Keep the Coffee Comimg

Last night I went to bed at a decent hour for me, but I woke up during the night for a long time. My finger was the culprit. The lump is back or maybe it didn’t go despite the shot, the knuckle is swollen and it is painful. I must have moaned as I woke Henry up. He is now napping. I need one.

When I was a kid, we had a junk drawer in the kitchen. Stuff got jammed and made the drawer difficult to open and close. I remember scissors, tape, shoelaces, pencils and buttons. I don’t have a junk drawer though my bottom kitchen drawer is filled. It has kitchen tools mostly. Every now and then I rearrange it and move what I don’t use to the stove drawer. It is now full.

Today is wonderfully sunny, but it is chilly. I went out with Henry earlier and watched him from the deck. The birds were in and out. A couple of chickadees flew over my head. I checked the feeders, and they are already half empty so I’ll fill them this afternoon.

I always thank Mother Nature for fall. It is her last hurrah. The fall flowers are still blooming in my side garden. The oak tree’s leaves have started to change though their red color is never dramatic. The cranberry bogs have either been harvested or are about to be. I knew it was coming as last week I noticed how red the bogs were.

I have a holly tree, not a bush, but a tall, tall tree. Years ago I had bought two holly bushes and planted them in the front yard. I came home one day from school, and the nicer looking holly bush was gone, dug up. I them moved the other one to where it is now. It was an ugly little bush, but it has grown to a healthy tree. Many of its branches already have red berries, another contribution from Mother Nature.

Today I have a few errands, and I welcome leaving the house for a while. I need a change of scenery. I need a change in mood.

Today is a lovely fall day, warm enough for just a sweatshirt. I even have the back door open. Today I’ll water the plants and pick up Henry’s medication. I wonder if I’ll need a nap.

Yesterday I went to the dump. I had no choice. The trunk was filled with bags and the front and back seats held boxes, large boxes, destined to be recycled. It’s a good thing Henry never comes to the dump.

The summer is gone. The irrigation system has been turned off, the outside shower closed and the furniture on the deck is ready to be covered. Today I’ll bring up the storm door from the cellar, wash it and then put it in the backdoor. Though the days are still in the 60′s and even the 70’s, the nights are chilly, in the 40′s. I snuggle under a blanket to stay warm, and Henry sleeps close to me. The house is cold in the morning. Winter inches closer and closer.

The birds are fewer. Gone are the orioles and the goldfinches. The sky is sometimes filled with flocks flying elsewhere, somewhere warmer, but the chickadees, nuthatches and titmice will stay all winter. From my window, I’ll watch them at the feeders. Birds seem hopeful to me. They know winter doesn’t last forever so they’ll stay around and abide the cold knowing spring will return in all its glory.

When I was a little kid, my friends and I always asked each other what we were going to be for Halloween. For that one night, we would be witches, ghosts, pirates or whatever else we could dream to be. Our neighbors always wanted to know who we were behind those masks. We didn’t tell. We were the unknown spirits of the night. We’d even change the sound of our voices. Ghosts said boo and waved their shrouded arms; pirates threw around words like matey and plank while witches cackled. We were, for that one night, our imaginations. That was even more fun than the candy.

My house was cold this morning, down to 62˚, despite the closed windows and doors. Fall is that time of year when outside is warmer than inside. I turned on the heat to warm the house. I have no guilt.

Today’s a pretty day with a blue sky and an abundance of sunlight. The breeze is ever so slight.

Yesterday I did nothing constructive despite my list. I finished my book then watched bad movies. They buoyed my spirit. A couple of times I even rooted for the creature.

CNN and MSNBC were part of my day, but I can’t take them any more. There are hundreds of commercials during each break. What’s worse is they are repeated several times during the day. I would never buy Car Shield.

Henry is upstairs napping. He has been there an hour or so, but he does come downstairs when I let him know his coffee is ready.

