Keep the Coffee Comimg

Today is already horribly different than yesterday. The house was 76˚ by ten this morning. When I went to get the papers, I was assaulted by the heat. I didn’t even stop to admire my garden. The air conditioner is working its little heart out to cool the house. Today will be a run from the air conditioned house to the air conditioned car as I have a couple of errands. I have finally started the laundry. It stayed in the hall for days, and I couldn’t stand looking at it any more.

Yesterday was a wonderful day. I sat on the deck all afternoon reading and munching on fresh nacho chips from the farm stand and mango-pineapple salsa. As it got dark, I started a fire in my chiminea. It wasn’t really cold out, but there was a breeze. I loaded the chiminea with piñon wood. The aroma was wonderful. I figured the neighborhood could probably smell it as the breeze took the smoke northward. I stayed outside until the wood was mere embers.

I have favorite smells. One of my favorites is the smell of wood charcoal burning. That is the smell I remember the most from Ghana. The Ghanaians cooked outside over small fires of wood charcoal. It was the first smell of the morning and the last of the evening. Before I bought my gas grill, I had a charcoal grill. I always used wood charcoal instead of the briquets just for the aroma. The Christmas tree is my next favorite. During the Christmas season I love getting down the stairs to the living room in the morning because I get to smell the wonderful pine of the tree which permeates the whole downstairs. My long ago favorite smell was the leaves during the fall. On Saturdays, the lawns were raked and the leaves piled in the road next to the sidewalks. There were piles up and down the street each guarded by a rake wielding father from the neighborhood. The smoke from those piles wafted in the air all blown in the same direction by the wind.

Fresh bread, coffee brewing and turkey baking are some of the best kitchen smells. I remember Gracie and the cat used to sit in front of the oven when the turkey was baking. They had high hopes because they knew I’d give each of them pieces of turkey every time I had some myself.

My den now has a bit of a dog smell from Henry. That never happened with any of my other dogs. I’ve bought a cleaner for the couch, but I haven’t yet gotten enough energy to clean the couch cushions. Remember, my laundry sat in the hall for days.

I love these mornings. My den, my favorite place in the house and the room where I spend a good portion of my time, is still chilly from the night air. The sun hasn’t worked its way around to this side of the house yet. Today’s high temperature will in the 70’s and the low will be tonight in the high 50’s. That sounds like an ideal day to me.

Today is Women’s Equality Day celebrating the 1920 passage of the Nineteenth Amendment. When I was growing up, I never knew women had once been denied the right to vote. My mother alway had the right to vote but not my grandmothers. I was so impatient waiting for the first time I could vote, and twenty-one just seemed so away. When it finally came, I remember going to the town hall on my birthday to register. My first vote went to Hubert Humphrey for president in 1968. I am proud of having chosen Humphrey. I always vote, even in the smallest town elections. It is a gift, the right to vote, and one I never take lightly.

August is the month of birthdays in my family. My favorite uncle, my niece, my sister and I share the month. It is also the month my mother was born. Every August 13th I wish her a happy birthday and let her know how much she is missed by all of us. This year she would have been 91. My memory drawers are filled with pictures and memories of my mother and me.

Life is really a quilt of moments sewn together without any thought to design, color or shape. The whiff of a familiar smell or the shape of a hand or the color of a shirt brings back a moment and connects us with an experience, never forgotten but seldom recalled. We hear a few notes from a long ago song, and, with a whoosh, the rest of the experience comes roaring into our memories and floods us with all the people and places forever connected to that song, memories we had shelved. The smell of a pie transports me to a small kitchen at 16 Washington Ave and the baking mitt on my mother’s hand. All of a sudden I’m remembering Thanksgiving and Christmas and cinnamon and sugar cookies, all triggered by the memory of my mother wearing that mitt and pulling a shelf from the oven.

The morning is again lovely. A breeze is keeping the predicted heat at bay for a while although I can already feel it in the air. The sky has a few clouds so the sun hides for a bit but it always returns.

Saturday has always been the best day. When I was a kid, it meant no school and a day to do whatever I wanted. Any homework was pushed off until Sunday. Even when I was a teacher it was the same. Saturday was my day for me. Sunday was prepare lessons, do chores and go to the dump day. On Saturday I could stay up as late as I wanted. On Sunday it was early to bed to get ready for Monday. It is no wonder Sunday and Monday were not on my list of favorite days.

