Archive for the ‘Musings’ category

“Spring is when life’s alive in everything.”

March 20, 2018

It is late I know, but I have had a busy day. It started at 5:15 when my obnoxious alarm went off. I whacked the snooze once then decided to drag myself out of bed. Coffee first was a necessity. I then turned on the news to keep an eye on the next nor’easter. Snow is definitely coming starting tomorrow afternoon. I find this storm an insult. Today is the first day of spring. I should be in the garden planting flowers. I shouldn’t be wearing layers, warm socks and a hood.

My friends and I celebrated our first day of spring tradition by greeting the sunrise at West Dennis Beach this morning. It was extraordinary. We sang our songs: Rocking Robin, Morning Has Broken, a third song whose obscure title I don’t remember and then we each read lines from Frost’s Two Tramps in Mud Time. The sun began to rise over the rocky jetty. First came the light then the top of the sun then more of it until the brilliant ball of light had risen completely. Its light glinted on the water and a band of color spread across the beach looking like a carpet of light. It was so bright I had to shade my eyes. It was glorious. Before we left, Clare looked for and found shells, our reminders of the beauty of today.

We ended the morning, as we do every year, by going out to breakfast. I had the usual, eggs over easy, bacon and toast.

I got home, read the paper for a bit then left for my library board meeting at nine. It was quick, and I was home by 9:45. I was tired. I took a nap.

I don’t really care that the snow is coming. Today is the first day of spring. Soon enough my garden will be filled with bright, colorful flowers. The birds will sing every morning to celebrate the day. I’ll open my windows to the fresh, sweet air. I’ll hear the rustling of leaves again. It’s all coming. I just have to be a little patient.

“One of the most important days of my life, was when I learned to ride a bicycle.”

March 19, 2018

Winter has no idea it’s time to go. The days are cold and the nights even colder. The sun has a sharpness but no warmth. The breeze is slight but chilly. We are expecting snow Wednesday. The amount is still in question. Poor spring has no idea its arrival and welcome tomorrow will be so frosty. I suppose there is some comfort in saying it’s spring as we bundle up tomorrow.

This morning I noticed a purple crocus has joined the yellows. I also saw more green tops have broken through the soil. I think they might be irises. The day lilies have started poking their heads out of the ground. The garden is astir.

When I was a kid, I had spring jackets. They were unlined and zippered. Their colors were bright and welcoming to the eyes after winter coats. I was always in a hurry to start wearing one and used the calendar as my starting place, not the weather. My mother disagreed, and she always won. I was stuck wearing that heavy winter coat until my mother deemed the weather warm enough for a change in wardrobe.

Riding bikes on a spring day was as much a part of the changing season as the arrival of the crocus. I’d haul my bike out of the cellar, up the stairs, hop on, ride down the grassy hill and take off, no specific destination in mind. It was all about the ride. The sides of the streets were filled with sand, left over from the winter and snowy roads, so I’d bike on the sidewalk. On one street, the sidewalk always had frost heaves. It was the best ride, all bumpy and fun. We’d go to the school yard and skid on purpose in the sand. The bike tires would leave looping trails behind us. The swooshing sound from braking in the sand was the best part. We’d try and outdo each other with the longest skid.

The ride home was easy until my street. It was a huge hill, and that early in the spring I couldn’t pedal up the whole way being out of practice. I’d have to wheel my bike from about the halfway point. By the end of spring, though, I could pedal all the way up the hill, but I always got tired at that halfway point. I’d have to stand to use all my strength to pedal. I always expected an ovation of some sort when I made it all the way up the hill on my bike.

“The true delight is in the finding out rather than in the knowing.”

March 18, 2018

Yesterday’s St. Patrick’s Day dinner was superb. We feasted on the traditional meal of corned beef, potatoes, carrots and cabbage with wonderful Irish bread slathered with butter. In the background was Irish music compliments of Alexa. We were all in green as befitting the occasion. My friend Tony gave Clare, his wife, and me bags of St. Patrick’s Day goodies including green Snowballs, Necco Wafers and chocolates covered in shamrock decorated foil. It was a festive evening, a wonderful evening.