When I was growing up, my town was small. Uptown, as we called the square, was filled with stores. I loved to window shop. I’d walk my bike along the sidewalk. The aroma of bread baking wafted from Hank’s Bakery. I remember so well the inside of Hank’s. They had old glass display cases filled with cupcakes and cookies. A massive bolt of string was attached to the wall above a table with a stack of white boxes. The string was red and white. I liked to watch the ladies who worked there grab the end of the string and expertly tie it a couple of times around the filled bakery boxes before they finished with a bow on top. Just down from Hank’s was the fish market. It had a weird smell, not quite fishy but rather a combination of smells, a wrinkle your nose type smell. In the warmer months, the firemen sat outside the bay doors of the fire station. I remember the chairs were wooden and had arms. I always stopped to say hello. The police station was part of the fire station complex. I never stopped there.

The town hall is an old brick building just beyond the fire station. It has an auditorium. That’s where we made the record album with Guy Lombardo, and that’s where the church fair was always held when I was in grammar school. The last time I was in the town hall was in 1969 when I registered for an absentee ballot before leaving for Ghana. I remember it was cooler inside than it was outside, and it was like a warren of little offices behind closed doors with glazed windows.

I need another cup of coffee, and I suspect Henry would like another taste. He is definitely my dog.

Early this morning it rained. I missed it, but I’m okay with that as right now the sun is working its way through the clouds. I’m cheering. It may be a nice day after all.

Since March, I have been with people socially three times: July 4th, my birthday and my friend’s birthday. The phone is my lifeline but only if I make the calls except for my friends Bill and Peg. They call to make sure I’m okay. This morning I spilled my coffee, was almost tripped by the trash bag in the kitchen destined for the dump then, when I opened a cabinet, stuff fell out and hit me in the head. It was a tall cabinet. I cried. I’m fine now. I think the cry was cathartic. It might also have been a bit of self pity. It has been a long time by myself, but, luckily, I’m entertaining!

I remember getting the measles when I was a kid. I had to stay in bed in a dark room for days. Back then, it was believed that light could cause blindness when you had the measles. Those days in bed were the worse days. I couldn’t read in the darkened room, and I couldn’t watch TV. I don’t remember how many days I was stuck in my bed. I just remember it seemed endless to a nine year old.

I no longer will make my daily chore list because I don’t seem to get much done. Perhaps it’s the pressure. I do hate things undone, but rest assured, I have a list, Things To Do This Week. It has seven chores or errands. The usual, the dump and the laundry, are on the list. Switching out to storm doors is tops on the list. It is too cold at night for the back door to be left open for the dog.

I am astounded but I shouldn’t be by the responses to the president getting the virus. We have the side which believes the democrats did it to him, ways and means yet undetermined. Perhaps it was an umbrella. We have the hoax side which believes that all of this is a lie and meant to give Trump a sympathetic lift in the polls. I don’t even know what to say about yesterday’s Covid parade.

The birds have found my filled feeders. I watched them flying in and out, happy to have them back. I saw chickadees, the stalwart birds, a few titmice and a single sparrow. I still have to fill the suet feeders. I’ll do that later.

I have voted!!!!

Every day I wake up and ask Alexa the time and the weather. Sometimes I get up while other times I just roll over and fall back to sleep. Today was a rollover day.

My list of chores is short. I need to fill the bird feeders, clean my little library and water my house plants. No cozies today as I have to go to the grocery store for cream and eggs, and I’ll stop at Agway, might as well while I’m out. I’ll pick up some fall plants and gourds for the front steps. With color disappearing, I want fall plants to brighten my little world for a bit, to keep the drab at bay and to stave off winter for as long as possible.

My ballot came yesterday. I was so very excited and tore open the envelope just to look. I’ll fill it out and mail it back tomorrow.

Henry stayed away from after I yelled at him. He was barking at the front door for what seemed like hours. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I yelled and told him to stop. I think I yelled a couple of times. Henry ran upstairs, his safe spot. I went to pat him and he wouldn’t come downstairs. I sweetly talked to him, but he stayed at the top of the stairs. Finally, I asked him if he wanted a biscuit. He came right downstairs to me.

When I was a kid, I never paid much attention to what was happening beyond my little town. My father got the paper every day, but I didn’t read it beyond the comics. The only use I had for newspapers back then was to make paper mâché. My mother would make the glue, the flour and water glue, and I’d slather strips of newspaper with it and begin my artistic endeavors. I made a puppet head once. The best part was the nose.

