and the mixed seed feeder, both new. I kept watch out the kitchen window and saw the return of the chickadees, a couple of titmice and some mourning doves who were enjoying the seeds which had fallen on the deck. They are my only ground feeders. I also potted the small succulents I had bought last week. Saturday was a busy day.

My dinner yesterday was superb. The potato gratin was my favorite followed closely by the pork tenderloin. I have a couple of slices of pork and some potato left-over for lunch today. I’m yumming at the thought.

My morning ritual revolves around animals and getting my coffee perking. Henry is first down the stairs, but he waits half-way down to make sure I’m coming. He then races to the back door for me to let him out. This morning we both had a surprise as I hadn’t closed the back door last night. Henry went out. That’s Jack’s cue. He comes running into the kitchen for some loving and for some treats. When Henry comes in, he sits waiting for his treats. He takes one biscuit then goes down the hall where he munches his treats on the rug. Henry always takes his treats down the hall to the rug. That way he doesn’t miss a crump.

When I was a kid, I hated to feed Duke his dog food. Out of the can it was gross looking and smelled the way it looked. Duke got two cans of what back then was horse meat. Henry gets beef or chicken or duck. He enjoys them all. Henry is a chow hound.

On the Monday after Easter, my lunch box always included a bit of Easter candy, not from my depleted basket but from the cache my mother had hidden in the cabinet. When I walked to school, the jelly beans rattled against the sides of my metal lunch box. I used to shake the box for effect. I figured I was practicing the tambourine talent I had developed in my first grade rhythm band. Much later I realized many tambourine shakers in rock bands probably didn’t play any other instruments, but that’s okay. Just look at Davey Jones in The Monkees. He played a mean tambourine! I like to think I played a mean lunch box.

Happy Easter! Today is beautiful with sun and the deepest blue sky. It is a bit chilly. I was delighted to see so many flowers have bloomed. Today it is the biggest grape hyacinth.

I remember waking up on Easter morning when I was a kid and seeing my basket filled with goodies protected by a giant chocolate rabbit taller than the rest. I always reached for that rabbit. His ears were the first to go, easy pickings. I’d munch on them while I checked out the rest of my basket.

We all wore our Easter clothes to church, the first official unveiling of our new outfits. Everyone was fancy at Easter Sunday mass. The women’s hats had veils, flowers and even birds with feathers. I can still remember the sound of my new shoes tapping on the stones below the church steps when I made my way upstairs for mass. I sat in the back of the church for a quicker exit when mass was over.

Dinner was always around two. We had a ham which would later become the basis for pea soup, one of my favorites. We, of course, had mashed potatoes. I think we probably also had carrots, a sort of honoring of the day, and maybe some green beans. My father had his canned asparagus.

Unlike other holidays, we had no specific dessert for Easter. We ate sugar cookies we’d decorated, and I know there was more, but my memories of dessert are overshadowed by the chocolate rabbit and the rest of the candy in my Easter basket.

I used to out for Easter dinner with my friends, but that seems like a memory ago, someone’s else’s day. Today I will have Easter dinner at home. I am starting with crackers and cheese and roasted vegetables for appetizers. For dinner I am having pork tenderloin, potato cake with too many layers to count, seasoned carrots and green beans. Dessert will be cheesecake with chocolate sauce. I figure to eat around two. I’ll wear my Easter fascinator. Despite everything, some traditions last.

Today is lovely but chilly, April chilly which always makes me hope for a warmer day. The sun is bright, and the sky is a light blue, almost pastel in parts. My front garden is abloom. There are yellow dafs and a small deep purple hyacinth, all so beautiful and so welcome with their colors. Another hyacinth, one with a light purple bud, is close to blooming. I can see the yellow buds on my forsythia bush.

Mother Nature is working some magic in the garden, but I wish for warmer days, for more of spring. This morning was 34˚. Tonight too will be in the 30’s. Last week I bought a new bird feeder for mixed seeds, but when I found no seeds in the deck barrel, I went to Agway. Big mistake! I watched the baby chicks and cuddled a couple. My favorites were black, and they had the beginnings of feathers on their wings. I bought treats for Henry and the cats. I bought four small succulents to fill empty pots. I also bought a new sunflower bird feeder. Finally, I bought a bag of mixed seed.

When I was a kid, I remember Sunday rides on back roads. I remember how excited we got when we’d see horses in fields their heads bent to the grass. We’d tell my father to slow down so we could watch the horses eat. But we saved our loudest yells for when we sometimes saw deer in open fields. We all pointed and yelled, and the deer raised their heads. Sometimes we might have scared them away with our exuberance. I remember watching skunks waddle through the backyard all of us keeping our distance. The spawns were too common to deserve our notice. I think that was it for my wild animal count when I was a kid.

When I first got to Ghana and off the bus at the school where we’d be staying for the first couple of weeks, I saw lizards scurrying in front of me as I walked. I was amazed. I was really in Africa. My favorite lizards, who thought I’d ever say that, were the ones with orange heads and blue-green bodies. Lizards were all over the place so after a while I stopped noticing. I never stopped noticing the vultures. Then there were the baboons.

Here I see wild turkeys all the time, but I still watch. I’ve seen deer, one even almost hit the car, foxes, skunks, rabbits, old and young, with white tails, raccoons, the deer mice who have lived in my house, possums and coyotes. I think that’s the list. One time, though, the cape had a bear who was lost. He was caught and released in the western part of the state where he could find some friends.

I’m staying home today. I do have to go out tomorrow which makes four times this week. I’m staggered by that number.