Archive for the ‘Musings’ category

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“Sewing mends the soul.”

February 28, 2013

Since Sunday it has rained every day but one. That was the teaser day when it looked as if spring was finally poking its head out of the snow, but that was just a single joyful day. Yesterday it poured and today is dark and grim, the kind of day when you know it’s going to rain but don’t know exactly when. Gracie and I haven’t yet done our dump run. It was pouring too much. We’ll go today before it starts to rain.

My neighbor is taking classes to be a masseuse. She asked if she could practice on me. It took me a nano second to agree. Yesterday I got a wonderful massage. She spent over an hour making me so relaxed my limbs forgot how to work. It was wonderful! When I was leaving, she asked if she could practice on me again and give me another massage. You can guess my answer!

The pant leg of my cozy pants caught on the bureau knob and a small hole became a large one. I grabbed my trusty stabler. I do have a sewing kit complete with everything I could have needed to sew the hole shut, but the stapler worked quickly and the hole disappeared. I just hope the staples don’t rust in the wash!

When I was in Ghana, I made my own bedroom curtains, a feat for which I felt accomplished because of my total lack of sewing skills. I could have had them made, but I wanted to give them a try. My room had a whole wall filled with two really large, long windows and another wall with a much smaller window. These windows had screens, and glass pieces like shutters which opened and closed with levers. I measured the length and height of the windows using a piece of cloth I already had as the measuring piece then went to the market and bought a cloth which was sort of a rusty-brown. The cloth had a pattern at the top and the bottom. I cut the cloth into three window pieces, hemmed the bottom of each so the pattern was still there then used string under a top seam so I could attach the curtains to the windows as I had no rods. The curtains looked great and gave me a sense of privacy, a rare commodity those days in Bolga where a white person was a curiosity.

I also made a lamp shade. I used a beautifully colored basket I had bought in the market. Since those days, Bolga baskets can be bought here and are really expensive. They are distinctive with their vibrant colors and handles with red leather. I probably paid a cedi or two and was definitely paying too much as bargaining still meant I’d over-pay. I cut out the bottom of the basket and fashioned a holder for the lightbulb from a hanger to replace the bottom. In my living room I had one light bulb on a long cord hanging from the really high ceiling, and the shade was for that bulb. Once it was attached to the bulb, it looked great though the room was far less bright than it had been. The top rim of the basket made a circle of light on the floor beneath the shade. In the rainy season, the buggy season, that circle light would be black by the end of the night, black with dead bugs.

I didn’t make anything else for my house. Those two, the curtains and the shade, were my only attempts at domesticity.

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“Cleaning your house while your kids are still growing is like shoveling the walk before it stops snowing.”

February 26, 2013

Gracie is my barometer. She has been in and out all morning so I know it’s warm outside. When she first went out, I watched her run the perimeter of the yard at top speed. When she came inside, she was panting and had the usual amount of spit on her face. I also have the front door open for her. She loves to sit there for hours and look outside. My street, though, is so very small I can’t imagine what holds her attention except in the late afternoon when people walk their dogs by the house. That sends Gracie into a frenzy of barking and jumping at the door. She is not a lover of dogs unless she can meet them on her own terms: face to face with plenty of sniff time and no human interference.

Today is another I have nothing on my list to do day. Yesterday I finished all my chores and also swept and wet mopped the kitchen floor. I have no idea what compels me to do these household chores. I just know that every now and then I get the cleaning bug, a virus for which I wish there was a cure.

My mother didn’t work outside the house when we were kids. She spent the day at home doing laundry and cleaning. I know I always had clean clothes, my bed was made every day, the rug in the living room was vacuumed, my blouses and skirts were ironed and the dust was gone, but I seldom saw her cleaning. It was almost like the shoemaker and the elves, but it was really because my mother did it all when we were in school. The only thing I did see was my mother making dinner every night. In my mind’s eye, I can see her at the kitchen sink, her back to the door, as she peeled potatoes, cut them up and put them on to cook. The stove was behind her to the left on the wall opposite the sink. It was white. All the appliances were white back then. Harvest gold and avocado hadn’t yet made an appearance. The kitchen was small with very little counter space. The fridge was beside the sink with a small counter in between them. That’s where my mother kept her dish rack with a rubber mat underneath. The mat was opened at one end so the water from the dishes went back into the sink. My mother believed in air drying dishes. I do too.

