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“Men cook outside. Women make the three-bean salad.”

June 9, 2014

On the weather front, today is warm but cloudy. On the tooth front, my dentist is out-of-town. The ice skate extraction from Castaway is beginning to have some appeal, and all the movies I’ve seen with crazed dentists are flashing through my memory banks. The worst is the scene in The Marathon Man when SS dentist Szell tortures Dustin Hoffman by sticking a probe into his teeth. I swear I screamed along with Dustin. Dentists are never heroes.

I have a former student who is an oral surgeon. I called his office, whined a little and mentioned the ice skates so they are seeing me at two, but I suspect I’ll have to wait until Thursday for any work because of the blood thinner I take. Okay, I’m done with the teeth talk. It’s creeping me out!

Today is quiet. The birds are the only sounds I hear. The neighborhood is deserted. I like it quite after the hubbub of the weekend.

During the summer, we didn’t have too many Sunday family dinners. The kitchen was small and keeping the oven on made the room swelter. Mostly we had barbecues, meat cooked outside but eaten inside. My dad would put his grill by the back steps so he could sit and read while the meat cooked. He used charcoal briquets as did most backyard cooks back then. My dad was a member of the use as much charcoal lighter fluid as you can school of thought. The height of the flames determined status. My dad was king.

When we moved down the cape and had a large yard, my dad would sit on a wooden lawn chair and tend his grill. He’d have a few drinks. Every now and then we’d hear the whoosh of the flames and knew fluid had been added then we’d check to make sure my dad hadn’t set himself on fire. He did that on occasion.

When they moved off Cape, the new house also had a big yard, and my father assumed his rightful position outside keeping an eye on the meat. He liked to use both a hibachi and a grill to accommodate the growing offerings as the menu had expanded well beyond hot dogs and hamburgers of my childhood. Now he cooked chicken, steak tips, Chinese sausages, kielbasa and even pork tenderloins.

What amazed me was that my father always cooked the meat just right despite the fires and the flames and the pops of his favorite alcohol passed to him through the open window. He was the backyard master of the grill.

 

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“‘Tis healthy to be sick sometimes.”

June 8, 2014

The pain got bad enough that I went to the CareWell Urgent Care clinic yesterday. The nurse practitioner said all she could do was give me something for the pain and something for possible infection. I almost kissed her. The pills and the gel seem to be keeping the pain at bay for a few hours then I need more. Last night I slept well. This morning I was industrious: I showered, changed my bed, washed the winter quilt, watered the outside plants and put the screen in the front door. Just about then the industry disappeared and the pain reappeared. I took some pills and a nap, but, as my mother would say, I am not feeling up to par.

I am taking a day of sick leave. Coffee, I hope, will return tomorrow.

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“I find that most men would rather have their bellies opened for five hundred dollars than have a tooth pulled for five.”

June 7, 2014

When I was a little kid, one of the magic words was dentist. At the mere mention of going to the dentist, my toothache always disappeared. My mother, however, didn’t buy the magic. I have a toothache now. It started out as one of those not quite an ache but not quite okay either. Now it is a full-blown ache. I am slathering gel to numb the area. It works for a while then I slather again, and I’ll take that because I can’t call my dentist until Monday. This will not be a surprise to him as it is a tooth we have been watching. It is the last wisdom tooth.

When I was around twelve, I had a couple of teeth filled. They had become cavities because of the braces I wore. The dentist used Novocain and gas. I loved the gas. I went under, knew nothing and woke up with everything done. My dad, though, hated the bill and thought the dentist was a highway robber so he decided to take me to his childhood dentist. The story I’m about to tell has the makings of a horror movie. I know because it still gives me nightmares.

The dentist was in East Boston. He was old and so was his office and his equipment. I swear his drill was pedal-driven like the old sewing machines. Either he didn’t believe in Novocain or had never heard of it. As soon as I’d hear his drill, I’d grab the arms of the chair so tightly I’d leave indentations with my fingers. My entire body stiffened. I swear I could feel every turn of the drill. Tears would quietly fall down my cheeks because of the pain. He never noticed. My dad took me to him three times. I hated dentists after that and believed they were agents of evil responsible for inflicting earthly punishments.

