Keep the Coffee Comimg

Special days have special posts.

Today is Mother’s Day. It is the day I honor my mother and my memories of her. Every year I post basically this same entry with only a few little changes. 

I am amazed at how long ago I lost my mother. Sometimes it seems like a day while other times it feels like forever. I keep her close always, in my heart. 

My mother was amazing. She was generous, fun to be with and was the perfect martyr when she needed to be, a skill I think most mothers have. It was her tone of voice so filled with pain that caused our guilt to well to the surface. “I’ll do it myself,” she’d say. We’d scurry to do whatever she wanted. She was tricky, that woman.

My sisters and I laugh often about the curses she inflicted on us: the love of everything Christmas and never thinking you have enough presents for everyone, giving Easter baskets overflowing with candy and fun toys and surprising people with a gift just because.

My mother had a generosity of spirit. She was funny and smart and the belle of every ball. She always had music going in the kitchen as she worked so she could sing along. She played Frank and Tony and Johnny and from her I learned the old songs. My mother drew all the relatives to her, and her house was filled on holidays and weekends. My cousins visited often. She was their favorite aunty. My mother loved to play Big Boggle, and we’d sit for hours at the kitchen table and play so many games we’d lose track of the time. Christmas was always amazing, and she passed this love to all of us. We traveled together, she and I, and my mother was game for anything. I remember Italy and my mother and me after dinner at the hotel bar where she’d enjoy her cognac. She never had it any other time, but we’re on vacation she said and anything goes. I talked to her just about every day, as did my sisters. I loved it when she came to visit. We’d shop, have dinner out then play games at night. I always waited on her when she was here. I figured it was the least I could do.

My mother loved extreme weather shows, TV judges and crime. She never missed Judge Judy. She also liked quiz shows and she and I used to play Jeopardy together on the phone at night. She always had a crossword puzzle book with a pen inside on the table beside her chair, and I used to try to fill in some of the blanks. On the dining room table was often a jig saw puzzle, and we all stopped to add pieces on the way to the kitchen. My mother loved a good time.

She did get feisty, and I remember flying slippers aimed at my head when I was a kid and one time a dictionary, a big dictionary, was thrown which luckily missed me though the binding broke when it hit the wall. I pointed that out to her and that made her madder. She expertly used mother’s guilt on us, her poor victims. We sometimes drove her crazy, and she let us know, none too quietly. We never argued over politics. She kept her opinions close. We sometimes argued over other things, but the arguments never lasted long.

Even after all this time, I still think to reach for the phone to call my mother when I see something interesting or have a question I know only she can answer, but then in a split second I remember. When I woke up this morning, my first thought was of her, and how much she is missed. No one ever told me how hard it would be. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!!

It rained yesterday, and it will rain again today. It is chilly at 44˚. The sun was out for a bit then it disappeared then it reappeared. The clouds are getting darker. The wind is whipping the tops of the pine branches. I expect a few to break. It is a good day to stay home.

When I was in high school, the library was a hangout. It was a legitimate reason to go out on a school night, one of the very few. I think a broken leg was also on the list.

We didn’t drive, my friends and I. We mostly got rides from parents. Our high school was two towns away and buses only ran during the daytime. On weekends, we’d often stay local and meet for a movie, a night of bowling, bad bowling, or just to get together. Sometimes there was a dance at school. I will always remember the day of the week of the Kennedy assassination. It was a Friday, and we were supposed to have a dance.

When I was a kid, summer was my favorite season, not just for no school but because the days were long, hot and sunny, made to do anything I wanted. In the summer, we could go anywhere our feet or our bicycles could take us just as long as we were home when the streetlights came on. We didn’t have to go inside then, but we had to stay within my mother’s shouting range. Summer days were long.

Meal times and bedtimes disappeared. I’d stay up late watching TV or reading or I’d sit outside on the back steps by myself and look at the millions of stars covering the sky. I learned to be content.

Today looks the same as yesterday. Rain is predicted for later so the sun didn’t bother to show up at all. Day after day of clouds is making me grumpy. Good thing I live alone.

Yesterday I watered the plants and emptied all the boxes sitting by the door. I put the empty boxes in the car for the next dump run, probably tomorrow. On the counter in the kitchen I have piled everything I need for cleaning except for the mop. That’s back in storage. It’s going to rain so they’ll be more paw prints on the kitchen floor. They’ll mingle with the old paw prints.

When I was a kid, I was never good at art. My people were all stick people. Some of them had hair, flip up dos, so it was easy to distinguish females from males. The ladies all wore dresses in a v-shape. Sometimes I’d color the dresses while other times I’d try to draw a pattern. Once in a while, when I was at my most creative, I’d draw a purse with a strap and hang it from the lady’s arm. The male didn’t wear clothes. You knew they weren’t females.

