Archive for the ‘Musings’ category
June 9, 2015
Dreary is the perfect adjective to describe today. A sunless sky and a gusty wind make it chilly so long sleeves are the dress of the day. Intermittent showers are predicted. I won’t complain. We still need rain.
Earlier I had my monthly library board meeting which never takes more than an hour. We are an amiable group usually voting yes to any requests. Two members are ninety and one other is in her eighties. I always feel young.
When I was a kid, talking in the library was frowned upon. The librarian would shush us and put her finger to her lips to tell us to be quiet. We whispered but never softly enough. Even in the children’s section the librarian created a sense of foreboding. I never asked her for anything, and she never volunteered. Her circulation desk was round which I figured was the rule as every circulation desk I ever saw was round: hence, the name I suppose. The desk was across from the door and there the librarian sat to check books in and out. Those were the days of hand held stamps and book cards on which you wrote your name. I remember watching her carefully place the stamp in the due date box on the slip at the back of the book. She wanted to make sure the date was straight and in the middle of the small box. That librarian looked like she needed the stamp straight. Everything about her was perfect from the bun in her hair to the thick nylons and the black, laced shoes. The only words she ever spoke to me were, “Did you find what you wanted?” I mumbled yes every time but wondered what a no would have brought.
Libraries today are places where you feel welcome and where you can even talk without a single shush in your direction. I haven’t seen a bun on any librarian in years. The librarian in my library doesn’t wear a flowered dress or clunky black heels. She dresses for comfort because that’s the feeling she engenders in her library. She offers help and suggestions. Today I dropped off three books and picked up three more.
I have always loved libraries even when I got shushed.
Categories: Musings
Tags: book cards, checking books in and out, chilly day, cloudy and windy, date stamps, dreary, finger to lips, foreboding, intermittent showers, librarians, library, shushing
Comments: 16 Comments
June 8, 2015
This morning is one of those the house is colder than outside mornings. I went to my neighbors for our usual Monday language lesson wearing a sweatshirt. The day is so warm the sweatshirt came off and we sat outside in the sun. A wonderfully cooling breeze is blowing. It’s a pretty day.
I am still amazed by Cape Cod. In the warm days of late spring, the wild roses in whites and reds are everywhere. They grow on the edges of fields and woods and in front of old captains’ houses. I have one which has grown up the trunk of a tall tree. My wild rose bushes have no shape but grow willy nilly, wild and tall.
The cape has several old seafarers’ houses each marked with a plaque in front with a clipper ship and a date on it. Those captains’ houses are mostly half capes with sloping roofs. Their shingles are gray and weathered by years of wind and salt.
The early morning air sometimes smells of the ocean even this far away. On those mornings, I linger on the deck. When I cross the bridge over the river on a morning errand, I sometimes see fog spread across the water and quahoggers outlined in the mist.
The warmth of June has brought gardens filled with color. Short white picket fences stand behind them like sentinels. Some houses have carefully tended lawns while there are others with shards of shells in front mimicking a lawn. Pine needles spread across the front yards are lawn stand-ins especially at seasonal rentals. It seems we always have a breeze, mostly from the south. The nights are beautiful, bright and starlit. They perfectly complement the loveliness of the days. I always think how lucky I am to live here.
I remember spring when I was a kid and shedding my winter coat and riding on my bike to school, but it is always summer I remember the best in my hometown. The heat seemed to rise from the roads and the sidewalks. It rose in waves, and I swear I could see it though now I expect I saw a mirage. Summer days were never quiet. The insects made the most noise. Kids were always outside. The degree of heat dictated the amount of activity. Really hot days meant sitting under a tree in the only shade around. Cooler days meant bikes and roller skates and games of tag. My mother always kept a cold drink in her aluminum pitcher in the fridge. Dinner was light on those hot nights. We even could keep playing after dinner. Street lights were no longer alerts to go home. Late June and the coming of summer were celebrations when I was a kid.