When I was going in the Peace Corps, I had to have my teeth perfect: no cavities, no potential problems and a thorough cleaning. I found a dentist in Lawrence near school and explained to him that dentists to me were the epitome of evil. He took me on anyway. He didn’t cause any pain. I thanked him.

My current dentist and I have been together since 1971. Every six months I go for my teeth cleaning and always have any necessary work done. Neil, we are on a first name basis, never hurts. He jokes and makes fun of me. I like him and because of him, I no longer see dentists as under the devil’s dominion.

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“The eyes of the world are upon you. The hopes and prayers of liberty-loving people everywhere march with you.”

June 6, 2014

The rain stayed all day yesterday, got heavy at times then finally stopped in the late afternoon. Today is sunny and warm with a breeze that sways the leaves. The clouds, though, keep coming and going, but the sun seems to win each time. I have errands to do. On a day like today, I don’t mind.

My dad served in the navy during World War II. He enlisted the day he turned seventeen because he didn’t need his mother’s or father’s permission any more. His ship plied the North Atlantic ferrying supplies. It was sunk, but he was rescued. The cold water did great damage to his legs so my dad spent a long time at a hospital in England. He was eighteen and to him war was an adventure. He never even told his parents he was in the hospital. They had to contact the Red Cross to try and find him. One of his memories, one of the few he shared, was about gliding a bicycle down the hill from the hospital to a pub. His legs were in casts so he couldn’t pedal. Someone would drive him back up the hill. During the Battle of the Bulge he was still in the hospital. He told us huge numbers of wounded were coming in and saying they were getting overrun by the Germans. That’s one of the things he remembered most.

My parents and my sister and I traveled together one year to Belgium and the Netherlands. At one point we were in the Ardennes where there were still tank traps looking like concrete teeth rising from the forest floor. My dad was in awe at being in the places he had heard about from the soldiers he had met in the hospital. At Malmedy he told us about the massacre of American soldiers by the Germans. He sounded both sad and angry. In Belgium, my dad wanted to see Bastogne where we stayed at a hotel overlooking Gen. McAuliffe Square, named in tribute to the man who told the Germans, “Nuts,” when he was asked to surrender the town. We ate dinner one night at a restaurant in the hotel where American officers had been billeted. We walked around the Mardasson Memorial which honors American soldiers who were killed, wounded or captured in the Battle of the Bulge. We visited the World War II Museum. My father said very little. Though he had never fought here, he held all of it in great reverence.

Today is the 70th Anniversary of D-Day.

 

 

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“Rain clouds come floating in, not to muddy my days ahead, but to make me calm, happy and hopeful.”

June 5, 2014

I woke up at eight but stayed lolling in bed for 45 more minutes. I just didn’t want to move, and neither did the animals: both Gracie and Fern stayed with me on the bed while Maddie dropped by for some pats. You can blame it all on the rain. It is falling lightly, gently, the sort of rain which holds me thrall, and I stop often to sit and listen. I watch the drops fall from the overhang above the window. The house is in cozy darkness. I’m still wearing comfy bed-clothes, and I think I might just do that all day. I have nowhere to go and nothing to do.

We always walked to school. Almost everyone did. The weather didn’t matter. We walked on the coldest mornings and in the heaviest rain. The school was our refuge, and we hurried to get there. On rainy days we didn’t have to wait outside for the bell, the nuns or the lines. We could go right to the cloakrooms, get out of our wet coats and boots and then go into our classrooms. I remember how quiet everything in the classroom seemed on a rainy day. It was as if the rain had blanketed all sounds except its own. Each the classroom had long windows on two sides, and the raindrops tapped the windows. I was a reluctant learner on those rainy days. I wanted just to hear the rain.

When I arrived in Ghana for Peace Corps training, it was the rainy season. Our first stop was on the coast in a town called Winneba where we stayed for two weeks. I remember sitting on the top step of a classroom block watching the rain. I can still see it all so clearly even after all these years. The steps were concrete and they and the building behind me were painted white. The top step was out of the rain, under an overhang. The rain was steady but misty and blurred the buildings as if they were a painting maybe by Monet. I had my travel umbrella with me but I hadn’t opened it. When my left my step, I forgot the umbrella. When I went back, it was gone. I didn’t really care. Nobody in Ghana used umbrellas in the rain.