Ick! Ick! Ick! Last night the outside of my ear was itchy. I scratched it and realized something was there. I grabbed it between my fingertips. It was a tick looking for a home. That grossed me right out. All night long I was checking both Henry and me. I found no other ticks. I’d hate to have one of the cats with a tick. I’d never find it in all that fur.

My Red Sox flag hanging off a pole on a tree in the front yard is tattered and torn. I think it is a metaphor for baseball. I’m going to replace it with the new Peace Corps flag I bought. Hanging it is a matter of faith. There are no volunteers currently serving as all were evacuated because of Covid, but we know Peace Corps will be back. All of us who served know.

I talk out loud and not always to the animals. If I talk to one of them, I address that pet by name. The other times I speak out loud are mostly to punctuate something I’m watching on TV. I think myself quite witty at times, sort of a quarantined Dorothy Parker. Other times I am in my House Beautiful mod, and I comment about the rooms or the walls behind newscasters, nighttime hosts and guests. Most have bookcases, and you can read the titles if you stop. My favorite is Seth Meyers. The Thorn Birds are always on the table beside him in what he calls his attic. Sometimes the book is one of many, sometimes one of a few. I first check the table at the beginning of each show. I decided my wall would be in the living room. I’d move the table and make it a desk then add the blue chair with the moons.

Wow, when I started today I was sure I had nothing to say. I was going to beg off and take another holiday. I’m glad I didn’t

When I opened the door this morning, there were three boxes on the walkway. I hauled them inside and left them in the dining room. I also got a box Monday, but I haven’t emptied it yet. My two new couch pillows, half of my living room redo, are in that box. The third box has a Christmas present so it’s a secret.

Jack has been in the eaves. I know because of the insulation he sometimes has stuck to his fur. My first thought was to block him. Poor Jack wasn’t happy when I did. He scratched the wood door to the eaves in my room. He didn’t get in, just made scratches. I told my sister who reminded me of when I captured 17 mice in the eaves of my bedroom. I decided to let Jack in just in case. Go mighty hunter!

Last night it rained, but I don’t think it rained long. The morning was cloudy, but the sun just broke through for a few minutes. It is in the 50’s again. I am so tired of clouds and wind and cold.

I have a list of things to do but it’s not a to do list. There are distinct differences. The to do list hints at immediacy. I am usually driven to complete those tasks, but the things to do list is its polar opposite. It is your ordinary old list with no time table involved, a list you can put on the fridge with a magnet and reference every now and then. Finishing nothing each day is okay for this list. There is always tomorrow. I get hives if I don’t finish my other list.

Today is a pick up the house day. I need to bring the empty boxes to the car and dust the den where all of us, minus Gwen, spend our time. My laundry is at step 2: bring the clothes basket down here from my room. The plants still need to be watered. That’s it on my things to do list. Now it goes on the fridge. I think I’ll use a magnet from Colorado.

The day is sunny and windy. It’s around 55˚. I haven’t been out except to get the papers. Yesterday I went to the local hardware store only to find out I had put down a different store, the one in South Yarmouth, for my pick-up. I figured I’d wait until Friday to go as another box is due. I don’t have to wait. I got a notice the first order had been cancelled. I still have hopes for the second.

The dust is thick in this room, thick enough for the Dust Me I sometimes see written on the backs of trucks. I’m going to clean. My psyche demands it.

Henry and Jack entertain each other. A little while ago I noticed Henry’s head was bobbing. I wondered what he was doing then I saw the paws whacking him, one paw to each side of Henry’s face. That’s Jack.

Sometime during the night I heard a cat throwing up. I made note of it and went back to sleep. First thing this morning I looked, found it and cleaned the spot. This is not unusual. People who have cats know.

I haven’t really spoken to the new neighbors since the day they moved in. I do know he uses a ride-on mower. It always gives me a chuckle. There he is mowing the back forty.

I made my banana bread a few days ago. I ate it at every meal. I ate the last of the loaf yesterday. Now I just have bread. It’s a comedown.

Earlier, Henry had two bouts of his marauder barking. I didn’t bother to check. That bark can be triggered by many things, by many sounds. I didn’t hear a car so I’m thinking maybe walkers. Good job, Henry.

My newest project will be making spicy brown mustard. I bought all the ingredients yesterday at Ring’s. I already have perfect jars.

Okay, that’s one afternoon down. Who knows how many to go? What should I make next? Maybe brownies? They are chocolate after all. I always have the ingredients for brownies on hand. Doesn’t everyone?

