Archive for the ‘Musings’ category
March 1, 2016
When I woke up this morning, my first thought was I get to vote. I never miss voting even for local elections. I voted when I was in the Peace Corps, but I got my ballot too late for it to count. It was sent by regular mail which took several weeks to arrive. They could have used air mail but they didn’t. I sent my ballot back with a note explaining where Ghana was and why I was irritated. I never got an answer.
I voted for the very first time in 1968. I voted for Hubert Humphrey, not Richard Nixon. In 1972 I voted for George McGovern, not Richard Nixon. I always add the not Richard Nixon because it is a point of personal pride. As a joke, my sister gave me a Nixon button, a huge one. It says Nixon’s the One on the top and Vote Nixon on the bottom. His face is in the middle with a giant smile that looks a bit sleazy to me, but that may be hindsight. I’ve heard people say have nothing in your house for which you would be ashamed should you die unexpectedly. That would be my Nixon button. It is horrifying to think someone might believe I wore it and even worse that I voted for him.
Today is a sunny day filled with light without heat. I’m getting tired of the cold. I’d be happy with one really warm day, a long sleeve shirt day. That’d hold me until spring.
Birds are all over my feeders. They wait in lines like planes do before they can taxi and take off. I forgot the suet so I’ll fill those feeders later.
I remember watching Chet and David on the black and white TV when they covered the presidential election of 1960, a nail biter, and exciting sit on the edge of your seat election. Everything pertaining to states and numbers was done by hand. People erased tallies and entered new tallies. Calling a state for one candidate or the other didn’t happen with only 16% of the vote counted the way it is now. Back then you had to be patient. I think that’s a good thing. In the Nixon-Kennedy election Nixon didn’t concede until November 9th, the day after the election.
Categories: Musings
Tags: 1960 election, 1968 election, hand writing the votes on the totboard, Humphrey, McGovern, Nixon, Nixon-Kennedy, primary election, vote!
Comments: 27 Comments
February 29, 2016
Today is so windy that everything is blowing. I hear the chimes, and I can see the tops of the pine tree trunks bending and swaying. I filled the bird feeders earlier and it was chilly, all because of that wind.
It is just one of those days. I couldn’t get into my computer because I kept giving it the wrong password. I didn’t even remember what my hint meant so I had to go through the rigmarole of resetting the password. I walked into the kitchen to get another cup of coffee and ended up on the deck filling bird feeders. I never did get that coffee. I’m thinking I’ll use sticky notes to describe my task and where I’m going. We’re talking in the house, not on the road.
Last night I watched the Oscars. I expected to be bored, but I wasn’t. I actually enjoyed most of it. I had only seen two movies and one of then, Spotlight, won best picture. It was about the Spotlight team of the Boston Globe and its investigation into child sex abuse by Catholic clergy. One of the worst abusers, Father Shanley, was a priest in my parish. He abused some of my classmates so I had a vested interest in the movie.
When I was a kid, I didn’t know anything about sex. I always thought that meant male or female. Fill in one circle. It never occurred to me to wonder how babies started or how they finished. I was seven when my youngest sister was born, and I don’t even think I noticed my mother was pregnant. All of a sudden there was a new baby. I forget when I started to get curious. I think it was my early teens. We were naive in those days. None of us knew much, but we had a lot of questions. When I was in the eighth grade, one of the priests gave us a quick introduction to the basics. He used the chalk board and drew pictures, but that didn’t help much.
In high school, they separated the girls and the boys for a more in-depth introduction to reproduction. They had visual aids. I don’t remember who gave the talk, but I do remember the girl next to be was a nervous wreck. She shook so much that we all shook because we were sitting in linked canvas chairs. That was the talk where more than the basics were covered.
In high school I didn’t know personally know anyone who had had sex. Outside of marriage only bad girls did was what I was taught. We did hear rumors about girls, and they were tagged with bad names like town pump. We whispered about them. We didn’t hang around with them. Nobody wanted a bad name.
Keep in mind that girls thought differently than boys. We didn’t see a triumph. We saw a bit of disgrace.
It was college and the 60’s which gave my generation a whole new perspective on sex. I’m guessing the nuns probably gave the same lecture but I’m thinking there were smirks. Besides, what in the heck did nuns know?
Categories: Musings
Tags: Boston Globe, computer password, Father Shanley, Oscars, sex talk, Spotlight, town pump, visual aids, windy day
Comments: 12 Comments
February 28, 2016
We have lots of sun this morning and a light blue sky, but the day is breezy and cool. I can hear the sweet sounds of the wind chimes blowing.
