Rain is likely tonight, but now it is only cloudy and 47°. Despite the weather, I have to go out for dog and cat food. Those pets of mine demand they be fed every day! What nerves!!

This is a bit of a throwback Saturday. I am watching old science fiction movies, mostly black and white. I even ate my breakfast in front of the TV but not close enough to go blind. I did pass on one movie, Battle Dogs, in which a virus turns people into ravenous wolves. That is even too far fetched for me. I love giant creature movies and the early Godzilla and Rodan movies. I do wonder about aliens. If they come to this planet, they’re called aliens, but, in most alien movies, if we go to their planet they are the aliens. I don’t get it.

I prefer dubbed creature movies from Japan. With subtitles I am forced to watch the movie instead of being able just to listen while I do something else. I know the movement of lips seldom matches the words in English, but I’m okay with that. 

I don’t remember when I started loving science fiction. I was young. I’m thinking maybe all those black and white sci-fi movies in the 50’s piqued my interest. I watched Creature Double Feature. I have favorite movies I still watch like THEM, Invasion from Mars, The Blob, The Thing, The Monolith Monsters and so many more. I’m also big on disaster movies. Lately I’ve been watching floods and twister wreak havoc on the world.

Saturdays have always been sacrosanct. When I was a kid, Saturday was my day to what I wanted. What I did to entertain myself depended on the weather. My favorite adventures were always when I was riding my bike. I loved riding by myself as I could go anywhere I wanted, as far as I wanted. I’d meander all over town and into the next towns. I’d collect golf balls near the courses. They were the errant balls which flew across the street. I’d find  them on front lawns and in gutters. I had a collection. Sometimes I’d pick up pine cones. I just figured they’d come in handy. I used to stop at the zoo. It was free. I’d ride all day into late afternoon. 

I am sometimes asked what I do now that I am retired. I tell people every day is a Saturday. 

The sun was shining earlier, but now it is just light behind the clouds, but the day, at 51°, is already warmer than it has been. The small branches are blowing in the wind. It is a spring day.

When I was a kid, days like today made me want to skip, even run, for the joy of it. My winter coat was already in the closet to stay. I wore my jacket with a sweater underneath though sometimes I didn’t need the sweater. My mother was the wardrobe arbiter. I think she just stuck her head out the door before she decided what I’d wear. 

I always had the best lunches. My mother knew what to pack and what not to pack in my lunchbox. I never had peanut butter and jelly, and I only had tuna on Fridays, the meatless day. I ate so many tuna sandwiches between my first and eighth grades I haven’t eaten tuna in years, decades. I am also not a fan of egg salad. My mother used to keep cookies hidden so they’d be enough for lunches. Sometimes she would surprise me with something Hostess. Ring Dings and Sno Balls, pink Sno Balls, were my favorites. I especially loved the coconut in the pink frosting. I also liked Hostess cupcakes. Sometimes I could pull off the frosting on the cupcakes in one piece. I’d save it for last. I’d buy milk at school. It was delivered to my classroom just before lunch. I was never good at opening milk cartons. 

In high school I bought my lunch. Later, I earned my lunch by cleaning trays. I did it to to keep my lunch money, my play money, my ice cream money at Brigham’s after school. The women in the cafeteria always had the radio playing. I remember I was cleaning trays when the radio announced the president had been shot. I ran to my classroom and turned on the TV. Sister Ernestina came in and wanted to know who had turned on the TV. I did I told her, and I told her why. She watched with us. The trays are a part of my memories of that day.

Today the furnace guy is coming back to put in a new furnace filter. The furnace was an easy fix this time. He did say that there is rust, and the furnace will need to be replaced. That made me cringe.

Yesterday I heard the loud gobbles of turkeys. I went to look and saw amorous turkeys, three pairs of them. The gobblers had spread their tails. I could see all the colors of the feathers, the gold and the copper. One had such long tail feathers I could hear the  feathers scrape on the ground. One of the hens couldn’t resist and the two danced around each other. I went back inside the house and let them dance in peace. 

I have loved baseball since I was a kid. The basic rules were easy to learn. The nuances like a Texas leaguer or when to bunt came later. Girls played softball, never baseball, but once, when I went to my brother’s practice, the coach asked me if I wanted to play. I did. I played second base for a few innings. I had two hits including a double. The coach was amazed. I was thrilled. 

