Archive for the ‘Musings’ category
August 24, 2013
The morning is delightfully chilly. The sun, though, is warm and has drawn Fern and the dog to the mat by the front door. The deck is in shadows so I stayed inside to read the papers. My lawn got cut this morning. The noise scares Fern so she sits on the floor between my feet until the lawn is done. The deck cleaning is after the lawn and that noise is right by the window in here so Fern runs for cover. Now that everything is quiet she’s asleep in the warmth of the morning sun.
My mother did her grocery shopping on Friday evenings. She didn’t learn to drive until she was in her late 30’s so she had to be driven to the store by my dad. The weekend was always errand and chore time for my dad. Taking my mother was first on his list. We always liked their going grocery shopping because cookies and treats were back in the house. Though they never lasted long, it was still nice having them for a while. Oreos were a staple, no fancy double stuffed or orange at Halloween, just your regular Oreos. My sisters were famous for eating just the middles and feeding the rest to Duke, our dog, a Boxer of course. He knew to stay close to my two sisters.
Saturdays my dad went uptown in the mornings to drop off his shirts at the Chinaman and to get a trim at the barber shop. It was a small shop with either two or three chairs. I can’t remember which. After an Italian deli opened up, my dad would stop there to buy cold cuts. The place was called Angelos.
I swear my dad knew at least half the town. He had lived there since high school, was an usher at church and was also a member of the Red Men; he was even Sachem once. It was an all male club which had meetings and did some charitable stuff but mostly I think it was a place for guys to get together and have a few drinks. The Red Men building was a nondescript gray square with only a door in the front. It was on a side street and had an unpaved parking lot beside it. You had to know what it was because the front gave no inkling. The downstairs was for drinking while the upstairs was for rent, and I remember going there many times. We even had my aunt the nun’s anniversary there. I think it was her 50th.
The Red Men building was razed as were several others including the Chinaman’s laundry when that part of uptown became the victim of beautification. The town built a park and a parking lot where those buildings used to stand. I was sorry to see them go. The ones on the Main Street were not the prettiest, and they needed some tender care, but they were old and had been a part of the town for decades. A bit of local color disappeared for the sake of beautification. I figure that’s the definition of irony.
Categories: Musings
Tags: beautification, cat lying in the sun, deck clearing, deli, grocery shopping, irony, lawn mowing, local color, lovely day, oreos, parking lot, Red Men, Saturday chores, Saturday errands, the Chinaman's, weekend chores
Comments: 14 Comments
August 23, 2013
Today is simply beautiful, sunny and cool with a strong breeze. The nights will be delightful for sleeping: cool, even cold. Tomorrow night could be down in the 50’s. Gracie has been out all morning, and I will join her as soon as I can!
When I was a kid, I didn’t mind being dirty and sweaty. Both of those were from having a great time. My socks often slipped down in my sneaker, and I didn’t even care when I walked on the lump of a sock. I’d eventually pull up that sock, but in a short time, it would slip again. That was the way it was. I took a bath once a week, that Saturday ritual we all had. For dinner, our vegetables, except for potatoes and carrots, came from cans. I don’t remember fresh vegetables, maybe because my mother knew we would probably not eat them. She had enough trouble getting us to like carrots without pushing even more. In the summer, we’d play all day then go to bed exhausted. A bath wasn’t ever part of the nightly ritual, even in summer. I guess jumping into the sprinkler or going to the pool kept us clean enough.
We girls wore blouses, never t-shirts. Some of my blouses were sleeveless, and they were the coolest for summer, coolest in the sense of the word, the opposite of hot. We wore shorts and sometimes clam-diggers. I know why the pants were called clam-diggers, but I had never dug a clam in my life so in a way it was an odd name. We also wore dungarees, but girls’ and boys’ dungarees were different. Ours had zippers, usually in the side pocket. When I was really young, mine had elastic at the waist. Girls could wear sandals. Boys never did, too risky and too open to name-calling. My sisters wore white sandals with buckles. When I got a little older, I stopped wearing sandals and wore white sneakers instead. The sneakers usually had pointed toes, and when I was in high school, I used to polish them to keep them white. Dresses and skirts were still necessary wardrobe components.
