Archive for the ‘Musings’ category
July 3, 2015
Thinking I was smart, I went shopping early. Everyone else did the same thing. I was lucky a car pulled out before I went around the lot any more times as I was getting dizzy. I had my list and made several sweeps of the store. Standing at the cash register I noticed I hadn’t bought ice cream, the center piece of my dessert. I ran and got what I needed then waited while 6 bags were filled. It took 3 trips into the house. I thought my legs would give way on the second trip with a bag filled with bottles. Sweat running down your face is not a pretty sight. After everything was put away, I sat down, reached for the phone and tried to make a call. No dial tone. I checked, and I suspect it is my phone as the TV and internet are working just fine. At least I know I won’t be interrupted by phone calls.
The world has come to Cape Cod for the weekend. The line to get off the Dennis exit stretched as far as I could see. Luckily I was traveling against the traffic. I will probably have to go out later to get a new phone but until then I’ll prep for tomorrow’s gala dinner and 4th of July celebration.
I don’t remember how old I was when I realized the importance of July 4th. I guess it might have been around the fifth grade when I first had American history. I remember feeling quite proud that I lived near Lexington and Concord. I even got to go there on one Sunday family excursion. I remember standing on the Old North Bridge where the fighting started, the “shot heard ’round the world,” and imagining the smoke from the rifles. On Lexington Green all I kept thinking was here I am standing where some Minuteman stood.
All of my traveling imaginings started with that thought. Everywhere I’ve gone I’ve thought about who came before me. At Versailles I imagined Marie Antoinette walking through the halls, her dress swishing as she walked. I thought of Incas looking out the same windows I was looking out at Machu Pichu. The Tsar and his family walked through the Winter Palace and so did I. At the Old Fleet Street Tavern( which I think is really The Old Bell Tavern on Fleet Street. I seemed to have combined what and where). I wondered if Christopher Wren had stopped in for a nosh just as I had. Everywhere old I have gone, I’ve wondered.
Categories: Musings
Tags: cars and more cars, gala celebration, history, July 4th fun, Lexington and Concord, no parking spaces, Old North Bridge, prep work for dinner, Shopping, Versailles
Comments: 15 Comments
July 2, 2015
The rain was unbelievable yesterday morning. In only ninety minutes we received 2 1/4 inches of rain. Roads were flooded, trees knocked down by lightning and thunder rumbled overhead the whole time, sometimes close, sometimes far way. When the storm ended, the humidity was stifling, but I had to do some errands so I left right away. Everyone else had the same idea. The dump was crowded and cars were bumper to bumper on the main roads. I sat in traffic and observed what was happening, none too patiently. I decided it was easy to determine the start of tourist season. The parking lot, the grassy areas on the other side of the road and any available space at the movie theater is filled on a rainy day. Two light cycles is the average waiting time at any red light. People curse you when you’re already on the rotary after you nearly hit their cars when they jump into rotary traffic. It is obvious the rules of a rotary are foreign to many people. Four way stops? Nope, no etiquette there. We all take turns at the stop signs, but not the man from Connecticut. He went right through a few seconds after the car in front of him. After two cars nearly hit him, they honked, and he looked bewildered. Cars on 6A go slowly and the driver and passengers gawk and swivel their heads from one side to the other. They point. Supermarkets run out of carriages. They are strewn all over the parking lot. Beaches fill by ten. Restaurants serving seafood fill by 6. We have learned to eat dinner at 5. Yesterday my last stop was Agway, a joyful spot, a place totally ignored by tourists.
When I got home and brought everything inside, I was sweating from every pore in my body. My shirt was soaked in the back, and my hair was curling from the humidity. I shut the windows and turned on the AC. I took a shower. a barely warm shower. My feet eventually got cold. That was a delight.
