I have a bunch of stuff on my to-do list including the dump which I did not visit yesterday. It was far too cold, and the dump is like a Siberian steppe when the wind blows so I stayed home and was quite cozy and warm.
My Nigerian seamstress is coming at 1 so I can’t get going until after she leaves. I hope to have time this afternoon to write Coffee, but if I don’t, I beg your pardon!
We have sun or maybe we had sun. I woke up and the morning was bright. I got the papers and checked out the garden. The yellow crocus have opened, and there are more of them. The sky is a cloudy blue. The sun keeps disappearing behind the clouds for a bit but has always come back. I’ll take the here again, gone again sun. It’s the best we’ve had for days.
I did not do the laundry yesterday. I walked around it on my way to the kitchen. I even added to it. I’ll try and work up enough energy to do it today, but I don’t really care.
Growing up is never easy. There are all sorts of things to learn, and I always learned the hard way when it came to my parents. I didn’t understand irony for a long time but then I mastered it. They weren’t pleased with me.
My mother used to say, “I see said the blindman as he picked up his hammer and saw.” I didn’t get it at first, but by the time I was eight or nine I understood what she meant. It was also about then I also started learning about tone. “It’s not what you say, but how you say it,” was another often heard phrase from my mother, usually directed at me.
My mother was an expert at guilt. If we were asked to do something and replied, “In a minute,” she would use that sad voice of hers and say, “Never mind. I’ll just do it myself.” The never mind was stretched out to the next block when she said it, and it was like a knife to the heart. We always scurried to do what she asked. I swear she smiled.
My parents were big on rhetorical questions, but I usually answered them anyway. “Do you think I have all day to clean up after you?” begged for an answer. “Do you think?” seemed an opening. It wasn’t. My father used to tell me not to answer back. I used to tell him he asked. I never won that debate.
I remember my father once telling me to help put the groceries away. It was an early Friday evening as that was always grocery time. I told him I was going out. He said do it. By then I had become an expert at deciphering tone, and I knew his well. I did what I was told with little grousing. In the process of putting the eggs in their little wells in the fridge, I dropped a couple. It was due to carelessness and speed. My father said he should have had my sister do it (the one seven years younger). I agreed and said I told you I was going out anyway. He didn’t appreciate my well honed skills at sarcasm and went ballistic on me.
I didn’t go out that night.
If this is a test of my sanity, I am on shaky ground. In Ghana there was a rainy season and a dry season. I knew what to expect and around when to expect it. My friends and I, during the dry season, would look at the sky and wonder if it was going to rain. That was a joke of sorts. We knew the rain wouldn’t come until April. The sun would beat down and dry everything until then. The ground became dust, blown and whirled by the winds from the desert, the harmattan winds. Our lips cracked from the dryness, but it wasn’t unexpected. We were ready for all that heat and no rain.
I haven’t seen the sun in days. The clouds are darker now, a bit more menacing. I need the sun. I want it to be so bright outside I have to squint my eyes. I want to stand on the deck and be warm. My patience is almost gone. I want to scream, “No more! No More!”
Today I have to go to the dump. Gracie would have loved the trip.
My laundry is back to its usual spot, leaning against the cellar door. My plan is to do it today before it grows and takes on a life of its own. That’s what happened the last time. Had I been a character in a Disney movie, my laundry would have been singing and dancing. I’m picturing a conga line of shirts followed by a line of pants doing the can can and singing a catchy tune as they make their way to the washing machine.
My house is nice and clean. Roseana and Lee came yesterday. My contribution was lifting my legs so Lee could vacuum under them. He even put all the trash and recycling bags into the trunk for today’s dump run. I also have a couple of other stops. I have streamlined my to do’s so I waste only a single day.
My garden doesn’t mind the gray days. It still grows. I check it every morning and every morning I notice more and more green shoots have been appearing in my front garden. I see daffodils joining the already blooming crocus or croci if we use Latin’s second declension masculine plural for words ending in us. I had four years of Latin in high school, a feat of no small dimension.
The rain came yesterday in the mid-afternoon and stayed all night. It was sometimes so heavy it pelted the roof loudly enough to drown out the TV. Boston and further north had snow, a wet, heavy snow, the sort which looks beautiful for a minute then you notice how laden down the trees and branches are, and you hope they survive. Some wires fell from the weight of the snow and even blocked major roads. Here the sun has been trying to come out of the clouds. Twice now the sky has brightened. I get hopeful. I need sun to dispel my dark mood, a mirror of the rain and the clouds.