My first Red Sox game was at night. A friend’s sister worked for the Sox so she got seats for us. We got there early to watch batting practice. I remember walking out from the tunnel to the field. The lights were lit, and the grass was the greenest grass I had ever seen. I stood mesmerized. The outfielders were close. One caught a ball near me and gave me the ball. It was a treasure. Our seats were box seats close to the field. We ate hot dogs. We ate peanuts. Shells were all round my feet. I don’t even remember if the Sox won or not, but I vividly remember everything else. 

In those days tickets were cheap. The bleacher seats were under a dollar. They were my usual hang out. The bleacher crowd was always loud, fun. Years later my friend could get box seats for any game. His father was a well known state politician. I remember for one game we were beside the dugout in row 2. My friend’s mother had filled a picnic basket we took to the game. We even had popcorn. 

My house has Red Sox memorabilia. I have only one signed ball, a Trot Nixon. I have a NESN bobble head with Don Orsillo and Jerry Remy. Don is the Padres announcer now and Jerry had passed away. They were such fun. I miss both of them. I have a David Ortiz commemorative bat, a few Sox hats, a signed Bill Monbouquette card, a Wally doll, a couple of ticket stubs and my favorite, a brick. The Sox sold bricks to commemorate the 100th anniversary of Fenway. Mine was a gift from friends. My brick is in the Monbouquette section. That signed card was another gift. My friends were stumped as to what to put on the brick. They decided on Kathleen Ryan, Peace Corps, Ghana 1969-1971. Check it out if you are ever in Fenway.

Today is opening day!! 

My furnace has stopped heating the house. It blows for all it is worth but the heat doesn’t rise. The last thing I need is a new furnace. I am hoping it can be fixed. I called and made an appointment. They will be here this afternoon. Until then, I’ll bundle. I’ll let you know.

Last night was in the low 20’s. That’s winter. Today will be in the low 40’s, sort of spring. In the front garden, the daffodil buds are high. The purple hyacinths are poking above the ground. I can hardly wait for them to bloom. I can hardly wait for color. I’m tired of grays and browns. 

Today is a dark, rainy day, but I have to go out anyway. I have a dentist appointment, just a cleaning, and I need some stamps. 

When I was a kid, I loved my dentist. He always gave me gas so I just slept through it all. My father, though, thought that dentist was too expensive so he decided to take me to East Boston to his childhood dentist. That man could have easily stepped into the role of Orin Scrivello D.D.S. in Little Shop of Horrors. His equipment was old. I think it was the same equipment he used on my father. He didn’t use Novocain. I was in so much pain I held on to the arms of the chair so hard I swear I left finger indentations. Tears would stream down my cheeks. I remember getting home and being in horrific pain. He had left an exposed nerve. My father took me back. I think I would have preferred the exposed nerve. 

My childhood doctor was a big man, a huge man. He wore suspenders. He’d sit behind his desk asking questions. My parents were of the generation that didn’t have check-ups so we didn’t either. I saw the doctor only when I needed to for things like stitches or heavy duty colds. My doctor’s office was on the first floor of his house. The house was old, huge and beautiful. It was right beside the driveway of the school parking lot and playground. I remember all the wood in the waiting area, the beautiful stairs and a wooden newel which was big and shiny. I also remember the skeleton in his office. It was real and hung by the window. That house is still there, still beautiful.

Break time! I’m off to the dentist.

I’m now home with clean, shiny teeth.

I hate crooked pictures. I have even straightened a couple in my doctor’s office. They assault my sensibilities. I hate socks which slide down into my shoes, but I don’t mind holey socks. I am not a fan of refried beans. They look disgusting like something a baby may have left. I love corn but not so much cream corn as it spreads cross the plate. I do have a corn bread recipe which calls for cream corn. The bread is delicious. Having been an English teacher, I hear all the grammatical errors on TV. The most common is the wrong use of a pronoun as the object of the preposition. I always correct it out loud. The dogs think I’m talking to them. 

Mother Nature is gaslighting us. When I looked out the window this morning, I saw a bright, beautiful sunny day with a deep blue sky. I thought how lovely and went outside on the deck to enjoy the sun. I turned right around and went back into the house. It is cold, jacket cold. It is still more winter than spring. You got me, Mother Nature.

