Archive for the ‘Musings’ category

“Satire is tragedy plus time. You give it enough time, the public, the reviewers will allow you to satirize it. Which is rather ridiculous, when you think about it.

March 19, 2017

When I woke up around nine, the snow was just starting. Because of the wind, the fluffies were coming from different directions, from the north and south. Then the snow suddenly disappeared, but it’s back now, small flakes tossed by the wind. I doubt it will last long enough to accumulate.

I didn’t go out yesterday. I had no motivation. Today, though, I have a list of weird items. I need a bulb for my bathroom nightlight, an extension cord, and a plastic container for my snowmen. I’m putting them away for the season. I think they jinxed me.

I remember my first pair of nylon stockings. In those days I had to wear a garter belt. The back snaps were always the hardest to attach. I remember sometimes one would swing back and whack my leg. Pantyhose is one of the greatest inventions of the 20th century.

I never get gussied up anymore. I don’t go anywhere demanding gussy. The closest I get to dress up is coordinating the color of my pants with a clean shirt. That works no matter the season: long sleeves in winter, short sleeves in summer; corduroy in winter, cotton in summer; shoes and socks in winter, sandals in summer. I don’t even own a pair of panty hose. I do have three dresses: two flowered dresses for summer, one green dress for winter.

I don’t wear my winter jacket much. My sweatshirts are usually enough, but I do have the warmest sweater, blue with snowflakes, the sort which used to be called après skiing, for single digit temperatures. I have several pairs of mittens, but I don’t remember the last time I wore them. I have earmuffs and knit caps. My mother would be pleased.

I love Mad Magazine. I used to buy it every month. I remember the Alfred E. Newman for president drive. Mad taught me about satire and parodies and thinking for myself. I didn’t understand it all because I was young, but as I got older, I learned what it all meant. Spy versus Spy was a favorite of mine. Sometimes the white spy won and other times the black spy won. I believe that Mad Magazine helped form my politics and those of my generation. “What, me worry?”

“Parents aren’t the people you come from. They’re the people you want to be, when you grow up.”

March 18, 2017

Huzzah! im6 got a copy in his e-mail. Here it is!!

Monday is the first day of spring. On Sunday the cape may get 5-8 inches of snow. I’m thinking that’s an up yours from Mother Nature. What is even worse is today is warmer than the last few days, in the 40’s, lulling us into a false sense of flowers, scented air, lunches on the deck and the end of bulky clothes.

When I woke up, it was sunny. The dark blue sky was clear. Since then clouds have begun taking over, and the blue is disappearing. I have some errands, but before I leave I need to get outside to fill the bird feeders.

My yard got a spring cleaning today. All the wood left from the fallen pine tree is gone, the lawn and gardens have been raked, the backyard has been cleared of all the limbs and branches which fell this winter, and my deck has been tidied.

When I was a kid, weather like today’s was prime bicycle weather. I’d dress accordingly with as little as I could get away with, haul my bike out of the cellar and take off down the forbidden hill hoping my father wouldn’t see me, but I always knew there was the chance bike treads on the grassy hill would give me away. I didn’t care. I liked the hill.

We didn’t have much money when I was growing up, but I didn’t know that. I had everything most kids had back then. I had skates and a sled for winter and my bike, my all seasons ride. For Christmas one year, I got a transistor radio. It was the Christmas of radios as my friends also each got one. I took that radio everywhere, and it wasn’t small. It was the size of a hard-covered book. The clothes I got for Christmas were always the fashion rage, the same styles all my friends were wearing. My mother knew exactly what to buy.

When I think back to growing up, I figure I got the best parents. They were fun, involved and generous. They were loving. I got the luck of the draw.

OOPS!!!

March 18, 2017

I don’t know what happened, but after writing prose worthy of a Pulitzer, I couldn’t find the entry, today’s musings. I had hit publish, and it didn’t; instead, the post disappeared. I checked drafts and it wasn’t there where it should have been saved automatically. My post is gone. I’m thinking I was hacked by the Russians and expect soon enough my words will find the light of day in cyrillic with a For Your Eyes Only cover sheet. I don’t think the British had anything to do with this.

