Archive for the ‘Musings’ category

“And falling’s just another way to fly.”

January 18, 2015

I am not crazy. I swear I saw a bit of sun this morning, but it is gone, replaced by clouds and rain. Then again, maybe the sun was an illusion, like an oasis sometimes is, but the weatherman did predict rain, heavy at times, for the Patriot’s game this afternoon so I shouldn’t have been surprised by yet another grey, damp day.

My house is always quiet this time of day. It is when the three animals have their naps. Fern is in Gracie’s spot so Gracie is sleeping on the afghan on the floor. Maddie is on her chair. Fern is curled in a ball with her face hidden. I woke up at nine and so did they. I can’t think of what could be so exhausting in three hours that a nap is necessary. When I was growing up, Duke, our Boxer, wasn’t allowed on furniture, but he managed to sleep on the couch at night when we were all upstairs. We never did catch him as he’d jump off when someone was coming down the stairs. My father mellowed over time, and my dogs always slept on the couch when I’d visit. Shauna loved my dad and always slept right beside him with her head in his lap while he watched TV. My dad always said he’d like to come back as one of our animals because life would be so good.

Yesterday I fell down but only the last couple of steps. I was bringing down two very heavy bins by sliding them down the stairs, but they got away and knocked me down and into a table. I’m not really hurt, but I do have a bump the size of an infant’s head. It looks gross and is getting blacker and bluer by the minute. I’ll have to change the sign, the one which says No Accidents for however number of days. The count starts all over again. At least this time I was almost at the bottom of the stairs. After a bit, I took the bins down the cellar and managed to make it without falling. I think I’m getting inured to pain.

The first time I remember falling down the stairs I was ten so this is not a new thing for me. Falling is habitual. That first time I needed stitches, another time I broke a bone in my shoulder, once I broke teeth and fractured a bone in my face, but those are the only major injuries. Bumps and bruises don’t count.

In my next life, I’ll live in a ranch house.

“All the world is made of faith, and trust, and pixie dust.”

January 17, 2015

The sun is shining and the sky is steel-blue, but it is freezing out. The guys came earlier and cleaned my lawn, garden and deck for the last time until spring. They took away my Christmas tree.

I am going nowhere today. I’ll finish cleaning my closet and consider the day well spent. I’ll earn a nap.

This has been another boring week mostly because of the uninviting cold. I did treat myself to lunch yesterday, a burger and onion rings, the highlight of the week.

When I was in high school, the Cape closed after Labor Day. The motels shut down, one way streets went back to two-way, the summer movie theaters closed and most restaurants placed signs in their windows which said, “See you next season.” In Hyannis and in Harwich were movie theaters which stayed open all winter. A couple of bowling alleys also stayed open and that was about it. On TV we only got a few stations. Cable had yet to arrive. I don’t remember complaining because it wouldn’t have done any good. That was the way life was off-season on Cape Cod.

The movie theater up the street has twelve screens. There are malls, large and small, and lots of entertainment centers with games and bowling alleys. Most bars have multiple TV’s all showing sports. I can eat a variety of ethnic foods, not just Chinese any more. The Cape has become suburbia, and I’m complaining there is nothing to do.

Where there is little, there are few expectations and most people are generally content. Where there is much, they want more. That’s the way the world is now. That small TV is now that huge TV, and it must be almost time for a bigger one. People wait in line for the newest phones. I’m just glad mine still rings.

I wish I could travel back to Ghana one more time, but I haven’t the money. That’s about it for discontentment. I’ve been lucky.

“Taste is the most unexplored sense”

January 16, 2015

When I got up during the night, I swear I saw stars, and was delighted, I stood at the window a while just looking. When I woke up, it was cloudy, and I wanted to scream. Right now, though, the sun is making an appearance, and off to the west are patches of blue sky. I can barely contain my excitement.

Gracie woke me up around 6:30. She wanted out, but when she got on the deck, she couldn’t get down the stairs. They had a topping of ice from the dusting of snow we got yesterday. I put on my shoes and walked her to the yard down the stairs step by step. If the poor dog only knew. Here I was her safety net, and I fall all the time. Luckily this time I didn’t. Before I went back to bed, I threw safety paws de-icer on the steps and also noticed where Gracie had been sick a few times. I won’t get into a description, but I think whatever had been bothering her was on her crate blanket which is now washed and in the dryer. Gracie is back to her always happy self.