Categories: Musings
Tags: bike riding and roller skating, celebration, cooler days, games of tag, heat, insects, lovely morning, mirages, noisy summer days, picket fences, pine needles, pitcher made of aluminum, playing after dinner, shady trees, shell shards, sidewalks and roads, spring and summer
Comments: 8 Comments
June 7, 2015
All glorious adjectives are springing from my dancing fingers to describe the morning. The sun is where are my sunglasses bright and the sky is the bluest blue in any palette. It is warm, the warmest in a long while. I can hear my deck calling. My book is nearly finished so it and I will amble outside later to enjoy this lovely day. Gracie is already outside and has been all morning. That is one smart puppy!
Two red spawns have found each other, and I’m thinking they’re spooning. This morning both of the red beasties were on my deck eating at the bird feeders. They ran as soon as I grabbed my hose. Later they were chasing each other up and down branches and tree trunks. That’s all I need, a family of spawns living in my backyard.
I used to think squirrels were cute standing on their hind legs begging for peanuts when I visited the Boston Public Garden. They were everywhere running and chasing each other. I think they were the first wildlife I ever fed when I was little. My dad would give me a bag of peanuts in the shell and once a peanut appeared hordes of squirrels ran and stood all around me hoping for one. I’d throw a peanut or two and the crowd of squirrels would head to the thrown nut. I thought it was fun, but then again I was too young to realize I was perpetuating a species of spawns.
My backyard has attracted a variety of animals. I saw a coyote back there a couple of times but not since the fence. Inside the fence there has been the giant raccoon, the spraying skunk, the playing dead possum, the baby grey squirrel chattering at me as I saved it from the mighty hunter, Gracie, and a mouse. The last one was sort of funny. Both Gracie and the mouse were around a tree trunk-one chasing and the other being chased. It reminded me of the tigers running around the tree until they turned to butter. I finally grabbed Gracie and the mouse ran to safety. I expect both were a bit dizzy.
Categories: Musings
Tags: begging squirrels, bluest blue, Boston Public Garden, brightest sun, Coyote, glorious day, hordes of squirrels, possum, Skunk, tigers turning to butter, two spawns aspooning, Wildlife
Comments: 8 Comments
June 6, 2015
The rain started during the night and has just stopped. Rain, even a bit of it, seems to dampen sounds. I don’t even hear birds. I did hear Gracie barking in the back yard, but I couldn’t find what prompted the warning. She has since come in and settled down for her morning nap, probably exhausted from all her barking. Fern too is napping for no other reason than just because she is a cat, and that’s what cats do.
My list did not get finished yesterday so I have to do the errands today. That’s okay as the tourists aren’t here yet for weekends, other than Memorial Day weekend, so I’ll find a place to park and not have to wait in line. I have three stops.
My father used Saturday mornings for his errands. Sometimes he would invite one of us but mostly he went alone. My Dad knew everybody in town so his errands took a while. He went to a two-seater barber shop. The one in Mayberry always reminded me of the one uptown. There was no Floyd but there was the same barber for years. He never had to ask how my father wanted his hair trimmed. He knew. The Chinese laundry also knew how my father liked his shirts. Back then my father only wore white shirts and they were always starched. I never thought about my dad taking his shirts to a laundry and not having my mother do them. That was just the way it was. Much later my father wore different colored shirts which didn’t need to be ironed fresh from the dryer. The first was a yellow button down collar shirt I gave him one Father’s Day. My mother said he’d never wear it, but he did. Another stop for my father was to visit his friend, a pharmacist at his own drug store. It was a small store crammed with anything and everything that bigger drug stores had. It even had a four stool fountain. Those stools had red covers. The last stop for my dad was sometimes at the Red Men where he’d have a beer with the guys. My dad was a member for a long time and one year was even Sachem. The organization is the nation’s oldest patriotic fraternal organization of American origin. I never knew that until I was much older. I just thought it was place for guys to sit around and have a beer or a drink. Come to find out it is both.