The weather is wintry with below freezing nights and mornings. Right now it is 24˚, but the sun is bright and the sky cloudless so the day is a pretty one. I do need to fill bird feeders and do a load of wash. That’s it for the day’s to do list.

Sometimes a perfect moment occurs, and I recognize it right away. These feelings of delight, of glee, usually come from something simple but wonderful.

I remember being in Ireland at a B&B in Youghal, a summer resort. It was off-season. My family and I, mother, father, grandfather and two aunts, were the only guests. My room was cold, no heat. The bed had layers of comforters. I took a bath, quickly toweled dry, put on warm clothes and jumped into bed.   I grabbed my book, a Dorothy Sayers Lord Peter Wimsey novel, and unwrapped my Cadbury fruit and nut bar. I broke off a piece and ate it. It was the food of the gods. There I was in Ireland warm under all those comforters, reading one of my favorite authors and eating chocolate. I knew I would never forget that moment.

I remember a summer day when I was sitting on the deck. Gracie was lying on the deck beside my chair. I was idly patting her. The sun was hot but there was a cooling breeze. The birds were in and out of the feeders. I could hear only their chirping. I realized they, Gracie and I had shared serenity.

The first sip of coffee in the morning, an outside shower at the close of a summer day, a favorite song playing on the radio, a book so good I can’t put it down, Maddie purring while I pat her, the first light of dawn and the last light of the day are moments to be savored, to be remembered. They are perfection.

“St. Patrick’s Day is an enchanted time — a day to begin transforming winter’s dreams into summer’s magic.”

March 17, 2018

I have a long association with St. Patrick. My first eight years of school were at at Patrick’s Elementary School. I belonged to St. Patrick’s Shamrocks drill team from when I was 10 until I was 16 when I moved away. I remember marching in South Boston on St. Patrick’s Day. I also remember trying to avoid the merrymakers who had already been sipping green beer and wanted to march with us. We are Irish. I just have to give my name and people know right away. Really, what else could Kathleen Ryan be? My sisters are Sheila and Maureen.

I can remember St. Patrick’s Day at my parents’ house. My mother always made a huge dinner. She didn’t use corn beef as she preferred a shoulder roast. My father loved those boiled dinners. One St. Patrick’s Day, though, the potatoes disappeared. They had fallen apart in the pan. My father hunted and hunted anyway hoping one had survived. His disappointment was palpable.

Some years my parents invited friends and family. The kitchen was where everyone seemed to settle. The back door was always left open for air what with the heat of the stove, the number of people and the cigarette smoke. It never took long back then before the singing started. My father had a great voice. I remember him singing all the Irish songs. I remember my mother’s friend Becki who went as far back as high school sitting in the same seat at all my parents’ parties, her back to the kitchen windows. I can still see her with a drink in one hand, a cigarette in another and her voice raised in song. My Uncle Jack would stand with my Dad, and the two of them would sing with their arms across each others’ shoulders. Those were great parties.

I’m heading to my friend’s house tonight for corned beef and cabbage. We’ll raise our glasses to toast St. Patrick, the Irish, the Ring of Kerry, leprechauns and whatever else comes to mind. Maybe, after a few toasts, we’ll do a bit of a jig, in keeping with the day of course.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!!

 

“The world is so full of a number of things, I’m sure we should all be as happy as kings.”

March 16, 2018

The morning is chilly and cloudy so I was surprised to hear more drips from the roof. Given how cold it was last night, I checked the steps for any ice before I went to get the papers. They were dry. I was safe.

I love Twizzlers, cherry Twizzlers. When last I did Peapod, I ordered a big package of them and put them in the cabinet. A few days later, I had a sudden need for Twizzlers.  I went to the cabinet to get the package and was shocked by what I found. All the tops of the sticks of licorice were missing. There were gnaw marks. At least one mouse had returned. The old-fashion mouse trap had been on the floor with a glob of peanut butter inside for weeks, even months. On Wednesday morning I happen to look down. A mouse was in the trap. I don’t think he was there long, not enough mouse poop around the trap. Because the car was buried, I had to let the mouse go by the front door. It jumped into the deep snow and disappeared, fate unknown.

