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“The sky is the daily bread of the eyes.”

January 31, 2013

The wind howled all night and rain pounded against the windows. I heard it when the coughing woke me up, but I didn’t mind being awakened as I might have missed the rain, one of my favorite sounds. The howling wind was a bonus. It could have been from the soundtrack of an old black and white horror movie, like The Werewolf.

Yesterday morning I called my friend of over forty years, and he thought I was a guy named Paul. That was it for me. I called the doctor. They wanted me in right away. I think my coughing during the phone call worked to great effect. Come to find out my cold has morphed into bronchitis and was working its way toward pneumonia. I’m on all sorts of stuff right now which should make me sound far less like Paul and more like me.

It’s still windy and rainy. I had to convince Gracie to go out this morning then I ran for the papers and yesterday’s mail which was still in the box. The mail was boring. I have to get Gracie’s license today. It is, of course, the very last day to get it without an extra fee. I like living on the edge!

At the doctor’s they told me I needed to rest. I almost laughed out loud. Rest is my middle name. I love a good afternoon nap.

Because I haven’t seen anyone or been anywhere, my life has no new stories and no new people. I communicate entirely by phone. I spend the day reading and relaxing. I know, I know, a really tough way to while away the day. I’ve been reading David Baldacci, The Forgotten, and I like it. I stretch out on the couch with my afghan covering me and my dog beside me. If I weren’t sick, I’d think my life idyllic.

The rain has stopped, and the sun is out. The sky is mostly blue. I can still hear the wind, and through my window I can see the swaying branches of the oak and pine. It looks like a pretty day.

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“We are always the same age inside.”

January 29, 2013

Today I face the world or both Gracie and I go hungry. A sunny day would have been a nice welcome, but we still have all those clouds and a dampness left over from the little snow we had last night before it started to rain. Slush covers the side roads, and you can see all the tire marks. A mouse woke me up. It wasn’t happy with its accommodation in the have-a-heart trap and was banging and whacking the metal. I fell back to sleep a couple of times, but finally I couldn’t take it any longer. We went for a ride around 7:30: Gracie, the mouse and I. Despite all its complaining, the mouse didn’t want out. It kept moving from side to side in the trap before I finally shook it loose. I wished it well in its new home then I went and got coffee and a bagel. That seemed a perfect reward for an early morning mouse run.

My voice is raspy, and I still sniff and cough, but I feel better. That’s a good thing.

This morning I noticed the obituary of one of my high school classmates, a good guy, a funny guy. I don’t know what happened, but his dying gave me pause. My mind doesn’t ever think of me as old. I am perpetually young. Going up and downstairs is usually a reminder that my parts have aged, but the reminder doesn’t stick. I look in the mirror and see grey hairs, but they don’t mean anything to me. My friends are all around my age, but they still seem young to me. I can’t fathom they are in the their mid to late 60’s. What in the heck does that really mean? I thought my parents were old when they were in their 60’s. My dad passed away in his 60’s. I bet, though, they thought themselves still young just as I do now.

I finally understand that age is relative. I used to think that was what old people said to make themselves feel better, but it’s not. Age isn’t measured in years. It’s measured in the way you live your life. I have a long way to go until I’m old.

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“Isn’t ‘not to be bored’ one of the principal goals of life?”

January 28, 2013

Today I got dressed. I don’t really feel any better, but I wanted a change. This whole thing, this cough and cold, is getting ridiculous. I should be well by now kicking my heels in the air and whistling a happy tune, but, instead, I’m expecting the board of health to come by and tack up a notice that this house is quarantined.

Another mouse got a late night ride last night around 10:30. I checked the mileage, and we went 1.5 miles. His homing instinct is only good for a mile so I’m expecting he’ll set up housekeeping in the new neighborhood. No mouse in the trap this morning-the first time in a while, but when I checked it, the mouse had eaten the peanut butter. I didn’t set the trap right last night. The mouse count, though, is slowing down. We’ve made inroads. I’m still hoping the Pied Piper will drop by. I promise to pay him, unlike his last clients.

I started another novel, David Baldacci’s The Forgotten. I finished the Patterson yesterday, Private London, in quick time, probably about the same amount of time it took him to write it. There is a second author, Mark Pearson, and I figure Patterson throws out the plot to the guy who then writes the novel. The book wasn’t very good. The main character was a cliché: the tough guy with all the right words and really great aim who inevitably saves the day.