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“Come, gentle Spring! Ethereal Mildness! Come.”

February 25, 2013

Today I woke up nearer afternoon than morning. It had been a late night. I watched the Oscars at my friends’ house then came home, checked e-mail and watched a little TV. Before I realized it, the time had slipped away and it was after 3.

Yesterday it poured all day, but last night, as I was going home, the rain had turned to heavy snow and it was slushy and slippery, but right now the day is lovely with blue skies, lots of sun and a bit of warmth. I have feeders to fill, dog food to buy and laundry to do. That’s my agenda for the day. I hope I can manage.

I can see the white flowers of the drooping snowdrops in my garden. They don’t mind snow or cold. They are spring’s first miracle. Other green shoots are just appearing through the soil, but in one part of the front garden, the dafs have grown high. Perhaps yellow buds will be next.

Winter is beginning to weight me down. I am tired of cold and snow. I don’t remember ever before being so anxious for spring. Usually I just hibernate with good books, and I’m fine with that and patient with the weather. Maybe all the rain we’ve had, those days without heat or the heavy snowstorms have pushed me to ache for spring. I want one day when the deck is the perfect spot to be.

I don’t like vacations centered on the beach, even when I’m sick of winter. I want to see things, to eat new food and to hear a language not my own. I like old places, even ancient places. The fun of a new city is wandering and getting lost and finding wonders on the way. Sometimes I take all rights or all lefts. I like to sit in the sun at a table at a sidewalk cafe and drink coffee and watch the world go by. When I shop, I look for the unusual. I take a lot of pictures. I am partial to doors and windows. I always think of the generations of people who looked through those same windows and I wonder what they saw. I walk so much I am exhausted and always fall asleep early.

Today I’ll have no adventures, but I do have some sun and some warmth. I guess that will have to do.

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“You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough.”

February 24, 2013

I heard the most welcome of sounds when I woke up this morning, the sound of rain on the roof. I didn’t hear people shoveling or a plow working its way down the street. I heard heavy rain, and I was glad. The day may be dismal and dark, but the rain is a bright spot, sort of oxymoronic I know, but that’s the way it feels.

I am going to Hyannis today. It is really not very far, but I sometimes think of the journey as a trek of sorts. I’m attending a luncheon with the Cape Cod Returned Peace Corps group. We get together every now and then. The last time was in October for the dedication of a stone we’d purchased with a plaque on it celebrating fifty years of Peace Corps and honoring all who served. This luncheon is to recognize Peace Corps week. It starts early so I should be home early which is perfect as I have promised Gracie we will go the dump even if it’s still raining.

When I was younger, not young, but younger, never did I imagine I would pamper myself so much. My groceries were just delivered by Peapod, and they’re already put away. I didn’t have to go up and down aisles silently cursing the aisle hogs or make three or four trips from the car to bring the groceries into the house. When snow fell the last two weekends, I waited for Skip who plowed out my car, the driveway, the mail box and the place in front where I usually park. He shoveled two walks. My front lawn is covered in small, broken pine branches felled by the winds. The back yard has several larger branches on the ground, also victims of the wind. I know in a few months my landscaper and his crew will come and spring clean both yards. Roseana and Lee will be here this week to clean the house. They come every two weeks. I do cleaning in the off-week but usually as little as possible. I have had cleaning people for years, even before I lived here. They date back to when I had a roommate and we shared a house. We both worked, and that was our excuse for housecleaners. She got married and sold her house so I bought my own house. For a long while I cleaned it myself due to finances, not a work ethic, but as soon I could afford it, I hired housecleaners again. When I stopped working, I still kept the housecleaners. Age and a bad back finished off my shoveling career. When I redid the yard, I used a landscaper and decided he was the best choice to keep the grass green and free of weeds. I am, for the most part, a woman of leisure though I am still stuck making and changing the bed and doing laundry. I guess we all need a bit of suffering to keep us humble.