When I was around eleven, my family vacationed on an island in Maine. The house was isolated, at the end of a tire rutted road with grass between the ruts. I have a whole bunch of memories from that vacation. My father bought lobsters for him and my mother. The lobsters were alive. My father put them on the kitchen floor, and when they moved, my dog Duke kept barking at them. We stood around watching the dog and the lobsters and laughing. I figure the lobsters went in the pot, but I don’t remember that.

There was a sunroom off the kitchen. I remember a rocking chair and a bookcase. In that bookcase I found Robert Louis Stevenson’s A Child’s Garden of Verses. I sat, rocked and read that book cover to cover. I fell in love with poetry. I was amazed by Robert Louis Stevenson. He understood me as if he had been reading my mind.

The house got close, too many of us and too few private places. I took my book and went to read in the car. It was pouring so I ran. I stretched out on the back seat surrounded by the sound of the rain hitting the car. I read, and I fell asleep. I was there the whole afternoon until my father came to check on me.

My parent’s devised a treasure hunt. We followed the clues and ran from place to place. I remember a clue stuck inside a rotted tree lying on the ground. Our last clue led us to an old barn which was falling apart. A side of it was hanging. It was a great old barn, one perfect for later exploration. Our treasures sat right by the front opening. There they were, easy to find Hershey bars, the traditional ones. We were thrilled.

These memories sit in my memory drawer as clear as if they are new. I can close my eyes and see the house, the rocking chair and those Hershey bars.

“Our happiest moments as tourists always seem to come when we stumble upon one thing while in pursuit of something else.”

March 15, 2018

This has been the most leisurely of mornings. When I woke up, I stayed in bed and finished my book then I came downstairs, got the papers and my coffee and read each paper from front to back. I then checked my e-mail and turned on MSNBC. That held my attention until the screen went black. That held my attention even more. The TV was on but the cable had disappeared. I checked on-line, and the Comcast page said problems in my area. I called my friend who lives in my area, down the street, and she has TV. I started a chat with Comcast but it disappeared so here I am.

Today is simply lovely. It is 40˚so the snow is melting. I am surrounded by the sounds of constant drips from the roof. I had my front door open to the sun for a long while until the sun started moving around my house on its way to the back, to the west.

Today is one of those quiet days I love. It’s a book day, a get cozy on the couch and read day. It’s a stay in the house and look at the world through the window day.

One of my prized travel possessions is a small book called JUST POINT! I bought it when I went to Russia in 1972 as I had no hope of pronouncing words I couldn’t read. The book is filled with pictures divided into categories. In the gifts section are pictures of leiderhosen, clocks, fans, lighters and statues, none of which I have ever bought, but it’s nice to know they’re handy just in case. There is a tobacco section should I ever feel the need for a cigar or a pipe. Ice is pictured in a bucket, and the phone still has a dial. Even the parts of a cow has its own page should I desire a specific cut of meat. I can travel by train, ship or airplane and point to what I need. A toilet seems to a prominent picture on several pages. For that I’m glad. In most of the pictures, people seem to be having a really great time. I especially like the smiling couple atop the elephant in the transportation section. He has a cigar and she’s wearing a hat. In that section, I get to point at the elephant, a rowboat, a canoe, a gondola, a sleigh, horses, a mountain tram or a camel. The automobile has its own section.

The emergency section is my favorite and it covers just about every contingency. A hand is being burned, hit by a nail and caught in a door. There’s a dog biting that same hand and some bees stinging it as well. I love the picture of a huge rock hitting a foot clad in high heels. Luckily for me there’s a picture of someone falling. I keep a sticky on that page. I can point to a sunburn, something in my eye and a traffic accident. Two pages are devoted to emergencies resulting from crime. There’s a pickpocket, a mugger, a camera snatcher and a suitcase thief. The last picture proves crime doesn’t pay as it is a policeman hauling away a criminal.

When I go where English is most decidedly a foreign language seldom spoken, this handy book will be safely packed in my carry-on. I can hardly wait to be in a place where I have to open a page and point. Page 19, however, will be skipped. It’s the one with the smiling beets and the Lima beans.

“Colder by the hour, more dead with every breath.”