I am not watching news other than a half hour of local and another half hour of national news. Lately I have been watching movies on a variety of channels, including the new one we just got, Peacock. I’ve also been streaming old TV shows, all black and white shows I remember from my childhood. A lot of them are westerns. I wonder if that is why I am not a fan of westerns, a glut from my childhood. The Range Rider, Hawkeye and the Last of the Mohicans, The Adventures of Rex and Rinty, The Cisco Kid and Annie Oakley are just a few.

I don’t go out often, usually only for a few groceries. I mostly stay home. Some days are quiet. Some days I love that quiet. Other days, other times, I want some noise. I don’t care if it is a lawnmower or a rake. I just want to know the world still goes on outside the walls of my house. Once in a while I hear a car, and I know when the mail truck is here. Henry howls. That’s about it, the only noises I hear. Today, I’m okay with that.

Okay, yesterday was a sloth day for me. I didn’t go anywhere or do anything. I was tired and my back hurt. Yes, I am whining.

I slept the morning away then had my coffee and read one newspaper. Today’s headlines were yesterday’s and last week’s. I’ve been watching movies the last few days. Some of them were bad, but I didn’t care. I wanted a diversion.

Today is a pretty day with sun. It is actually 65˚. I’m heading right out after this. Today is not to be wasted. I do have a small grocery list, and I still need to make the hardware stop.

There is exciting news. The dump started full week service or, anyway, it should have on May 1st. I’ll have to get a new dump sticker by the end of June. For $182.00 I get the right to recycle and dump my own trash.

When I was a kid, I loved walking to school on a sunny spring day. On windy days the shadows of the tree branches swayed on the sidewalks. On quiet days we’d walk through the shadows to the sun shining through the leaves. Its appearance always seemed to be a gift somehow. My friend Michelle and I chatted the whole way. We laughed a lot. Sun and spring do that, make you happy for the day.

My father loved working on his lawn. He also loved working on mine. When he and my mother came to visit, my father would bring his lawn mower, his rake and his trimmer. My mother and I would go shopping, and my father would work on my yard, both front and back. When we got home, my father would proudly escort my mother and me on a tour of my yard. It always looked great. The grass in the backyard near the house had been field high. Now it was neatly shorn. My father gave me a lecture about not letting the grass grow. I wondered if he was talking in metaphors.n

I have to go out later to pick up a few things I ordered at the hardware store then I’m on to Rings for some groceries. I’m thinking stuff for a salad, some fruit and a Payday. From there I’ll hit the road for a bit of a ride.

I can see the dust in all its forms when I walk from room to room. The solutions are easy: ignore the dust or vacuum. I like ignore, but I vacuum. Items on my chore list appear the first day and are repeated the next day if undone. My list a few days back was small but intense. I had to clean the bins under the butcher block. They were heavy and were harboring long ago expiration dates. I cleaned only two. My garbage bag had reached its weight limit.

I bought a wire cart. When I told my sister, she asked if it’s like the one Grandma Ryan used. Yes, it is. I have a cart almost exactly like my grandmother’s cart. The only difference is the wheels of my cart spin so it can be moved up stairs. Still, I’ve decided to keep an eye on myself to make sure I don’t go shopping for flowered dresses, cotton slips or clunky heeled black shoes.

Sitting here gives me time for daydreaming, for making lists filled with things I want to do and places I want to go. The places are easy. My list barely changes from year to year. First, of course, is Ghana. It doesn’t matter how many times I go back, I still need to go back one more time. Nepal, Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam are on my oldest list. I almost made it to Georgia in 1972, but they cancelled that end of my trip. It’s on the list. I once said I wanted to branch out from Europe, but now I want back. I want to visit Eastern Europe. I have been to Russia and Hungary, but I’d like to visit Croatia, Romania and a few more in that area. Romania is Dracula. I still haven’t mentioned the Pacific. I’ll keep you in suspense.

My cleaning lists start with the usual items: water the plants, clean the bathrooms, dust or, if it is really bad, vacuum. The laundry is now and then. What I’ve find myself doing is strange chores, foreign chores like wet mopping the floors downstairs, polishing the silver, washing the crystal, cleaning the hanging pots and culling the baskets under the table.

That list gave me pause, but then I figured I’m okay as long as I keep thinking those are strange, foreign chores.

Sun and blue sky greeted me when I woke up. The morning temperature is inching upward toward 60˚ with an afternoon high of 62˚. That sounds like outside weather to me.