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“Fate: protects fools, little children, and ships named Enterprise.”

February 23, 2013

This morning I went out to breakfast then did a couple of errands. Each week I keep track of the number of miles I travel just for the heck of it. When I turned on the car this morning, I saw I’d gone 8 miles since Sunday. I must be hibernating. There is no other explanation. I know I don’t get dressed in real clothes (by this I mean outside clothes) most days, but, instead, I wear comfy flannel pants, slippers and a sweatshirt. I shower for the sake of cleanliness and brush my teeth every day. I spent one day and a half cleaning and a few other days reading. I went to a wake, but I didn’t drive so no credit for the mileage. Throw in a few afternoon naps, and we have this week and 8 miles until today. I have now doubled my mileage.

It’s another ugly weekend with cloudy skies. A snow storm is coming tomorrow but not here. We’ll get the rain. We have been spared. North of us will get the snow, amounts not yet determined. The weather is the topic of conversation just about everywhere and is always the lead story on the news.  Even today’s Syfy lineup of movies is into weather. You have to love these titles. I figure each one gives away the whole plot. Right now I’m watching Storm. Later will come Lightning Strikes, Metal Tornado, Super Cyclone and the evening’s big movie, End of the World. I’m glad I have popcorn.

I admit it. I have been to a couple of Star Trek conventions. My sister and I even dragged our mother to both of them. We didn’t wear uniforms or alien make-up, but we were no less fans than those who did. It was fun walking around the booths and going to the different discussions. We even got to see actors from Star Trek, The Next Generation. We both are still into Star Trek, and every year I give my sister the newest Star Trek ornament from Hallmark for her birthday. We are only missing the first one which is now too expensive to buy. It’s a collector’s item, and this collector wishes she were wealthier.

I guess I’m happy the word geek didn’t arrive until after I’d grown up.

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“A good friend is a connection to life – a tie to the past, a road to the future, the key to sanity in a totally insane world.”

February 22, 2013

The two cats and the dog spend so much time sleeping it boggles my mind. Gracie goes out a couple of times a day, does her crazy run around the yard then runs back inside panting and has gross spit on her face from her tongue hanging out as she ran. Her run is the whole perimeter of the yard including up one set of deck stairs then down the other. She has worn a path all along the fence. The cats alternate sleeping between the living room and the den. Right now they’re here with me.

The day is another ugly one with grey-white skies. Snow is predicted for the weekend, and the weatherman has hedged all his bets. Last night on the 11 o’clock news, he gave three possibilities for amounts of snow. Ours ranged from a dusting to three inches. North of us will be getting more in any scenario. That makes me happy.

I’ve lost track of most of my childhood friends. We send Christmas cards which I always think of as the last refuge for any friendship. They usually mean we don’t want to lose each other entirely, but we don’t have much in common any more. When I used to visit my mother, I’d go see my friend Maria who lives a street over from my mother’s house. We date back to my fifth grade, her sixth. My mother was her girl scout leader for a time. We were both in the drill team for years. We started together in the junior drill team which had practice on Saturday mornings. While the instructor worked with one group, we’d get bored and start talking. I’d start the conversation, and she’d reply then she was always the one caught talking. I called it the second man rule: the first one draws attention and the second one gets caught. Maria still remembers.

When I went to Ghana is really when I lost track of most of my childhood and college friends. We wrote each other for a while, but then the letters were fewer and fewer and finally they stopped. My friends went on with lives very different from mine. Most of them were working and a few go married. I was living in Africa, and that very was far removed from any of their experiences. One came and visited me in Ghana for a week, and he’s the one with whom I kept in touch the longest but eventually we too drifted apart. Every now and then I see one of my old friends, but after the pleasantries we don’t have a whole lot to talk about.