March 14, 2018

I know it is Wednesday, my usually quiet day, but I figured you were wondering what has been going on here in the land of sand dunes and beaches. At 1:15 yesterday the electricity went off for good. It had been going on and off all day so I was hoping that it would be back. Nope, that was the end of the warmth and comfort. My cell phone had no service so I was unable to communicate with anybody. My neighbor came over to check and make sure I was okay and to see if I need anything. I was glad to see him. I assured him that despite everything all was well.

We didn’t get anywhere near the amount of snow which was predicted. It is to difficult to figure exactly how much as the wind blew it all over there place. The snow is really high in some spots and barely covers the ground in others. For that I am thankful.

Last night I read until my fingers were too cold to turn the pages. I got under a down comforter and got warmer. I fell asleep until nine. I looked around the neighborhood. There were no lights next door so I figured they went to a motel or some other warm spot. A couple of neighbors had lanterns. One neighbor who is always awake most of the night had lights. He obviously has a generator. Now I want one. I read a bit more while wrapped in the comforter then fell asleep again until three. The house by then was about 59˚, and Maddie and I were cold. I fell asleep again. When I woke up this morning, the house was down to 51˚. I just couldn’t stay warm so I added afghans to my comforter. They helped. Poor Maddie’s fur was really cold to the touch. I put her on the comforter and build a bit of it around her. She is 18 1/2 so I worried, but she did just fine.

My friend arrived with coffee and chocolate cookies, the foods of the gods, just as the electricity came back on. It will take a while for the heat to warm the house.

No trees went down. The birds were in and out of the feeders even at the height of the storm, and Maddie and I are fine. All is right with my world!

I am going to my friend’s house for soup and company. I’m confident now that Maddie will be okay as will the house. I can already feel the heat.

Tuesday Before the Lights Went Out!!

March 14, 2018

This storm is horrific. Branches banging against my window woke me up. I ran to look out and to check the backyard and the deck. The snow is so heavy it has the tree branches on the huge oak tree in my yard bent and hanging over the deck to my window. If any tree goes down, it will be that one, and I think it will be a catastrophe given where it is hanging. My electricity keeps going out. It has come back on each time, but the frequency of the outage is getting more intense. My cable, internet and phone go down. My cell phone had no service. I think in this world of instant communication, I have never felt as isolated.

We don’t have much snow yet. When I went to bed at 2, it was pouring, loud rain on the roof pouring. That was as predicted. I don’t know when the rain turned to snow, but it is a wet, heavy snow. According to the predictions, the biggest amount of snow has yet to come. It is snowing around 3 inches an hour. I don’t mind the snow so much. It is the wind which is scary.

The combination of wind and the rate of falling snow have caused this storm to be rated as an official blizzard.

I don’t know if the papers were delivered. I’m stuck reading the Globe and Cape Times on line, if I can. I don’t find that satisfying at all.

J. R. Rowling needs to sue Betsy DeVos who has usurped the characteristics of Dolores Umbridge, a character from the Harry Potter books. First of all, their positions are much the same. One is the Secretary of Education. The other was the Headmistress at Hogwarts who had enormous power over the students, teachers, and the curriculum. Like DeVos, Dolores had no background in education. Both are protected by men in power: DeVos has Trump while Dolores has the Minister of Magic. DeVos is probably the most disliked of Trump’s cabinet members, and Umbridge was detested by not only the students but also the staff. In the 60 Minutes interview, DeVos smiled at every question and her own answers. I found that creepy, and that’s when Umbridge came to mind. She smiled when exacting painful consequences on the students and when enforcing new, Draconian rules. That too was creepy.

DeVos, though, is the scariest. She’s real. She didn’t know the answers to questions asked by Leslie Stahl; instead, DeVos gave vague, often off-topic, answers and smiled every time. When asked her opinion, DeVos deflected and smiled. The worst was when she had no opinion. My favorite answer was when DeVos was asked if she had visited underperforming schools. Her answer, ” I have not — I have not — I have not intentionally visited schools that are underperforming.” Did she visit a few by mistake?