The last time I wore a dress was Easter. My friends and I go out to a fancy restaurant every year so we get dressed up. Tony wears a suit and tie and Clare and I wear dresses. Many of the people at the restaurant are also clad in Easter finery. The few who aren’t stand out a bit. I always feel a bit outlandishly proper when I’m in a dress. It happens so seldom.
My uniform of the day almost always includes a t-shirt. At night, for a play, I do wear a regular shirt and nice pants, but not dressy pants. I don’t even own a blouse anymore. I do happen to have a pair of clam-diggers, but they are meant to be worn around the house or to the dump which doesn’t have a dress code.
Categories: Musings
Tags: baths, blouses, breezy, canned vegetables, clam diggers, cool nights, Dresses, dungarees, lovely day, sandals, shirts, skirts, sleeveless, slipping socks, sneakers, uniform of the day, white sneakers
Comments: 12 Comments
August 22, 2013
The humidity is so thick I can almost see it in the air so the slight breeze has little effect. The sun bobs in and out, but all it does is highlight the haze. The last two days the AC was on so this morning I turned it off and opened the doors and windows to freshen the air in the house. Gracie likes the back door open because she is able to go in and out her dog door, but once the panting starts, Gracie is in and the air conditioner is on.
Last night, a red fox darted across the road in front of my car. Luckily it was quick as I wouldn’t have been able to slam on my brakes in time had it been just a touch slower. The fox was small, probably young. I haven’t seen a fox in a while, but the Cape has many. Come to find out, it also has bobcats for the first time since Colonial days. An iPhone film of one was taken by a man who saw the bobcat in his yard. He highlighted it in his headlights, and the bobcat stood long enough to be filmed. Wildlife experts have confirmed that it was indeed a bobcat, Lynx rufus. They are common in other parts of the state but were designated rare to absent here. The experts figure the cat probably walked across the bridge. They think this one is a juvenile because of its size. Last year it was bear; now we have bobcats again.
I have probably told my story before, but the sighting of a bobcat reminded me of my wild animal sighting in Ghana, and it’s a great story, worth the retelling. It was mid-morning, and I was on my motorcycle riding on a dirt on my way to a small village to visit a friend for the weekend. The road is so untraveled that the only car I saw stopped to ask me if I was lost. I guess a white woman on a motorcycle is as rare a sighting there as the bobcat was here. I told them where I was going and they said I was on the right road. That kind of made me chuckle as it was the only road. I kept riding until I saw what I first thought were men crossing road, but I stopped to get a better view and noticed these were hairy men on all fours. I knew right away they were baboons; there were about five or six of them. I was totally enthralled by the sight. I mean, really, in Africa riding on a motorcycle on a dirt road and seeing baboons would make anyone fascinated. I watched them crossing the road and was, I thought, far enough away, but one of them stopped, turned and looked at me. I didn’t move but immediately formulated an escape plan just in case it became a bit more than curious. It didn’t. The baboon joined the others and all of them left across the grassland and out of sight.
That is one of my favorite memories of Ghana. I knew there were wild animals, even elephants, still roaming the savannah grasslands of the Upper Region and around Bolga where I lived, but I never expected to see any of them. I often rode my motorcycle on the dirt roads just for the ride, but I never saw any animals close to where I lived. That was an adventure, an unexpected wonderful adventure.