In the old days we didn’t take our dog to the vet’s except to get the rabies shot required by law. There was no well dog visit back then. Duke, the boxer we had while I was growing up, was a terror to other dogs, but he met his match once and his neck was torn open. My dad said nature would take care of it. My mother sneaked Duke to the vet’s who took care of it. The dog’s wounds healed, and my father gloated a bit with his I told you so. We all just looked at each other and said nothing.

We pulled many fast ones on my poor dad. My mother would come and visit me, and we’d shop. She’d fill her trunk with boxes and bags. When she got home, she’d bring in two or three packages and show my father what she’d bought. He’d nod but actually be totally uninterested. Shopping was hell on Earth to him. When my dad went to work on Monday, my mother would empty the trunk. My dad never noticed anything new in the house. His spot was at the end of the couch next to the table. That was his little kingdom and nothing there ever changed. He was content.

We knew never to tell my dad some of the ingredients in the dishes he was served for dinner. He would refuse to eat them if he knew. Garlic, according to my dad, was to be used for garlic bread and shrimp scampi. It had no other uses. Little did he know he often ate it in a variety of dishes. He did catch my mother putting it in slits in a pork roast and was horrified. My mother took out all the garlic. My father had eaten that pork roast with garlic several times. He just didn’t see it.

My father used his eyes to determine whether or not a dish could be eaten. Hummus was wallpaper paste. He knew that without trying it. Just looking was enough. It was a huge no on potstickers and anything my mother made for my brother, the vegetarian. My father was the original meat and potatoes man with a few vegetables tossed in like carrots, canned asparagus and corn, either fresh or canned. My dad actually ate a huge variety of things. He just never knew.

“In the winter she curls up around a good book and dreams away the cold. “

January 15, 2015

I rued my yesterday’s decision not to go to the dump because it was cold and there were snow showers. I just stayed home and read and fed Gracie her last can of dog food. That, of course, meant I had no choice but to go out today, a rainy, cold and ugly day.

Going to the dump was a necessity. My trunk was filled with used litter, recycled magazines and newspapers and trash. The cardboard was in the front seat. Not unexpectedly, the dump was pretty much deserted. It could have been the setting for some post apocalyptic movie where most of mankind had been destroyed. Only one other fool was dumping trash. Even the guys who work there had sought shelter and were nowhere to be seen. I got wet and I got cold, and my sweatshirt felt heavy from the rain. When I got back into the car, Gracie, dry and warm, greeted me. I sat for a bit with my fingers in front of the blower. Luckily we had only one more stop: Agway for canned dog food, dog treats and litter. Like the dump, Agway was pretty deserted. It had  one other customer besides me.

The older I get the less I abide bad weather. My mother used to keep her house at 70˚ or more during the winter. We all complained and wore t-shirts. Now I understand.

Lots of things drive me crazy, some of them even silly things. On the news, the on-site reporters keep nodding as they listen to questions from the studio. I get the delay, but why do they nod? I want one of them to shake his or her head just for the heck of it. Speaking of the news, what’s with all the repetition? I heard breaking news at the start of the broadcast. It wasn’t. It was the same news and the same videos which had been reported at noon and now again at six. Today I saw the same Patriot’s video I watched on last night’s six and eleven o’clock news.

I’m watching Adam 12. We used to watch it all the time, “One Adam-12, see the man.” It hasn’t aged well.

“I live in a seedy section of town. Squirrels love it. ”

January 13, 2015

The night was a strange one. Gracie woke me up twice whining and crying. I just thought she wanted on the bed so I moved for her to jump up and then fell back to sleep. When she stood beside my bed the third time and was whining and crying again, it broke through the nighttime fog of my mind. What in the heck was she doing standing on the floor and why whining. I guessed she needed to go out so I went downstairs and let her out. The poor dog almost fell down the outside deck stairs as they were iced over. She disappeared for a while, and because of the ice and slipping, I went looking. She was on the deck eating plants. Gracie didn’t feel good. That’s what it was all about. I fed her some spider fronds but she was still restless. It was five o’clock, an ungodly time of the day unless it’s Christmas or they’re calling your flight. I fed her some more fronds. I turned on the news to keep me occupied while I watched her. By about nine she seemed fine, even ate the treats I had left for her. I didn’t hear her go upstairs, she can be sneaky, but I heard her coming downstairs. I knew she had eaten the cat food. All was well with Gracie. At 9:30, we both went back to bed and we both slept until noon.