Of late, I have been easily bored, not something to which I am well-acquainted, but staying in the house limits what I see and do. I check out daytime TV, find nothing and turn it right off. I read for a while then I get tired of reading. I could dust but I don’t even like to dust when I feel good. My sister sent me a red chili wreath for Christmas and some of the peppers fell off in transit. I’m thinking of firing up my glue gun and reattaching those peppers. I think I’m really hard-pressed for some way to pass the time.

Today isn’t the day, but tomorrow I’ll have to go out to fill the larder and get dog food. I’m already excited at the prospect of being out in the world.

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“The most poetical thing in the world is not being sick.”

January 27, 2013

This morning I’m on the mend. My voice is still creaky and my cough fierce but I feel better. Last night I slept longer before the coughing woke me and was able to get back to sleep instead of having to come downstairs at some ungodly hour to watch garbage TV. Staying home cozy and warm and taking naps have been the best cure for this.

When I was a kid, I seldom was sick enough to stay home from school. My mother set the bar pretty high. Sniffles weren’t enough. Coughing might have done it, but the degree of coughing was the key. Once I had the measles so I had to stay home, but that was no fun because the room was kept dark, and I wasn’t allowed to read. I just stayed in bed all day and was totally bored. What a waste of staying home! I know I had mumps and German measles but I don’t remember when. I also had chicken pox, and I remember taking baking soda baths so I wouldn’t itch as much. My mother would scream if we dared scratch our faces. We were warned about the gross, ugly scars we’d have if we scratched.

Few kids were ever absent from school. One girl had surgery in the fifth grade, and it was such a singular event I still remember. Her name was Catherine. I don’t remember why she had surgery, but the nuns were really nice to her when she came back.

During high school you never wanted to miss a day. Two broken legs would mean dragging yourself to school because missing even one day meant missing tons of work which had to be made up. I used to argue with my mother that I wasn’t sick when she’d insist I needed to stay home. I did get sent home from high school once. I had the German measles which was going around. We went to school every day on the public bus so that’s how I went home, probably spreading German measles to the world. My mother didn’t drive then so the bus was it. I couldn’t stay in school. I remember it was a Friday. The reason I remember is there was a dance that night at the school, and I was stuck home. It made being sick even more miserable.

 

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“Be not sick too late, nor well too soon”

January 26, 2013

When I marathon cough, Gracie, my protector, leaves the room and goes to sleep in her crate. If she senses I am done, she returns to the couch. Her watch dog association must have amendments which excuse her from having to endure extreme noise by her owner.

The other day I heard a loud bang outside. My first thought was a breaker, but I still had electricity so that was out. A car backfire was the next guess, but I can’t remember the last time I heard a backfire. I don’t even know if cars backfire any more. A gun shot was last my guess so I checked the time so I could give the police officer a true reckoning of when the crime occurred. Nothing happened: no electric company, no disabled car and no police officers. The loud bang remains a mystery.

Yesterday we went to the dump and to Agway where I bought cat food. If it weren’t for the cats, I would never have left the house.  The last stop was a Dunkin’ Donut where I bought coffee and a croissant. They were my reward for getting dressed, mostly dressed, and for dragging myself out of the house. I got home, finished my treats and went to bed for a well-deserved nap. All of the lugging and throwing of magazines, newspapers, cardboard and bags of trash in various receptacles was tiring.

The felling ill isn’t the worst part. It’s the boredom. I can’t seem to concentrate on a book for too long, and I haven’t finished the crossword in a couple of days. I did the cryptogram but that’s just my assurance that I am still keeping Alzheimer’s at bay. I haven’t seen the end of a single television program. I lose track. Tomorrow is syfy movie day so I don’t need my wits about me. It’s a winter theme with snow beasts: Rage of the Yeti and the highlight, The Abominable Snowman.

I haven’t seen people this week. Friends dropped some cough medicine, M&M’s, some sandwich meat and some chips, a balanced diet for a cold. They didn’t stay. I am typhoid Mary.

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“Home is everything you can walk to.”

January 25, 2013

Okay, I’ve been up since before 5 o’clock. I think that’s about when the cough medicine stopped working, and once I start coughing, going back to sleep is out of the question. Another mouse found its way into my trap last night so it and I will take a ride later as I have to go out anyway. For some strange reason the cats want to eat every day, and I gave them their last can this morning. I should have trained them better. My trunk is filled with trash, but I hesitate going to the dump as even on pleasant days it’s cold. I’m not telling Gracie.