Categories: Musings
Tags: AC, baboons, backroads, bobcat, Bolgatanga, dirt roads, humidity, Lynx rufus, motorcycle ride, Peace Corps Ghana, red fox, savannah grassland, small villages, Upper Region of Ghana, wild animals
Comments: 10 Comments
August 19, 2013
This morning was a put a mirror under her nose to see if she’s still breathing type of morning. The alarm woke me at 8 so I could go to breakfast at 9, but I called my friend and cancelled. I was just too tired. Going back to sleep was no problem nor was sleeping two more hours. Even Gracie and Fern settled back down on the bed with me; however, I’m now awake and they’re not. Both are having their morning naps: Fern in the sun and Gracie in her crate. I can hear Gracie’s snores all the way down the hall.
Yesterday my friends gave me a birthday dinner. We sat on the deck and played our card game, Phase 10, before dinner and I won. The crowd cheered. Okay, no crowd was there, but had they been, they would have cheered loudly and maybe even given me a standing O. During the game, it started to rain, but we stayed dry under the umbrella. We heard the best of sounds, the drops of rain hitting the umbrella above us. It would rain then stop for a while then rain again. After the game, we left the rain and the deck and went inside for dinner. I ate only a little as I wasn’t feeling tip-top, but I did manage to scoff down the desert: lemon brownies. I got a plateful of dinner to take home so I’ll enjoy it today.
The only low point of the evening was the Sox lost to the dreaded Yankees. At one point in the game, it looked as if there would be a melee. That was right after A-Rod got hit by the ball when he was at bat. The crowd cheered the hit on A-Rod then the benches cleared and the bullpens came in just in case, but nothing happened except Girardi got tossed out for throwing his hat on the dirt in front of the umpire while he was screaming at the guy for not tossing out the pitcher. I understand his anger but tossing his hat is a bit childish. A-Rod later hit a home run, his sort of revenge.
Today is a take it easy day. I have a chore or two, but nothing imperative. I’m even thinking I might have an afternoon nap. The day is sunny but pleasantly cool and tonight will be even cooler, a good night for sleeping. That sounds most appealing.
Categories: Musings
Tags: A-Rod hit, birthday dinner, cool day, cool night, dog snoring, exhausted, Is she alive?, mirror under her nose, Phase 10, rain, Red Sox, sleep until 10, take it easy day, Umbrella, Yankees
Comments: 10 Comments
August 18, 2013
This morning I woke up early to go to the bathroom. The bathroom window was open so I rested my arms on the small sill and looked out. It’s the same view as from this room but so much higher, a third floor view. I was in the trees. I could see movement in and around the branches, but I couldn’t see the birds. I could smell the morning air, a combination of so many things. I could smell dampness, not the sort a moist cellar brings, but the sort which comes from humidity and a wet driveway and dewy grass; the sweet aroma of flowers was strong, mixed as it was with the dampness. It seemed to circle me on all sides and come from all the gardens. The best smell of all, though, was the one only a morning brings. It was the smell of freshness in the air, the smell of a new day, of another start. I stood for a bit at the window, took it all in then went back to bed. The morning was still too new, too early. Fern and Gracie hadn’t moved. They were both still asleep in the same spots on the bed as when I’d left. I slid in between them and fell back to sleep.
Today is dark, cloudy dark, with a chance of rain, but I don’t think it’ll rain. Today will stay humid and close. Right now nothing is moving in the dense air, and it is quiet except for Gracie’s every now and then bark. She sounds so loud I keep wanting to hush her. I want the quiet I love so much.
When I was little, my dreams were enormous. I thought I could do and be anything. The worse part of growing older was learning I had limitations. Math was out of reach. Once it got too complicated for my fingers, I knew it wasn’t for me. I loved nature and bugs and snakes and all sorts of crawly things, but I didn’t want to learn about them from books. I wanted to watch them crawl and slither. I learned early, third grade, that I couldn’t hold a tune so singing was out. I had begun whittling the list of what I could do and be. Amazingly I wasn’t disappointed that some doors had closed for me because I figured there were plenty out there just waiting for me to find them, and when I did and turned the door knobs, I knew I’d find treasures. I started to like some things over others and was better at the ones I liked. I tolerated the ones I didn’t. Soon enough, I got to pick, and I chose to study English. It was the best of all choices for me. It gave me the world.
