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Today is sunny and warm with a breeze. It will be in the low 60’s, but I don’t care. I’m bored. Yesterday I went upstairs to get my sweatshirt and ended up cleaning the bathroom, even the tub. Sheer madness must be next behind bathroom cleaning.

When I was a kid, I’d whine to my mother about being bored. She’d tell me to go out, but it wasn’t a helpful suggestion. She wanted me and my whining gone.

If Jack were a llama, he’d be ready to be shaved. I’ve been removing more clumps from him. If he sees scissors, he runs.

Last night I ordered dinner. Once a week I pick a restaurant for delivery. It is my treat for lasting another week stuck in the house with no human contact. On those nights, I do eat well. Last night it was Italian from Alberto’s in Hyannis. I dined on manicotti shells stuffed with lobster, shrimp, scallops, parmigiano, pecorino romano, & ricotta cheese topped with tomato, béchamel & mozzarella and I ordered a side of garlic bread. I used a cloth napkin. I wasn’t just eating. I was dining.

When he was really old, Duke, our boxer, used to sleep in my room. My bedroom was on the first floor so he didn’t have to use stairs. He slept on the fuzzy white rug, the one with a corner chewed off, compliments of my hamster when the rug got too close to his cage. Duke used to make noises. He’d lick parts of his anatomy, and it drove me crazy, but he was old and deserved to enjoy his life so I just put the pillow over my ears.

My mother never made us eat food we didn’t like, not even forcing a taste or one bite. You all know I don’t eat beans. Mostly I don’t eat oval shaped beans like Lima, kidney or black beans, lots of oval beans. I eat green beans, but I don’t think of them as beans. They look like pods though not Invasion of the Body Snatchers pods. I’m glad of that.

Tomorrow is a busy day. I have a Zoom uke class in the morning and, in the afternoon, a doctor’s appointment. I can actually go there. The office is in Hyannis. I’m breaking out.

I have a weird sleep pattern. I am an extreme night owl. I am awake until 2:30 or 3:30 then I sleep until 11 on most days. My sisters make jokes when they call, always after 11. “Did I wake you up?”

This morning, around 2, I couldn’t find anything I wanted to watch. Disaster movies seemed too real, the same with zombie movies. I ended up watching a World War II movie for about 20 minutes until I got bored. I think I had seen that movie, but even if I hadn’t, I knew the ending. I looked through my photos next and that got me thinking about Ghana. I wrote this around 3 AM. I called it Memories:

When I was twenty-one, I was brave. 

In Ghana I had a motorcycle. It was only a Honda C50, a series I don’t see any more though I expect there are probably many on the roads in Ghana. I loved my motorcycle. It was the freedom to go where I wanted. My first trip was when I bought it. I had to ride it from Tamale to Bolga, a trip a bit over 100 miles. Before I left the Honda dealer, I had to learn how to ride, use the brake and shift gears. That first ride was amazing. 

Every morning, in Ghana, as I was waking up, I could smell wood fires. I could hear the poundings of mortars and pestles as breakfast was being prepared. I could feel the heat. All my senses were alive to the mornings in Ghana. 

I played a game in Ghana. I know it has a few different names. You’ve probably seen the board which has two sides, with holes on each side and beans or small stones in the holes. In Ghana it is called an Oware game. It was usually played with the beans. I have an Oware board, a very old one, but it never helped me. I seldom won. I couldn’t see all those counts in front of me. The game in Ghana was usually played at tables and chairs outside a local bar, not like our bars, different somehow. I’d sit down and watch. They’d have me play a few times. I always lost. They were kind.

I changed the background on my computer. It is now the same photo I posted today of the inside of the bus we rode from downtown Philadelphia to the airport to get our flight to Ghana in June 1969. I can see myself, and I can see people I’d soon meet: Emma, with whom I’d be stationed for only a year, and Roger and Dale who would be posted together near me in Navrongo. Kalman, standing in the back, would not make it home. Every guy wore a shirt with a collar and many wore ties and a few wore jackets. We wore dresses or skirts and blouses as the information sheets had directed.