Sorry there is no post today. I just don’t remember enough to replicate it.

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

March 17, 2017

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

The day is sunny and beautiful though still chilly. I was out on the deck watching Gracie. She ran with wild abandonment through the backyard. I could hear the crunch of the dead leaves and small branches as she ran. I got cold and went back inside. She stayed out a bit longer. It must have been exhausting as she and Maddie are taking their early afternoon naps.

St. Patrick has always been my favorite saint. I went to St. Patrick’s grammar school, belonged to St. Patrick’s parish, and when I was 10, I started marching in St. Patrick’s Shamrocks, a drill team. I was in the juniors and only had practice Saturday mornings at the armory just beyond Stoneham Square. The armory was a wonderful old brick building. On the first floor were military banners and flags and, in one room, a pool table. Upstairs was a large open room where we practiced. It was smaller than the fields for the summer competitions so we learned our maneuver in pieces which were put together once we got outside on the field. We practiced twice a week, Tuesdays and Thursdays and, once the season started, some Sunday mornings before we left for the competitions. We also marched in parades, including the St. Patrick’s Day parade in South Boston. We were naturals as we had a shamrock in the middle of our uniform blouses and between the skirt and blouse was a sash with one bit of yellow, a shamrock. Our colors were green and white. The crowds watching the parade were huge. We got lots of applause.

My parents always celebrated St. Patrick’s Day. Some years they’d have a party, and the house would be filled with people. There was always lots of singing at every one of my parents’ parties especially on St. Patrick’s Day. The kitchen was the party hub. I can still picture my dad and my uncle Jack standing together by the table with an arm on each other’s shoulders as they sang When Irish Eyes are smiling. Their voices were filled with such joy and exuberance. That memory from so long ago is one of my favorites.

“Winter dressing is all about having chic outerwear.”

March 16, 2017

Last night I was freezing though I was only outside for about 5 minutes. It was Gracie’s last trip before bed. She sniffed the air, checked out a couple of sounds and walked around outside the fence. She didn’t seem at all inclined to do her duty. I begged. She ignored me. I begged again. She sniffed the ground, but that was it, no squatting. It was the end for me. I brought her inside. We went to bed. She slept the whole night, but I got up once.

When I was a kid, my room was upstairs on the left. The bathroom was also on the left. The stairs were a quick right turn from my room. In the small hallway outside my door was the dirty clothes hamper and the linen closet recessed in the wall. When I was 10, I walked out of my room and turned right. I fell down the stairs. You’d think the sound of me falling would wake someone up. It didn’t. Either I fell quietly or my family slept like the dead. That is an important memory for me, a milestone of sorts. It was my first fall down stairs, the first of many.

Yesterday we didn’t go to the dump. It was because of the weather. The dump is generally cold, and if it is a windy day, like yesterday, the dump is as cold as Siberian steppes. The wind whips and freezes you to the bone. This morning I brought the trash to the car. I decided to bite the bullet and go despite the cold, 33˚ which will be the high today.

My front yard is still covered in branches from the huge pine tree branch which fell on the lawn. The small stones from my front parking space are on the street and in the garden. They were moved around by the plow. My back yard has several different size branches lying where they fell during this winter. One skinny pine tree breathed its last. Another leans and its future is doubtful. Winter is harsh.

“I’ve buried a lot of my laundry in the back yard.”

March 14, 2017

 

Today is miserable. The snow started early. When I first woke up at 9, I checked out the window and saw snow blowing north to south. I went back to sleep. When I woke up at 10, it had just started raining. I went out to get the papers and yesterday’s mail. Gracie was with me on her leash. She hated it and looked beaten walking close to the ground with her ears down. The street was pure slush, snow topped by rain. I left footprints right down to the street. Gracie finally peed then ran to the door. She should have stayed out as I know she still has more to do, but I wanted in as well. I was soaked. Later she wanted out again but didn’t take the plunge. The wind was ferocious so Gracie just backed into the house. We did that twice, both to no avail. She is sleeping now. I hope she enjoys her nap. My hair is still wet.