The first time I ever taught was in Ghana. I remember those first few months. I was awful. I stood in front of my students day after day, and they had no idea what I was saying. I spoke too quickly, and they couldn’t hear my English accent though they spoke English. I was having the same trouble but in reverse. Somehow, though, over time, I stumbled into teaching so that we all learned. Franciska still remembers much of what I taught her. The best thing she said was I told them the sky was their only limit. They could do and be whatever they wanted. They just had to keep reaching.
I still do that-I still keep reaching.
Categories: Musings
Tags: barking dog, Bolga Women's College Students, closeness, Clouds, cloudy dark, Dreams, flowers, freshness, Ghana, humidity, limitations, morning, opening doors, reaching, smells of the day, stillness, studying English, teaching
Comments: 22 Comments
August 17, 2013
Today is the big day, my big day, my birthday. The story is my dad was the only one in the waiting room, it being the wee hours. The nurse came in and asked if he was Mr. Ryan. His answer, “Who in the hell do you think I am? I’m the only one here.” He saw my mother and me moments after my birth. Neither one of us was at our best. My dad hurried to my grandparents’ house, in the same town as the hospital, to announce the glorious event but was met with groans instead of balloons and fireworks. It also happened to be my aunt’s wedding day, my mother’s older sister’s, and my dad’s periodic visits to get coffee and give updates had prevented her from getting the necessary beauty sleep. I was told the the wedding eve went off without any further disruptions from my dad, but as to how my aunt looked, I haven’t any idea. My mother and father were busy elsewhere.
Every year, my friend leaves a mum on my front walk, and it’s the first thing I see when I open the door. A birthday which begins with flowers can’t help but be special. Birgit did the wonderful new Coffee heading. She added Birthdays, a new mug picture, balloons and Miss Gracie.
The day is beautiful. It is as if Mother Nature is adding her birthday wishes by dressing today in its finery. The birds are at the feeders, and the goldfinches are back for the first time in a while. I watched them flying in and out when my made my morning visit to the deck. Gracie and I stood there for a while both of us reluctant to go inside, but I could smell the coffee and it drew me to the kitchen. Gracie stayed outside.
Google has birthday cakes, cupcakes and candles today.
I’m not quite sure how to spend my day. I’ll do something special. I always do.
Categories: Musings
Comments: 37 Comments
August 16, 2013
My feet are cold. I was outside reading the papers, and it felt chilly. The table is in the shade and the sun is still working its way around the house so the backyard has a bit of the night chill about it. While I was outside, I filled the seed and the suet feeders. Later, I’ll have to clean and refill the bird bath. Chickadees use it all the time to drink from while robins love a good bath.
Around six last night, my friend and I were on the deck enjoying a drink with some cheese and crackers. I noticed movement at a house across the street on the corner and kept trying to be attentive to my friend but also trying to keep an eye on the happening across the street. I thought I saw heads and spindly legs. I did. I was watching wild turkeys make their way down the street. I told my friend to turn around and take a look. She said she was wondering what had drawn my attention. Two of the turkeys were enormous, as big as I’ve ever seen. All of them, the toms and their hens, took their time wandering on another neighbor’s lawn and a few hens stopped to eat something. They then casually crossed the street to the yard next to mine. Gracie watched their progress from the deck. She didn’t bark but seemed as intrigued as we were. It has been a while since I’ve seen the turkeys on my street. It was fun to have them back.
My first plane flight was when I was a freshman in college. My parents gave me a ticket from Hyannis to Boston as an Easter gift. I was thrilled. The route was beautiful: over the water and the shore. The plane was old and perfect for my first flight. I had always wished I could have ridden in a PanAm Clipper during its heyday, and this plane reminded me a little of that. It was a prop and you had to walk uphill to your seats. The pilots were behind a curtain which didn’t shut all the way, and you could watch them at the controls. It was like going back in time.