At the hotel, I had brought my luggage downstairs. From then on the guys took care of it. There were a lot of guys. They piled the luggage on the sidewalk then passed it along from one to another to load the luggage in the back of the buses. They unloaded at the airport the same way and left the luggage on the sidewalk. We’d next see the piles of luggage at Kotoka Airport in Accra. Nobody lost luggage. It was a charter flight on an airline with just us.

It is the longest flight in time I have ever taken. That seems right somehow.

The sun is glinting through the leaves. The sky is blue and clear of clouds. The wind is blowing. It is 62˚, just about the high for the day. I have tentatively scheduled a dump run. It depends on my mood.

Yesterday I ran the dry mop through all the downstairs rooms and picked up the clumps of fur. I sleeved the dusty tables. I do need to wash the kitchen floor, and I’ll do that later today. Every day I clean. Dust is endless.

I bought some ice cream, some mint chocolate chip. For a long time that was my flavor of choice then I switched to mocha chip. I think I have some hot fudge in the fridge. I’m working toward a sundae.

My father worked for an ice cream company, for Hood’s. He became the manager in Hyannis which is why we moved to the cape. His building was at the north end of Hyannis. That first summer we lived here, I’d hitch to Hyannis, wander around and then get a ride home from him. The bookstore was my favorite place to loiter. It was in an old house, and each room had a different category of books. I remember the travel books were in the back by windows which looked on the yard. There was a merry go round on the lawn outside the door. Across the street was a Grant’s and a Zayre’s. Back then downtown Hyannis had plenty of stores. There was and still is a penny candy store. In the old days, the candy was really a penny. Now it is a nickel or a dime. I wonder why they still call it penny candy.

Harry’s was the name of the restaurant which much later took over my father’s building. I brought my mother there for lunch. My father’s office had become part of the kitchen. It was a strange transformation. We ate Cajun.

Today the skies are partly sunny. It rained last night. The high could reach the 70’s. The low will be in the 50’s, probably tonight. I’m staying home today. Tomorrow is dump day because I don’t have my new sticker yet. I did leave my application, the check and a SASE at the town hall.

Last night I was sitting here in the den. The table light was on. It cast shadows on the wall. The windows was open, but it was quiet. Jack was sleeping on the chair and snoring. Henry was curled in a ball at the end of the couch and was also sleeping. It was a perfect moment.

I never saw the launch or the landing on the moon of Apollo 11. I listened to it on the radio during Peace Corps training. One giant leap lost a bit being just audio.

Yesterday I gave Henry a running commentary of my day just to hear my voice. Henry was not impressed by my conversation so I called my sister, but there was no answer.

When I was a kid, I was a wanderer. I loved riding around. Sometimes, now, when I visit my sister, I take the familiar routes of my childhood. I drive from school to Washington Ave. and my house. The route is the same I took every school day for eight years, but the settings have changed. I remember the cute house where two of my drill team friends lived. That is gone now, replaced by a brick apartment building. I think I would hate it if my house disappeared. The railroad tracks and the station house are gone. The trains still ran when I was a kid. My old house is the same except the trees and bushes are so tall. They were barely taller than I was back then. Uptown has changed and lots of restaurants have taken over. The movie theater is still there but has been renovated for plays. An Indian restaurant sits where the Children’s Corner used to be. An Asian fusion restaurant is around the corner. A Thai restaurant is down the street from the square. The China Moon is where it has always been. My sister and I have tried them all. I am partial to the Thai restaurant first then to the Indian.

I feel as if I’ve gotten dressed, but I didn’t. I took a shower and put on clean around the house clothes. That’s about as dressy as I want to be.

Some time during the night it rained. The day is still dark, damp and cloudy. 64˚ will be the high. I need to go out to shop a bit, cat food mostly.

My freezer is filled. I’ll defrost something for dinner, maybe chicken. I’m thinking to add it to pasta. This, however, is only a possibility.

