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“Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass…It’s about learning to dance in the rain.”

October 29, 2012

Today looks ominous with a gray sky, a wind already making itself heard and rain. Tracking Sandy is the focus of the day. Regular TV has been superseded by storm center programming on all the local channels. Pictures of the roaring surf smashing against the sea walls make the most impact. The ocean is angry. Yesterday the governor closed all schools for today, asked non-essential government employees to stay home and businesses to close as to keep people off the roads. The storm has been described as a mean, nasty beast.

The wind is picking up. Right now it is 40+ MPH which doesn’t seem all that wild, but combined with the rising seas, it is causing swells which are flooding parking lots, eroding beaches and threatening seaside homes. The ocean with its huge white caps and smashing waves is the most visible evidence of the coming storm. All three TV stations are reporting from the Cape, and their reporters are standing on piers with bobbing boats behind them and spray all around soaking those reporters and silencing their microphones. I almost want to head to Corporation Beach as I know the ocean will be the most dramatic there as it pounds the rocks and floods the parking lot, but I’ll not throw caution to the wind. I’ll stay home, safe and warm for now.

Gracie isn’t at all affected and neither are Fern and Maddie. Today is just a dark, rainy day to them. All three are taking their morning naps. The birds have found refuge: none are around; even the huge blue jays have gone. I wonder where they go to wait out the storm, can’t be the trees as they’re swaying in the wind. I figure under eaves or overpasses must provide some protection.

The hurricane has yet to arrive.

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“It is better to meet danger than to wait for it. He that is on a lee shore, and foresees a hurricane, stands out to sea and encounters a storm to avoid a shipwreck.”

October 28, 2012

Sandy most decidedly has my attention. Yesterday I got a robocall from Nstar, and this morning it was the Dennis Police Department. I was warned to brace for hurricane winds, rain and electrical failure. I have a few things yet to move on the deck, but they’re small and will take only a few minutes. I got 8 D batteries from the hardware store, no rush of people there, so my mega lamp is ready. My iPad and my phone are charged. I may go out for a few goodies later, but mostly I have enough food. I do worry a bit about pine trees as they sway in even small winds, but only one tree is near the house. It’s now wait and see time.

I remember Hurricane Daisy even more than Bob because I was young and totally impressed by the wind and the rain. It hit New England in August 1958. My sister had just been born and was kept in the hospital a couple of days because she was under 5 pounds, and they did that back then. My mother was relieved the baby was safe. With no power, my mother couldn’t have heated bottles. My dad took us out during the eye of the storm. The light was eerie; the sky a strange color. I don’t remember any sounds: no birds, no cars. The oak tree across the street had fallen on the road making it impassable. Its tree stump still had split shards from the trunk. I remember the inside bark was white. In my mind’s eye, I can still see all the small branches usually up so high but now lying on the road close to my side of the street. My brother and I sat on the trunk, and we walked through and around the branches. That something so huge could fall made a lasting impression.

My dad, sensing the start of the wind again, brought us inside the house. I remember watching out the window and seeing the leaves blown about as the trees swayed. I will never forget the sound of that wind.

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“I think Saturday may be Latin for “stay in pajamas til noon then eventually motivate yourself to shower and get ready for bed that night.”

October 27, 2012

I again woke to a beautiful morning filled with sun capped by a deep blue sky. It was quiet until I went to get the papers and was assailed by the harsh jeering of several bluejays in the front trees. I wondered if they sensed the coming storm and were giving warning or if it was just noisy bluejays. They disappeared as quickly as they came.

Gracie has spent most of the morning in the yard. Once in a while she barks for no reason. She’s just being a dog. She comes back inside every now and then, takes a drink from the porcelain bowl then goes back outside. I followed her one time and stood on the deck. She stood on the driveway. We both just watched and listened.