I’m in a Sunday frame of mind, the kind of Sunday we had when I was a kid, a quiet day, a hang around the house day waiting for dinner. Sunday was always special. It was the only day we had dinner, a fancier fare than we had all week. Dinner was always in the afternoon, usually around two. Supper was at night. My dad used to work late and wasn’t always home in time for supper. We were always together for Sunday dinner. The meal centered around a roast of some sort and mashed potatoes. The vegetables differed from week to week. Bread was never served though I remember it was always on the table at the Cleaver’s, the Walton’s and most other programs about families. Their bread wasn’t fancy, just sliced bread stacked on a plate. I never saw any of them use salt or pepper on their foods. We didn’t either. The table held our plates and silverware and the food. There was barely room for the six of us. Most times my mother would move the food to the counter after we had served ourselves. If we wanted more, she’d always get up to serve us. I don’t remember my mother ever sitting down for an entire meal. We seldom had dessert, not even at Sunday dinner. If there was any in the house, we’d have a bowl of ice cream or we’d grab a few cookies, Oreos were the favorite.
I didn’t know until I was older that potatoes could be more than mashed or French fried. I was surprised to find out carrots and potatoes weren’t the only vegetables which could be served fresh, not out of a can. I did know about corn on the cob, but that was a summer vegetable for a cook-out.
I don’t remember having Sunday dinners in the summer. We had picnics at the beach and cookouts in the backyard. We ate a lot of hamburgers and hot dogs. Corn on the cob and baked beans, out of a can of course, were usually the vegetables. In those days we never had salad. Potato salad came much later, when we were older. Green salad was never a hit.
Despite the canned veggies and the lack of salads and greenery, we were healthy kids. We suffered from the usually maladies of childhood in those days like measles or the mumps, but that was about it. I might have wished to have a few stay at home from school sick days, but I wasn’t ever that lucky.
Categories: Musings
Tags: baked beans, Chicken, childhood maladies, cook-outs, corn on the cob, day quiet day, dinner, mashed potatoes, picnics, roast beef, Roasts, sea breeze, sun, Sunday, Sunday dinner, veggies, wind chimes
Comments: 10 Comments
February 27, 2016
My stomach is still upset. Every morning our ritual is the same. I wake up first, Gracie is next and Fern last. We all stretch then get out of bed. Fern, Gracie and I head downstairs. Maddie comes out of her room and is last down the stairs. I open Gracie’s door then get my papers. Gracie gets a treat while Fern and Maddie settle on their spots for morning naps. Gracie is the last to settle in. This morning I noticed no Maddie. I called her, made that weird sound with my lips which cats seem to like but still no Maddie. I started reading the paper but was a bit preoccupied wondering where Maddie was. I drank my coffee and called Maddie a few more times. I went upstairs and checked her room, no Maddie on the bed. I was really worried. I checked outside just in case, no sign of her. I opened closets and looked under beds. I even stuck my head into the eaves and called her again and again. I went and walked around the yard not expecting to see her but just in case. I was frantic thinking something had happened to her. I put a can of food in the cats’ dish, came downstairs and checked the front yard. I had no idea what to do next. All of a sudden Maddie jumped on the den table. I have no idea where she could have been. Cats are notorious for hiding. I wanted to hug her. I wanted to throttle her.
We always had a dog when I was a kid. My father didn’t like cats though he never gave a reason. Their being cats was enough. I brought home a kitten my junior year in high school. My dad was working in Maine and came home only for weekends. He told me to get rid of the cat before he got home. I didn’t. He wanted to see it so I gave the kitten to him. It snuggled in his arms. The cat stayed and became the first of many cats. My father told other people the cat was my mother’s and he was not a fan. I always figured he thought dogs were masculine and cats feminine, but when no one was around, he patted them, scratched their heads and let them sleep beside him on the couch. He really was a fan.
My street is loaded with kids and dogs. There are nine kids under ten living in three houses and nine dogs in eight houses. The kids are noisy. Every morning they play on the street and ride those new Big Wheels. They do this around 8 o’clock giving them playtime before the school bus comes. Four of the dogs are barkers, including Gracie. After school the kids are back on the street. They yell a lot.
I know kids make noise. It’s build into their genomes. They grow out of it, but it takes a long time. I’m going to have to be a bit more patient.
I love the nights. The quiet is soothing. I think that’s probably why I have become a night owl. The kids are in bed, and it’s my time to own the street.
Categories: Musings
Tags: barking dogs, calling, cat appearing, closets and eaves, dog or cat, hiding, kids and dogs, kitten, missing cat, nights, noisy kids, quiet, searching
Comments: 11 Comments
February 26, 2016
Gracie snores, and last night she snored so loudly she kept waking me up. My bedtime was late enough without being disturbed by her multiple snores and an occasional snort. I’m tired and it is only 11 o’clock. Gracie, of course, is having a morning nap. The poor baby must be tired.
