Archive for the ‘Musings’ category

“One advantage of talking to yourself is that you know at least somebody’s listening.”

May 20, 2014

Today is another lovely day. It rained last night. I could hear it as I fell asleep. The night got chilly, but I left my window open any way. This morning I heard the birds and thought it a wonderful way to wake up.

The trees are getting so leafy my neighbors’ houses will soon disappear. My deck in summer always feels isolated like a small island in the middle of nowhere. In the winter I can see four houses down to my friends’ house, but in summer I see only a bit of the house closest to me. I like that sense of peace, that aloneness.

I talk out loud. No one is here to listen, but I do it anyway. Sometimes I ask myself where I left what I’m looking for like a book and now and then my glasses. The other night I opened the fridge door, stood looking and wondered what to have for dinner. I directed that question to Gracie but she just cocked her head and walked away. When I banged my hand a while back, I cursed out loud because I believe that unspoken curses have little or no effect and provide no outlet for emotion. An article in the paper sometimes has me mumbling or grousing. I make comments to the TV and often correct grammar. I scoff at action which seems too outrageous. Baseball games make me crazy, and I know a strike-out with men on base is cause for those curses I mentioned earlier. “What are you doing?” is another out loud comment usually said to the batter swinging at obvious balls. If I knew it was a ball, why the heck didn’t that batter?

I don’t remember when I started talking aloud. I have lived here alone since 1977, and I bet I’ve spoken aloud many, many times over the years. I’ve never been worried about it, but should I ever get an answer, some rethinking might be in order.

“I’ve seen enough horror movies to know that any weirdo wearing a mask is never friendly.”

May 19, 2014

The mornings have a routine. I make coffee, get the papers, give the cats and the dog their treats, have a cup of coffee while I read each paper and then get dressed. The rest of the day is open. I like my mornings. The cats and the dog have their own routines. Fern and Gracie greet me when I wake up and then follow me downstairs where Maddie is waiting for attention. Gracie goes out, barks a bit and squats. Fern lies in the sun and Maddie stays beside me on the couch. Within a short time, all three of them are having morning naps. I suspect they like their mornings too.

The weather has been perfectly lovely with lots of sun, temperatures in the 60’s and chilly nights for cozy sleeping. The leaves are all open on the oak trees, the lilacs have flowers and the front garden is beginning to bloom. I’m itching to go flower shopping.

Monsters were big when I was a kid. We had the Mummy, Frankenstein, the Wolfman, the Invisible Man and insects the size of a city building. Most were scary because I was young. My brother was even afraid of Maleficent in Sleeping Beauty. He hid under his seat at the movies. But as I got older, they stopped being scary. I had learned the difference between real and pretend. I admit I jumped when the head appeared in the hole in the sunken boat in Jaws. I also jumped when I saw Aliens and a creature leapt at the test tube. I think most people in the theater jumped. Afterwards, we all chuckled in a sort of reflex action.

I yell at the TV during some scary movies. When a character says, “I’ll go check it out,” I yell in warning. He will be next to go, no question about it. In one movie, there was blood up the stairs on the wall, and off he went to check it out. He never made it downstairs. As fort me, blood on the wall would have me running in the opposite direction.

 

Not much of late scares me. Movies have become blood and mayhem and the number of corpses runs into the double digits. Zombies are being replaced by the living dead, a wonderful oxymoron. I remember my first of them: The Night of the Living Dead. I thought it was gross. I like The Walking Dead, but it too is gross. I do have a conundrum with that show. After the walkers attack and eat a person, how come that person doesn’t become a walker? My guess is they also eat the head, but you never see that, only the dining on the disgusting innards.

I still like a movie which scares me.

“Well, mother, he is a very nice man. he gave me some candy.”

May 18, 2014

Today is cloudy and a bit chillier than yesterday. My bedroom window was open all night, and I was cold this morning, cold enough to grab my comforter. I burrowed down, got cozy and fell asleep for another hour. Gracie woke me up. She banged her paw on the bed right beside where I was sleeping. Even though I kept my eyes closed and my breathing even, she knew I was awake. I gave in and got up. Now she’s sleeping. Oh, the irony!