I am going to get a weapon, an anti-spawn weapon. When I looked out the window just a bit ago, I saw two red spawns, one at each feeder. At first I just thought it was a trick of the eyes, the sort of reaction Scrooge had when he saw Marley in the door knocker. It wasn’t. I opened the window and screamed like a crazy woman. I must have looked and sounded like an extra from Network, “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take this anymore.” The spawns didn’t care. Their pelts will be mine, metaphorically of course.

To think, I used to love to go to Boston Common and feed the grey spawns, but I was a kid then and what did I know. I thought the spawns were cute, and when they came close and took the peanuts, I was thrilled.

I suppose I can thank the spawns for adding a bit of excitement to my day. That last line is a bit scary but it gives you an idea of how boring my life has been of late.

“Clouds are high flying Fog”

January 12, 2015

Cloudy day today, a storm cloudy day, a rainy day. When I saw the clouds, I knew. I didn’t need to look at the weather prediction. Snow clouds are different. They have an eerie light, almost a warning system. Fair day clouds are puffy and very white. Storm clouds cover the sky and darken the day. The pine tree branches look stark, even bold. A winter rain is bone chilling. I will not be going anywhere today. I am into comfort and warmth.

I started reading a Ghanaian mystery by Kwei Quartey. It is the fourth book of his I’ve read. His plots are simple: murder, investigation and arrest. But I am not drawn to his novels by the plots. It is Ghana. I love reading of places where I’ve been and of things Ghanaian. I know what dinner looks like when it is fufu and stew. The main character was riding through Adabraka, a section of Accra. I knew it well. The hostel was there as was Talal’s, a spot for lunch, for Peace Corps pizza as Talal used to call it: pita bread with tomatoes and melted cheese. A movie theater was within walking distance of the hostel as was a pretty good restaurant. Back then, if you were young and white and asked to go to Adabraka, the taxi driver would take you right to the hostel for twenty pesewas from anywhere in the city. I looked for that hostel as did my friends Bill and Peg. We didn’t find it. So far in the novel, Death at the Voyager Hotel, we haven’t a murder, a death yes but only one person believes it a murder.

A dismal day demands little, and that’s what it will get.

“Football is the ballet of the masses.”

January 11, 2015

I’m still trying to catch my breath after watching the Patriot’s playoff game yesterday. It wasn’t a pretty game. The defense left holes big enough for tanks to drive through. Twice the Pats were down by 14. It wasn’t until the fourth quarter when Brady hit LaFell with a pass along the left sideline that the Pats went ahead for the first time: 35-31 which would be the final score. We cheered, yelled, whined, complained and even booed a couple of times. Flacco tried a Hail Mary with a couple of seconds left, but the end zone was so filled with players, including Gronk, that the ball was deflected. We finally got to breathe.

When the game started, it was 19˚ at Gillette then it got colder. Today is relatively warm at 26˚. Tomorrow will be a one day heat wave in the 40’s. I’m trying to remember where I put my sandals.

When I was a little kid and had to walk to school, my mother dressed me in so many layers the clothes barely fit on one hook in the cloakroom. It took what seemed forever to get down to my school uniform, the first layer. The cloakroom had two rows of hooks on both sides on the walls, and in winter, there was no easy path to move through all the clothes to get to the classroom. Coats and jackets ended up on the floor so Sister Redempta, my first grade teacher, used to make us go back out and hang up all the jackets. She had an aversion to mess. I think that was a nun thing.

I still have the most amazing visual memory of that first grade cloakroom. It had wooden walls, a wide opening by the main classroom door and a door at the other opposite end which led to the classroom, to the aisle near the windows. The bottom rows of hooks were indented beneath the top rows. The floor was tile. The optimum spots for hanging jackets were the lower hooks. On rainy days, our jackets usually dried as they were in the open air, not in some lockers.

I lost my cloakrooms in the fifth grade when we moved to the new school. It had lockers with no locks or combinations which didn’t phase us at all. We were used to cloakrooms with open access. Besides, I had nothing valuable except my lunch: my bologna sandwich, chips and if I were lucky, a Ring Ding or a Devil Dog.

“I can be quite sarcastic when I’m in the mood.”

January 10, 2015

Today is sunny, but I don’t care. It does me no good. The day is still cold, and outside is uninviting. My mood now reflects the cold. I yelled at Gracie this morning because she was driving me crazy sitting beside me and staring. That’s not new. She does that most days when she wants something, and I usually ask her what she wants, and when her ears perk, I accede to her wishes but I didn’t today. The cold has undermined my good humor. All I ask is one warm winter’s day.