The first load of laundry is in the dryer. I threw the bags down the cellar stairs last night so I wouldn’t have to look at them anymore. This morning I decided to bite the bullet and do the laundry. I found a missing gray sock on the floor in front of the dryer so I reunited the pair. Two other socks wait for partners. I first thought them a pair but realized in the light one is black and the other dark blue. There must be another exact pair in today’s laundry.

On the Peace Corps Ghana Facebook page are pictures of current trainees doing their laundry. They are all sitting on the porch edge with buckets of clothes in front of them. Clean laundry hangs on lines behind them. I got a chuckle out of that bucket brigade. All through training, my group found Ghanaian women to pay to do our laundry. During the first two weeks of training, the women were from Winneba where we were staying. You gave laundry to them one day, and it came back the next, ironed and folded. The only exception was undergarments. Those we had to wash ourselves. I hated bucket laundry. In retrospect, I figure maybe a smidgeon of that feeling is responsible for two bags of laundry sitting in the hall for nearly a week. Maybe, though, it is just laziness, but I suspect running out of clean undergarments forced my hand and prompted my memories.

“…disbelief in magic can force a poor soul into believing in government and business….”

March 13, 2017

Today is bright and sunny and will even reach 34˚, but I’m not taken in, not beguiled by the brilliance of the sun. I’m on to Mother Nature and her tricks. I know all that sunlight is just a cover for what’s coming: more snow. This time, though, we’ll get less. The Boston area will get clobbered with up to 2 feet while down here we’ll only get 2-4 inches, a mixture of snow and rain. For some strange reason, though, I feel cheated. I’m thinking it should rain or snow. A combination is just a mess. Mother Nature should know better.

All my icicles are melting in the sun. I can hear the drops. The road is wet from melting snow. Along the sides of the road, small puddles have formed from the piles left by the plows. I just hope all that water doesn’t freeze.

I loud bang accompanied by the sound of a howling cat woke me up this morning. I figured the bang was a falling icicle. The cat howls every morning so nothing was wrong. I rolled over and slept another hour.

My dance card is totally empty for the week. The meeting scheduled for tomorrow has been canceled. I have a to-do list which still includes my laundry which is still leaning against the cellar door. I guess I’ll work on finishing the list or at least get the laundry done. I admit I’m tired of looking at it.

I want some elves like the shoemaker had. I want to wake up to clean, folded laundry, the aromas of breakfast baking in the oven, and of coffee perking. When I get downstairs, I’ll find the table set with flowered dishes and a small clear vase with a couple of daffodils. The elves will have left, but I’ll see small footprints in the snow leading to and from the house then just disappearing.

Too bad wishing it away doesn’t get my laundry done.

“I have a theory that movies operate on the level of dreams, where you dream yourself.”

March 12, 2017

Today is a repeat of yesterday. It is cold, bitterly cold. The day is pretty with a bright sun and a deep blue sky. The icicles hanging off the front of my house are melting. When I opened the door to get the papers, an icicle broke. I was reminded of a murder mystery I read where the weapon was an icicle which melted, and poof, the evidence was gone. I got the papers and stopped to check out the house. One of the icicles is long and very thick. It could be the weapon.

A snow storm is coming our way. Alexa says a 77.7 % chance on Tuesday. She also predicted close to 5 inches of the beastly white stuff, but that amount deserves only a wave of the hand dismissal. Is that the best you can do, Mother Nature?

I love the sound of crusty snow breaking as you walk across it, especially at night when the moon and the stars are shining. There are no sounds except the ones my feet make. My footsteps echo. Few people venture out on a freezing winter’s night. I always feel like I’m the only one awake.

If I were a movie, I’d be a Hallmark Movie. I’m a sucker for happy endings, and every Hallmark movie has one. In December, I was on a sugar overload. I got to eat cookies and watch at least one Hallmark Christmas movie a day.