I loved visiting my grandparents because they lived in a city. The houses were close together separated only by walkways almost like alleys. Small bakeries sold square pieces of cold pizza and Italian ice from opened windows. We played stick ball in the street and baseball against the steps. It was a whole new world to me. I remember two streets up there was a park, and I remember there was a store on the corner of their street. It was tiny but every shelf and counter was filled with something to buy. We went there to spend the dime my grandfather used to give us.

Once my uncle took my brother and me to Logan Airport. We walked from my grandparents’ house in East Boston. My uncle is only two years older than I am so it was just three kids on an adventure. It was a long walk and seemingly longer going home. Logan in those days was a series of hanger type buildings, many made of wood. They were mostly one story. The roofs of some of them were for observation, for watching the planes. There were fences around the perimeters of those roofs, and I remember standing there a long time watching the planes taxi to the runways and fly off while others landed. There were still prop planes and no jetways. People walked from the plane to the terminal. We went through the interconnected terminals, and I took brochures as souvenirs. I remember that as a favorite day. My mother wasn’t so happy when she found out how far we had gone.

I have another memory of when my uncle took my brother and me to the MDC pool. To get to the pool, we had to take a bus and then the subway from my grandparent’s house. I remember standing on the subway platform by myself. I don’t remember exactly where my brother and uncle were standing. A man came up to me. I remember he wore a straw hat, had bad teeth and his coat was striped. He had a cane but it was on hooked on his arm. He spoke to me, and I said hello. He offered me gum and said if I followed him behind the stairs he’d give it to me. Never take candy from a stranger jumped into my head so I ran to find my uncle and brother who were together further down the platform. They wanted to know why I was running. I didn’t tell them what had happened. I broke the rule by saying hello so I kept the whole incident secret. I never told. This isn’t a favorite memory.

“Seeing a murder on television… can help work off one’s antagonisms. And if you haven’t any antagonisms, the commercials will give you some.”

May 17, 2014

Finally we’ve had some rain. It was lightly falling when I woke up then it poured. Now it has stopped. The day is getting lighter. The sun is going to make an appearance. I was surprised at how warm the morning is when I went to get the papers. It’s a short sleeve day.

I remember when television was filled with commercials for cigarettes. Winston tastes good like a cigarette should. Dancing cigarette box girls wore Old Gold. Salem cigarettes gave us a wonderful world. Their tobacco was touted as smooth and rich with a deep taste, but those commercials disappeared prompted by the list of carcinogens in tobacco smoke. Alcohol commercials disappeared for a while too, but they’re back with the admonition to drink sensibly. TV is now filled with ads touting all sorts of different products. Nothing is taboo any longer. Car and prescription drug commercials seem to outnumber the rest. I get a chuckle out of the drug ads. They give the longest list of who shouldn’t take the drugs and, if you do take them, what might happen to you and how soon you should see a doctor if those symptoms arise. I watch a lot of cable.

I’ve learned a lot from TV. The spouse is always the first suspect in the murder of his/her other half. Home sleeping is the worst alibi. If you’re planning a huge event, something will go wrong. It is inevitable. Silky, rich hair is within reach. No one needs to have less than sparkling white teeth. Watch out when asked for a DNA swab. We are all being watched.

“It is indeed a mistake to confuse children with angels”

May 16, 2014

The day is a beauty, a sit on the deck in the sun and smile sort of day. My deck still looks like winter so it is time to break out spring, to uncover furniture, hang candles, plant window boxes and free the flamingo and the gnome from their winter quarters.