Categories: Musings
Tags: 4 way stops, beaches, dump run, gawking, inches of rain, lightning, rain, rotary traffic, thunder, traffic
Comments: 22 Comments
June 30, 2015
This morning I was rudely awakened at 8:30 by the sounds of mowers and saws. I cursed. Come to find out, they were working on my front yard removing the branch which had fallen in that tremendous rain storm, trimming the forsythia and wild roses and blowing my deck clear of leaves and twigs. They also cut off the branches which hung over my umbrella. After they finished, all was quiet except for the birds then a shrill voice broke the silence. It came from next door, the renters ( I almost want to make that word totally capitalized). They have about a 4 year-old girl with the sort of voice which causes chills up and down your back. She’s not quiet, and she yells often. Right now she is crying. The noise forced me inside.
The red spawn has learned a valuable lesson. I didn’t fill the beastie’s favorite feeder so it is forced to use one with wire mesh all around the seed area. When I blasted the feasting beastie with the hose, it couldn’t get out of the mesh fast enough. When I went out on the deck this morning with my papers and coffee, the spawn got out of the feeder and ran. I raised my hands in Rocky type triumph.
What a glorious day it is today. The sun is bright and warm and the sky is blue and beautiful. The slight breeze is cooling.
I have to dress my flamingo in its Uncle Sam outfit for the holiday. It is a star filled blue vest, an Uncle Sam hat and a white beard. Jaunty comes to mind. My Travelocity gnome is always dressed in red, white and blue. He’s a patriotic gnome. I think his name is Henry.
From as long ago as I can remember we celebrated the 4th of July. We always had a barbecue, and we always went to the parade. I love parades with all the music, the floats and the pageantry. Every parade, no matter the length, seems to start and end the same way with police in cars and on motorcycles at the beginning and fire trucks at the end. On July 4th floats and bands, drill teams and drum and bugle corps filled the parade with color and music. Uncle Sam walked the route on stilts. I love July 4th. I’m already making plans!
Categories: Musings
Tags: bands, barbecues, drill teams, drum corps, flamingo, floats, glorious day, hose, jaunty, July 4th, little girls, noise, parades, patriotic Travelocity gnome, pruning bushes, red spawn running, rudely awakened, shrill voices, Uncle Sam flamingo, Uncle Sam on stilts
Comments: 26 Comments
June 29, 2015
The morning is sweatshirt weather, cloudy, damp and chilly. Everything is still a bit wet. We need sun, and luckily, the weather report is hopeful: sun in the afternoon. I hope it’s right.
My neighbor and I chatted this morning, and I sat on the damp steps for so long I could get piles. Okay, I know that’s not true, but that’s what I used to hear: sitting on cold ground was never a good idea because it caused piles. It wasn’t until I was much older that I found out piles are better known as hemorrhoids. Their connection to damp concrete was just an old wife’s tale, a bit of a weird one I think.
I have a few errands for later but that’s it for the day. My back is feeling better so I don’t want to chance hurting it again by doing anything. It’s a great excuse to lie around and do nothing, as if I really needed an excuse.
Every now and then I lose a day. I find something to hold my attention and before I know it the day has gone to afternoon. Often it is a good book as I am always loath to put down a good book. Sometimes I sit on the deck, get drowsy and fall asleep on the lounge. When I wake up, the sun is lower in the sky.
I seldom check clocks and I don’t wear a watch. If I need to be somewhere, I leave early enough to get there. My bedroom has a clock because once in a while I need to set the alarm, usually to meet friends for breakfast. My den has the clock on the cable box. I check it to make sure to watch a particular TV program. I think this dislike of clocks and watches comes from my life having been driven by time. I had to get up in time to have breakfast and to walk to school, later to catch the bus to school. Ghana was where time was of the least importance, but I still needed to know when my class was starting, and I had to set the alarm to catch an early bus. Beyond those, time meant little. You waited until the lorry was filled before it could leave. Nobody knew how long that would take. People arrived whenever which was defined as Ghana time. I got used to that. I learned to wait, to while away the time.
When I got home, I was again ruled by clocks and watches. Wasting time was sinful. It was the alarm clock every morning and bells all through the day to start and stop classes. Buses and trains left on time.