When I was a kid, Sunday was my least favorite day. I had to go to mass or risk eternal damnation. I was never devout. I’d smuggle in a book to read hoping people would think I was reading my missal. I’d sit and stand at the appropriate places and that was my total involvement. We had Sunday dinners, a special meal. Every other day we had suppers. Some Sundays we stayed home while on other Sundays we went to East Boston to see my grandparents, my aunts, uncles and my cousins. In every way Sunday was family day.

At my school in Ghana, Sunday was a special day. In the morning there was a service. The cafeteria tables were moved, and the chairs were set in rows. The students wore their Sunday dresses, a uniform of sorts, to the service. The fabric for those dresses was different for each class. The dresses were in three parts, a top, a sort of skirt which was long like a gown would be and a matching piece of cloth which was wrapped around the waist. After the service students could wear any dress.

Sunday was visitors’ day. A photographer also came on school grounds, and many students had their pictures taken. Many of them gifted me with a picture. I still have a few of them. We, my friends, Bill and Peg, and I always ate local food on Sundays. Bill and I would drive to town, to the lorry park to one of the chop bars and buy fufu or t-zed and bring it home for Sunday dinner. That made Sunday special.

My Sundays now are quiet. I make a pot of coffee and sometimes eggs. I read the Sunday paper. I call my sister in Colorado, and we always talk at least an hour to catch up with each other. The rest of the day is unplanned, maybe the dump, maybe a nap and just maybe Sunday dinner. Today it will be a Sunday dinner, a chicken dinner. 

Today is a spring day. The sun is brilliant, and the blue sky is deep and layered and without a single cloud. The air is crisp, morning crisp. It will get warmer as the day passes. We could even get into the 50’s. It is only in the mid-40’s now, but, without a wind, it feels warmer. The nights, though, are holding on to winter still and might even get down to the 30’s. 

I can smell wood burning, one of my favorite smells. Maybe someone is using a chiminea. In Ghana, I loved the mornings. The air was rich with the aroma of burning wood from the compounds behind my house. Breakfast was being cooked.

Today I have some chores. I need to move a few things down to the cellar, water the plants, sweep the kitchen and clean the dining room, though it’s a maybe on that last one as I don’t want to over-do. My inner sloth would object loudly.

On Wednesday I noticed a nail sticking out of my tire. It was a shiny new nail. Oddly, it was the head of the nail embedded in the tire, not the point. I made an appointment and got a new tire. They told me I need a second new tire. I made another appointment.

The morning is filled with the songs of birds. The goldfinches are so many at my feeders that they have to sit in line on a branch for a spot on one of the two thistle feeders. I filled the feeders a couple of days ago, and I filled them again this morning. Joining the goldfinches are chickadees, nuthatches, house finches and sparrows. Yesterday Mrs. Cardinal dropped in as did a couple of mourning doves. One pig of a blue jay grabbed some seed from my open feeder. I love watching the birds.

When I was a kid, my mother had bits of wisdom to impart to me. She followed the mother’s handbook in not letting us swim after eating for fear we’d have cramps and maybe even drown, and that we courted blindness by sitting close to the TV. I learned certain vegetables had magical powers, like carrots which would give me keen eyesight. If I swallowed gum, the wad would stay in my belly for years. Drinking coffee would stunt my growth. If I shaved my legs, the hair would grow back thick and black. If I cracked my knuckles, they’d get huge. If I didn’t dress warmly, I’d catch a cold as if one flew in the air waiting for a coatless, hatless kid. My sisters and I still quote her, “It is too cold to snow.”

Happy spring! Today, though, is calendar spring. Real spring, warm and sunny and filled with color, hasn’t arrived yet. It will be a while. Today is chilly and cloudy. The early morning was foggy. This is sweatshirt weather, the time between winter and spring. 

When I was a kid, spring was my favorite season. The mornings were still chilly and crisp, but the air was different. It had a sweetness. In the bleak gardens in front of the houses on my walk to school shoots starting poking their heads above the ground. I watched them grow taller. I loved when the buds had a tinge of yellow. The trees started to wake up and had the tiniest bits of green at the ends of the branches. My winter coat was put away until the next year. Bundling just meant adding a sweater under my jacket. I played outside longer after school. I reveled in the stirrings of spring.

