Keep the Coffee Comimg

Today is cloudy but then again so were Sunday and Saturday and so many other days I’ve lost count. The sun has become a rare phenomenon. I’m staying inside today in my most comfortable clothes. My routine has become one day out and about and the next day cozy at home.

When I was a kid and just home from school, I had to take off my school clothes and put on my play clothes. If I didn’t, my mother would hound me until I did. My school uniform was a white blouse, a blue skirt and a blue tie, the sort cowboys wore to the Saturday dance. It was a clip on. It was ugly.

I continue my cleaning frenzy. Yesterday it was the dining room. Today will be the kitchen. I’m saving the den for last as it is the dustiest, and I hate facing all that dust. Maybe I’ll clean in spurts. I noticed the den has dog hair on the floor in clumps. It didn’t take long. It was last vacuumed on Thursday.

My life is uncomplicated. It is as easy as I can make it. Whatever chore I can foist off, I do. That leaves me with going to the dump, changing my bed, doing laundry and spot cleaning in between visits from my cleaning couple. I could arrange for trash pick-up, but it is more expensive than the dump fee, and anyway, I only go every other week so it’s no big deal. When I meet people I haven’t seen in a while, they always ask if I’m enjoying retirement. I grin about as wide as I can.

I actually have a few things which need to be ironed. They are piled on a chair in the kitchen and are hidden by dish towels. Every now and then I see the pile and think it’s time to iron but, luckily, that thought passes.

No question about it, winter is still here. The last few days were a ruse, a tease. Arctic cold is back again. My heat blasts constantly. I’m wearing a sweatshirt so well worn it is unfit for public view. I’ve added socks to my ensemble. They join flannel around the house pants and a t-shirt under my sweatshirt. It is not an attractive outfit.

When I was a kid, I wore pajamas to bed. I had slipper socks to keep my feet warm. Radiators spewed intermittent heat. The house would get hot and then cold. I could hear the steam from the radiator. It always sounded like a locomotive to me. It just needed a whistle.

When I was a kid, we’d take a bus from uptown to the subway station, Sullivan Square, and then ride the train, the MTA, to Boston. I remember kneeling on the seat and looking out the window. Before every ride we were quizzed about the rules: stay together, and if we get separated, go to the next station and wait. When I was older, my friends and I would take the train into Boston. I remember seeing Cleopatra at The Music Hall, now The Wang. Sometimes on a Saturday we’d go to Boston and just roam the city.

One of my favorite trains was in Ghana. I’d ride it as often as I could. I’d go from the Accra station to Tafo to visit my friends then continue on to Kumasi where the rails ended. I always went first class, a fairly cheap ticket, and usually had a compartment to myself. Once I rode from Kumasi to Takoradi on a sleeper train. It was my favorite ride of all.

On my trips to Europe, I took trains if I could. They were far more comfortable than buses, and the night trains meant I didn’t have to stay at a hotel. I’d look out the windows at people in their houses. I’d sometimes see families eating dinner at the table by the windows. I’d fall asleep to the click clack of the wheels.

If I were rich, I’d have a train car all my own, and I’d ride all over the country with my friends. The car would have a kitchen, comfortable bunks and a bar. The windows would be huge.

When I went to get the papers, the morning was chilly but not cold. It had a crispness almost like an early spring morning. I squinted in the bright sun. The sky is blue with puffy white clouds. The day is pretty.

When I was a kid, I never appreciated the world around me unless there was snow for sledding, fair weather for biking and a hot sun for swimming in the town pool. The weather didn’t change my routine during the school year. In the summer, each day carried its own possibilities.

My favorite season has always been spring. I got to leave layers of winter clothes in the closet. I often rode my bike to school. The day kept getting longer so the street lights didn’t come on until later. We got to play outside after school. I remember the mud. I rode my bike through it to leave tire tracks behind. The air started to smell sweet. The birds came back and so did the bugs. My mother used to open the windows to clear out the stale winter air in the house. The fresh sheets on my bed smelled like the morning. Spring was and still is a delight.

My clean laundry is upstairs. The only thing left on my to-do list is a bit of dusting. I’ve been doing it piecemeal using my sweatshirt sleeve approach. When the coffee was brewing, I dusted a couple of shelves in the kitchen bookcase. When I get a bit antsy, I get up from the couch and dust somewhere else. I figure by the time I’m done, it will be time to start all over again.

Today I have an appointment so I have to go out. Yesterday I stayed home. I vacuumed. Henry hates the vacuum. Gracie didn’t care. One of my other dogs, Shauna, used to attack the vacuum. That was my excuse not to vacuum. Once my mother was taking care of Shauna at her house instead of mine. She started to vacuum and Shauna went after it. Somehow, the vacuum sucked up Shauna’s tongue. My horrified mother turned off the vacuum right away. Shauna’s tongue was unharmed, but it gave the dog a better reason to attack, to stay on the offensive.