Retirement is glorious as time is of little importance. I go to bed when I’m tired and wake up whenever. I list appointments on the desk calendar, the one with Jeopardy questions, the one my sister puts in my stocking every year. I don’t keep a daily calendar in my bag the way I used to when I worked. I am a lady of leisure who has no need to know the time.
Categories: Musings
Tags: appointment calendar, cloudy, errands, Ghanaian time, good books, hurt back, lose time, lost days, piles, retirement, sloth, timeless, waiting, watches and clocks, wet ground, while away the time, while the time away
Comments: 12 Comments
June 28, 2015
Last night the sky opened and the rain fell and kept falling until just a little while ago. I’m thinking we got an inch or more of rain. During the height of storm the wind was fierce, and the trees were blown about as if it were a hurricane. I have a branch down in the front yard, and my umbrella, despite its 100 pound base, tipped over onto the deck rail. One of my giant clay pots either fell or, more likely, was shoved off the rail and it shattered on the steps. I saw two grey spawns chasing each other on the deck, amorously I suspect, and they might be the broken clay pot culprits. I cleaned the mess and now have dirt under my nails.
I like Sundays, and though they are no longer the same quiet Sundays of my childhood, they do seem more subdued than any other day of the week. The kids aren’t playing in the street and even the dogs are quiet. I remember Sunday dinner as my favorite meal of the week, and I remember all of us eating together at the table. That was unusual as my Dad worked long hours and generally came home late, after we’d already eaten. He was a salesman who worked back then for J. P. Manning Co, a huge tobacco wholesaler in Boston which, among other things, sold cigars and cigarette vending machines. Once I went with my Dad to his office in Boston, but I stayed in the car. All I remember is seeing the name J. P. Manning across the top of a window.
Every dinner on Sunday had a roast as the center piece, mashed potatoes, gravy and a vegetable or two: green beans, peas, yellow waxed beans or string beans, all from cans. My mother bought her set of Sunday dishes from the supermarket, a dish a week. She also bought the accompanying dishes including a gravy boat, a vegetable server which held two vegetables and a platter for the cut slices of meat. The dishes were off-white with what looked like wheat on them as a decoration and were made of melmac. Though the dishes lasted forever, they started to fade over time and were relegated to being every day dishes.
When my mother started serving Sunday dinner on real dishes, it was cause for celebration. My mother was acknowledging we were growing up and could now be trusted with breakable dishes.
Categories: Musings
Tags: beans, breakable dishes, broken branches, broken flower pots, buckets of rain, China, cigarette vending machines, dinner, grey squirrels, mashed potatoes, melmac dishes, quiet days, salesman, Sunday roast, sundays, tobacco
Comments: 9 Comments
June 27, 2015
The inside is cooler than outside. I went on the deck earlier and filled the bird feeders, all except the red spawn of Satan’s favorite one. Afterwards I sat outside for a while patting Miss Gracie. It is a lovely morning.
My back pain had me groaning loudly enough to wake myself up several times last night, just about every time I moved. My guess is Gracie and Fern never moved and slept through my pain. I’m tired today so I see a nap on the horizon.
June was exciting only because it meant the end of school. Now I could go wherever I wanted and stay as long as I liked. My mother never knew where we were. We left in the morning with our packed lunches and got home in time for supper. I remember going to the next town over, Wakefield, and riding the circumference of the lake. At the end of the lake, the end furthest away from us, was a teepee, the symbol of a gift shop selling Indian doodads. It never occurred to me how strange that was. There were very few Indians, exactly none, in suburban Boston yet I could buy a tom-tom or a hatchet decorated in beads and fringe. Sometimes we’d leave the lake at that end and ride our bikes to Reading. I remember signs announcing some sort of a military base. Once in a while we’d even see an army truck or jeep. We’d ride through Reading Square and sometimes take a detour to the train station and sit on the benches a while hoping for a train. I always thought it was a cheat that the towns on each side of mine had trains, and we didn’t. My town was stuck with buses. We’d leave Reading and ride the back roads home. We’d pass a golf course, a cemetery and a big corner store called Fortini’s. Sometimes we’d ride the swamp path through the woods, the quickest way home, while other times we’d stay on the road.