Cold day today, it is in the high 30’s, but the sun is shining so I’m not going to complain. When I went to get the papers, I heard birds singing to greet the morning. It sounded like spring to me.
I have random memories which loop through my mind. Some I see only once while others recur. Some of my memories of growing up are faded and worn while others are so bright they could have happened yesterday. My grey jacket reappears out of one my memory drawer every spring. It was my favorite jacket because I started wearing it only when the weather got warmer. It had no lining. It did have pockets on each side, and it had a zipper. My brightest memory is wearing that jacket and skipping on the sidewalk on my way to school.
I still remember biology and dissecting a frog. My memory drawer has a picture of the frog lying on its back on a silver lab tray. It looks washed out, too long preserved. My lab partner wanted nothing to do with that frog and the scalpel. It was left to me. She took all the notes. That was our deal. Making the first cut took me a while. I had to forego the urge to gag. Dead frogs didn’t bother me, but their insides were better left inside.
My first Ghana memory is of the morning after our arrival. My room was on the second floor of a school dorm. I remember walking outside, standing at the rail and looking at what was spread out below me. I saw greenery everywhere. I could see rusty tins roofs. I remember the awe. I was in Africa.
My memory drawers overflow. Some I can’t even open; others I can’t shut. The sad memories have their own places. Sometimes they come unbidden. They are not always welcome.
Categories: Musings
Tags: biology, cold, dissecting a frog, Ghana, greenery, memory drawers, random memories, sad memories, singing birds, Snoring, spring jacket, sunny day, tin roofs
Comments: 9 Comments
February 25, 2016
Today is the same as the last few days: damp, dark, occasionally rainy and very windy. The phone woke me around 8. I let it go to voice. No message was left. I couldn’t go back to sleep so Gracie, Fern and I got out of bed. They are now napping.
When I was in the eighth grade, my friends and I were allowed to go to Boston by ourselves for the first time. We took the Sullivan Square bus from the stop in front of the movie theater uptown. At Sullivan Square we took the train, the subway train. It wasn’t called the T back then. I don’t remember where we got off, but I figure it must have been at the stop which had entrances to Filene’s and Jordan Marsh. That would have put us right downtown on Washington Street.
We had no destination in mind. It was the going by ourselves which was important. We roamed all over the city. I remember it was a Saturday because the market was open. Pushcarts were in rows with narrow aisles between them. The aisles were crowded with people. The wooden carts held fruit, veggies, nuts or candy. Vendors called out to us to stop at their carts. Butcher shops were in small storefronts across from the carts. Meat hung down on hooks. The butchers wore what must have been at one time white aprons. A couple of places sold pizza by the slice. I remember the smell of the pizza cooking.
We went to the North End which was all Italian back then. Widows wearing black sat on wooden kitchen chairs placed on sidewalks in front of their houses. They spoke to each other in Italian. Bakeries sold what I found out later were cannolis. Some places sold pizza by the slice or the pie.
The North End was a foreign country to me. Rabbits hung in store windows. In a candy store, some candy looked exactly like fruits and vegetables. Some looked like white mice with black whiskers. I asked and found out they had been made with marzipan. I bought a mouse. It tasted horrible. The pizza was served in square slices. The crusts were thin.
I was a foreigner. The North End was the first real place to feed my wanderlust.
Categories: Musings
Tags: Boston, butcher shops, cannoli, carts, damp, dark, downtown, Haymarket, Italain, marzipan, North End, open market, Pizza, rainy, storefronts, subway, windy
Comments: 8 Comments
February 23, 2016
I am posting music without identifying the singers. I figure the bots won’t have anything to grab, to catch their attention. If you check the comments, you’ll find the link.
We’ll see how this works.
Categories: Musings
Comments: 14 Comments
February 23, 2016
My sunny disposition has deserted me. It is an ugly, cold, damp, grey day. Gracie woke me up early when she barked at some outside noises. The house was still cold, and I was still tired, but I dragged myself out of bed and went downstairs and opened the door to check. If I had been a throwaway character in a horror movie, the slasher would have been outside the door just waiting for me. If I were watching the movie, I’ll think how stupid not to check before opening the door and I’d think the character got what she deserved. Luckily no one was there, but my newspapers were on the front step so someone had been there. It must have been my neighbor. I doubt the slasher would have been so thoughtful.
My dance card is total empty so I am going to hang around the house all day. I doubt I’ll even get dressed. I’ll probably nap as it’s the sort of day which invites getting warm and cozy in bed under the covers. I’ll bring my book.