When I was a kid, my aunt, who was married to my Uncle Lorrie who owned a fish market, introduced me to pasta with clams. I liked pasta, and I liked clams so I gave the pasta a try. It was delicious though a bit odd tasting. I haven’t had spaghetti with clams since. I never see it on menus, and I seldom make spaghetti for myself let alone spaghetti with clams.

When I was a kid, my father introduced my sister and me to steamed clams. My mother thought they looked so gross she left the kitchen and wouldn’t watch. We’d take them from their shells, take off the neck skins, dip the clams first in the hot clam juice from the pot to get the rid of the grit then into the melted butter. Satisfying ums as you eat are voluntary, but they usually escape from my lips unbidden. Horror of horrors! OMG!! My mother would only eat fried clam strips. I pretended not to know her.

I love hot dogs. My sisters make fun of me as I could eat them for dinner night after night. I always use a top loading roll. Usually I toast the rolls, but sometimes I slather them with butter and brown them in the skillet with the hot dogs. I often boil the dogs. That’s how my mother cooked them when I was a kid. They are also great barbecued with a good bit of brown. Topping choices are many. There’s chopped onions, any kind of mustard, relish, piccalilli, chili and cheese. Notice I didn’t list ketchup. It doesn’t belong on a hot dog: on a hamburger yes, on a hot dog no.

Henry and Jack are napping upstairs. Henry is probably on my bed while Jack is on the bed in the cats’ room where Gwen hides out. They’ll be downstairs in a bit.

I’m going to get settled and watch Insectula. I haven’t ever heard of this movie. “Giant insects from outer space are drawn to Earth in search of blood.” That description alone caught me. It seems our world is the perfect environment for these ugly beasts. I do not know a single member of the cast. I think I’m about to watch the first victim. Swim! Swim!

What a beautiful day it is. The sun is hot, and the breeze, dare I say the wind, is keeping down the humidity moving in ahead of tomorrow’s rain. It is 76˚.

In a movie I watched lately, I heard the police officer say, “It’s your dime.” I am part of a generation which understands that allusion. My mother and my aunt used to call the family whiners sorrowful mysteries. My grandnephew Jack was the last to wear the mantle. I wonder how many of my family knows the source. It is part of the Catholic rosary.

My father had peculiarities. The dry cleaner is a cleanser. Some Saturday’s he went to Woburn, the next town over, to go the packie. My town was dry, no booze was sold, but conveniently, that packie was maybe 10 minutes away. He always said down cellar, not down the cellar, and so do we. The remote control was always the clicker. He never said wicked, that belongs to a younger generation.

Two incorrect grammatical constructs are common here. As a former English teacher, I wince when I hear them. The first is, “so don’t I!” as in I love vanilla ice cream. So don’t I. Then there’s the ever popular, “She don’t or he don’t”

My mother was the idiom queen. I think she got a degree from some obscure college which caters only to mothers. “Because I said so,” was supposed to stop us in our tracks. It didn’t. No, I wasn’t born in a barn, and I didn’t go blind sitting too close to the TV despite repeated warnings.

My father was threatening, “Don’t make me turn this car around.” He also employed the old, “Stop crying before I give you something to cry about,” but he never did turn the car around or make us stop crying.

The end of childhood doesn’t come easily. Santa and the Easter Bunny disappear. I missed Santa the most. I still got my basket compliments of my mother who was as renown for her Easter baskets as she was for her Christmas stockings, but I liked the idea of a rabbit.

I believe the exact end of childhood happened when I knew my mother was making it all up. All those warnings about beaches and eating, wet hair, wearing a hat and eatings carrot were concerns about our health. None of them were real. They were loving.

The sky is mostly cloudy. It’s warm, already 66˚. Last night I left my bedroom window open. I fell asleep to the sound of crickets and katydids.

I have no to do list today. Yesterday the only thing I did was dry mop the rooms on this floor. I do need to wash the kitchen floor so maybe I’ll do that today, but I’m not making a list.

Yesterday I watched movies. Some were really bad, but they helped pass the time. I’m beginning to run out of ways to entertain myself. Cleaning isn’t one of the options.