Today is a perfect fall day. A chill is in the air and the sun is bright. It is a sweatshirt day, and I’m wearing mine even in the house. The doors are open, for Henry. The front door is Henry’s protection zone. He sees protecting the house his prime responsibility. So far this morning, he has barked at a man walking his dog, my neighbor perusing his estate and a walker with no dog.

When I was a kid, I would have loved today. I’d have pack a lunch, whined for a nickel or a dime from my mother and taken off on my bike for the whole day.

I rode everywhere on my bike. Once my brother and I rode to East Boston to visit my grandfather. That meant walking my bike along Route 1A in the spots with no sidewalks. It was the same route my father always drove when we went to visit my grandparents. We thought ourselves adventurous. My mother was crazed when my grandfather called her.

Nothing is planned for the weekend or even for next week for that matter. I am long settled into my virus routine. The only days I get dressed are when I’m going out, usually for animal and human foods and treats. Just about everything else gets delivered. I admit that even before the virus I often stayed in my cozies, a hold over from school clothes-play clothes days. Given my druthers, I, of course, would stay in play clothes all the time.

Having grown up with changing out of school clothes to play clothes, wearing cozies makes perfect sense a part of the childhood imprints I carry forever. Besides, I believe in comfort for the body and soul.

I am glued to the TV for news about the president.

The weather is a bit Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. It was sunny when I woke up then the clouds took over then the sun came back. It’s gone again. The forecast is for rain maybe. That covers all possibilities. I’m for rain.

I stay home mostly. The few places I go are the dump, Agway and Ring. I always wear a mask. Everyone else I see around town also wears a mask. Not to wear a mask is courting the virus. That is so very apparent today.

Yesterday I listened to Superman on the radio, actually on my Alexa pretending to be a radio. In the introduction all of us know, the faster than a speeding bullet one, the radio voice described Superman as impervious to bullets. I wonder how many people looked up impervious.

I keep a dictionary on my night table and another here with me in the den. I have a Google in the kitchen and an Alexa here in the den and in my bedroom, but I still use the dictionary. Old habits are hard to break even when they’re pushed over the cliff by electronics.

When I was a kid, my school clothes included a pair of tie shoes. My mother taught me to tie a bow. I remember kneeling beside a chair in the living watching where my mother sat as she slowly tied a big ribbon bow over and over around a teddy bear’s neck. When I tried, my bows kept falling out, far too loosely tied. My mother was patient.

I think Henry has turned a corner. It started with the vet visit last week. He was perfect, at least that’s what they told me. When we got home, Henry was himself. He didn’t chose to ignore me, my usual punishment when I do something that doesn’t please him. Since then, his tail hasn’t stopped wagging every time I talk to him. It wags so fast from side to side it is a bit dangerous. He lets me pat him anytime. Henry is now 3. He was 8 months old when he came home. It’s been a struggle, but I knew to be patient with my rescue. Henry is a happy, sweet boy.

My morning started late, nearly in the afternoon. It was close to 11:30 when I woke up. It was close to 3:30 when I went to sleep so 11:30 isn’t untoward. Henry is already upstairs having his first nap. He went out several times last night starting around one so the poor baby is tired.

Today is windy. It is also bright and 72˚. I like the weather we’re having. The days are sunny and warm, and the nights are cool for sleeping, down to the high 50’s.

My house has become my Fortress of Solitude. I only go out if I need a couple of groceries or animal food or I have to go to the dump, an inevitable trip. Everything else is delivered. I keep a set of outdoor clothes down here so I can quickly change to go out and quickly change when I come back again. Yesterday was Agway. Three bags full.

Today I don’t have to go anywhere. I need to fill the bird feeders again, and I want to organize the Christmas gifts piled both in my bedroom and in a giant plastic container in the eaves. I keep putting that task on my list and keep avoiding it. That I don’t have enough Christmas bags is my latest excuse. It is feeble.