That plane ride is my favorite of all, but I have a few others on the list. The flight from Argentina to Uruguay, a quick jump cross the water, had a raffle for a woman’s handbag. I didn’t win. A Ghana Airways flight from Tamale to Accra circled so many times I think the pilot was lost. It is the only plane on which I have ever felt air sick. It was all that circling. The flight to Cusco was the most dramatic. We were close enough to the mountains that we could see the shadow of the plane. On my first ever flight to Ghana, in 1969, I remember when we flew over the Sahara. It was like my geography book had come to life. I saw the rolling brown sand with what looked liked ridges, and it was a thrill I’ve never forgotten.
Categories: Musings
Tags: bird feeders, chickadees, chilly morning, Cusco, favorite flights, first plane ride, flying over the Sahara, long necks and spindly legs, PanAm Clipper, sleeping on a plane, toms and hens, wild turkeys
Comments: 18 Comments
August 15, 2013
Last night was chilly, close the window chilly. It will be the same tonight then tomorrow through Sunday will get warmer each day. I don’t why summer expects all these return engagements. I’m already geared up for fall, and Labor Day, the unofficial end of summer, is close. It is as early as it can be.
I thought I had an empty dance card tomorrow, but I don’t. That means I have had something to do every day this week. My car is racking up the miles. I have already ridden over 70 miles through today. To me that’s a cross-country trip and tomorrow they’ll be more to come as I have to go to Hyannis. Yup, all the way to Hyannis, the big city in these parts.
I haven’t heard from Grace so I don’t know the progress of her quest to get a visa. She has all the papers she needs to prove her roots are in Ghana. She just has to present them. Grace had them the last time but was so overwhelmed by the quick 10 minute interview she didn’t think to use them. This time she swears she’ll be more assertive. I did call her last week, but she was in the Bolga market with Rose Atiah, another student of mine. In the background I could hear all the voices and the bustle of market day, and it was so loud the conversation was difficult. I said hello to Rose and she asked if I were well. Madam is what Rose still calls me. That’s what all the students called me. Rose is a grandmother; Grace is 61, but I will always be madam.
When I was in high school and forced to move to the cape, I was devastated. I had lived almost my whole life in one town, had the same friends forever and was involved in all sorts of activities. I hated the cape and came home from school every day, threw my books on the bed in my room and stayed there. I remember that first day of school when I stood outside alone by the side door while everyone chatted and talked about the summer. I wore new school clothes, not a uniform for the first time. My homeroom and my classes were easy to find but no one talked to me. I ate alone in the cafeteria. Every weekend I took the bus back to my home, my old town, and stayed with friends. My life had ended, or at least that’s what I thought. It took time, but I found a way to get involved. I joined after school groups. My favorite was the Latin Club but I have no memories of what we did. I was taking Latin IV so the club seemed to fit. Every time I see the yearbook picture of that club, I laugh. We looked like geeks. Giving the drama of my life at the time, I joined the drama club. I made friends, and found a place to sit in the cafeteria with my new friends.
While I was in Ghana and my brother was in the army, my father was transferred back to Boston. My parents bought a house in my old town, but it was never my home. When my brother and I came back to the United States, we both went home to Cape Cod. My mother said she wouldn’t take it personally that no matter where she lived, we wanted to live somewhere else, but our choice had nothing to do with her or the rest of my family. It had to do with our need for the comfort of familiar places and people as that’s what the Cape was for us, a refuge and our home.