My mother would ask us what we’d done all day. Just riding around was always our answer.
Categories: Musings
Tags: army, bike riding, bird feeders, cooler house, end of school, June, lake, reading, teepee, Wakefield
Comments: 23 Comments
June 26, 2015
The morning is dark, wet and chilly. It is the sort of weather which dampens energy and enthusiasm. I heard one bird loudly singing and hoping, I think, others would join him in a morning song. None did, and now he is gone and the day is quiet, almost silent. The leaves on the oak tree ruffle a bit but not enough to make any sound. The silence is a bit eerie.
It rained earlier this morning and looks as if it may rain again. The rain must have been more of mist as the deck under the furniture never got wet. It is a good day to stay home.
Fern woke me up this morning. She was meowing over and over. I pretended to be asleep. She jumped on the bed and head butted my arm then licked my hand hoping for a response. I ignored her and she finally fell asleep beside me; however, she is still restless, the only one of my pets not asleep on the couch with me. This is their morning nap time, not to be confused with their afternoon or evening naps, but Fern is now standing in the doorway outside this room and meowing.
We always had pets when I was a kid. We had goldfish which never lasted very long. I always figured they were bored with life in a glass bowl. We had a turtle from Woolworth’s which lived for years. His plastic enclosure had a fake palm tree and a little island. We loved stunning flies to feed him as he preferred them alive. We’d put the fly in the bowl and watch it skimming the water while the turtle was swimming over to dine. We had a parakeet, a green one, and a couple of chameleons, whose color varied based on surroundings. I had two hamsters, both males according to the pet store. They had a litter. Go figure! Duke, our boxer, was around the whole of my childhood. He died when I was in college. Duke is the reason I love boxers. We had cats, Gideon, being the first followed by Luther and Josh. I don’t ever remember a time in my life when I didn’t have a pet to love and be loved in return.
Categories: Musings
Tags: afternoon naps, birds, cats, chameleons, dark, dogs, Fish, meowing, pets, rain, silence, staying inside
Comments: 6 Comments
June 25, 2015
The sun had set but it was not dusk yet. It was that nether time between light and dark, day and night. I stood looking out the front door. Everything was still but not quiet. I could hear birds singing from all directions then from the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse though I wasn’t quite sure so I kept watching. Then it happened again and again, the blink of a firefly, on the lawn. Ever since I was a kid, I have always believed fireflies are magical, fairies like Tinker Bell waving their wands as they fly between trees, through flower beds and atop the blades of grass. The first firefly of the season made me clap and smile. The fairies are back.
Yesterday was a sweaty, grubby day for me. I repotted plants, painted a table and my old fountain red and the last part of the fence by the back door, the one keeping Gracie in the yard, green. I swept the outside shower clear of spiders and webs. I got my fountain together though it was a struggle because one piece was so heavy I could carry it up to the deck only a step at a time. It took three trips to get it altogether. The new pump fit the fountain perfectly, but there was a problem. The pump plug didn’t fit into the outlet. I was beyond frustrated. Today I will try to buy something to solve the problem.
Last night’s shower was glorious. I know the word glorious sounds strange when coupled with shower, but that’s the truth. I stood under the warm water and let all of the day’s labor, all of the sweat and all of the frustration wash away.
Today is another beautiful day, even better than yesterday as there is no humidity. It is an outside the house day with four errands on my list. The top errand is finding the plug for the outlet so the fountain plug will fit. That last sentence somehow reminds me of lines from Farmer in the Dell. The rat takes the cheese; the outlet takes the plug. Hi-Ho, the Derry-O the outlet takes the plug.
Categories: Musings
Tags: between day and night, bird songs, firefly, frustration, glorious shower, grubby day, magic, not quite dusk, outside shower, painting, repot plants, sweaty day, work
Comments: 16 Comments
June 23, 2015
Mother Nature is being deceptive. The morning is lovely with sun glinting through the leafy boughs of the trees I can see right outside my window. Patches of blue sky spread across the sky. The breeze is just right. Mother Nature, though, is toying with us. This afternoon and evening we’ll have thunder storms. The night will be chilly and damp.