Today was warm, nearly 50˚, but it was damp. I stayed home and barely got beyond the sloth stage. I watered a few plants, straightened up and dusted a bit.

It is 2:30, and I am wide awake, Henry is sleeping. He had a difficult day yesterday because we went to the vet’s. Henry needed a regularly scheduled shot. The poor dog shook while we were in the waiting area. He got so close to me he was sitting on my feet, but despite his anxiety, I had to get him on the scale as we needed his weight for heartworm pills. He weighs 44 pounds. I kept patting him and talking to him hoping to comfort him. We next went into the exam room. The vet checked him out and tried to make friends. She offered him a few dog treats, but he wouldn’t eat them. She gave him some cheese and he slurped every bit. The technician then took him into the back room where he got his shot and had his nails clipped. Henry looked quite handsome in the snowman bandana they put on him.

When I was eight, my grandparents gave me a couple of Bobbsey Twin books. My grandmother wrote a birthday message. She had a flowery sort of handwriting. In some ways it looked like calligraphy. I always thought of it as old lady handwriting.

When I was a kid, I went to bed fairly early on school nights. I’d only read a bit before my mother would shout up the stairs for me to turn off the light. I’d complain it was too early, and she’d tell me to turn off the light. I did, but I wasn’t happy. I wanted to keep reading. My solution was to read under the covers so the light couldn’t be seen. It got really hot under those covers. My plastic light started to melt. I started to sweat. I’d take a break so the light and I would cool down then I’d go back to reading. Sometimes I got caught but not very often. I’d read until I started to fall asleep.

When I’d get a book for Christmas, I’d usually started reading it after dinner, after all the Christmas frenzy. My mother use to complain I was reading the book too fast. She said I should take my time. I didn’t know how to do that. I still don’t.

I played around with my computer. The last thing I tried was moving the cord to different USB ports. That worked.

Just an additional comment. Henry is addicted to coffee, not my blog, the real stuff. He tried to get at my cup on the table, and he even tried lapping when I bought the cup to my mouth. I don’t share coffee.

My Apple is dead. It opened then died. Using my iPad is driving me crazy. The only good part is the B works. The bad parts are the keyboard, and this dastardly machine quits and goes dark. There is a conspiracy afoot. It seems I’ll have to go to Hyannis tomorrow.

It is so cold. Right now it is 8 degrees. The high will be 12. When I went to get the paper, my front storm door wouldn’t open. The knob was frozen. Luckily the back door was open, but even that was a problem. I had to shoulder the gate so I could open it to the yard. It took 4 shoulder bangs before it opened. I was so happy to get back inside as the short exposure to the cold was too much. That cemented my decision to stay inside all day. I do have a couple of things I can do like finally bringing the laundry upstairs and cataloging the Christmas presents.

I would be posting my Martin Luther King tribute but not with this machine. I can’t tolerate the aggravation.

I don’t know when I’ll be back. Coffee is officially on hiatus.

The morning is dark and damp and really cold. I should have layered just to get the papers. I’m about to brew more coffee. Today is a hot drink day.

When I was a kid, I was a cocoa fan. I drank it every morning. My mother would make both cocoa and tea and have them ready when we got downstairs. My brother drank the tea. She used to put the tea bags in a teapot, add the boiling water then put the pot in the middle of the table. She made cocoa cup by cup. She’d use a spoon to pry open the metal top of the cocoa then she’d put a couple of heaping teaspoons into the cup then add water or milk. She always bought Hershey’s cocoa. I remember the top had a slot so the empty tin became a bank. I had cocoa last week, two cups of peppermint cocoa mixed in milk. I was only going to have one cup, but it was so good I had to have a second cup.

Our toast was always made with white bread. That’s all my mother used to  buy. I don’t even think we knew there were other kinds of bread. Now I seldom buy white bread. I don’t have have a favorite but some breads are better suited for certain meals. Scali bread goes with Italian. French bread is perfect for bruschetta. Bagels, croissants and English muffins are for breakfast though they’ll also do for sandwiches. You can’t have hummus without pita bread. I also buy naan and lavash. In my kitchen right now you’ll find a single leftover English muffin, some rye bread, tortillas and naan. I like to use naan for pizzas.

I’m watching The Mark of Zorro with Tyrone Power. I’ve seen it many times  but not in a while. Zorro has just made his first appearance to wonderfully stirring music. It was Disney’s Zorro which introduced the character to me. I didn’t wondered why no one, especially his father, noticed Zorro sounded like Don Diego and even looked like him below the mask. It was the same with Superman and his curl and Clark and his glasses. I didn’t know the words for it back then, but now I know about suspension of disbelief.