My Travelocity gnome and my pink, plastic flamingo are in the den. They winter here. In the warm months they live on my deck. It is a special occasion when they travel from winter to summer, from the den to the deck. I always think there should be a parade and music. They are announcing summer is finally here, a cause for celebration, for good food, and for warm days lolling on the deck. Right now, though, all of that seems a sweet memory.
From when I was kid, I remember winter most of all. My school was an old one with high windows and drafts of cold air so for most of the winter we all wore sweaters. I remember walking across the field below my street, a sort of shortcut home, and having to walk backwards because of the wind. My cheeks turned red and numb. The wind blew up the sleeves of my coat. My ears always hurt even when I was wearing a hat as it mostly just covered my head so I’d put my mittened hands over my ears trying to warm them just a bit. Mostly I failed. By the time I’d get home, I was freezing. Right away I’d take off my school clothes and get into my pajamas and slippers. I’d wrap myself in my blanket. In a short while, I was warm and all the parts of my body had come back to life.
I have no energy today, and I don’t care. It is the weather which is causing this foul mood. A bit of sun is all I need.
No sun again today, just clouds, darker than yesterday. The wind is brisk and cold. It is another stay cozy and warm at home day. I have a few things I could do like the laundry and changing the bed, but I don’t want to do anything so I won’t.
When I was working, I got everything done. The house got cleaned, the laundry washed, the groceries bought and the trash dumped. Now I have all the time, day after day of time, but I procrastinate. Like Scarlett, I think,”After all, tomorrow is another day!”
I have redefined my lexicon. I have removed words like lazy and non-productive; instead, I stress lifestyle words like settled and describe myself as comfortable and undemanding. I still long to travel, and that won’t ever change. It is in all capital letters should you look it up in my lexicon.
I live on a small street with nine houses. Three of the houses have kids. Three have dogs. This time of year I hear only an occasional dog barking. I know when the mailman comes. I can hear his truck. A few cars go up and down, but they usually belong to neighbors. If I’m out, we always wave. Some of us have lived on this street since the beginning when the houses were first built. My neighbors across the street are the oldest residents. I don’t see them much anymore. He has Alzheimer’s and she is his caretaker. Seldom do I see any of my other neighbors. I rarely see any of the kids. I’m beginning to think we’re all in a hibernation of sorts.
Another nor’easter is predicted but not fierce or damaging like the last one. We will get rain; snow is north of us. The rain in winter always seems to come in at an angle, driven by the cold wind. It lashes against the windows in a constant barrage of heavy, noisy drops. The cold air is so damp it chills to the bone. Streets flood. The ground is hard, and the rain has nowhere to go. I have no affection for winter rain.
I am reminded of the scene in War Games when it appeared as if ballistic missiles had destroyed bases in the US. Using the radio, the general asked the radio operator at one base if anyone was there: if anyone was left alive. There was silence then a voice, “We’re still here. We’re still here.” Well, I’m still here too. I have no idea if the powers that be have commuted my death sentence. I think so, but I could be off by a day or two.
My morning was a busy one. I was out early to finish two errands. I was thinking about rewarding my efforts with coffee and a donut, a Boston cream donut, from Dunkin’, but I decided to go home, put the coffee on and get comfortable.
The weather is still ugly. The day is chilly and raw. We have clouds and wind gusts. Some people are still without electricity. Another nor’easter is coming this week but will be far less destructive as the moon is no longer full. We could get rain or even snow.
I used to love to play jacks. Every Christmas in my stocking and most Easters in my basket I’d get a new set of jacks. I’d sit on the floor and toss the ball then hurry to pick up the jacks, starting with onesies. For some reason all the numbers were like that. After onesies came twosies then threesies then on and on. The throw was always the key. Another small favorite toy was the wooden paddle with the red rubber ball attached by an elastic. At first I’d be totally frustrated. I’d hit the ball, and it would fly back and hit me in the face or some other part of my body. Sometimes I’d get so frustrated I’d even throw the paddle but then I’d always pick it up and try again and eventually I’d coordinate my eye and hand. My mother sent me one of those when I was in the Peace Corps. My friends and I would stand in the back of one of our houses and have contests. We got really good and paddled into the hundred’s. It was, until the elastic broke, one of our favorite diversions. We didn’t need much to keep us occupied.