Even when I worked I changed from my school clothes to my play clothes. It was always the first thing I did when I got home. When I was young, my mother reminded me, but that wasn’t really necessary. It was part of the afternoon routine: get home, drop books on the table, put the lunch box in the kitchen and go upstairs to change. This time of year we had lots of light for playing after school, and we had lots of pent-up energy from sitting down most of the day. We usually played until close to dinner time. Homework was done right after dinner at the kitchen table. There was never much of it when I was young. Usually it was finish a work page or learn spelling words for the next day’s test. There were always ten words. The work pages were usually arithmetic, a few problems in division or multiplication. When I was done, I could watch television until it was time for bed. When I think of it now, I realize every day was the same but no day seemed the same. I never thought of yesterday or tomorrow. I was totally involved in today. I was a kid and that’s what we did.

The only thing I remember about my eighth grade graduation was it was in church. The school had no gym or auditorium. We took a class picture with the pastor of the parish and we were in our fancy clothes. There were over ninety of us which meant 45+ students in each of the two eighth grades. I remember the rows of desks. My favorite seat was by the window because of the bookshelves flush against my desk. I used to stash my radio there, put the earphone in one ear, hide it with my hand and listen to music. Once I got caught, but the nun only asked if I could hear well enough. I figured she thought I was a bit deaf. I also used to hide candy there. Fireballs were a favorite. I never got caught. My heart was broken when the nun changed all our seats trying to break up the talkers, and I ended up front. I had to be good. I was too close to the nun’s desk. I did manage, though, to break a rule or two. On really nice days, I hid my brown bag and went out as if I were going home to lunch, and I sometimes came back late but never got in trouble. Other times I’d leave early with some lame excuse like going to the library, and I always got away with it. I was a favorite and I took full advantage.

“Spiders so large they appear to be wearing the pelts of small mammals.”

May 15, 2014

The day is warm. The sun pops in and out. It is an open the windows and let the fresh air in sort of day. I have an errand or two to do later. I still walk oddly because of the aches and pains left over from the fall, but I have to go out. I figure the cats will want to be fed later as they just got their last can. What’s with these animals wanting to eat every day?

Gracie eats the best food. The list of ingredients starts with meat then goes on to the fruits and vegetables. I swear if I heated the turducken and served it over toast people would enjoy it, but it was different when I was a kid. Duke, my boxer, ate two cans of dog food a day, of horse meat. Feeding him was gross as the food didn’t smell good and the last thing I was for it to touch me. It also gave him room clearing gas. Most were of the silent but deadly form. It was always best to sit up wind from Duke.

Some of my friends squealed at spiders. I always thought that was silly. Spiders had no interest in us. They were hoping for flies or other stray insects though I do sometimes think of The Fly caught in the web and yelling, “Help me. Help me,” as the spider slowly walked toward him. I did figure, though, that was an anomaly. Some noises in the night scared me like people walking or the window getting scratched, but I wore a brave front and always asked, “Is anyone there?” Now that is silly. What homicidal maniac is going to answer, “I am, and I’m here to dismember you.” I had this idea that if I sounded brave I’d scare away the man with hook or the hatchet. As I never saw one, I must have been successful.

I used to walk home at night from being with my friends. No one walked in my direction. The rest walked together the other way. Once a police car stopped and offered me a ride home. He knew me which is why he stopped. I took the ride. When he got to my street, he turned on all the lights and let me out. I figured the neighbors were watching from all their windows wondering what was going on. I waved and went inside the house. I was never afraid walking home alone. The biggest news in the police blotter of the local paper was woman hears sounds in her yard, kids making noise, and cars leaving rubber and speeding. My town was not a hot bed of crime.

“Strange, what brings these past things so vividly back to us, sometimes!”

May 13, 2014

The warm weather is gone and the 50’s have replaced it. The sun was shining but has since disappeared. It’s a stay home sort of day. I have mail from when I was gone to go through and a few dvr’d television programs to watch. I’ll just stretch out on the couch with my phone handy and enjoy a quiet day. I still ache and yelp when I stand up, but my knees do seem a bit better.

I have some singular memories of certain days and events.