My second choice, if I were a movie, would be a science fiction movie. I’d throw in some sort of disease, maybe an alien or two, a post-apocalyptic world where the cities are in ruins and heroes of every ilk who wear the same clothes throughout the entire movie. The aliens would lose. They usually do, even in my movie.

“Feel the rhythm! Feel the rhyme! Get on up, its bobsled time!”

March 11, 2017

The snow is deeper on the lawns and gardens. The streets and walkways got wet before they got snowy. I took Gracie out front this morning because the back steps were covered above my shoes. My feet got wet anyway.

It is the brightest of days. The sun shines off the snow. The air is so clear even the smallest pine branch is having its day, its place in the sun with a blue backdrop, deep and cloudless. If it weren’t so cold, this would be the perfect day. It is currently 19˚with an occasional wind strong enough to sway the top branches. I have to go out later, but I’ll bundle up and I’ll put Gracie in her coat.

I figure kids are sledding at the golf course. It is one of the few places around with a good hill that’s safe from cars. I’ve stopped to watch a couple of times. The kids were using all sorts of sleds. I saw the traditional wooden ones like I used to have, but the plastic sleds far outnumbered the wooded. The circle sleds, the ones we called saucers, are still circles but are now plastic. Plastic sleds resembling toboggans had multi-riders, mostly smaller kids. Inflated inner tubes give a great ride but a wild ride with little control.

I loved sledding especially on the hill my house faced. Every kid in the neighborhood would be out either sledding or walking back up that hill. I always think sledding is as close as we can get to flying while staying on the ground.

The clock goes one hour forward tonight. I never understood daylight savings time when I was a kid, and I’m still a bit confused. Everything I’ve read says the energy savings are only negligible, and some have even found that costs are higher, since people in hot climates are more apt to use air conditioners in the daytime. The original reason was WWI and conserving electricity for the war effort. Daylight savings was repealed after the war but reinstated during WWII. After that war, it was never repealed. Some states honored the hour; other states didn’t so in 1966 Congress passed the Uniform Time Act, which standardized daylight saving across the country except in Arizona and Hawaii which didn’t choose to honor it. After all the reading I did, I’m still confused as to why. Tradition? Habit? Laziness to change the status quo? Nobody cares?

“The earth tucked herself in for the year with winter’s cold, white scarf of snow.”

March 10, 2017

When I woke up this morning, I ran to the window. It was snowing though the ground didn’t look as if the snow had started in the wee hours when they predicted it would. The brick walk in front of my house and the street were still uncovered. They were wet. The deck stairs had a bit of snow, but it was easy going for Gracie and me. She ran into the yard. I swear she was smiling. She loves the yard. I checked the news: no school. It was a decision based on what might be not what was. They were right. In the nearly three hours I have been awake, the snow on the tree branches has more than doubled in height and the street is starting to disappear. I keep looking. I am drawn to the window by the quietly falling flakes and the beauty of the snow.

In the two years I was in Ghana, I never missed snow though on the hottest of days I did miss winter. I missed seeing my breath and bundling in clothes to ward off the cold. I missed the comfort of a warm house on a snowy day. Only during the night and the early mornings at the beginning of the harmattan, in December, did I ever feel cold. It was wonderful to have my windows open to the cold and to snuggle under a wool blanket to stay warm. It was in the 70’s on those nights. I still have my wool blanket.

Gracie probably has arthritis in her left back leg. She is now on three new medicines. The pain med will last two weeks while the other two are for every day and should improve her overall leg joint movement.

When I was a kid, Duke, our dog, never had regular vet visits. He did get a rabies shot as it was required but the town used to give them, not the vet’s. The only other time I remember him going to the vets was when he was old and was mauled by a dog down the street. His neck was torn open. My dad said Duke would be fine taking care of it himself. My mother said nothing. My dad, who was working in Maine until we could move, only came home for weekends. While he was gone, my mother sneaked the dog to the vets who took care of the neck and gave him antibiotics. By the time my dad got home, Duke’s neck was looking better and was healing. My dad told my mother,”I told you so.”My mother, the wisest woman I knew, said nothing.