Even as a kid I was never afraid of thunder or lightning. The louder and more dramatic the storm, the more I liked it. I remember how the house shook when thunder boomed right overhead. The jagged bolts of lightning brightened the sky. I remember clapping for the best in show.
My childhood was filled with sounds, and I have a few favorites. Roller-skates created wonderfully different sounds depending on the surfaces where I roller skated. In the street my wheels rolling on the sand made a grating sound, a harsh sound, and small pebbles were cause for a less than smooth ride. Tar was the best surface on which to skate. The sound was gentle, almost a humming, and the ride was smooth. The sidewalk had small inclines leading to the gutter and the street. We used to roll down those inclines which gave us the momentum to keep going without any effort, but it was tar to street which took a bit of skill. The peepers at the swamp at night made the best sounds. I used to imagine aliens were landing because that was what the song of the peepers sounded like to me. It was a strange whistling, like the sound a ship might make moving swiftly through the air. Grasshoppers sang in the field below my house, and when we walked through the field, the sound got louder almost as if in alarm. The grasshoppers would jump in front of us sometimes three or four at a time. Theirs was a pretty song.
I remember the sounds of kids playing in the backyards all over the neighborhood. I remember the sound of my mother’s voice when she yelled out the back door. Sometimes it was a warning to stay away from the lines of drying laundry while other times it was an invitation to come inside for dinner. In my neighborhood fathers never yelled out the back door. That was always the job for mothers.
Categories: Musings
Tags: alien ships, backdoors, deception, grasshoppers, kids playing, lovely morning, Mother Nature, mothers yelling, peepers, roller skates, sand on the roads, skating on tar, sounds, sounds of the skates, sun and blue sky, thunderstorms, whistling sound
Comments: 4 Comments
June 22, 2015
The sun is in and out this morning trying to decide what to do. The air is still damp and a bit humid. Right now the sky is dark but the sun is peeking through. Rain is predicted for this afternoon so I’m thinking the sun will disappear for good a bit later.
It is officially summer, and it’s barbecue time. Bring out the ribs, the burgers and the chicken wings then add some sweet summer corn. My home-grown tomatoes are getting bigger on the vine and before too long they’ll be red ripe. July 4th is opening night at the movies. I have three possibilities on the ballot: Independence Day, Jaws and 1776. I’m leaning toward Jaws as it is celebrating its 40th birthday. “We need a bigger boat,” says it all. I have decorations and sparklers and I’m working on the menu. Red, white and blue will carry the day!
Memory is an odd thing. I have vivid memories of my childhood, but I sometimes hunt high and low for where I put my glasses. Some singular moments stand out from all the others, and I don’t know why. They aren’t particularly important moments, but they stay prominent regardless. One memory is silly. I was on the plane to Ghana and we stopped in Madrid. When we got back on the plane, my seatbelt was caught between the seat and the wall so I couldn’t use it. I pretended I was belted when the stewardess went around checking seatbelts. I don’t know why I just didn’t ask for help.
I sat in the back of the room when I was in the sixth grade, but in the front of the room when I was in the eighth. Neither really matters, but I still remember how the rooms looked from each perspective. I remember the candy counter at the movie theater. My favorite nickel bar of candy was a Welch’s Fudge Bar. They aren’t around anymore. My second favorite was a Skybar. You can still buy one of those. The fudge square was my favorite, probably still is. I remember how funny my feet felt in shoes after ice skating. My bologna sandwiches were misshapen because I had to cut pieces from a roll of bologna and some pieces were thick while others were too thin.
I can still close my eyes and see and describe places as they were. I don’t think of it as a trip down memory lane but rather as an adventure back in time.
Categories: Musings
Tags: Barbecue, bologna sandwiches, childhood, damp, Elementary school, humidity, July 4th, memories, movie night, planes and seatbelts, red, Skybar, sparklers, summer, sun, tomaotoes, vivid memories, vivid pictures, Welch's Fudge Bar, white and blue
Comments: 14 Comments
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