It’s different with my Peace Corps friends. We always have something to talk and laugh about and it’s not just Ghana. We have a connection that never weakens despite how long it’s been since we’ve last seen each other. My friends Bill and Peg were still my friends after so many years. It was as if we’d last seen each other the week before, not decades before. I treasure these friendships and our shared experiences. Michelle drops a line often, especially when something in Coffee jogs a memory or relates to whatever she’s doing now. These are the friends I met in Philadelphia, a week before we left for Ghana, or during training that whole summer of 1969, and these are friends I always visited going up or down country. We traveled together on school holidays. Ralph still remembers our dinner of barbecued lobsters on the terrace at a hotel in Lome’, Togo.

I have friends here who have been my friends for over forty years. Others have been friends less time, but our friendship is as strong as if we’ve known each other forever.

I have always considered myself lucky in the friends I have.

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“Dust is a protective coating for fine furniture.”

February 21, 2013

Yesterday I leaned against the bookcase in the living room and my sweatshirt came away blackened. All that smoke from last week’s fires has left the tops of tables, the cabinet shelves and the bookcase filthy with ash. I couldn’t stand the mess so I polished everything. Someone should have been there for pictures. I’d have grinned broadly while holding the filthy cleaning cloths. I finished the living room, but, as with any contagion, I wasn’t done. I moved on to the dining room then to the den. When each cloth got too filthy, I’d throw it on the floor then grab another from the plastic tube. I left a trail of dusty, dark polish cloths from room to room and felt a bit like Gretel only my leavings were more substantial. When I was done in, I picked up the cloths, tossed them in the basket and took a nap. I had earned it. Cleaning anything is debilitating.

I need medication. The disease is spreading. This morning while I waited for my coffee, I cleaned the top of the hutch in the dining room. On it are interesting bottles and a few carafes, and I cleaned them all. I realized the shelves need to be next, but just before I reached for another cloth the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, and I was able to pull myself away. I haven’t been out much or seen many people so I can’t understand where I picked up this cleaning bug. I googled but found no cure. It has to run its course.

Today is cold, and tonight will be colder. Even though the sun is shining and the sky is blue you can almost see the cold. There is a breeze though I think it might be strong enough to be called a wind. The feeders are empty so I’ll have to venture out on the deck later. The birds who visit are many, and I’d hate to disappoint them.

Snow is predicted for the weekend yet again, but this time the Cape will not be getting much, only an inch at most. Boston and further north will get more. I’m happy for them!

I read an article in the paper about how the police have muddled the Pistotius case. It was an AP reprint. The end of the article is worth noting. It quoted Detective Botha, the main muddler who has since been dropped from the case and is now under investigation for attempted murder, about an accidental shooting, date unmentioned, in which the athlete was involved. According to Botha, Pistorius asked someone else, “to take the wrap.” The quotes are theirs!

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“Pensive they sit, and roll their languid eyes.”

February 19, 2013

Today is warm and sunny. I had an early morning meeting and did some errands after that. It was as if the sun had given me a burst of energy, taken away all my reasons for griping and made me glad to be out and about so early.

I have been nominated for a Liebster award by Peace, Love & Great Country Music. The award is best explained if you read Good Golly Miss Molly who nominated Peace, Love and All. Good Golly Miss Molly explains what I need to do, which will take some pondering before I post. Good thing I have tomorrow.

I am devoid of original thought. That happens to me every now and then. It’s as if my brain has slowly leaked away anything of interest, even to me. Nothing in the papers caught my attention. The headline in the Globe was More Women Become Breadwinners. I’m sure newspapers were quickly whisked off stands and grocery counters with a headline like that. I’m reading a James Patterson. Sometimes it seems as if I’m always reading a James Patterson. This one is part of the Private series.

My errands are all done; I have no laundry to wash; my house is clean; the yard has been shoveled and plowed; I took a shower last night and yesterday the bird feeders were filled. I can’t imagine what is left except something esoteric. I wonder if cleaning the cabinet fits the definition.

No trip is planned which may be part of the cause of my ennui. Last year and the year before I had Ghana. A few years before that I had Morocco. Now I have Hyannis, the hub of the mid-cape.