My yard and deck were cleared yesterday, a spring clean up. The morning songs of birds are getting louder. The dafs are taller and the buds more prominent. I keep hoping for warmer days. I want to ditch that sweatshirt.

The other night for dinner I had tabbouleh and hummus, foods I first ate in Ghana at one of the Lebanese restaurants of which there were many. I hadn’t ever heard of Lebanese foods before that. Every time I was in Accra I usually went to Talou’s, a restaurant near the Peace Corps office. The hummus was served on a flat plate with an edge. It was spread cross the plate. In the middle was sesame oil and on the hummus was a ring of hot pepper. I still love to eat it that way. 

I haven’t made anything in a long while. I used to bake. I also used to make foods from all over the world for an annual dinner with friends, foods like Chinese, Indian, Cajun and yes, African. They were all new dishes, the first time I ever made them. I liked the risk. I need to get back to that. 

The morning is cloudy. We still have a wind but a lesser wind. The high is predicted to be 43° which is a cape spring temperature, but tonight could be winter with a predicted low of 36°. I have a couple of errands today, and I still have a long to do list. Yesterday I crossed off cleaning the living room. I even polished the furniture. My inner sloth was screaming the whole time. 

My schedule this week is uke heavy starting with practice tonight. I have three concerts on each of the next three days. I’m going to miss my afternoon naps.

I had seven goldfinches at the thistle feeders this morning. I added a new thistle feeder the other day after I had noticed the goldfinch traffic. Now, both feeders need to be refilled. I’ll also fill the sunflower feeders. I’m finding I spend more money on creature food than on my groceries. 

My mother loved watching the birds. We used to tease her because she seemed to get mostly pigeons. We called them country pigeons. One time even a seagull dropped by for dinner. She used to hang the feeders from the middle of her clothes line to keep them from the squirrels, but her squirrels were agile acrobats, tight rope walkers. We used to watch them from the kitchen window as they balanced their way across the line to the feeders. My mother had a special garden in the corner of her backyard. You could see it from the kitchen windows. A statue of St. Francis held his hand out to hold seeds. She had planted flowers all around the statue. The garden was fenced. One time my dog Maggie found her way into the garden. My mother yelled. I had to go get Maggie and fix the fence. She was the biggest “bird” ever to grace my mother’s garden.

In keeping with the season, my new jigsaw puzzle has an Easter theme. It has chocolate rabbits, decorated eggs, peeps and a giant Easter basket. I work on it just about every night. I’m at the point where I feel triumphant when I find the right spot for a piece. Jigsaw puzzles are addictive.

My dogs are having their morning naps. Nala is on the couch while Henry is upstairs on my bed. They have become sloths, my fault I’m sure. 

The weather is ugly. The wind started last night. I don’t when the rain started, but it is loud and heavy. The dog door was blown open by the wind. The floor is soaked so I had to close the back door, but I don’t think the dogs will mind. They are not rain dogs. It will rain all day. The temperature at 55° is wasted. 

When I was a kid, I went to St. Patrick’s grammar school. I always had today, St. Patrick’s Day, off from school. My parents often hosted a St. Patrick’s Day party on the weekend closest to the big day. My mother decorated, moved the dining room table against the wall and made so much food the table groaned. The house was filled with relatives. I remember the kitchen crammed with people singing Irish songs. The back door was always opened to clear the smoke. The temporary bar was on the counter.  It was always a celebration of food, drink and family. 

My mother always made corned beef and cabbage for dinner on the big day. If it was a weekend, I’d visit. One year I brought my dog Shauna, my first boxer, to visit and meet my parents. My father loved her right away and spoiled her. She loved him right back. While he was filling his plate with corned beef and cabbage, he made Shauna a plate. She had everything, even a slice of buttered Irish bread. She cleared the plate so well it looked clean. My father even gave her ice cream for dessert.

I have a concert this morning. I’ll wear my Irish sweatshirt, my shamrock fascinator and my glittery shamrock earrings. Later, I’ll watch a film befitting the day. I’m thinking The Quiet Man. I haven’t made a big dinner, but I’m thinking a sandwich with all the fixings might be in order. Maybe, in memory of my dad I’ll share it with the dogs.