The town plowed the field, filled in the swamp and took down the trees where we had spent so much of our childhood. They build elderly apartments. My father always called it wrinkle city. I remember a lady whose robe had caught on fire. When they brought her out, she had no hair. I can still see that. I don’t remember her looking burned, just bald. When I was in the seventh grade, they found I had a heart murmur. My dad took me for a ride and told me about it. He explained I would be tested to make sure everything was okay. I remember how gentle he sounded. My dad was the disciplinarian and a screamer so this gentleness scared me a bit. Later, though, all was well. I remember the drive to Logan the day I left for Peace Corps staging. I sat in the back and said little as did my parents. I don’t remember saying good-bye at the gate, but I do remember trying to settle all my carry-on at my seat. The man beside me wanted to know if I was running away from home. I told him I was going in the Peace Corps, and he bought me drinks. Not long after I bought my house, my car started to smoke on the way home from buying groceries. I remember crying because I had no money to fix it. All of my money had gone into the house, insurance and passing papers. What would I do without a car? Well, it was only a hose and water hitting the hot engine, but I still remember how distraught I was. I even remember exactly the car was when the engine started to smoke.

My memory drawers are filled, and I love to sift through them hoping for a surprise, something I had forgotten but now remember. These other memories, these singular memories, stay etched by themselves in a separate drawer. They, in some way, changed me. I don’t forget them for that.

“No matter what happens, travel gives you a story to tell.”

May 12, 2014

Today is already warm, and the cats have found the sun streaming through the door and are stretched out on the mat. Gracie is having her morning nap and is noisily snoring. As with Pippa Passing, “All is right with the world.”

I fell when I was in New Hampshire. The soles of my shoes grabbed the stair rugs, and I was most careful until I wasn’t. My left foot stepped down but my right foot stayed put. As it was unexpected, I went down hard, hit the door jamb with my face, scrapped my foot and wrist and slammed both of my knees. My glasses flew off and one lens went into hiding. The glasses saved most of my face but the left cheek and over my eyebrow hit the wood. Today, two days later, my knees, especially my left, are still painful. Getting up from a sitting position is the worst, and I do yowl a bit but I’ll survive.

Falling isn’t new for me. I started when I was around four or five with a fractured wrist, got a sprained ankle when I was a bit older, fractured my shoulder, fell down the inside stairs and the outside, knocking myself out both times and badly sprained my ankle again on the mat by the front door. There are probably more, but those are the highlights.

I had a wonderful time in New Hampshire, but I was glad to get home.

When I was a kid, we went on very few stay-away vacations. I remember Vermont and the huge white house with the porch. It was across a rural highway from a lake. We had to be watched when we went swimming as there was a drop off to deep water not that far from the shore, but there was plenty to keep a kid busy in the woods and in the stream running by the house. I remember the time in Maine, in Ogunquit, at the smallest cabin in a host of cabins. I remember seeing naked people sleeping on a blanket in the dunes, how cold the water was and how boring the vacations were. The vacation to beat all vacations was to Niagara Falls. That was the first and only time we stayed in motels. I remember it all: the falls, the Eisenhower Locks, Lake Ontario, Madam Tussaud’s and eating at McDonald’s.

I am forever thankful for the vacations when we stayed home. My parents took us to museums, and I am still attracted to museums wherever I travel. Beaches, learning to body surf from my father, my mother’s packed lunches, and learning to skip stones are some of the best memories of my childhood.

“My mom is a neverending song in my heart of comfort, happiness, and being. I may sometimes forget the words but I always remember the tune.”

May 11, 2014

Today is Mother’s Day. It is the day I honor my mother and my memories of her. Last week my friend and I went out to dinner. She mentioned it was her mother’s birthday and how much she still misses her. She said no one told us it would be this hard.

Every year I post the same entry about my mother. At Easter this year my sister and I laughed about the curses she inflicted on us: the love of everything Christmas and never thinking you have enough presents for everyone, giving Easter baskets overflowing with candy and fun toys and surprising people with a gift just because.