Today is the birthday of Copernicus. Might be a great reason for a party!

Maybe Gracie and I will take a ride and look for adventure. Sometimes just around the corner there might just be a surprise.

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“The only disability in life is a bad attitude.”

February 18, 2013

Today is a pretty day as long as you’re looking out from inside the house because it’s cold, and that dilutes the pretty. No drips from the roof and no melting of the weekend’s snow despite the bright sun is a sign of how cold it is. I had to walk through fairly deep snow to get my newspaper, but my plowman just arrived and shoveled the walk, freed my car and made the mailbox accessible for the mail truck tomorrow. I may go out later, but then again I’m liking the warm house.

When I was a kid, there was a blind girl in a neighborhood a few blocks from mine. I didn’t know her personally, but I knew her name was Patty. I remember her eyes were set in from her face and looked black to me. I don’t know if she ever went to school. I really didn’t know anything about her. Her parents would tie a rope around her waist which allowed her to go to the sidewalk but not into the street. Patty would walk up and down the sidewalk and clap her hands whenever a car went by, and I remember how loud the claps sounded. It didn’t seem strange or cruel to me that she was tied outside. I just figured it was the safest way for her to be there. On the few occasions, I go back to my hometown, the route sometimes takes me right by Patty’s sidewalk. I always wonder about her.

Another person I remember was developmentally disabled though in those days he was considered retarded. I don’t remember his name, but he was an adult when I was still a kid. I remember he always neatly dressed in grey, heavy chino work pants, a collared shirt and a light jacket. He walked everywhere around town and shook hands with just about every man he met. My dad always stopped to say hello and shook hands and always called him by name. Just about everybody did. I know he went to all the funerals at St. Patrick’s. I don’t know about the other churches. He always sat in the back and nobody ever minded. I don’t know what happened to him. We moved away and I never saw him again.

While I was growing up, I never saw anyone else who was in any way disabled. Maybe they were kept inside the house or in hospitals or boarding schools. Patty and the man I mentioned were part of the fabric of my town. I never thought twice about their disabilities. That was just part of who they were.

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“The ships hung in the sky in much the same way that bricks don’t.”

February 17, 2013

The snow is heavier than it was a couple of hours ago when I woke up. It was small and light then. Now there is a fury of flakes whipped by the wind. The bird feeders are being tossed to the left and right, and the birds ride with them. The tops of all the pine trees bend one direction then the other. When I went to get the papers, the snow went up over my shoes, but the driveway was clear. I could see the blacktop. The drifts have no pattern. The wind changes all that.

My house is warm. All three animals are with me, and all three of them are asleep. I can hear Gracie’s deep breathing. She is beside me on the couch. Fern is behind me on the back of the couch curled on an afghan, and Maddie is in her chair. We are all perfectly content.

I never believed in monsters when I was a little kid. Nothing was under the bed or in the closet. My imagination led me to places rather than things. I made several trips to the moon. My rocket ships were never like the space capsules of the real astronauts. Mine stood tall, had side fins and were so big inside that the crew could walk around after I turned on the artificial gravity. The kitchen always had coffee.

I wasn’t disappointed by Alan Shepard’s short flight. I was amazed we had sent a man into space, and I figured that was the first of many dress rehearsals before the real rockets would be built, the ones with kitchens. I watched John Glenn’s capsule take off and followed his flight as he orbited the Earth. I was older then and had given up on rocket ships with kitchens.

I never saw the trip to the moon. I was still in Africa, but I was lucky enough to hear bits and pieces about the moon landing on the radio, including real transmissions. It was exciting even without the visual coverage. We were finally on the moon, but I still didn’t know what it looked like. In the imaginings of my childhood I created a stark moonscape filled with craters and rocky hills. I was pretty close.

I was sorry there were no ruins on the moon from cities deserted long ago. I always sort of hoped there would be remnants looking a bit like the Great Wall of China. That would have been the perfect touch: that and a rocket ship with a kitchen.

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