Ghana was a little bit different. I did use Sunday to prepare lessons for Monday, but that was all I did. My students had a service of sorts on Sunday morning and Sunday afternoon was visiting day. Any student expecting a visitor was dressed in her finest cloth in a three piece outfit which included not only a top and bottom but also a wrap around the waist. This is the same wrap mothers used to carry babies on their backs. Photographers were hired and pictures were taken, always in black and white. Many students gifted me with a picture. They seldom smiled. I always wrote their names on the back. Mostly I stayed home on Sunday unless it was market day. Students without company came to visit. They stayed for only a while. By late afternoon, visiting was over.

Peapod arrived so I had to take a break, but I have just finished putting my groceries away. I indulge myself with no guilt. Thursday the house was cleaned. Yesterday the lawn was mowed. I’d pay for the trash man to come, but I’d have to haul barrels from the back to the front going and coming so I’ll save the effort and the money and keep going to the dump. It was always a fun ride for Miss Gracie and maybe it will be the same some day for Henry.

What a beautiful morning! The sun is shining. The air is still, and, best of all, the humidity has disappeared, but this dry air, this reprieve, will be short-lived. Sticky air will be back early next week.

When I went to get the papers, I saw a brown rabbit munching on the grass. He stopped when he heard me but stayed put. He started eating again when I went into the house. Two red squirrels were chasing each other from tree trunk to tree trunk. I could hear a chorus of cicadas. It seems all of us are celebrating today.

I’m on the deck figuring I’ll take in as much of this lovely air as I can. The only sounds are the birds and some cars going down the street. Henry came out but went back inside. I’m noticing some of the flowers in the clay pots need to be replaced. I noticed the garden center is having an end of season sale so I figure I’ll buy the four replacement plants I need. I don’t know why those plants died because the others are flourishing. I need to fill the feeders.

The foliage around the deck is so lush I can only catch glimpses of the houses around me. It is as if I am living on a tropical island. To further the illusion, I can pretend the sounds of the cars are the waves hitting shore. I am alone out here, no people sounds.

There is a bit of a breeze. If one is ever to be found, my deck will always have it. This breeze is from the south. The red, white and blue pinwheel stuck into a big flower pot is turning so quickly all its colors are combined into a blur.

Last night all the newly strung lights were lit. Strands of white lights are across the yard gate and lead to the big star on the outside of the fence near the door. The spawn of Satan’s lights are no longer clear, maybe no longer a target. The new string is red, white and blue and is on the back end of the deck rail. Every other set of lights strung there has been chewed by the spawns. The last set of big white bulbs had many wire pieces missing. I’m guessing there are spawn nests somewhere with light bulbs as decorations and pieces of the missing grill cover for the roof and inside insulation. That is the summer conundrum. Where in the heck was that grill cover dragged and by how many spawns working in tandem?

Mother Nature was piqued at all the complaining about the sun, heat and humidity so she struck back. She took away the sun and left us with cloudy, rainy days and, for added discomfort, she threw in more humidity. Everything felt sticky so I put my air conditioner on to dry the house. It helped but I don’t need it today. I’m thinking Mother Nature must be in a forgiving mood as it is sunny and dry and even a bit chilly when the wind blows. I love today.

Yesterday I treated myself to a me sort of day. I did get the pet food, but I also bought a really neat wooden rocking chair for the deck. The rocker part slides. I then went to the farm store and bought corn, wild Maine blueberries and fresh figs. Next, I took the ocean side road from one town to another. I even snapped some pictures. My last stop was for Thai food. It was dinner last night and will be again tonight. It was a wonderful day.

Skip, my factotum, is here to finish sanding and painting the hole in the bathroom wall upstairs. Henry barked and then howled when the doorbell rang. Skip later came downstairs, and Henry growled and didn’t stop growling until Skip left and went back upstairs. That is a new protective move from Henry.

The summer is winding down. Fewer cars are on the road. I don’t have to wait impatiently for lights to change before I move. Getting into traffic is much easier. My last play is tomorrow night. But I’m okay with this change in seasons. Fall on Cape Cod is lovely. The days are still warm. The nights are wonderful for sleeping. The sky is such an amazing blue it takes my breath away. The ocean is still warm. The cranberries are nearly ripe. If I’m lucky, I’ll get to see some bogs harvested. I can still sit on the deck during the day, and at night I can light my chiminea. I’m looking forward to the smell of the piñon wood. I’m thinking it’s near time to take out my sweatshirts.