When I was a kid, I loved spring. All the winter layers were packed down in the cellar, and I got to wear my light jacket even though my mother used to make me wear a sweater underneath it. I always groused. It did me no good. My mother always hit me with the either-or. I always chose the sweater under the jacket. My mother knew that. I was manipulated.

Lately I have been the beneficiary of small kindnesses. Two of them were at a Dunkin’ Donuts. The first time was in the afternoon at the drive up. Not a single donut I ordered was left. I told them to surprise me. They did. I was handed a bag with an associated half dozen. Next was at a Subway. I had ordered a sandwich on line and two chocolate chip cookies. When I went to pick up my sandwich, they had me wait. They told me they had been out of cookies and was finishing a batch so I could have mine. They gave a half dozen warm cookies. Not all of them made it home. The last kindness was yesterday. I was in a long line at the Dunkin’ drive-up. When it was my turn, the disembodied voice and I chatted a bit. I ordered my Boston cream donut, thanked him and moved forward. At the window, I paid and was told there was a gift from the disembodied voice. It was a second Boston cream. This was a great gift from the donut world as Boston creams disappear quickly.

Yesterday I took a ride. I went down cape. The sun had been shining long enough to burn off the humidity. The air was clear and smelled sweet. Houses and shops were outlined in the sunlight. I kept my window down so I could feel the breeze. Two of the bigger cranberry bogs are flooded. This keeps them safe from frost. I rode all the way down to Orleans on Route 28 and then all the way back on 6A. It was a delight.

It rained last night. I missed it. I slept right through over an inch of rain. The day is still cloudy, and it could rain again, and I could scream again, that high pitched scream favored by B movie heroines. The weekend, though, has given me hope. It will be a bright spot and will return me to sanity. We could get to the mid 60’s while Boston could reach the 70’s.

I am an older citizen; I am elderly. I am a senior citizen. I get an hour at most grocery stores to shop with my compatriots, the other seniors. I just never get up that early.

My age hasn’t ever been a big issue for me though I cringe when the decades change, especially when I crossed from the 60’s into the 70’s. When I see myself in the mirror, usually when I’m brushing my teeth, I am always surprised by the older woman looking back at me. When did I get old? Am I really old or am I just wrinkled? My mind doesn’t acknowledge old, but my body screams old. It limits me. I hate that.

When I was a kid, I stopped playing with dolls after I was around seven and had learned to read. The only toys I remember from back then are the games. We got a new one every Christmas. It was always in the front leaning on other toys. I still remember the year I got Sorry. I think we played it on Christmas night. Back then I would have been gobsmacked to learn that at 72 I’d still be playing Sorry.

I am going to be part of the banana bread phenomenon, on purpose. I have three blackened bananas, the number which appears in almost every recipe. I can barely wait. Meanwhile, the butter is softening on the counter so I can slather it on the warm bread.

My cardiologist and I are meeting today, virtually. I just got a pre-appointment call asking for updated information, everything I usually tell the doctor. With no EKG, the doctor is left with only a few anecdotal questions.

Today is water the plants day, clean the bathrooms day and make that bread. That sounds exhausting.

Yesterday was a beautiful, sunny and slightly warmer than it has been day. I did an errand and then I went for a ride, in the opposite direction as my last ride. The back roads were fairly empty. I never waited for more than one light cycle. I did some shopping. I bought ice cream.

When I was a kid, I liked popsicles. My favorite was root beer followed by orange. Popsicles were a nickel from Johnny, the ice cream man. Popsicles required certain skills. You had to be quick with the lick before the popsicle dripped down the stick to your hand and made your hand all sticky. As you got to the last of the popsicle, you had catch the pieces before they fell to the ground. Nothing was worse than pieces of orange popsicle dirty on the ground. Popsicle sticks were worth saving. If you saved enough and were a bit handy, you could construct something. I usually made a multicolored house with sticks stained in orange, red and brown.

I paid my real estate taxes this morning. It got me to thinking about when I bought my house. After passing papers, I had no money. My mortgage was half my monthly salary. Those were the days of ground beef, hot dogs and spaghetti. I couldn’t save money to travel. I lived in my den where I slept on the studio couch and ate at the desk. Luckily I had a TV. The other rooms were pretty bare. I bought furniture a piece at a time when I could afford to spend money on other than food and bills. I couldn’t travel. That was the most painful of all.

It took about five years before I could afford to travel. My first trip was back to England. Every year after that, I took to the road. I don’t travel every year now, but I’m okay with that. I haven’t been back to Europe in a long time. My last four trips were the most amazing of any I’d ever taken. I went to Morocco and back to Ghana three times. I’d like to go back one more time when the world welcomes travelers again.