I have been busy this morning. Already I’ve gone to the garden center and gotten some more flowers for the pots and more soil to put those flowers in. Skip and his friend, now his handy helper, are filling pots with a variety of annuals of many different colors. They will be put on the deck rail and on the shelf just outside the backdoor. I have also spoken to my landscaper as I want the deck and the wooden furniture power washed. When summer finally comes to stay, my deck and I will be ready.

It is warm, 70˚. It will even get as high as 75˚ but will slide right down to 59˚ tonight. Today will be the warmest day of the week.

I can hear lawn mowers and peoples’ voices. It seems Saturday is still outside chore day but a lot noisier than when I was a kid. I also saw kids riding their bikes. I’m watching Jet Attack, a back and white movie from 1958, on YouTube. Add some Good and Plenty and some flying JuJus and this could be the Saturday matinee.

I have an empty dance card today, but I’m dressed for the outside world so I might just take a ride, a ride with no destination. I think I’ll go up-Cape.

Saturday has long been my favorite day of the week. When I was in the eighth grade, I had CYO basketball practice in the mornings and sometimes games in the afternoon. I loved playing basketball though in those days the rules for girls were far different. I was a guard and and was always stuck on one half of the court and wasn’t allowed to shoot for a basket, only the forwards on the other half of the court could do that. The reason for the half court was that  full court was considered too much physical activity for girls to handle. Girls, after all, were delicate. Our coach made us wear black high tops to protect our ankles. Mine were Converse.

Once basketball season was over, Saturday mornings were a variety of activities. I remember learning to cha cha. The record played was on the floor of the gym. We were in rows. Our coach, now our dance instructor, stood in front and showed us the steps. We followed as best we could. Next, she put us in pairs to cha cha. That’s when I learned the dance gene skipped me, but I did like to cha cha. One two, cha cha cha!

The day is perfect. It is sunny, breezy and a bit chilly, flannel shirt weather, which is just fine with me. This is only June. Summer doesn’t have to hurry.

I haven’t yet bought my flowers. It has been too hot or rainy the last few days but not today. I am also going to the dump. It is a banner day.

Henry is crazy. He woke me up at three to let him out. I went downstairs and opened the door then went back to bed. At around eight, I could hear him running from my room to the guest room pounding the floor as he ran. I wondered how the horses got inside to run with Henry, and I’m not exaggerating. He’d jump on my bed then jump off over and over.  The bed shook each time. Finally he settled down, and I went back to sleep until ten when his chewing woke me up. He was chewing on my beautiful spread from India. He had almost chewed off one piece. I saved the piece and folded the rest of the spread over to cover the chewed part then we both went downstairs.

I talked to my sister yesterday, the one near Boston, and she asked what was going on. I told her nothing and nothing was exactly what was going on. In the afternoon it rained enough to wash the pollen off my car. Parts of the deck are also clean, but under chairs and tables are still pollen covered. Rain is predicted for tomorrow so more or even all of the pollen should be gone. It will be a cold rain with the temperature only in the mid-50’s.

When I was a kid, the end of school was in early June. We spent the week before the last day putting books away and cleaning the room. I always liked getting the erasers to clean. I got to go outside and beat them one against the other. My school uniform front and my hands and arms always got chalk dust covered. We didn’t do much school work that week as the text books were packed. We did do a few works sheets and spelling words.

The last day was always a half day. The nun gave out ribbons for excellence. I remember  one year getting spelling, history, religion and reading ribbons. The nuns also gave us our last report cards, the big report card. I remember looking at the back before anything else. On the bottom back, it said promoted to followed by a number we all expected to be the number of the next grade. It always was.

The weather shifts hour by hour. When I got up at 5 to let Henry out, it was foggy, cloudy and damp. The fog was whirling around the bottom branches of the pine trees. The air felt wet. When I got up again at 8, the sun was shining but it was humid with thick air. At 9, I went to get the papers and was surprised at hot it was. My house was much cooler. Right now it is cloudy and still humid despite a strong breeze, but the clouds seem transitory. The sun will be back.

I have no plans for today though I should buy my flowers. It is time to get them in the ground and on the deck, but I just have this laid back attitude which flinches at the idea of work of any sort particularly in this heat and humidity; however, were it suddenly to get cold, I suspect my mood wouldn’t change. It is just one of those days.

The only sound is the lawn mower working on my front yard. I can smell the cut grass. It hangs in the air.

Enough flowers have bloomed to give the air some sweetness. This morning I noticed a yellow iris. It stands in the front of the garden bed taller than many of the flowers behind it. I also noticed the flowers are spreading and the front garden is filling in enough so I can count the spaces needing new flowers. There are 7 of them. I’m glad I have a list.

When I was a kid, summer was haphazard. We’d bike ride, go to the pool, the zoo or the playground. My favorite was the playground. It was just below the hill where I lived and was monitored by two college students who planned each day. I took tennis lessons early in the morning. The park provided the rackets and the coach. All day long there were activities. A couple of days a week in the afternoons, our softball team played other playgrounds. We were good. For other activities I could play checkers at the big picnic table or toss horseshoes in the pit. For arts and crafts I made the looped pot holders. I think everyone made the looped pot holders. Another activity was painting a wooden tray. I actually did a great job which surprised me. Painting was not one of my talents.

