Archive for the ‘Musings’ category
May 1, 2015
Okay, I’m not liking this on again off again sunny day. Today is cloudy and chilly. Supposedly warm days are coming, but I have become a weather skeptic. When I can go outside wearing a short sleeve shirt, I’ll become a believer.
This morning I dragged myself out of bed at ten, yup ten o’clock. Fern and Gracie were still with me. As my mother used to say, “You must have needed the sleep.”
We’re going to the dump today, a day later than usual. We’re also going to buy cat food and dog treats and a treat for me, my favorite sandwich.
Some days I have absolutely nothing to talk about while other days my words runneth over. Today is a nothing to talk about day. It is May Day which means baskets of flowers and it’s also International Workers’ Day, take your pick, both have merit. I’m in a flowers sort of mood hoping they’ll brush away the clouds.
When I was a kid, I felt interminably stuck inside on any sunny, spring school day. My classroom was surrounded by tall windows and looking out of them was a form of torture. I could see what I couldn’t have. There I was using my fingers to count while outside all that sun was being wasted. Even worse was when the sunlight shined on my desk. I loved recess on those sunny days but recess always had the same ending: the officious nun rang the bell, and we dutifully and quietly lined up in twos by class to go back inside. I remember running all the way home so I could play just a bit longer in the sun before my mother called me in for dinner.
I’ll abide the clouds today. It’s not as if I have a choice. I suppose I could be a Pollyanna and build a castle in the clouds, but given my mood, that’s far too much imagination for me. I’m really tired of clouds.
Categories: Musings
Tags: baskets of flowers, cat food, cloudy, dog treats, dump run, favorite sandwich, International Workers' Day, May Day, playing after school, sleeping in until ten, stuck in school, sunny days
Comments: 8 Comments
April 30, 2015
Today the outside world beckons. It is a bit chilly but the sun is bright. I almost want to lie down on the deck with Gracie and soak up the warmth. The cats are sleeping in the sunlight streaming through the front door. Lots of birds are at the feeders. The red spawn was there earlier but now has a Pavlovian response to me. If I go outside and the spawn is on the squirrel proof feeder, it jumps on a branch, runs up the tree trunk and then jumps from branch to branch across the yard. I don’t even have the hose yet, and it still runs away from me.
When I was a kid, the phone we had was a party line. We shared it with Mrs. McGaffigan whose house was at the bottom of our hill. It was a really big house, the sort built in the 1930’s, with a front porch. The house sat right on the corner across from a similar house on the other corner also with a big front porch. I never knew who lived in that house, and I only knew Mrs. McGaffigan by her voice. When the phone rang, we had to listen to the number of rings to see if the call was for us or for Mrs. McGaffigan. Sometimes we didn’t care, and we’d pick up the phone to listen to her conversation. She always seem to catch us. I think we giggled. “Put the phone down right now,” was what was always said. Most times we put it down but once in a while we just pressed the button so she’d think we had, and we’d keep listening. Mrs. McGaffigan never really had an exciting conversation. We liked listening because we shouldn’t. We eventually got our own number, and I always missed Mrs. McGaffigan and her phone calls. When I go back to my town, I drive the familiar routes I walked as a kid. I usually drive right by Mrs. McGaffigan’s. The house still looks big perched on the corner. I don’t know who lives there, and It will never matter. It is always Mrs. McGaffigan’s house to me.
Categories: Musings
Tags: front porch, listening on the phone line, nostalgic rides, party line, Pu the phone down, red spawn, sleeping cats, streaming warmth, suuny
Comments: 8 Comments
April 28, 2015
The day is uninviting. The flags in my front yard are flapping and whipping in the wind. In my back yard, the pine tree trunks sway and almost bend. We haven’t any sun. It rained last night and the clouds just stayed around. Bleak comes to mind except for one amazing spot in the front garden where my forsythia has bloomed in the brightest yellow. It is the most hopeful sign of the progression of the season, of the emergence of spring.
We had a very small kitchen when I was a kid. The table was sandwiched against the wall and at best five chairs could be set around it. There were six of us, but my mother never sat with us so five chairs were enough. My mother was an at the counter eater. Even much later in a kitchen with plenty of room, my mother liked the counter. I never thought it was strange.
My parents never mentioned their pets. I think maybe my mother had a dog, but that memory is fuzzy. I know my dad didn’t have any pets. His parents were not pet people. When I was five, we got our first dog, a Boxer need Duke. From then on our house always had pets, usually a dog and a cat or two at the same time. I can’t imagine a house without a pet.