Some days develop personalities. Sunday is church day. Monday is the dreaded back to work day. Tuesday and Thursday are just days of the week that nobody seems to mind. Wednesday is hump day, the middle day, the starting line for the countdown to the weekend. Friday opens the weekend. We used to go out Friday afternoons when there were happy hours. It was a weekly ritual. Saturday is for chores and errands but it the best night of the week. Anything special happens on a Saturday night.
Categories: Musings
Tags: a beer or a drink, barber shop, barking dog, Chinese laundry, days of the week, errands, happy hours, hump day, Mayberry and Floyd, morning nap, quiet, rain, Red Men, special Saturdays, starched white shirts, to do list
Comments: 15 Comments
June 5, 2015
This morning is warmer than yesterday morning but still in the 50’s. We have sun and blue skies and a bit of a breeze. It’s a pretty morning. Lots for me to do today including laundry, sweeping the deck, doing some errands and painting a part of the fence.
Last night my friends came for dinner. Other than the mixed grill, everything I served was new to me. That’s taking a chance, but usually my dishes are successes so I head confidently into the unknown. Every dish from appetizers to dessert drew compliments. I was asked to share two recipes, both simple to make, and I was pleased to oblige.
Last night I used the grill for the first time this summer. There should have been fireworks and majorettes and weather warm enough for dining al fresco, but that will come soon enough.
The first barbecues I remember were hot dogs and hamburgers on a small charcoal grill. My father always did the grilling. It is a strange phenomenon that men who never touch a stove do all the outside cooking. I think it harkens back to cavemen hauling home a piece of meat to be cooked over the fire. Tending the fire was men’s work which translated over time into cooking on a grill. My father cooked the meat perfectly no matter what it was. The menu changed as I got older, and my father cooked sausages of all sorts, steak tips, pork tenderloin, chicken and one of my personal favorites, ribs. My mother made all the side dishes: potato salad was the family favorite.
My father always cooked with charcoal, but his was the light a match and toss it on the briquets type which smelled a little like chemicals when it was first lit. He waited and watched and knew exactly when to start the cooking by reading the coals. He kept a spray bottle near him in case of flares ups. He’d sit out there, have a drink or two and cook, usually by himself. His attention was all for the food, not conversation.
He’d pile the meat on a serving platter, come inside and announce dinner was served. We were ready. The salads were made, the table set, and we were hungry for that food we had smelled cooking through the opened windows. It was always kudos for the chef.
Categories: Musings
Tags: barbecues, briquets, cavemen, charcoal, cold night, dinner guests, errands, first time dishes, hamburgers, hot dogs, hunters, Laundry, mixed grill, outdoor grill, painting, pretty morning, sausages
Comments: 6 Comments
June 4, 2015
May was the dry month with barely any rain. June, though still young, is the cold month. The temperature has dipped to the 40’s at night and only the 50’s during the day. Sunday is predicted to have a high of 70˚. I can hardly wait. I’m thinking a book, some crackers and cheese, a cold drink and my deck.
Eat your vegetables. Sit up straight. Wash your hands. Wipe your feet. Take your coat off the chair and hang it in the closet. Put your schoolbag away. Change into play clothes. Brush your teeth. Do your homework. Don’t sit so close to the TV or you’ll go blind. Leave your sisters alone. Don’t slam the door. Go outside and play. Don’t stand looking with the refrigerator door open. No cookies before dinner. Get your feet off the table. Get ready for bed.
When I was a kid, life was an endless chain of commands. My mother said the same things every day, and most days she’d tempt us by asking, “How many times to I have to tell you?” I really wanted to answer her but I never did. I was learning discretion, and I also knew I’d have been sent to my room until at least college. The truth was I just didn’t hear her. It was blah, blah, blah to me. Every kid figures out at an early age how to ignore parents, especially those repetitive commands which blur together and lose meaning. We’d move back from the TV then move right back to where we were as soon as my mother left the room. The back door always slammed. What self-respecting kid is going to stand there and close it gently? Little sisters were to be picked on. It was a universal rule. If I didn’t stand looking into the refrigerator, how would I know what was there? What kid ever wants to get ready for bed? Vegetables? Clean hands?