Last week we all complained about the heat, the endless heat and humidity. The powers that be must have heard us. It has been rainy, cloudy and cold since Saturday. I have been keeping the windows closed because of the cold breeze. I’m thinking it might just be sweatshirt weather.

Yesterday I stopped at a farm stand. I bought sweet corn, fresh Scali bread, homegrown tomatoes, fingerling potatoes and freshly made salsa chips. Everything was loaded into a cardboard box with carrots on the side.

Thieves need to give more thought to permanent retirement or good disguises. Their photos from cameras centered on the scenes of their crimes are plastered on the news, and the public is asked for help in identifying them. One thief stole a package from a porch. When his picture was on the news, he returned to the porch what he had stolen and added a letter of apology.

In Ghana, a thief was caught during the commission of his crime. I saw a crowd beating  him all the way to the police station. I was the victim of an attempted purse snatching, a successful pickpocket and a home invader. Not a whole lot was stolen in either case; a few cedis was all. The “perps” were never found. I didn’t expect they would be especially the pickpocket at the train station.

My cups of coffee were especially delicious. I always eye the amount of grounds, and I was right on the money this morning. I never mind too strong a cup of coffee but too weak isn’t worth the effort. I had toast, Scali bread toast, slathered in butter. It was delicious.

Today I have to shop for dog and cat food. I’m bringing my camera and taking a ride afterwards. It has been a while since I’ve taken random pictures. I saw a few unique houses yesterday on my way to the farm stand and wished I had my camera with me.

I’m thinking of buying lottery tickets. I’d like to take another trip, but I haven’t enough money to go anywhere. I do have a last Ghana trip in mind for 2021, the fiftieth anniversary of my finishing Peace Corps service and going home. I have been lucky enough to be back to Ghana three times but those trips have left me wanting more. I don’t think I could ever have enough of my second country. I am getting older, and parts of me don’t work all that well any more. I’m thinking three years away might be the perfect time.

This morning I got up early to go to the bathroom. My back and hand didn’t hurt, an unusual occurrence, so my first thought was maybe I’m dead. I went and looked. Nope, no dead body in my bed so I hadn’t left my corporeal remains behind though needing to go to the bathroom should have been hint enough. I tried to go back to sleep but couldn’t. I heard a loud buzzing and immediately thought it was either a giant insect or an electric saw. Reluctantly I went with the saw. Having no cream and bread meant no coffee and toast so I decided to go to Dunkin Donuts. I grabbed the leash and figured I’d try to take Henry. He saw the leash though I did attempt to hide it, and he took off outside. He is a fraidy cat ( I do love the juxtaposition in this metaphor) when it comes so many things, but I won’t give up easily.

Last night it rained. I thought at first it was Mother Nature’s tears as the Sox lost yesterday but it was just rain. That made me glad I hadn’t washed away the muddy dog paws. It rained again early this morning so there are even more muddy prints. They’ll stay until the sun shines.

No movie night again tonight because it will be cold and damp and sitting outside dressed in woolies seems a bit much.

I’m not big into fashion. My wardrobe never reflects the current fads. Not a single blouse or shirt has holes in the shoulders. My idea of fashion is clothes which are eternal.

I hate the skinny suits men are wearing. They always look as if they stole their younger, smaller brother’s clothes.

I still have a pair of saddle shoes which I may wear this winter. Getting away with almost anything sartorial is a privilege granted to those of a certain age, an older age. Maybe I ought to bring high tops back as well.

Once I rode in a hot air balloon. It was spectacular. There were three balloons in the air at the same time. People still in their pajamas and robes raced outside to see us. Pigs scattered left and right when we floated over a pig farm. The bright colors of our balloon were reflected in small ponds below us. That is one of the most memorable rides ever and up there with the camel ride in the Sahara.

Last night it was so cold I didn’t need the air conditioning upstairs or down. Right now it’s still chilly and it’s damp. I had to shut the windows. Yesterday afternoon we had thunder and a short, tremendous rain storm. The clouds are still here. They’ll be hanging around the whole day. All in all it’s an ugly day.

I’m not doing anything constructive today. It’s my God-given right. Instead, I’ll watch baseball while sitting on the couch and ignoring the clumps of dog hair in the corners and the muddy paw prints on the kitchen floor.