I don’t know how my parents became pet people. I’m thinking it was just in their natures. They had no history of loving dogs or cats, but they surely loved theirs and mine. Every dog I had was spoiled when visiting my parents. My dad would get a bowl of ice cream for himself and one for the dog. I’d bring up treats and dog food, but each dog turned its nose up at its usual treats and would stand by the fridge patiently waiting for my mother to give it some cold cuts and cheese. She thought it was funny. For Christmas one year my mother gave my dog homemade biscuits. Maggie thought they were manna from heaven. My father never met Maggie and neither of my parents met Gracie. My dad would have been roaring laughing at Gracie and her sass. Maggie would have followed him around and sat with him in the yard. She loved her leisure. I’m sorry that Maggie and Gracie never got to be spoiled by my parents. I, however, fill the gap. In my mind, pets are meant to be spoiled as sort of a small thank you for what they give us, for the love which is immeasurable.
Categories: Musings
Tags: being a pet person, bleak, Clouds, cold cuts, dogs and cats, eating at the counter, forsythia, growing up with a dog, small kitchen, spoiled pets, spoiling dogs, Wind
Comments: 21 Comments
April 27, 2015
No errands to do today, but I have some laundry which I’ve brought down to this floor, only one more floor to go. I’ll probably make my bed, but that’s not a given. I will water the plants. I’ve already showered and read the papers. The day is partly sunny which I prefer over partly cloudy, a choice which reminds me of the half-full or half-empty glass description. I always figured that choice had little to do with outlook and more to do with thirst. Really thirsty makes the glass half-empty.
In our travels, my brother and I would drink water from just about everywhere except the swamp. Beside the tracks, there was a pipe with water flowing from it. Underneath the pipe was a small pool of water which was the start of a stream. We always stopped there for a drink. The water looked clean. That’s all we cared about. There were very few bubblers around town. One was at the field below our street, and we stopped there. We even taught the dog to drink from it. Germs were never a consideration. Cooties were, not germs, but dogs didn’t have cooties. People did. In my head just now jumped the memory of cootie catchers. They were made by folding a paper several times until there were four corners meeting in the middle and each corner had a pocket to put your fingers in so you could move the corners back and forth until a corner was chosen. Inside each corner was something pithy the maker had written. We also used those cootie catchers as fortune tellers, a nicer game. Later I realized these were origami, but knowing that was a long way in the future.
The best and the coldest water was from the hose. Before you drank it, the water had to run a bit as the sun had warmed the water already in the hose. Once it was cold enough, the flow had to be gentle or the front of your shirt got soaked. It was a balancing act which took some practice.
Even in Ghana we drank suspect water which had floaties, our pet name for whatever was in the water bottle, really a beer bottle holding water, but on my latest two visits to Ghana, I bought water, bottled water. I figured I’m beyond taking chances with floaties.
Categories: Musings
Tags: choosing half empty, choosing half full, cootie catcher, cooties, drinking water, fortune teller, Laundry, lazy day, make bed, origami, water from the hose, water plants
Comments: 8 Comments
April 26, 2015
It’s cold again today. The high will be 51˚. The nights are still in the mid to high 30’s. The sun was here for a bit then the clouds came in and the sun was covered, but the day is still light.
When I was a kid, I either went to the early mass with my dad, the usher, or I walked to mass later in the morning. If it was a lucky Sunday, my aunt would be at the later mass, see me and invite me to the Stoneham Spa for a lime ricky. The spa was uptown. It was old and looked like the malt shops on TV. It had wooden booths with all sorts of names carved on the tables, faded signs on the walls highlighting some of the menu items and stools at the counter. It had been a hangout even during my mother’s high school days. I don’t remember when it closed down, but I know it was before I was in high school or we would have been there.
If I didn’t see my aunt, I’d trudge home after mass to spend the most boring day of the week in the house. We didn’t go anywhere to play or roam on Sunday because we had to be there for the big Sunday dinner. It was usually the only time in the week we had roast beef so it wasn’t all that bad being stuck in the house waiting for dinner. I’d read the comics, the only part of the paper I cared about, or watch the Sunday movie. Sometimes we’d go visit my grandparents after dinner, but mostly we just stayed around the house. On Sunday nights we went to bed earlier than usual. My mother gave us the excuse, which we never believed, that because we had been up late on Friday and Saturday nights we needed to go early to get our rest for school on Monday. We used to argue and plead but to no avail. I think my displeasure was evidenced by my feet pounding each step as I went upstairs, but I was usually wearing slippers so the noise wasn’t bad enough for my father to yell.
Sundays haven’t really changed much. They are still mostly boring. Now I read all of the papers, but I still start with comics. Old, ingrained habits seldom die. I don’t cook a big meal for myself but I like Sunday breakfast. That comes from when I’d visit my parents, and my dad always made me my Sunday breakfast. He’d cook eggs, anyway I wanted them, bacon and toast. Mostly I liked them sunny-side up. That’s what I make for myself, but he never broke the yolks. I sometimes do.