Stuck in the house is boring. Ordinarily I’d never mind staying home but being forced to stay inside changes the whole perspective. Chosen sloth days are gifts. Sick sloth days are not. I am stooping to watch the Military Channel about Okinawa as nothing else is on. The news at 5:30 is the same as the news at 5 o’clock which will then be repeated at 6.

I watched The Brink’s Job a few weeks back because my town has a scene. The film was made in 1978, and they chose Stoneham Square because it looked just like a town from the 1950’s, as if time had stood still. The police box was in the middle of the square, and Finnegan’s Men’s Store was still there. The thieves went inside the store and bought themselves some new duds. In those days up-town was a vibrant place filled with stores. In time, the stores closed. The police box got hit by a car and was destroyed. A replica of it was build but was erected off the road, more as a memorial than anything. Finnegan’s is a liquor store or was the last time I noticed.

Up-town has become a destination again. Part of it is revitalized. The movie theater is now live theater, an Indian restaurant graces the spot where the Children’s Corner used to stand, and Felicia’s, a great restaurant, is where the fish market stood. The deli is still on the corner and still makes great subs. I like to drive through the square when I visit my sister then I take the same route I used to when I was a kid: pass the fire station, the town hall, the church, my elementary school then all the way to my old house. I notice what has changed and remember what used to be. It’s nostalgic, not sad.

 

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“It looks like something out of Whittier’s “Snowbound,”‘ Julia said. Julia could always think of things like that to say.”

January 22, 2013

First off, I have tied the old record. The 17th mouse was caught during the night in the have-a heart trap. Unlike in the plastic ones, the mouse is pretty quiet: lots of room, a good view and plenty of peanut butter. I’ll reset the trap when I go back upstairs. Next up on our daily bulletin: weather. The news says we got 3.8 inches of snow, but I don’t think so. I went out in my shoes around 6:30 to look for the paper and had no problems staying dry or even finding the papers. The tip of the orange plastic covering was above the snow. Health is our last morning update. I woke up at 5:00 coughing loud enough for people to think it was an old-time TB ward. I came downstairs, took some medicine, drank the other magic elixir, coffee, then watched the news. I’m already tired, though, and am going back to bed shortly.

I braved the elements yesterday to bring the bird feeders inside where I filled them then I put them back outside. The birds are already having breakfast.

When I was a kid, I hated my rubber snow boots. My fingers always stung holding the tops so I could stuff my shoes inside, and, in the afternoon, if the boots were wet, they were impossible to fill. I’d just put my shoes in my school bag and wear my socks inside the boots. They’d always got wet and my feet were always cold. The only good thing about snow boots was they came in so many different colors. We always left for school a bit earlier than usual on boots days so we could get them off in time for the bell.

My father wore galoshes which had clips, metal rings, on the front which made it easy to open and close the boots. They were always black. Men weren’t into color when I was a kid. My dad wore a white shirt to work every day.

My father also had rubbers for rainy days. They covered his shoes except for the top. My grandmother had those see-through boots with one button on the side to close them. They had room at the back for the clunky heels on the old lady tie shoes. They were ugly, and they are always old lady boots to me.

The sun is beginning to shine behind the grey clouds. I can see its light.

I’m ready to go back to bed. Music will be late today.

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“For we know that our patchwork heritage is a strength, not a weakness.”

January 21, 2013

My head is ready to erupt if I cough one more time. When I call my friends, they think it is some guy making an obscene phone call. I’m tempted. Last night was a bad one. First was the mouse in the trap then the mouse out of the trap. I just couldn’t drag myself out of bed so the mouse, after making all sorts of noise, escaped. Fern noticed it and jumped off the bed but didn’t catch it. That’s the first time Fern has seen one so we’re making some progress. The Pats lost, but I went to bed early and missed the ending so the pain was lessened.

I’m watching the hoopla of the Inauguration. Whether you agree with the choice for President or not, you have to admit the inauguration is powerful. It is the peaceful transition of power, a continuing of traditions going all the way back to George Washington. It’s filled with color, with red, white and blue, and music from glee clubs and military bands. Jimmy Carter and his wife are now being seated. I always liked him. He has become the most amazing ex-President. The Clintons got quite a reception. She deserved it. I’m curious about Mr. Obama’s speech. He had such hope 4 years ago. We all did.