This is the week for me to buy my flowers. I need a few perennials for the front garden, but I mostly need herbs and flowers, many flowers, for the deck boxes. I also need potting soil. I love to flower shop. I show no restraint.

When I was a kid, we used to go to the drive-in just about every Saturday night. I wore my pajamas, most kids did. My father always brought plenty of movie food. I loved his popcorn. It always had plenty of butter. The first movie was always for kids, but I usually stayed awake through both movies.

Much later, when I was an adult, my friends and I went to the Dennis Drive-in. It was a small theater. It was surrounded on three sides by trees and woods. There were berms between each row. The car sort of climbed to the parking space. There were always mosquitos. We brought our own version of movie treats. We had champagne, crackers, cheese and usually chocolates. The drive-in movie is making a comeback. Wellfleet still has one. I’m thinking the drive-in may just be a good way to spend a warm summer evening with adult treats, of course, though Ill probably add popcorn.

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

Today is cool, in the high 50’s, but it is still a lovely day with sun, a blue sky and some clouds. I went out earlier to pick up my order of tomatoes, milk, a cucumber and a loaf of pullman bread. I’m already tasting my grilled cheese sandwich with tomatoes.

Yesterday was a monumental day. I got dressed in outside clothes. That doesn’t happen often anymore.

Speaking of tomatoes, my mouth is longing for a taste of homegrown tomatoes, but they’re at least a couple of months away. My father loved those tomatoes, and when I visited my parents’ house for the weekend, and they were in season, I always brought him some. I’d buy them on the honor system from tables in front of peoples’ house. My father always ate his tomatoes the same way. He’d slice them and then slather the tomato slices with mayo then he’d carry his dish to the living room to watch TV. I swear he yummed the whole time he was eating his tomatoes.

I need to fill my deck boxes. The side boxes nearest the back door get the herbs while the rest of the boxes get flowers. I am not behind my time. I always buy after Memorial Day. I’m thinking maybe Tuesday.

When I was a kid, I marched in our town’s Memorial Day parade. I was a brownie when I first marched with my whole troop. Actually we didn’t march as much as we sauntered together waving our small flags. I remember my parents yelling my name as I went by them. The little league, Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts and politicians rounded out the parade. We marched to the cemetery where there were a couple of speeches then the playing of taps. My parents said after the parade I was so excited when I told them, “Everyone was out of step but me.” I suspect you can imagine how long that little bit followed me.

I heard the rain earlier. Since then it has stopped, but showers are still predicted. I have no inclination to go outside.

An extraordinary event happened last night. I was in the kitchen giving Henry and Jack some treats when I noticed Miss Gwen in the dining room. Yup, you read that right, Miss Gwen. That is the first time she has come down when all of us were there. I know she and Jack chase each other late at night. I’ve heard them. Carl Sandburg’s little cat feet does not describe the sounds of hefty animals running up and down the stairs.

Yesterday I did more around the house stuff. I changed my bed before the sheets grow legs and wander away. I dusted and didn’t use my sleeve. I think I’m going crazy in quarantine. I went out, but only to get my car inspected before the end of the month. That’s a big one crossed off my list. The dump sticker is next.

I need to bake another loaf of banana bread today. The three banana skins have reached the perfect stage of blackness. I also have the ingredients for lemon bread. If I’m going to use the oven, I might as well go whole hog.

Henry woke me up early when it was just getting light. He licked my hand and jumped on and off the bed over and over until he woke me up. I ignored him at first then I figured he really wants out. I went downstairs, let him out and then waited for him to come back to the door. I went back to bed, but I left the back door open in case Henry needed out again.

My diet of late has been deficient. I’m out of fresh vegetables and fruit. Last night I had cheese, good Irish cheddar cheese, and crackers. My BLT the other night is the closest I’ve been to vegetables since my last grocery delivery, a few, maybe three weeks ago. I’m thinking banana bread counts as a fruit.

I am doing nothing today. I have earned it after the last few days of cleaning and hauling and rearranging. I was going to wash the kitchen floor, but with the rain, Henry will only add to the paw prints on the tile. I am thankful for the rain.