Categories: Musings
Tags: afternoon TV movie, boring Sunday, cloudy, cold, comics in the paper, early to bed, malt shop, Mass, pounding feet, roast beef, Stoneham Spa, Sunday breakfast, Sunday dinner
Comments: 12 Comments
April 25, 2015
The house was cold this morning. I really didn’t want to get out of bed and neither did Gracie. She stood up, shook, then settled back down beside me, leaning against me. She’s into warmth. It was late, 9:20, so I dragged myself downstairs to begin the day.
My mother never woke us up on the weekends or in the summer. The older we got, the longer we slept in, but when we were young, we wanted the whole day. On summer Saturdays we’d get dressed, bolt down our cereals then take off, sometimes on our bikes and sometimes on foot. We’d cut through the woods to get to the horses in the field on Green Street. The house on the property was red, large and old. It was one of those square houses I found out much later were called federal. We’d stand by the fence, and the horses would come over and we’d pat them. My brother and I would try to feed them grass but they weren’t interested. A couple of times we climbed the fence hoping to jump on the horses and ride them. They’d take off as soon as we got close which was a good thing. I’m sure riding bareback would have lasted about a minute or two before I hit the ground.
Once in a while we’d alter our walking route and head for a different side of town, the area where the box factory, the railroad station and the red store were. Back then my town had a lot of factories for a small town: the Jones Shoe factory up town and two other factories which make chemicals, both by the railroad tracks. Those two buildings were brick, not common for buildings where I lived. Across the front of one was a black sign, but I don’t remember the name of the company though I passed it more times than I can remember because that part of the tracks was a shortcut home. All the factories were still active when I was a kid. One of my friend’s mothers worked in the shoe factory, and I remember watching the trains crossing the main road on their way to the chemical factories.
I used to love walking those tracks, none of which remain. Even now I always stop and watch trains. There is something about them which grabs my imagination.
Categories: Musings
Tags: bike riding, box factory, chemical factories, cold day, factories, federal architecture, field, patting horses, railroad tracks, sleeping in, walking, weekends
Comments: 17 Comments
April 24, 2015
Today is yesterday and it’s the day before that. The temperature is in the 50’s and it is sunny and cloudy. The breeze, almost a wind, makes the day feel colder. I have things to do so Gracie and I will be out and about including a trip to the dump where it will feel like winter when the wind whips across the dump’s expanse.
My father loved to go to the dump. He usually went every Saturday and always asked for someone to go with him. There were few takers. That dump was a dump of old with high piles of trash and seagulls flying overhead squawking the whole time. The piles and the seagulls could be seen from the highway. I always told people coming to visit to keep their eyes peeled for the dump as we were the next exit.
My father would be disappointed at the dumps now with all their recycle bins and trash bins. The fun is gone and so are the seagulls.
I always found nuns mysterious and a little bit scary. I used to wonder what their hair looked like under their habits, and I also wondered why they had white handkerchiefs stuffed up their sleeves instead of in their pockets. I thought it was sort of gross. My first nuns had white blinders so they couldn’t see sideways without turning their heads. It was always to our advantage that by the time the nun turned we weren’t doing anything. She could hear the whisper but not pinpoint the source. The nuns also had a piece, sort of a half veil, across their foreheads just below the wimple. We got quite the shock when we went back to school when I was in the eighth grade. The blinders were gone and all that was left was a little visor across the top. That nun could see everyone and everything. Nuns 1, kids 0.
Categories: Musings
Tags: blinders, cold, dump run, habits, nuns, piles of trash, recycle bins, seagulls, sunny, wimple
Comments: 8 Comments
April 23, 2015
Lately I have been a bit bored with the outside world. Nothing much is going on. I stayed around the house yesterday, chased the spawn a few times and watered my plants, the highlights of my day. I also read a while and took a nap. The weather has settled into the 50’s every day, some days cloudy, some days sunny and some days both. Today so far is a both day. I woke up to sun and now it’s cloudy.
When I was a kid, I’d go for a bike ride to while away some time. I’d ride up town and check out the lobsters swimming in the tank in the window of the fish market. I’d watch the cobbler tapping the soles of shoes with his little hammer. He always wore an apron. I’d look through the window of the bakery and wish I had some money. They made the best lemon cupcakes. I’d stop at the pet store and check out what was for sale. They never sold cats or dogs but mostly lizards, chameleons and fish. Next store was the sub shop, and I could smell the stuff of subs like the meat and condiments. Mr. Santoro, the owner, spoke English with a heavy accent, and if he made my sub, I didn’t always understand what he was saying. Sometimes I pointed.