I remember watching President Kennedy’s inauguration and the smoke coming from under the podium when Richard Cardinal Cushing gave his invocation. I remember Robert Frost couldn’t read his poem in the sun and had to recite one from memory. I had a connection to President Kennedy. He was from Massachusetts so I couldn’t miss his inauguration. I don’t remember any other inaugurations except President Obama’s first. It was historical and not to be missed.

In the stands, there are no hats on the heads of the women. Well I did see one hat, an ugly hat some unknown woman was wearing as she walked toward the outside seating area. I have no idea who she is, but she gets the ugly hat award. I remember when the men wore top hats. Now a few are wearing fedoras but most are hatless. The men are wearing top coats so that style hasn’t changed. Ties will never go out of style.

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“He was a bold man that first ate an oyster.”

January 20, 2013

One of the mouse traps in my bedroom has disappeared. I did a cursory hunt last night when I was going to bed, but I didn’t find it. My guess is the occupant scratched and pushed and moved it, but that’s just a guess, a good guess though as past occupants also managed to move it. Their exertions used to wake me up. The missing trap has to be near the bookcase on which I had been setting them (if you call putting in peanut butter setting them). Later, when it gets lighter, I’ll do a better hunt.

I haven’t caught a mouse in two days so my old record stands.

Tonight is Patriots’ football. I made chili yesterday and have put it on low this morning so it can finish cooking. I have corn bread and some toppings for the chili: cheese, chopped jalapeños, sour cream and Fritos. I’m thinking chili and football on a cold winter’s night are a perfect combination.

I wonder sometimes how food comes into our lives. I don’t mean the common every day sort of meal but different foods. My mother never made chili or any kind of Mexican food, but my sisters, my brother and I love it. I wonder where we first tasted it. Middle Eastern food is a favorite of mine: hummus, tabouleh, falafel and baba ghannoush, but that I can trace to Ghana. In Accra in those days there were many Lebanese restaurants, and they were cheap which is a great find for a Peace Corps volunteer in the big city on little money. Ghana was also where I first tasted Indian food. It was at the Maharaja, a restaurant compete with pillows on the floor for seating. I have no idea what prompted me to taste all that foreign food back then as some of it was not visually appealing, but I think it was my being a bit adventurous in another country. I have tried stuff which I really hated including blood sausage. It was probably the name which put me off even before the tasting. Thai food is among my favorites. I usually hit my favorite restaurant, a hole in the wall, at least once or twice a month. There used to be a Caribbean restaurant in Falmouth, and I’d make the trek just for the goat curry, but that restaurant closed a long time ago.

When I read about a restaurant serving different foreign foods, I make a note of the name and address and put it in a book. It is my I hope to eat there book. The list includes a Moroccan, Indonesian and Caribbean restaurant.

My taste buds would love some more exploration. It’s been a while.

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“Cold! If the thermometer had been an inch longer we’d have frozen to death.”

January 19, 2013

Yesterday, my plans worked out perfectly. I didn’t get dressed, I took a nap and I read. Even Gracie spent most of her time inside on the couch curled up on her afghan. Her few trips outside were mission oriented and quick: a run down the deck stairs, a squat and a run back into the house.

Winter days like today remind me of when I was a kid and felt perpetually cold walking to and from school every day. Staying home, despite snow or frigid weather, wasn’t an option unless I had the plague. We walked to  and from school no matter rain nor snow nor dead of night, okay, maybe not that last one as I might be exaggerating just a bit. The worst days were on rainy days in winter when it was cold. We’d get soaked and so freezing we’d actually look forward to getting to school where it was dry. My school had tall radiators which hissed steam. They were on the side near the windows and in the back of the room, but we seldom noticed them beyond the first few days after the heat was turned on for the winter. It was like white noise. The ceilings in the old school were so high that it usually took a while for the room to be really warm so most of us wore sweaters over our uniforms.

On the windiest winter mornings, I froze the whole walk to school despite the layers my mother had piled on me. Because the wind was bitterly cold and in our faces, my friends and I would hold hands and walk backwards away from the wind. When we arrived at school, our cheeks were sometimes so red they were sore, and our fingers were numb despite our mittens. The cloak rooms would be bursting with bulky coats hanging off hooks, and you couldn’t walk through without knocking someone’s coat on the floor. My hat and mittens were up my sleeves for safe keeping. I didn’t mind missing recess on those cold, rainy days.

When I’d get home wet and cold, I’d change right away. That was when I first learned cozy.

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