I know this is sort of an off-beat Coffee, but I was an educator for my entire professional career. Listening to DeVos makes me cringe. It makes me afraid for the future of education in this country. Dolores Umbridge was taken by centaurs into the forbidden forest. Where are centaurs when you need them?

“The flakes are the size of tiny feathers, and that’s the way snow is, it’s not necessarily cold.”

March 12, 2018

I woke up this morning to a deep blue sky and a bright, eye squinting sun, but I was not taken in by the glory of the morning as the third nor’easter is heading this way. The weatherman says it will be a twenty-four hour event, and during that time it will dump 12-18 inches snow on us. That’s right. This time we get snow. The winds will blow as high as 60 miles per hour. The storm will start tonight around eleven.

I will join the rush to the supermarket. I need light cream, bread and cat food. I’m also thinking I need chocolate. It calms fears, gives comfort and chases away the blues. It even makes a nor’easter bearable.

The snow is almost magical, mesmerizing. When I was a kid, I used to watch it fall from inside my house out the picture window. A street light shined and highlighted the flakes. I could see them fall gently or be blown sideways from the wind. Now I turn on my back light and watch through the storm door. I keep track of the amount of snow as it piles on the top of the deck rail.

Last night as I was lying in bed, I kept hearing a sound I didn’t know. It was a muted scratching sound as if from behind a wall. It was intermittent. I had no guesses as to what it was. It was too loud for a mouse. It wasn’t a branch as there are none which touch the house. I had a couple removed last spring. They scraped my bedroom window. Maddie never comes upstairs so it wasn’t the pitter patter of little cat’s feet. I ran out of guesses and never figured it out, but it didn’t matter. I fell asleep anyway.

Because of the storm coming, I have to fill the bird feeders. I bought sunflower seeds, their favorite. I also have some mixed seeds I throw down under the deck for the doves who are ground feeders and for the spawns of Satan. I have suet for the woodpeckers. Maybe that’ll keep them from pecking holes in the back of my little library though it didn’t before.

By the time it starts to snow I’ll be ready and probably munching on chocolate. I’m thinking it might just be a rabbit, ears first.

 

“Oh my sweet Saturday, I have been waiting for you for six long days”

March 11, 2018

My errands started later than I expected because my seamstress was running over a half hour behind the time. She did call to say her lateness was for good reason. She was totally right. Eniola had made jollof rice for me, one of my favorite Ghanaian dishes. Hers, though, is Nigerian. There is a running argument between Ghana and Nigeria as to whether or not each has the best jollof rice and in which country the dish originated. Eniola is from Lagos. She thinks I need to visit and expects I will when daughter goes to Nigeria to be married. She promises me a tour.

The sun was out when I woke up this morning. I was so excited to see it. Later, of course, it disappeared, but I can happily report it reappeared just as I was getting ready to leave. It is still around and playing a bit of hide and seek with a few puffy clouds. It is 45˚ and windless.

When I was a kid, Saturday was my favorite day of the week. I had my Rice Krispies with morning TV then had the whole day to do what I wanted. Sometimes I went to the matinee. Other times I rode my trusty steed, my bike, all around town. I had no destination, just the excitement of the journey. My house was perfect for its closeness to the nearest towns on two sides, and I remember riding down unfamiliar streets and crossing into the other towns. When traveling to one, I’d pass a golf course and always stop to hunt errant golf balls. I don’t remember ever finding any. I window shopped in at the stores different than ours. There was even a small park right in the middle of the square where I stopped and rested a bit. The best was the train station where the trains still ran. I could have stayed there all day.

When I’d get home, it was usually late afternoon. I’d put my bike in the cellar and do nothing except maybe watch TV or read until suppertime. I never had to ask the menu. Every Saturday it was the same, a New England Saturday night supper. The baked beans were B&M from a can. The brown bread too was B&M from a can. I didn’t know anything about the bread except it was brown. I think if I knew all the ingredients I probably wouldn’t eat it. The hot dogs had no distinction. The rolls were top loaded, a very New England thing. I usually ate a couple of hot dogs.

Saturday night we really had no bedtime. We’d watch TV and go upstairs when we were tired. That was never really late. Usually we had an exhausting day but it was always the best day.