My mother loved the playground more than I did. If we were they, we weren’t in the house driving her crazy.

The day is dreary and dark. It was a misty rain when I went to get the papers and when Henry went out later. I find mist an annoying rain. I always think it should really rain or not rain at all, none of this misty stuff. It is only 64˚. I had shut all the windows to keep the pollen out so my house is warm, unusual for a chilly morning. My car is covered in pollen as is the deck and all the furniture. Yesterday I filled the feeders, and I could see my footprints in the pollen going from the seed barrel to the feeders and back again. I hope it pours as rain will get rid of much of the pollen.

I don’t remember pollen from when I was a kid. I think that’s because we didn’t have mostly pine trees. We had a variety of trees. I remember the giant oak tree across the street which was felled during a hurricane and the chestnut tree by the fence up near the parking lot. The maple trees had flying seed pods like whirlybirds. We’d get a seed pod from the ground, open one end and stick it on our noses. There were all kinds of fir trees in the woods. I always collected the different pine cones. When I was older, I used them for decorations at Christmas. My whole walk to school during the fall and spring was shaded by maple trees. I loved the shadows beneath them on the sidewalk from the sun poking through their leaves.

Trees chronicled best the changing seasons from their brilliant fall leaves to the spindly limbs of winter then to the buds and tiny leaves of spring and finally to the full, beautiful trees of summer.

I woke up early today. It was and still is foggy. With the fog came dampness and a morning chill. My papers aren’t here yet, but I have my first cup of coffee. Physical therapy for my arm is at 9 so I set my alarm for 7:30, but I woke up early. I told Alexa to cancel the alarm. She didn’t answer. I tried again then checked the shelf. No Alexa. Then I remembered Alexa is downstairs, and I had set a real alarm clock. I walked over and turned it off.

Yesterday I took Henry for a ride. It took a bit to get him outside to the car as he was afraid. We drove around the block, and I stopped at a neighbor’s so she could meet Henry. He peed on the seat cover, but while I was stopped, he settled down. I decided my method would be to go around the block then park in front of the house so he can get used to being in the car. The worst of it was how much he pulled to get into the house. I nearly fell. He nearly choked because the leash was looped around his neck. He doesn’t have his harness on yet. He runs every time I try to put it on. You’d think I was beating him.

When my nephew was three years old, he used swears and used them correctly. I wondered about listening and learning. How many times did he have to hear the swears to know when and how to use them? I thought of that this morning when I used a cliche  (a difficult admittance). I tried to remember if my parents used them often enough for me to learn them. I figured they did.

I do use time cliches. I lost track of time is a big one. Just a matter of time is another. In a jif, a shortened jiffy, is one I like. I find jiffy a strange sounding word but somewhere along the line I heard it and figured out what it meant. I still don’t get as fit as a fiddle. I do get as old as the hills though I don’t know how old the hills actually are. Some cliches make no sense any more like another day another dollar.

A principal I once worked with was the best at his job but he was Mr. Cliche. I used to listen at meetings and keep track of what and how many he used. My paper usually filled.

My favorite misuse of a cliché was at an interview for a secretary’s job. The applicant was asked a question. Her answer started with, “You have hit the nose right on the head.”

Memorial Day is a day for thanks and a day for reflection. I hope you remember those to whom we owe so much. This is my annual tribute

Memorial Day, originally called Decoration Day, is a day of remembrance for those who have died in our nation’s service. There are many stories as to its actual beginnings, with over two dozen cities and towns laying claim to being the birthplace of Memorial Day. There is also evidence that organized women’s groups in the South were decorating graves before the end of the Civil War: a hymn published in 1867, “Kneel Where Our Loves are Sleeping” by Nella L. Sweet carried the dedication “To The Ladies of the South who are Decorating the Graves of the Confederate Dead.” While Waterloo N.Y. was officially declared the birthplace of Memorial Day by President Lyndon Johnson in May 1966, it’s difficult to prove conclusively the origins of the day. It is more likely that it had many separate beginnings; each of those towns and every planned or spontaneous gathering of people to honor the war dead in the 1860′s tapped into the general human need to honor our dead, each contributed honorably to the growing movement that culminated in Gen Logan giving his official proclamation in 1868. It is not important who was the very first, what is important is that Memorial Day was established. Memorial Day is not about division. It is about reconciliation; it is about coming together to honor those who gave their all.

Memorial Day

“Dulce et decorum est”

The bugle echoes shrill and sweet,
But not of war it sings to-day.
The road is rhythmic with the feet
Of men-at-arms who come to pray.

The roses blossom white and red
On tombs where weary soldiers lie;
Flags wave above the honored dead
And martial music cleaves the sky.

Above their wreath-strewn graves we kneel,
They kept the faith and fought the fight.
Through flying lead and crimson steel
They plunged for Freedom and the Right.

May we, their grateful children, learn
Their strength, who lie beneath this sod,
Who went through fire and death to earn
At last the accolade of God.

In shining rank on rank arrayed
They march, the legions of the Lord;
He is their Captain unafraid,
The Prince of Peace . . . Who brought a sword.

Joyce Kilmer