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“Candy is childhood, the best and bright moments you wish could have lasted forever.”

June 13, 2014

The rain this morning was heavy for a while. The wind is still blowing. All my windows are closed to keep out the damp cold air. I’m even wearing socks.

I went out for breakfast and brought Gracie. I left her in the car with a couple of windows open. That’s when it started to pour. I had to run outside and shut the windows. Gracie was in the middle of the seat away from both windows. No dumb animal is my Gracie.

I used to love Bonomos turkish taffy. My favorite was vanilla. Banana was my second favorite. Finishing a whole bar was a huge investment in time and effort. To make it easier, I’d crack the bar so they’d be smaller pieces to chew because larger ones took forever. My jaw always got tired.

Fire balls were a challenge. The contest was for who could keep it in the mouth the longest without having to take it out for a breather. I used to move the fire-ball from one cheek to the other hoping it wouldn’t burn as much. My sister put it in a bowl of water so the red would wash off. In actual time, the burning didn’t last long, and the red disappeared, replaced by white. I liked it when the fire-ball finally got small enough to crack with my teeth.

When it came to penny candy, I always wanted the best buy for my penny. I’d look up and down the rows behind the glass counter trying to find the candy which lasted the longest. Even pennies were hard to come by so my candy choice had to be a wise one. Mint Juleps were a safe choice. They took a long time to chew and they had a great flavor. Banana splits were also a great choice. Like Mint Juleps, they took a while to chew. Root beer barrels, Squirrels and Mary Janes were also wise purchases. The only soft candy I usually bought was Bull’s Eyes. I always ate the outside caramel first and saved the middle for last. It was like having two different pieces of candy.

I wouldn’t dare eat most of those candies now, with the exception of Bull’s Eyes. Teeth are hard to come by.

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“You never know the true value of a moment until it becomes a memory.”

June 12, 2014

The morning is chilly, but the sun is shining which gives hope for a warmer day. Rain is coming maybe tonight but definitely tomorrow. I love this time of year when my world is wonderfully spring green.

This morning I realized I know too many useless facts. They are taking up space in my memory drawers, and they don’t seem to have much value beyond a bit of cocktail chatter. Who really cares that the Mona Lisa has no eyebrows or eyelashes? I didn’t even notice until I had read this somewhere. In the shower, most people wash starting head first. I know I do. It makes perfect sense to start at the top and work downward. We all have lyrics in our heads to songs we sang years ago when AM radio was it, was all we had. I even remember the singing commercials. They and the lyrics don’t ever disappear, but ask me state capitals, and I hesitate. Is Helena North or South Dakota? It’s neither. It’s Montana’s.

My descriptive powers are growing in leaps and bounds. Adjectives are my friends. I don’t remember names of famous people as much anymore, but I can tell you how tall they are, whether they have facial hair and sort of describe the movie they might have been in. I read an entire book and forget the title, but I can describe perfectly the plot. The names of authors disappeared long ago. I look to friends for help, and they are as perplexed as I. Every morning I wake up and figure out the day of the week.

I have always been a list maker. Long ago I learned that lists make life easier. Now I find them essential. I keep a grocery list and add to it as I run out of stuff. I have my to do list with items in no particular order or set for any specific day. That’s sort of an out in case I don’t feel like doing anything but lolling. My calendar is a tear off day by day desk calendar with, of all things, a trivia question each day. I put a reminder on my calendar the day before any event because I missed a couple of events by not tearing off the old day. Tomorrow is breakfast with friends.

I think my most important memories don’t ever disappear. They seem to stay around, vivid and almost alive. For the rest of them, there is always Google.

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“Last night I dreamt I ate a ten pound marshmallow. When I woke up the pillow was gone.”

June 10, 2014

If ever there was day to rejoice, it is today. The toothache is gone. The tooth was pulled yesterday afternoon. The oral surgeon, my former student, decided not to wait. He numbed the area, and after a tug, the tooth was a memory.

Today I went to an early meeting and came home and took a nap, the reason for the lateness of my musings. I wonder, though, if three and a half hours still rates as a nap.

I got three phone calls. One was last night from the surgeon and today I got calls from the Care Center and my dentist’s office. All wanted to know how I was doing. I like that.

It rained today, and the day is still damp and chilly. I shut all the windows to keep the house warm and turned on lights to keep the darkness at bay. I am in my stay at home clothes, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.

The other night I made myself a peanut butter and Marshmallow Fluff sandwich. When I was young, it was a snack stand-by. We usually ran out of cookies quickly, but we always had bread to make a sandwich. I preferred marshmallow over jelly because marshmallow never slid out of the bread. Jelly did. It was always grape jelly which came out of the jar in globs and usually ended up on my shirt. The other problem with jelly was it made the bread squishy and the middle of the sandwich sink. There was, however, an upside. My mother bought Welch’s because you got a glass out of the deal.

My niece’s almost two-year old son had a rite of passage a few weeks back. He had his first fluffernutter. It was on his fingers and his cheeks, and he devoured every piece of it. My brother-in-law chronicled the event with pictures. They don’t have Fluff in Colorado so when any of us visit we bring a few jars. It goes quickly. Even my nephew who’s over thirty has a sandwich or two.

White bread is the best for a fluffernutter. I’ve tried it with wheat, and it isn’t the same. Wonder bread was our childhood bread of choice, but you really need a sturdier bread so the marshmallow can be spread without making holes. My sandwiches even now seem to overflow just a bit when you add the top slice of bread. I still get marshmallow on my fingers. I lick it off.

 

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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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