March is when I am tired of winter. The first day of spring is in March. We turn our clocks ahead the second Sunday in March. Easter is at the end of March. Spring training is over. It’s time to put away the shovels and the heavy coats. I want to see the bright yellow of the forsythias. I want to sit on the deck and be warmed by the sun. I wish the coming of March was the signal that winter has finally packed its bags and moved south, but Mother Nature guarantees nothing.
I thumbed through a couple of travel magazines and salivated over the pictures. It was like I was a kid again reading my geography book and dreaming. My Barrett Syndrome has surfaced. I hope I can hang on until the trip back to Ghana in the fall.
Categories: Musings
Tags: cold, damp, grey, grouchy, hang around the house, horror movie, March, nap, slasher, throwaway character, tired of winter
Comments: 10 Comments
February 22, 2016
I saw them this morning right beside the front steps. My snowdrops, the first real stirrings of spring, have bloomed. Those tiny white flowers have endured snow, below zero temperatures and freezing rain. They are my heroes of spring flowers. They bring hope and joy. Seeing them made me almost giddy. Today is a good day.
The sun is bright but the chilly breeze makes it sweatshirt cold. I have a few stops including the hardware store, not often on my list, and Agway for cat food and litter, two boring places for shopping. I just can’t get excited about nails or screws or wire. As for Agway, they have flowers come spring which redeem the other parts of the store, the boring parts.
I always used to wonder what was under the headpieces the nuns wore. I thought nuns were bald until once I saw a tiny bit of hair from under a coif. I never understood why their outfits were called habits and why most of their habits were black and white, even their thick stockings were black. When my aunt the nun didn’t have to wear a habit any more, she dressed in normal clothes. She also had the worst taste in clothing. I suspect it was because of decades of wearing her habit and not having to choose what to wear or how to accessorize.
Nuns in habits were a bit scary looking when I was young. Most weren’t mean but the habits made them look as if they had the ability to be. A glaring, burning look was all a nun needed for discipline. It wasn’t until I was in the eighth grade that I heard one yell. She was Sister Hildegarde, a legend among us. Even now we all still remember Sister Hildegarde and each of us has a favorite story. I liked her because she was oblivious. I left school during the day, but I always asked permission. She always gave it and never once asked a question about where I was going. I’d just tell her I had to leave but I’d be back. I’d wander around the square, go to the library or have a picnic near the benches at the town hall. I’d mosey back to school after an hour or more of freedom. She’d nod at me to acknowledge my return when I came in and sat down. Usually my friend Jimmy was with me. He took the same delight I did in skirting the line. Nobody else ever came with us. I don’t think they had the same sense of adventure we did or maybe they were just a bit scared. We did it for the fun of it.
Categories: Musings
Tags: Agway, bright sun, chilly breeze, coifs, habits, hardware store, headpieces, leaving school, line skirting, nuns, scary nuns, snow drops
Comments: 16 Comments
February 21, 2016
The house is colder than outside. After I got out of bed, I ran downstairs and turned up the heat. Making the coffee was first in my morning routine then I went outside for the papers and was surprised to find the air warm or warmish I suppose is a bit more accurate.
The trees are quiet. The breeze isn’t strong enough to sway the creaky branches of the scrub pines. On the way back to the house from getting the papers, I stopped at my front garden because I saw the most welcome surprises. Green tips are above the soil. I know one is a hyacinth, and I suspect the others are the crocus and the dafs. The bulbs know spring is coming.
Living in New England means to expect cold, bone-chilling cold sometimes, and snow, but it doesn’t make me long for Florida or any sunny climes. I can’t imagine being so excited by a green shoot if I lived where flowers always bloom.
When I was a kid, I thought dandelions were flowers which grew on the grass instead of in the garden. My mother always made a big deal of the bouquet of dandelions I gave her. She’d put them in a glass filled with water. I even remember the glass. It was one which held small shrimp in sauce. I have a couple my mother gave me. I use them for orange juice.
I can’t think of anyone I ever hated when I was growing up. Some kids deserved a punch in the nose, and I was happy to oblige, twice. I was never reluctant to step in and tell some bully to shut up or else, the same with name callers. I had a sense of fairness which was just there, a part of me. Where it came from I have no idea. My brother was a bully, but I didn’t know that until I was an adult. A former elementary school classmate of his told my sister not that long ago. We were all surprised. We never saw it, but I don’t find it difficult to believe.
We go through so much while we’re growing up and make all sorts of choices along the way which help decide who we’ll be. I’m still making those choices.
Categories: Musings
Tags: bullies, coffee, colder inside, creaky pines, Crocus, dandelion bouquet, dandelions, flower fronds, green shoots, hyancinth, papers, punch in the nose, windless
Comments: 21 Comments
keepthecoffeecoming.blog 