When I was a kid, a summer Sunday often meant an early mass and a day at the beach, but on Sundays like this one, it meant finding my own way to spend the day. I’d try to commandeer a spot to myself and read. Sometimes that was upstairs in the bedroom I shared with my sister. If the cellar was empty, that was another choice spot. Other times it was in the car. After I got my parents cast-off portable TV, I’d stay in my room comfy on my bed and watch TV. Most times it was the Sunday matinee. The only family time was dinner. I had no choice.

My father was not a big baseball fan. He liked football the most then hockey. I have always been first of all a baseball fan with basketball a close second. I don’t remember watching the Red Sox on TV in those days. I don’t even think they were on. The Red Sox back then were usually in the middle of the standings, not television material, and their attendance was low. Now they play to sell-out crowds. My dream is to have Green Monster seats for a game. Every year I put my name in the lottery for some of those seats, and that’s as far as it gets.

Days like today make me wish for chili and cornbread. I want something to warm the innards.

I woke up at six this morning and heard the rain. It was a quiet rain. I wasn’t ready to stay up so I went back to bed. When I woke up, I noticed that parts of the deck were dry. The rain didn’t last long, but it lasted long enough to ruin the day. The sky is cloudy. Despite the breeze, it is hot and humid, hot enough to need the air conditioner. I’m going nowhere today.

My birthday was wonderful. Edible Fruits arrived with a gift from my sister. I’m thinking few foods taste better than pineapple half covered in chocolate. I had dinner at my friends’. We had the sweetest corn, burgers, one of my favorite all time foods, potato salad and a marinated onions, cucumbers and tomato salad. I think I smacked my lips at the aroma of the burgers cooking. I wasn’t disappointed. I opened presents and ate lemon meringue pie, my favorite. The lemon was wonderfully sour. To top off the day, we watched the Sox win. It was the best birthday.

When I was a kid, on the days leading up to my birthday, I’d sit on the front steps and wait for the mailman certain he was delivering my birthday cards. If none came, I was always disappointed. I’d wait the next day and the next. When one finally came, I’d tear open the envelope and shake the card before I even read it. A dollar usually fluttered to the floor. I was a rich kid. A couple of more cards would come from aunts and uncles and more dollars would flutter to the floor. I’d count my stash, a Scrooge McDuck move. On the big day I’d have wrapped presents from my parents and from one set of grandparents, my father’s parents. My mother usually chose the gift they’d give. I was never disappointed. My mother knew what I’d love. I still have a few Bobbsey Twins books inscribed with Happy Birthday and signed by my grandparents, really just my grandmother for the both of them. I still recognize her handwriting. I was a big fan of the Bobbsey Twins, Nan and Bert and Freddie and Flossie.

Today I’ll have some chocolate fruit and a piece or two of lemon meringue pie.

Today is sunny with a bit of a breeze but still humid. I’m thinking maybe a bit of deck time and an outside shower later. I slept late, until ten, as I just couldn’t fall asleep last night. I was awake until 4:30. Both the cat and the dog were asleep on my bed. I could hear their deep breathing. I was jealous.

While my mother was in labor waiting for me to be born, my father went back and forth from the hospital to my grandparent’s house, my mother’s family, in the same town as the hospital. My aunt was angry as she was getting married in the morning and the constant visits were keeping her awake. She asked him not to come back. He ignored her. He was in the waiting room when the nurse came in asking for Mr. Ryan. He was the only one there so he told her, in a testy voice, of course he was Mr. Ryan. She announced my birth, and he ran into the hall and saw my mother just minutes after she had given birth. My mother told him it was a girl. She had known in her heart all along and so everything she had bought was pink and girly. My father drove to my grandparent’s to tell them. My aunt was not happy. My mother told me she wore her wedding corsage pinned to her hospital clothes.

SyFy is filled with sharks, bad movies about sharks, but I don’t care. I’m watching for the fun of it. I’d much rather encounter TV sharks than the Great Whites now close to the Cape’s beaches. They are feasting on seals, but the headline in the paper the other day was, “Shark Bites Man.” They are not sure if it was a Great White or a thresher shark. They are leaning toward the latter based on the puncture wounds on the man’s upper torso and leg. The man was swimming near seals. The Atlantic White Shark Conservancy thought this was a case of mistaken identity. Sharks don’t usually eat humans. They often test the waters with their teeth to tell if what they’re about to eat is prey or something to avoid. I’m guessing the man probably gave the shark heartburn as it left him for a tastier dinner.

Later there was a video taken by a woman on the beach. It was a shark attacking a seal. People on the beach kept yelling, “Shark! Shark!” as if they were extras in Jaws.