My mother would yell, “Are you listening to me?” I’d nod or say yes despite having no idea what in the heck she’d said. I figured the truth, no, would have been the totally wrong answer. It would have made my mother madder, and I’d have been accused of being a smart aleck which wasn’t really far off the mark.
I learned early on shading the truth is sometimes the best response.
Categories: Musings
Tags: 70˚, cold month, deck weather, dry month, Eat your vegetables. Sit up straight., endless chain of commands, How many times to I have to tell you?, ignore parents
Comments: 10 Comments
June 2, 2015
The rain came last night, stayed a while then left earlier this morning. In its wake is a dank day, a sweatshirt to stave off the cold day. I don’t see much hope of sun. Gracie and I are going to the dump. Days like today are perfect dump days because most people are smarter than I and stay away when it rains. I don’t really care. I’ll dry. Gracie cares even less: she stays in the car.
Gracie’s water dish and my toilet bowl looked a bit like the beach yesterday. Gracie buried her chew bone outside, and her face and jowls acted as a shovel to push dirt over her treasure. She came inside and drank to clean her face and left behind sand, lots of sand.
When I was a kid, I never minded being dirty. My hands were sometimes filthy because I caught grasshoppers in the field who left what I figured was brown poop on my hands and grabbed frogs out of the swamp water covered with bugs and algae. I usually had black blots on my fingers and hands from my bike’s handlebars grips. My pants had grass stains and dirty knees. None of it bothered me. We played hard when we were young. It was proof of a day well spent.
I always think the amount of dirt you can tolerate is directly proportional to your age. The younger you are, the dirtier you don’t mind being. I think that makes life easier. Now I hate it if my clothes have stains or if I drop a bit of lunch on my shirt. Out comes the Tide Pen. I used to carry Shout Wipes, but the pen is much easier to use. I now espouse the cleanliness next to Godliness maxim.
I do look forward to being really old simply because stains will no longer matter. The 90-year-old on my library board often wears a shirt with a stain. I chalk it up to her age and think nothing of it. It’s a sort of freedom granted to the very young and the very old. I am stuck in the middle.
Categories: Musings
Tags: being dirty, dank day, dump day, rain, stains on clothes, swampy water, sweatshirt day, youth
Comments: 3 Comments
June 1, 2015
I apologize for the lateness of the hour. Every Monday my neighbor and I chat. It is her way of improving her English. She is Brazilian and does speak English but is hoping to learn better pronunciation. Today her son, who is graduating from high school on Saturday, joined us, and the three of us chatted about everything including corn ice cream, a favorite in Brazil. I couldn’t imagine ice cream and vegetables being a good pairing. Her son agreed.
The day is damp and cold. My house is only 65˚ so we’re back to sweatshirt weather. It has started raining, and it is a welcomed rain. My garden needs the moisture as does my grass. My pollen-covered car could use a good cleaning and a heavy rain will do the trick.
When I was a kid, I dreamed of going to faraway places. My geography book was a wish book filled with pictures of where I would travel. I was in Rio on the top of the hill standing below the giant statue of Christ the Redeemer. I went up the Amazon on one of those long wooden boats while two tribesmen paddled. Each tribesman had a bone through his nose. I wandered down the rows of banana and cocoa trees growing on plantations. I saw the sphinx in Egypt from atop a camel. Riding in an airplane was part of my dream. Though no one I knew traveled just for pleasure, I knew for certain I would.
I once walked from my grandmother’s house in East Boston to Logan Airport. My uncle, only two years older than I, was the guide. It was a long walk, miles, but I didn’t care. We wandered the terminals, the old wooden terminals. I stood on the observation deck of one of those old terminals and watched the planes coming and going. From displays scattered around the gates I took brochures describing airline routes, sights and hotels. I watched people with their suitcases getting in lines to board planes. I was both wistful and jealous.