Categories: Musings
Tags: Bolga market, car mileage, chilly nights, devastated, fall's coming, feeling alone, home, madam, moving, new school, visa
Comments: 12 Comments
August 13, 2013
Mornings are my favorite part of the day. While the coffee is brewing, I go out on the deck just to look and listen, a sort of greet the day ritual. Mornings, I’ve decided, have their own smells. My favorite is when I can smell the ocean in the dampness of the air. On warm mornings the scents of flowers fills the air. I usually hear Gracie walking on the leaves in the backyard and the songs of a few birds. Most times I don’t ever hear people, only a car or two going up the street. Chickadees dine early and they are the only birds at the feeder. I’m seldom out there all that long, but it is a ritual I have come to love. When I get back inside, the house is filled with the aroma of coffee. I grab my papers and start the rest of my morning.
When I travel, I love to be up early to go out and see the mornings unfold. I think that gives me a greater sense of where I am. One early morning at Gettysburg, I was there when they opened the gates and was the only car on the road. The morning fog shrouded the battlefield. It wasn’t eerie but rather seemed solemn, quiet, as if even the fog recognized this was a holy place, a place where men died because they believed in something bigger than themselves. In the cities, I walk the streets and see stores opening and goods being delivered. I can smell bread and coffee and even exhaust all mixed together but not unpleasant. I see the delivery trucks and people on their way to work. In Santa Fe, I got a cup of coffee and a cinnamon bun then sat on a bench and watched the Indians set up their goods in front of the Governor’s Palace. The rest of the plaza was just about empty. In Marrakech my mornings started just a bit later. I sat on the roof of my riad eating breakfast by myself. The Atlas Mountains were in front of me and I was surrounded by the roofs of other houses. Women were hanging laundry and a few were cooking using a tagine over charcoal. I watched them every morning. In Ghana the mornings bustle. People are up early. Roosters announce the day. I could always smell wood fires and hear voices from the compounds by my house. I loved those mornings.
This is a busy week for me. My dance card is filled every day but Friday.
Categories: Musings
Tags: birds, Gettysburg, Ghana, Marrakech, mornings, ocean, Santa Fe, smells
Comments: 16 Comments
August 12, 2013
The weather and I have much in common today as neither one of us is at all content. The day is cloudy then sunny then cloudy again. It is as if Mother Nature is trying to figure out what best fits her mood. I too don’t quite know what to do. I have this antsy feeling of needing to do something, but I don’t know what. It isn’t the travel bug: I know those symptoms all too well. Driving home from breakfast I checked out houses and yards as if I hadn’t seen them before and looking, I think, for something out of the ordinary, something new to satisfy my strange mood. I noticed many different sorts of fences. My least favorite was the white vinyl picket. That doesn’t seem to belong here and is one I would discount as a good neighbor. One house had a Williamsburg bird house attached on the front. I hadn’t noticed that before even though I’ve driven by that house countless times. The Yarmouth Garden ladies were working on the side road medians planting and rearranging flowers. Theirs are always the prettiest medians. I’m not a fan of seashell pieces as a border between the yard and the road. They become choked with weeds and their essence is lost. I noticed some house fronts are bare: a door and two windows: no ornamentation, no shutters and nothing to catch the eye. They are the plain Janes who never draw attention to themselves. I wonder about the people who live in those houses. I think of them as unimaginative, their closets filled with interchangeable clothes of bland colors. They buy yellow cheese in individual cellophane wrappers. Their bread is always white.
Even the river was quiet this morning. No one was fishing, and I didn’t see a single boat. The water was calm; no white caps broke the monotony. I waited in a line of cars to turn at four corners, each with its own stop sign. Every driver was polite. No one rushed through taking someone else’s turn.
I came home to a quiet street and a quiet house. All three pets are sleeping and Gracie isn’t even snoring. I will be hard-pressed to find anything to satisfy my mood today as I’m not even sure what it is. I am not a fan of days like today.
Categories: Musings
Tags: antsy feeling, back and forth weather, calm water, fences, moods, Mother Nature's quandry, plain houses, plain Jane, seashell landscaping, unimaginative people, Yarmouth Garden ladies
Comments: 16 Comments
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