I always rode in the same direction on my bike, toward the zoo. I don’t know why I seldom headed the other way, toward Reading. I just never did though once I did ride to Reading with some friends to my seventh grade teacher’s house. She wasn’t happy to see us but pretended she was. We all agreed on that. She was a bit of a cold fish, a description my mother would use. Her name was Mrs. Cochran, and even before the ride wasn’t a favorite of mine. She was the one who told me girls shouldn’t play basketball.
I guess I should take the hint from my younger self and go for a ride, a car ride this time as I suspect Gracie would love to join me. I’ll do back roads, and they’ll be a bit like my store windows with stuff to see. I’ll go slowly so I don’t miss anything.
Categories: Musings
Tags: bakery, bike ride, bored, car ride, cloudy, cobbler, cold fish, lemon cupcakes, lobsters, nap, pet store, reading, Santoro's, sub shop, sunny, teacher, window shopping
Comments: 10 Comments
April 21, 2015
Today is cloudy, but the day is so light the sun must be hidden behind the grey. Earlier, morning fog covered all the bushes and the lower branches of the trees. It’s warm, far warmer than I expected. Despite the clouds, I think it’s a nice day. The street cleaner rumbled by a couple of times sweeping the winter storm sand to the sides of the street. It is not a quiet truck.
My morning routine seldom differs. I wake up whenever, feed the cats, let the dog out, put the coffee on, go out and get the papers and yesterday’s mail, give Gracie her morning treats then grab a cup of coffee and settle in with the papers. I like my mornings.
No matter where I am, the mornings are different from the rest of the day. If I’m on a trip, I love to get up really early and wander the streets. I get to watch the day unfold. People sweep. Shopkeepers wear white aprons and have long-handled brooms. Africans wear colorful cloths and have hard grass brooms with no handles. They have to bend to use them. In cities, trucks stop in streets to unload goods for stores and restaurants. In one hotel my room’s window faced a side street where the trucks parked. They were my wake-up call every morning. In Santa Fe I sat on a bench and watched the Indians set up their wares while I munched on pastry and drank coffee. It was so early the square was empty of other people. At Gettysburg, I was awake before the park opened so I waited and was the first that morning to wander the battlefield. It was covered in ground fog. It was quiet as befitting a memorial.
Early mornings here on the Cape are quiet in the summer. The tourists are late risers. I sometimes go out to breakfast but most times I get coffee and take a ride. I watch quahoggers raking the river bottom while seagulls swoop and fly in circles over their heads hoping for a handout. Seagulls are always loud.
I know I’ve told you before, but I love African mornings most of all. They are filled with the smells of charcoal fires and the sounds of women pounding their mortar with pestles to make fufu. The sound is rhythmic. Everyone is up early in Ghana, even I was. I hated to miss any part of the morning.
Categories: Musings
Tags: Africa, African mornings, Cape mornings, charcoal fires, cloudy, daily routine, foggy, Gettysburg, morning air, mornings, people sweeping, quahogging, Santa Fe, trucks, warm day
Comments: 33 Comments
April 20, 2015
Cold, windy day today. The sky is a light grey. The high will be in the very low 50’s. I have no plans for the day so I’m staying home, cozy, warm and, best of all, comfortable. Huzzah, there are buds on my forsythia and on my wild rose bushes. I noticed them this morning. They are always the first to bloom.
Today is Patriot’s Day here in Massachusetts, a state holiday. It commemorates the Battles of Lexington and Concord, the start of the Revolutionary War. That day helped define the character of Massachusetts.
I remember in the sixth grade learning about the Revolutionary War. Miss Quilter told it like a story, and I was enthralled. She explained about Paul Revere’s ride and how he, William Dawes and other riders rode all night to get to Lexington. She told us why it was called the “shot heard round the world” in Emerson’s poem. There was a picture in my textbook of Patriots hiding behind rocks to shoot at the Redcoats. Miss Quilter explained the picture and guerrilla warfare. That word wasn’t in my textbook, and I thought it was the same as the big monkeys. Miss Quilter went on to tell us the Red Coats didn’t see the shooters or know where the bullets were coming from. The Patriots followed the British all the way back to Boston and shot from behind rocks and trees.
We did a family outing one Sunday to Lexington and Concord. It was history come to life. I remember walking across the Old North Bridge in Concord and I remember standing on the Lexington Green just imagining the battle. The statue of the Minute Man seemed to stand above all else. We went into the tavern where Adams and Hancock were before they fled. On the way home we traveled the same route Revere had. I was in awe that whole day.
Categories: Musings
Tags: cold, comfortable, Concord, grey day, guerilla warfare, Lexington, Minuteman, Patriots' Day, Redcoats, Revolutionary War, windy
Comments: 8 Comments
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