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“Flowers seem intended for the solace of ordinary humanity.”

June 3, 2014

This morning, around 1 am, I was awoken by an odd sound, a repeating sound. At first I thought it was an animal screaming from being caught by a coyote, but it went on too long for that. Next I figured it was a goose, a large, walking through the neighborhood goose. The sound was right below my window at one point then was quite distant at another then it came closer again. Gracie got up and went downstairs, but I wasn’t going to let her out. Finally the sound faded then disappeared, and I went back to sleep. I asked my neighbor if she heard anything. She hadn’t. My other neighbor said she had seen around 12 or 13 turkeys wandering the neighborhood yesterday. I think that’s exactly what it was: a turkey looking for the rest of the turkeys.

The leaves on the big oak by the deck are mottled with sun. They wave in the breeze, a warm breeze. The air is sweet-smelling. Today is glorious, a short-sleeve day, a day to spend outside.

My lawn is green, spring green. It is soft on bare feet. In the mornings when I go to get the papers the grass is cool, but in the afternoons the grass is hot and means a speedier trip to pick up the mail.

The front walk is lined on both sides with potted plants. I bought flowers, herbs and veggies yesterday. I didn’t buy enough. I never do. Skip is now fencing in the vegetable garden. The old fence was flimsy and needed replacing. The new one will keep Gracie outside. She’ll have to dig somewhere else. Soon enough the tomatoes and cucumbers and two more vegetables yet to be decided will be planted and watered. I get to watch them grow, and I get to be amazed.

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“Long live your laundry!”

June 2, 2014

Wonder of wonders: my first laundry load is in the dryer and the second is in the washing machine. No longer does the bag of laundry lying there by the cellar door haunt me. My victory lap was well-earned. Tomorrow, though, I change my bed and the laundry bag gets filled anew. It is an endless cycle. Blame Adam and Eve who in being thrown out of the garden had to drop the leaves and don clothing.

It’s a sprawl in the sun on the rug by the door morning for the cats, proof that spring is finally entrenched. Last night stayed in the 50’s. Today is lovely, a word not often heard anymore, but it fits perfectly.

It is is plant and flower buying day, one of favorite days of the year. I’ll shop for herbs and veggies for the two small gardens and for flowers to fill the deck window boxes and clay pots, some of which need replacing. All this shopping frenzy is in preparation for tomorrow, opening day. My factotum, Skip, is coming to clean the deck and decorate it and the yard for summer, weed the two gardens then plant the herbs and veggies, fill all the window boxes and pots which sit on the deck rail with new soil and both flowers and herbs then finally de-spider and clean the outside shower. The deck is covered in pine pollen so it will not only need sweeping but also washing. The fence around the veggie garden needs some work as a few of the fence boards broke over the winter and Gracie has dug a few holes in the garden. She is a champion hole-digger.

My dryer has just announced the first load is dry and ready for folding and the second load is set to take its place. I do feel accomplished.

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“I wonder what it would be like to live in a world where it was always June.”

June 1, 2014

Today is a glorious spring day filled with warm sunshine and deep blue skies. I just came back from driving my friends to the bus stop in Barnstable, and the ride home was a joy. The trees along the highway are leafy and are so many different colors of green. Hawks were riding the thermals. No one was in a hurry. When I got off the highway close to home, I saw people walking their dogs, runners along the bike path and bike riders along the road. The warmth of the sun is like a magnet drawing us out of our cool, dark houses. The sun on the deck is waiting for me.

I have memories of Junes long past, of transitions and changes. It was always the month ushering in the freedom of summer days. It was the month of graduations, of moving from one place in my life to another. I left for Ghana in June on a journey which changed my life. I came home two years later in June with experiences to hold for a lifetime. June is when the cape finally wakes from winter, when the flowers all bloom and the air smells fragrant. It is no wonder I count June as my favorite month.

The laundry has made it down to this floor. It is by the cellar door. It may get done today or maybe not. It depends on how long I can stand seeing it lying there. Sometimes I need to do things right away, the laundry obviously not one of those things. This morning it was sweeping the kitchen floor. When I was making the coffee, I noticed dust in the corners and bits of dry dog food around Gracie’s bowl. I lasted only through one cup of coffee then took out the broom. I couldn’t take it any more.