Saturday is still magical for me. From the time I was a little kid throughout my entire working life Saturday has always been the best day. On Saturday I could sleep-in, more important to the adult me than the kid me, but the kid me appreciated not hearing, “Time to get up for school.” Saturday morning TV was always the best. Sitting, watching, eating cereal and still wearing pajamas was my favorite way to greet the morning. In that regard, not much has changed. This morning I sat, drank my coffee and read the papers while still dressed in my night clothes, no longer pajamas but close enough. Later I’ll watch a really bad movie on the SyFy channel, and it will be like the Saturday matinee. I have to go out and pick up a few things I forgot yesterday then Gracie and I will take a ride. I love to roam on a Saturday. I always have.

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“There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm.”

October 26, 2012

I woke to a lovely day, warm and sunny. The birds were in full voice, and they drew me to the deck. I watched Gracie sniff the driveway already covered in yellow leaves and pine needles. On the outside branches of the oak tree the leaves have browned. Most will soon fall but some will hang on through the winter fluttering in the cold wind. It is the oak tree I can see best through the window in my den. It is a barometer of the changing seasons.

Today is dump day, Gracie’s favorite day. I haven’t told her yet, but she’ll know soon enough. Right now she is sleeping beside me on the couch and snoring. Life is good for Gracie

Sandy is the headline on the TV news and in the papers, but we are in a wait and see pattern as to how destructive the storm will be here though it has already been dubbed Frankenstorm and described as ghoulish. Utility crews have been out cutting branches and making sure lines are cleared anticipating wind and trying to prevent power outages. I doubt they’ll be too successful. Power outages are common here even without the wind. I often hear the loud bang of a transformer just before the lights go out. I have an empty larder so I’ll hit the supermarket today before the crowd arrives to buy all the water and the batteries. The water part still amazes me. I get that people with well water will lose their pumps but most of us have town water which will flow regardless of electricity. My list has the everyday items, the boring ones, but I’m also including crackers, a variety of cheeses, dips and chips. If I have to sit and read by the light of the lantern, I want my taste buds to be happy.

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“Bittersweet October. The mellow, messy, leaf-kicking, perfect pause between the opposing miseries of summer and winter.”

October 25, 2012

Mornings this time of year are chilly but not yet cold. I could easily see Gracie’s breath when she was sitting on the top back step surveying her yard. She looked more like a steam engine than a dog. When I went to get the paper, I saw my neighbor, and we chatted a bit. Both of us agreed winter is out least favorite season.

When I was a kid, on mornings like today, we used to pretend we were smoking cigarettes and blowing out the smoke. We’d hold the pretend cigarettes in pretend cigarette holders between our fingers, and in exaggerated gestures we’d take puffs and let out the smoke. Our conversation was lah-di-dah. I think a young Bette Davis would have recognized us.

This time of year my mother and I would argue about what I’d wear to school over my uniform. She wanted me warm in the chilly mornings for the walk to school so she insisted on a jacket, useless in the warmth of the afternoons. I knew I’d shove the jacket into my school bag or tie it around my waist for the walk home. I wanted to wear a sweater. We’d go back and forth and many mornings my mother just gave up. Her parting words were, “Don’t blame when you get cold.”

Cool summer mornings are my favorites but mornings this time of year are a close second. I love the way the sharp sunlight stabs through the leaves picking and choosing places to shine. The light is brightest at the end of the branches facing the house. The rest of the tree is in shadow. Maybe it’s a metaphor for this time of year.

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“Our goal is not the victory of might, but the vindication of right…”

October 23, 2012

My temperature gauge let me know the morning was cold. When I got out of bed, Gracie burrowed. She pushed the covers to the bottom of the bed and snuggled. Gracie, a creature of comfort, had made her own nest of warmth. She was right about the cold house. It was early and the heat had yet to come on so I needed a sweatshirt and warm slippers, but by the time I got downstairs,  the heat was blowing. Soon enough the house was warm.

The day is beautiful and will be in the 60’s. I need to fill the bird feeders and do a couple of errands. Yesterday I was a sloth.