In Ghana, the day started early and ended early. It was in the evening that my friends and I would get together. We always ate supper together. The table and chairs were brought outside during the dry season. When it got dark, we’d go inside. We played word games and listened to music. Once in a while they’d be a movie in town at the Hotel d’Bull. It was usually really old or Indian, but we didn’t care. It was a grand night on the town.
I never got bored in Ghana. What I didn’t have didn’t matter. Living there was more than enough.
The mighty storm continues with wind gusts strong enough to bend trees almost to the ground. Last night the storm was tremendous with winds blowing as high as 80 MPH. The rain came in sheets from the north. The roar of the wind sounded threatening, almost violent. My house was surrounded by it. I heard something fall on the deck but it was too dark to see. The yard lights were triggered. My house lights went out once but for only a few minutes. The cable kept going off then rebooting. That lasted close to an hour. I went to bed around one, and the storm was as strong as it had been all night. I could hear the rain beating the roof. I could hear the wind. It was the last sound I heard before I fell asleep, and the first sound I heard when I woke up this morning.
When I got the papers, I saw my Peace Corps flag on the lawn. The flag was fine, but the holder had snapped. It was on the grass. A tree was broken and lying in the front yard. It was a small, thin scrub pine. Luckily it missed my little library. When I got the papers, they were far too heavy. I knew they had to be wet. Because they were protected by only a single plastic bag, both were soaked, unreadable. That spoiled my morning routine. I know the papers are on line, but that doesn’t do it for me. I like the feel of the paper and the rustling of the pages.
My backyard has large branches torn from trees lying on the ground. All of the branches are from pine trees. I know a few of the trees are dead so I wasn’t surprised to see their branches. Every year I seem to lose a pine tree or two.
My little library had two more woodpecker holes. I covered both with tape until more permanent covers are ready. I need to find the wood and then measure for the right length screws. At least this time there wasn’t a dead bird.
The sky is light and the rain has stopped, at least for now. It is in the low 40’s but will go below freezing tonight. I’m staying home. I have finished the last Flavia de Luce book I have, but I have two books I got for Christmas. Peapod came yesterday so my larder is full with real food and some snacks. I’m thinking wearing my cozies, lounging on the couch, reading a new book and eating chips and cheese dip. Life is good!
The tops of trees bend down left and right. I’ll be surprised if I don’t see branches lying in the yard. The rain pours. Nearer the coast the houses are being battered, and the roads are flooding. Some are closed. The risk of losing electricity is high. I am drawn to the windows to watch the trees and the sheets of rain. The storm is fascinating.
Sometimes I’d go to the beach when the winds were especially high. I’d stand with my arms out and let the wind take me. It was exhilarating. Later today the wind could get around 76 MPH. The tides are historically high. The waves are twenty to thirty feet. There are two more high tides with the dangerous one around midnight. I’d like to be there, at the beach, but I know with my history a tree would fall on me or my car or both.
Last night I got ready for Peapod, but the truck never came. I checked my e-mail, and delivery is scheduled for today. Last night’s supper was dependent on groceries so I had to punt. I had bought Eastham turnip already peeled and cut. I cooked it. It was delicious, almost sweet. The only drawback is turnip smells gross to me when it is cooking. It is like cabbage in that respect.
I slept in this morning which surprised me as I had gone to sleep early for me, around midnight. I had finished my book and was sorry I hadn’t brought up the next book in the series, the last one I have. I could have gone back down the stairs to get the book, but I turned out the light instead.
My arm still hurts. I have to type with my laptop actually on my lap and my arm resting on the arm of the couch. If the laptop is on the table, the angle is wrong, and my arm hurts almost immediately. I still have 5 or 6 weeks to go.
Today is a stay inside and just take it easy day. I do need to change my bed, but I’m not looking forward to doing that almost one handedly, maybe tomorrow, maybe not.
I’m going to start my book. I’m going to put my feet up and get comfortable. I’m going to eat some chocolate. I think it will be a wonderful day.
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