I have decided how to spend my day. I will do nothing but sit in the sun, sip a cold drink and read. The laundry in the hall will just fine for another day or two.

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“But I’m really enjoying my retirement. I get to sleep in every day. I do crossword puzzles and eat cake.”

May 31, 2014

The wind is blowing and even the tree trunks are swaying. The sun is more decoration than warmth. The high today will be in the low 60’s and tonight we’ll go down to the 40’s. The house is cold every morning. I still need my sweatshirt. The windows are closed because of the cold and because of the pine pollen. My car is covered in that yellow-green pollen. When it rains, small puddles are ringed with pine pollen while bigger puddles have a slick of pollen not unlike an oil slick, just a different color. The wind blows the pollen in small clouds. I sneeze a lot.

I’m at the stage of my life where sitting around isn’t boring. I don’t have to accomplish anything. I don’t need to be busy. The days go quickly regardless of what I do or don’t do. Some days my bursts of energy have me dusting and polishing. I do a few loads of wash. Gracie and I go to the dump. I buy some groceries. That is my busiest sort of day. It merits an afternoon nap.

When I worked, I got to school at 6:20 and got home around 4 which left little time to do anything but read the mail, have dinner, watch a TV show or two and go to bed early as the alarm rang at 5:00. In winter I was a mole and seldom saw the sunshine except through a window. The weekends were for doing all the chores and errands. I grocery shopped, changed my bed, did laundry, cleaned a room or two and went to the dump on Sunday. If I did anything fun, it was usually Saturday night. Back then I never stopped to think how narrow my life was. I was too busy with every day.

When I was getting ready to retire, I was asked if I had any plans on how to fill my days. I didn’t. It was enough knowing I no longer had to set the alarm and get up at an ungodly hour. I loved being retired from the first day. If I had nothing to do, I was fine with that. Each day was a blank piece of paper ready to be filled or even left blank. This summer it will be ten years since I retired. They have been remarkable years.

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Journalism is the ability to meet the challenge of filling space.

May 30, 2014

The sun is simply glorious. The rug by the front door is dappled with sunlight and one of the cats has found the perfect spot and is stretched out for maximum sun exposure. The other cat, Maddie, and the dog are in here with me on the couch. It is their morning nap time. The house is chilly. It was 63˚ when I came downstairs. Given my druthers, I would rather have lolled under the warm covers for a bit longer but Gracie was impatient to go outside so I got up, put on my sweatshirt and followed her downstairs. I let her out and put the coffee on. My day had started in the same way it always does.

I don’t yelp anymore so my back is finally on the mend. I have decided not to fall again. My luck can’t go on forever. Luck? I’m talking broken bones and a commercial of me yelling.”Help, I can’t get up.”

I have been sitting here for the longest time and have deleted several paragraphs which led me nowhere. I can’t seem to get a handle on anything today. Maybe I should nap with Gracie on the couch.

Folding maps is a disappearing skill. GPS now takes us everywhere, but it tends to take us directly. I don’t have a GPS system. I am still a card-carrying member of the meandering travel club. I prefer old, once well-traveled turnpikes. Let me drive through small towns and stop at local places for lunch. I have all the time I need to get from one place to another. If a shop or store catches my eye, my car turns right into the parking lot. My mother and I used to ride around to see what we might find. We stopped at antique shops and once had lunch in an old house turned into a restaurant. I think we ate in the living room. Those were the best rides.

Breaking news is on local TV right now. The Quincy Police have arrested and turned over to federal agents a man related to the marathon bombing probe. The station has shown the same films over and over and described them in the same way. My favorite film is of the front door of the apartment building where a woman in a white coat carrying a blue bag gets to the door, sees the cameras, turns around and goes back downstairs. I’ve seen her do that at least six times. I just saw her do it again. My favorite interview was with a woman living two floors above the suspect. She was asked what she heard, and she gave her story about hearing bangs and seeing the swat team. The reporter then asked how she felt about the suspect living only two floors below her. Please! What did he expect her to say? We’re having a block party later.

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