The 50th anniversary of the Cuban missile was yesterday. I remember watching the flickering black and white television when President Kennedy announced the blockade of Cuba and warned the Soviets that any nuclear attack from Cuba would be construed as an act of war, and that the United States would retaliate in kind. I was in high school, old enough to understand we were in crisis and nuclear war was a possibility. I had learned duck and cover in grammar school, but when the President made his announcement, we all knew duck and cover was naive, that nuclear weapons would be devastating: destroying cities and killing untold numbers of people. I remember hearing the announcement that the Soviets ships delivering the missiles had not yet turned back. On the TV were maps depicting the positions of their ships and ours and how close their ships were to the American naval blockade. All of us were scared to death. We had grown up with the Cold War, and the Soviet Union had always been the bad guy.

We waited thirteen days for the crisis to end. The longer we had to wait the more frightened we became. It was all we talked about on the bus ride to school, in school, at lunch and while standing in groups outside after lunch. We thought our world was going to end.

On October 28th Khrushchev announced he would dismantle the missile installations and return the missiles to the Soviet Union. The US agreed not to invade Cuba. The world sighed in unison.

We wouldn’t know for years the backstage negotiations between Khrushchev and Kennedy. All we knew was we had been on the brink of war for thirteen days. I remember all of it, but I remember the fear most of all.

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“We’ll be Friends Forever, won’t we, Pooh?’ asked Piglet. Even longer,’ Pooh answered.”

October 22, 2012

The weather, other than Friday’s rain, was lovely all weekend. Though I had missed the peak foliage in New Hampshire, in Mont Vernon, there was still enough color to make every view spectacular especially the one from the top of a hill close to Bill and Peg’s house. Stretched out in front of me were rows and rows of trees in reds and yellows. The whole scene, unblemished by wires or houses or roads, made me think impressionism, of a panoramic painting left as a gift for all of us.

Gracie, other than when she jumped out of the car and started running up and down the street as soon as we arrived, was a perfect guest. Bill walked her all over including a 2 and 1/2 mile hike on Saturday and a shorter but more memorable walk on Sunday when Gracie saw her first porcupine and was unfazed. By the end of the weekend, she had settled right in and on Sunday morning was stretched on the couch between Peg and me with her head resting on Peg while she napped and snored.

I hadn’t seen my friends in forty-one years. We were in Bolga together for a year and have the most amazing shared memories. We even have many of the same pictures, and their living room has several of the same Ghanaian crafts I have in mine. Our reunion was seamless, as if I had been with them all along in time. We laughed a lot remembering things like our motorcycle accidents, his and mine were both caused by goats, and the trips we took together to Ouagadougou, Togo and Benin, which was Dahomey in our day. We had dinner together most nights in Bolga, and Bill remembered endless meals of goat. In one picture of theirs, both our motorcycles, his red and mine grey, were parked in front of their side of the duplex. Bill asked why I had parked there as if we could conjure the memory, as if it were just a few weeks ago. The weekend made me realize that Bill and Peg are the dear friends I’ve held tightly in my memories all these years, older, but mostly unchanged.

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“Only he that has traveled the road knows where the holes are deep”

October 19, 2012

When I woke up, I looked out my bedroom window and saw a grey day and the possibility of rain. The breeze was strong enough to sway branches. I let Gracie out and followed her onto the deck. I was surprised by how warm it was.

Today I am going to New Hampshire for the weekend. Last night I wrote out my list of what I need. Because Gracie is coming with me, I also did a dog list. It is longer than mine. I don’t know if I’ll be able to post this weekend, but I am bringing my trusty Mac in hopes that I can. Please check!