When I was a kid, plans for Halloween started in September. Every idea was for something homemade. Back then, bought costumes were usually one piece and tied at the back. The costume fronts were imprinted with an outline of an outfit, like what a princess might wear. The masks were plastic and held on by a single elastic from side to side. They made you sweat. I didn’t wear one. I had a make-up artist, my mother. When she was through, we were painted ladies with exaggerated lipstick and rouge. But when I got older, I didn’t wear the make-up. I went for costumes like cowgirl when I wore a Lone Ranger type mask or ghost with a sheet over me. We carried paper bags, Halloween paper bags, with handles. Sometimes my bag got so heavy I couldn’t carry it by the handles or it would tear. Instead, I carried it like books or a baby. I never had a single bag rip. I knew my priorities.

Some mornings just lend themselves to good humor. This morning is one of them. It started raining yesterday then it stopped then it started again. This intermittent rain continued most of the night, and I fell asleep to the sound of a gentle rain falling on the little eave overhang outside my bedroom window. This morning, when I opened the front door, I could see fog hovering around tree trunks and low branches. Everything is damp. The humidity is so thick you can almost see it in the air. The leaves and branches are still, almost as if weighted by the dampness. I love mornings like this.

Yesterday my friend Bill wrote that in the dampness of his daily walk that morning he could feel and smell Ghana. I knew exactly what he meant. I loved rainy season mornings in Bolga when I’d wake to a cloudy sky, a dark cloudy sky, and chilly air, chilly at least by comparison to the often three digit daily temperatures. I’d sit on the small porch outside my front door and have my morning coffee and relish the warmth of the cup in my hands. I loved those mornings.

This morning I’ve taken my time. I read the papers from front to back. I did the crossword in the Globe and solved the cryptogram in the Cape Times. I drank a cup of coffee with each paper. The best item, the one which made me smile, came from Deveselu, Romania. Ion Aliman was re-elected mayor by a landslide in his village, even though he died two weeks ago from Covid-19 complications, saying he had done a good job and deserved his posthumous victory. Good for them!

I can’t explain my good humor. Some days are good days when I am happy for the rain or the sun (now I’m sounding like I’m intoning some Girl Scout song sung at the end of our troop meetings ), but I think it could be this morning’s rain which accounted for my good humor, this morning’s rain coupled with Bill’s e-mail. I’m happy, that’s more than enough.

The road was wet when I woke up. It had rained. Just a little bit ago the rain started again. I heard it hitting the leaves near the deck. The weather forecast is for on and off rain with a high in the 70’s. We need the rain.

My trash bag, now on the kitchen floor, is deck bound. It has started to smell, the result of my frenzied fridge cleaning the other day. My next dump trip won’t be until Wednesday so the bag can keep outside until then. Today I’m headed to Agway for some pumpkins, fall flowers, cat food and cat treats. Henry has plenty of everything.

I admit to being nervous about riding around and stopping on a whim. I used to do that all the time. I’d get bored, load up Gracie and take a long ride. We’d sometimes stop to get ice cream: mine in a cone and Gracie’s scoop of vanilla in a cup. I’ve explained all this to Henry, especially the part about the ice cream. Maybe I can coax him into taking another ride with no stops.

I am neat, and things in my house have stayed in their places until now. After being inside so long, I wanted my house to have a different look so I’ve bought pillows, rearranged bric-a- brac and re-potted plants. The only room still needing my attention is my bedroom with a pile of Christmas presents and a new spread still in its bag. That spread, even covered, and Henry sprawled on it at night make me nervous. I admit a pre-covid piece still hangs with me, maybe even gotten a bit worse. When I walk down the hall, I use my sleeve to dust the small dresser, and I pick up any dust balls. From the den to the kitchen is the cleanest part of the house.

When I got back from Ghana, I didn’t eat rice for a long time. I had eaten my fill when the rains were late, and rice was all I could buy in the market. We had bell peppers, grown from seeds we’d given the garden boy, so we ate a lot of stuffed peppers. The Ghanaians hated the bell peppers, no heat. Their peppers were all hot peppers of varying degrees. Jollof rice was the only rice dish I would always eat. On our last trip to Bolga, Bill and I ate jollof rice every night. The hotel’s restaurant made great jollof rice and filled our plates. Every night we belonged to the clean plate club.