The house is cozy but staying inside day after day has made me far too productive. I can’t walk into a room without doing something. I’ve vacuumed, changed my bed, put things away, done laundry and swept the kitchen. I even watered the plants and did some polishing. I’m thinking possession, an evil spirit bent on making me clean the house, a cruel and hideous spirit. While I work, while I’m in a frenzy, the dog and cat ignore me. The dog sleeps on the couch and Fern sleeps curled in a ball. The dog snores. Fern sort of whistles, a cat’s version of a snore. I envy the both of them.

I do have a reprieve. My friends have invited me to watch the Pats play the Ravens. I can put my dust rag away for just a while and silence the madness.

A few of my Christmas presents are decorative, and I’ve been walking around trying to find just the right spots. A couple are hanging, but a couple more still wait. The hall upstairs has a new rug. The table in the living room is where the new pottery from Ghana, a gift from my sister, has found a home. The woven lamb, from my other sister, is still waiting. I have tried several spots but none were right. There I was walking from room to room holding up the weaving and then shaking my head and moving on. There is a cascade effect here. I find a spot and what was there needs to be moved so I look for another spot and on and on. I have become the Diogenes of interior decorating.

” Juggling is sometimes called the art of controlling patterns, controlling patterns in time and space.”

January 9, 2015

I should be out on the deck replenishing my vitamin D except I can’t. The sun has gone. One day here, the next day gone. It is, however, warm, 32˚. That may sound cold, but it was minus 1 yesterday morning. Today is almost tropical.

Late again I suppose you’re thinking. Well, I had PT this morning then did a couple of errands. I figured I was out anyway so why not. Yesterday I got the tree down and outside by myself. Only a few needles fell on the floor when I dropped the tree. Using one hand on the trunk and the other to move the base to get at the plastic bag was like juggling. I have been productive this week in stark contrast to being a sloth the whole of last week.

One of today’s errands was really self-serving. I bought my all time favorite sandwich for lunch: a panini with avocado, cheddar, tomato, bacon and spicy mayo. It was a reward of sorts.

Last night I thought I heard a noise coming from the living room so I muted the TV to listen. I heard it again. Neither Gracie nor Fern the cat stirred from sleeping beside me on the couch, but I went to investigate anyway. The sound came from the chimney and sounded like an attack on the flue. A raccoon one time tried to get in by pulling at the flue but the chimney has since been capped so I couldn’t imagine it was anything but the wind. Just in case, though, I banged the fireplace screen a few times. When I went out today, I checked and the chimney was still capped.

I have no weekend plans. I’m perfectly happy being comfy in the warmth of my house. My friend Peg sent me a tin of cookies and an ornament of Elvis singing Winter Wonderland. I’m all set. I have food and entertainment!

“Paradise can take the form of anything! It can be a flower or it can be a word or it can just be a sincere smile!”

January 8, 2015

I’m running late. I changed my bed, showered, shopped a bit on line and watched CNN. There was no urgency in getting things done. In due time I thought. The tree is still in the stand, bare of Christmas and sitting in the middle of the living room. I tried to get it out of the stand myself, but I couldn’t. It is the only glimmer of Christmas left, and later today it will be gone. My outside lights continue to be lit each night. I am loath to return to darkness.

It was so cold yesterday I brought the bird feeders into the house to fill them. My sister thought it strange and said I should have bundled up and done it outside. I fear the cold has warped her thinking. There I’d be out on the deck layered and wearing mittens and fumbling to get the seed into the feeders. Getting dressed to go outside would have taken longer than the task.

Today is sunny, but the light is muted, even chilly looking. I am not going out. This will be the second day in a row of my self-imposed exile from the world. I have all of life’s essentials: books, TV and Christmas cookies.

Last night I cooked chicken. I rifled through my herbs and spices and found one I hadn’t used, Caribbean Calypso Spice. It came from Penzey’s Spices, an occasion of sin for me. I’m sure a few of you are shaking your heads and wondering what in heck is an occasion of sin. I’ve known since childhood as the nuns were diligent in teaching us to avoid an occasion of sin, “Any person, place, or thing that of its nature or because of human frailty can lead one to do wrong, thereby committing sin.”  When I was younger, the list was long. Now that I’m older, I don’t even think I have a list. I live life with abandonment and am better for it.

I am wearing my new sweatshirt. It says Doctor Who and has a picture of the TARDIS. I am also wearing new slippers. I am warm and comfortable. I just ate a couple of cookies. I’m thinking this is a bit like paradise.