When I came downstairs this morning, I noticed a plant had fallen off the windowsill. Pieces of pottery, both chunks and shards, and dirt were strewn in the hall and about the tile floor. It must have made a lot of noise when it fell. I heard nothing. I slept right through it. I also think Gracie slept through it. I’d like to think her ears are discriminatory, and she knew there was no danger. After all, she does bark at the UPS man. Of course, on a day when I have stuff to finish before I hit the road, a plant must fall though fall is too gentle to describe the event. The pot must smash. The dirt must be strewn about, wet dirt as the plants got watered yesterday, dirt which settles in the grooves of the tile floor necessitating an on my hands and knees cleaning, all before my first cup of coffee. I was reminded of the number one travel adage: nothing goes as planned.

I have my directions and a pretty good idea of where I’m going to a certain point. My sister heard the directions and reminded me the route is near the mall. That’s all I needed. Travel adage number two: roads are identified by their stores, not their numbers.

This is Gracie’s first overnight. I’d like to think I’ve covered all the contingencies: bells for the door so I know when she wants out, plenty of food, her halter so no slipping out of the collar and treats galore. I just hope travel adage number three never happens: expect the unexpected!

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Comments: 21 Comments

“Only he that has traveled the road knows where the holes are deep”

October 19, 2012

When I woke up, I looked out my bedroom window and saw a grey day and the possibility of rain. The breeze was strong enough to sway branches. I let Gracie out and followed her onto the deck. I was surprised by how warm it was.

Today I am going to New Hampshire for the weekend. Last night I wrote out my list of what I need. Because Gracie is coming with me, I also did a dog list. It is longer than mine. I don’t know if I’ll be able to post this weekend, but I am bringing my trusty Mac in hopes that I can. Please check!

When I came downstairs this morning, I noticed a plant had fallen off the windowsill. Pieces of pottery, both chunks and shards, and dirt were strewn in the hall and about the tile floor. It must have made a lot of noise when it fell. I heard nothing. I slept right through it. I also think Gracie slept through it. I’d like to think her ears are discriminatory, and she knew there was no danger. After all, she does bark at the UPS man. Of course, on a day when I have stuff to finish before I hit the road, a plant must fall though fall is too gentle to describe the event. The pot must smash. The dirt must be strewn about, wet dirt as the plants got watered yesterday, dirt which settles in the grooves of the tile floor necessitating an on my hands and knees cleaning, all before my first cup of coffee. I was reminded of the number one travel adage: nothing goes as planned.

I have my directions and a pretty good idea of where I’m going to a certain point. My sister heard the directions and reminded me the route is near the mall. That’s all I needed. Travel adage number two: roads are identified by their stores, not their numbers.

This is Gracie’s first overnight. I’d like to think I’ve covered all the contingencies: bells for the door so I know when she wants out, plenty of food, her halter so no slipping out of the collar and treats galore. I just hope travel adage number three never happens: expect the unexpected!

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Comments: 21 Comments

“I discovered windows one afternoon and after that, nothing was ever the same.”

October 18, 2012

In the den, where I spend so much time, is the window to my world. From that window I can see a part of the deck and the backyard. At night the lights on the topiary in the corner of the deck and the lights in the back yard on the bottle tree easily draw my eyes. Both brighten the darkness. During the morning, especially this time of morning, I can see the sun shining through the leaves of the oak tree. In the summer the whole tree seems to sparkle in the light. Now, the lower branches closest to the deck are in shadow. The sun has changed position.

I am a window person. When I travel, I take pictures of windows. Mostly I take pictures from inside looking out and imagine the people who lived there looking out those same windows. In some places, the views have changed over time but in other places the views are exactly the same. I remember the view from the window on the landing in Dickens’ house. I imagined him stopping for just a moment to look out that window as he was going down the stairs, and I was thrilled to think I was standing where Dickens used to stand. Some Inca and I shared the same view from a house in Macchu Picchu. At Versailles I figured the king might have watched from the front window where I stood.

Doors have never interested me. It is the transparency of windows which draws me. I look out and watch the snow fall. I hear and see the rain as it pelts the glass. My garden in the summer is an array of colors, and I can admire it from the front windows. Doors keep the world away. Windows draw us in and sometimes draw us out.

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