My mother had a generosity of spirit. She was funny and smart and the belle of every ball. She always had music going in the kitchen as she worked so she could sing along. She played Frank and Tony and Johnny and from her I learned the old songs. My mother drew all the relatives, and her house was filled. My cousins visited often. She was their favorite aunty. My mother loved to play Big Boggle, and we’d sit for hours at the kitchen table and play so many games we’d lose track of the time. Christmas was always amazing, and she passed this love to all of us. We traveled together, she and I, and my mother was game for anything. I remember Italy and my mother and me after dinner at the hotel bar where she’d enjoy her cognac. She never had it any other time, but we’re on vacation she said and anything goes. I talked to her just about every day, as did my sisters. I loved it when she came to visit. We’d shop, have dinner out then play games at night. I always waited on her when was here. I figured it was the least I could do.

My mother loved extreme weather shows, TV judges and crime. She never missed Judge Judy. She also liked quiz shows and she and I used to play Jeopardy together on the phone at night. She always had a crossword puzzle book with a pen inside on the table beside her chair, and I used to try to fill in some of the blanks. On the dining room table was often a jig saw puzzle, and we all stopped to add pieces on the way to the kitchen. My mother loved a good time.

She did get feisty, and I remember flying slippers aimed at my head when I was a kid. She expertly used mother’s guilt and, “I’ll do it myself,” was her favorite weapon. We sometimes drove her crazy, and she let us know, none too quietly.We never argued over politics. She kept her opinions close. We sometimes argued over other things, but the arguments never lasted long.

Even after all this time, I still think to reach for the phone to call my mother when I see something interesting or have a question I know only she can answer. When I woke up this morning, my first thought was of her, and how much she is missed.

“Nobody knows the truffles I’ve seen.”

May 8, 2014

Yesterday while I was out doing errands, I noticed all the trees and bushes in bloom. The bright yellow of the forsythias popped and caught my eyes. I saw white blossoms on a row of trees and trees with purples and pinks. I smiled all the way home. It was just that kind of a ride.

Today is warm and lovely.

I don’t eat beans except for green beans. Refried beans look thoroughly disgusting to me. Baked beans are squishy. Lima beans have a strange, uninviting color. Kidney beans could use a change of name. I have never been a fan of beans, and this distaste for all things bean dates from my childhood. I have tried over the years to eat beans just in case but the outcome has always been the same.

When I was a kid, we only had yellow mustard so I used it on my hot dogs. I don’t eat yellow mustard any more though I am still a mustard fan. My fridge probably has five or six different mustards.

Speaking of hot dogs, ketchup on hot dogs is just wrong. Ketchup is for hamburgers and French fries. Piccalilli or relish goes perfectly with the mustard. Onions add a dimension to the dog but no onions with ketchup. It is the same for sauerkraut, cheese or any other topping. Ketchup limits the choices and the taste.

Speaking of ketchup, I just don’t see putting it on eggs. Ketchup on scrambled eggs is not a pretty picture. Nobody puts it on fried eggs or boiled eggs, just scrambled and sometimes omelets. Why is ketchup for some eggs but not for others?

I never put ketchup on onion rings, just on French fries. I never use much salt, but I do put salt on both of those. They just seem to taste better. I also like mayonnaise for my fries. That probably seems weird.

I love cheeseburgers. When I go out, I order them often as I don’t eat them much at home. Sometimes I add lettuce, onion and tomato, and when I do, mayonnaise is my condiment of choice. If I don’t, ketchup is just fine.

On my sub sandwiches, depending, of course, on the sandwich, I add pickles, onions and hot peppers. My love for hot peppers comes from the father of an elementary school mate of mine. I was at her house sometimes for lunch and her father always added hot peppers to his sandwiches. He offered them to me, and I tried them and liked them. I also like to add chopped jalapeños. Sandwiches need the kick.

Ghana was where I became an adventurous eater. It was where I first ate Indian food and Middle Eastern dishes like hummus, falafel and tabbouleh. I saw and ate okra for the first time. The slime in the soup was a bit much, but I got over that. Bush rat and goat were tasty.

I learned in Ghana to ask very few questions about what I was eating. It was better that way.