When I got back to my grandmother’s, my parents were livid, but I thought their anger a small price to pay for what had been a grand adventure. A few days later, I started reading the brochures and cutting out pictures. I began an album of my trip. I described the plane ride and flying into and being surrounded by clouds. The pictures of my hotel rooms had arrows pointing to my bed. All the wonderful sights we saw in the different cities were pasted on the pages and described by me in a first person account. I was traveling the world.
I filled the whole album with wishes and dreams.
Categories: Musings
Tags: boating on the Amazon, camel, cold day, damp day, dreams and wishes, Egypt tribesmen, imagination, learning English, Logan Airport, Rio, strangeness of the English language, travels
Comments: 10 Comments
May 31, 2015
Clouds dot the sky this cool morning. A breeze comes and goes. The sunlight is bright. Today is another in a string of perfectly lovely days.
I didn’t do much yesterday other than potting a plant. Today I’ll plant the rest of my new flowers and sweep the deck. I do have to get a few things to make my dessert for game night, and I’ll go shortly. The morning is the best time to shop once the tourists arrive.
Last night I watched To Kill a Mockingbird. It is among my favorites and a superb movie. I used to teach the novel to ninth graders. Prior to their reading it, I gave my students a sense of the time and the place, essentials to understanding the events of the novel. Usually my kids were pulled into the book, and they found they liked reading it despite themselves. For some it was the first novel they ever finished. I remember how indignant they were with the outcome of the trial. Their senses of right and wrong were dependent on circumstances, not race or color.
My first encounter with a person of color was when I was three. My mother and I were in an elevator at a Sears, the big Sears near Fenway Park which has been closed a long time. Three of us were alone in an elevator, the other person being a woman of color. I had only seen white people all my life so I asked my mother about the woman’s color. The woman took offense and started screaming and calling us names like white crackers and white trash. My mother was embarrassed. I was scared. I didn’t understand why she was screaming. I was only three.
I don’t remember what my mother said to me afterwards, but whatever it was both comforted and reassured me, just what I needed right then.
Categories: Musings
Tags: a breezy day, bright day, lovely day, Person of color, sense of right and wrong, sunny, To Kill a Mockingbird
Comments: 10 Comments
May 30, 2015
On spring Saturday mornings, my neighborhood was filled with the sounds of fathers mowing lawns with their push mowers. All we could hear were whirrs and clicking sounds. After that came the scraping sounds of rakes. I always felt reassured in a way. The world was as it should be on a spring Saturday morning.
Today is a day much like yesterday. The morning air is cool and filled with sunlight. Some leaves on the backyard trees are in sun while others are caught in shadow. I keep going to the deck just to stand a while in the beauty of the day. While there, I’ve been watching the cardinal couple. They must have a nest nearby as they are always on one or another of the branches by my gate.
I scared a spawn this morning. It was on the back side of the feeder and neither one of us saw the other. When I was right at the rail, it leapt and I jumped.
My lawn is being mowed. The guy has one of those standing mowers which make so much noise. It took him all of five minutes to do my lawn. I can also hear other mowers and edgers being used around the neighborhood. The Saturday ritual continues but is different, noisier, much less personal, much less fun to hear.
When I was a kid, life was serendipitous and spontaneous. I had no obligations, no chores and no places to be. I never needed a list. Now I make lists. They’re my way to stay organized and push myself a bit as I love sloth days. This has been a busy week for me mostly doing errands so today is an around the house day. I have a few flowers to plant, a table to paint, a really small table, a few feeders to clean, the ones for the orioles and the hummingbirds, and my deck needs sweeping again. I have decided, though, not to put them on a list. That would make me obligated.
Categories: Musings
Tags: bright morning, chores, cool, edgers, lists, loud Saturday mornings, power mowers, push lawn mowers, Saturday rituals, serendipitous and spontaneous., sounds of mowers
Comments: 23 Comments
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