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“Autumn, the year’s last, loveliest smile.”

October 4, 2011

I’m tired today. I do have a few errands, but I’m not moving until later this afternoon. If I didn’t need animal food, I probably wouldn’t move at all.

We have sun, a real sunny day with no clouds for the sun to hide behind. Though it’s only in the low 60’s, the sun more than makes up for the temperature, and, without the dampness, I can feel real warmth in the air. Yesterday was a sad day. It was close up the deck day. Most of the furniture was covered and the candles taken off the trees. Only the two big wooden chairs stay uncovered all winter, and I’m hoping for a stray deck day to appear so I can sit on one of them with my eyes closed and my face to the sun.

When I was little, nobody I knew had a deck. I don’t even think I ever saw a deck. People just put their lawn chairs in the backyard on the grass. My grandparents had wooden Adirondack chairs. I think the color of the chairs matched the green trim of their house, but I’m not so sure. Other yards had those metal chairs which came in all different colors. I remember burning the backs of my legs when I sat down on one that had been in the sun too long. That was their painful drawback. My parents had ones which folded and seldom lasted more than a single season. The legs or the arms would bend, and the chairs wouldn’t open or sometimes they wouldn’t close. I had a few of those chairs after I first moved in here. I think there is still a lounge in the cellar. It won’t open and I can’t imagine why I’ve kept it.

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“October’s poplars are flaming torches lighting the way to winter.”

October 2, 2011

Today is one of those neither one nor the other days. It was damp and cloudy when I left for breakfast and now the sun is making an appearance. The weather for today was described as maybe: maybe it will rain and maybe it won’t.

The roads were empty when I drove to breakfast. People seem to change with the weather. In summer we’re all so eager to enjoy every minute of the day we leap out of bed early so as not to miss a single ray. As the mornings grow colder, staying nestled under warm covers is too inviting and leaping out of bed seems foolhardy. The light dies early this time of year and the mornings come later. Darkness seems to bring a sort of lethargy.

The river was quiet when I drove across the bridge. The tide is too high for quahoggers, and the cloudy day has kept the boats at their moorings. Soon enough those boats will be hauled out of the water for winter. They’ll sit covered in tarps in boatyards and driveways. In time, snow will cover the tarps, and summer will be a warm memory stored away, like the boats, for the winter. But summer will have its turn again. The boats will be back in the water, and every morning we’ll leap out of bed and greet the beauty of a warm, sunny day.

On the way back from breakfast, I stopped to let people, mostly couples, cross the street from the parking lot to the church. They looked old, even by my standards, and all of them were dressed the way we used to be when we went to church. The men sported jackets and ties and pants with perfect creases. The women wore dresses and hats, small, unobtrusive hats. As I sat there, the church bells began to peal. They weren’t loud, but they were perfect, “Church bells chiming on a Sunday morn.” I smiled the most contented of all smiles.

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“The less routine the more life.”

October 1, 2011

This morning it poured, and the rain made such a thunderous racket on the roof and deck it woke me up. The day is now cloudy and damp, and the paper predicts it will stay this way through at least Tuesday. I guess we’re paying the price for the beauty of last week.

I am running late as I had a couple of early morning errands. I have more to do but figured I’d finish Coffee before I go back out and about.

Today, when I turned the calendar to October, I was taken a bit aback to realize how quickly the year is passing. It’s that age thing-the older we get, the shorter each year seems. I remember being young and waiting endlessly for the week to end. I was stuck in school for what seemed like eons as it always felt as if Friday took forever to come. The first of October meant counting the days until Halloween, a whole month of days. We had Columbus day off in the middle to give us a bit of a break, but that didn’t change how long the month stretched in front of us.

There was a routine to every day back then, maybe the first inkling to what lay before us as adults. We got up every weekday, ate breakfast, got dressed, grabbed our schoolbags and walked to school. School started at the ringing of a bell, a hand bell rung outside the school door by one of the nuns. The same classes followed each other every day except once a week when music and art changed the routine. Lunch was eaten at the ringing of the bell and finished at the ringing of the same bell. At the end of the day, we watched the slow movement of the clock’s hands and listened for the bell to send us home. We played a bit, did homework, ate dinner, watched TV and went to bed.

The weekends, though open and free, had a routine of their own. Saturday started with cartoons and cereal in front of the TV and then the rest of the day was ours until bath time. I remember my brother and I took our own baths while my sisters shared one. They always cried when my mother combed the snarls out of their hair after the shampooing. It was as much a part of the routine as the shampooing. We’d stay up a bit later then be sent off to bed. We’d whine about the unfairness of it all as we went up the stairs.

We’d get up, put on our Sunday clothes and then go off to church grumbling the whole way as church as never a favorite of ours. We’d endure the mass, get home and change as quickly as possible then play a bit until dinner. Sunday dinner was always my favorite. It was the special meal of the week when we often had a roast, something my parents could ill afford more than once a week. Sometimes we’d go visit my grandparents while other Sundays we could do whatever we wanted. Besides church, the only other drawback to Sunday was we were forced to go to bed early to be ready for school the next day.

When Monday morning came, so did the routine of being a kid.

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“Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.”

September 29, 2011

This was a put a mirror under her nose to see if she’s breathing sort of morning. I stayed up until close to three and didn’t wake up until nearly 11. I think it was the, “No joy in Mudville,” which kept me awake watching really bad movies. The Sox are done for the season, no more baseball. Summer is officially over. Oh the pain! Oh the agony!

Today is cloudy and will probably rain some more. It rained some time last night, and the day is too damp for anything to dry. Cold air is on its way, possibly down to the 40’s at night.

Gracie has fleas. She is the first dog I have ever owned who has picked up riders. She has been scratching, and her fur was sensitive to the touch so off to the vets we went yesterday. She’s now on an anti-itch medication, more anti-flea medication and I bought some for the cats as well. The bill was over $300.00. I am still in shock.

We always had pets when I was growing up. I think my mother’s family once had a dog, but I know my father never had pets when he was a kid. His parents were not pet people. We got Duke when I was five. The first cat didn’t arrive until I was 16 because my father didn’t like cats, but that changed quickly once he met that first kitten. After that, he and my mother always had two cats. They had Beebe, a dog who was found as a puppy at the dump, and she was their last dog. My father doted on Shauna, my Boxer. He’d get a bowl of ice cream for himself and Shauna after dinner. On St. Patrick’s day she had a boiled dinner, compliments of my Dad. When he passed away, Shauna roamed the house, the yard and the garage looking for him, and she’d stand the foot of the stairs whenever she heard footsteps from upstairs. She’d wait to see if it was my dad then walk away slowly when it wasn’t. It was as sad as anything to watch Shauna miss my Dad.

We all have pets, my sisters and I. One sister has 3 cats; she did have a dog, but he passed away and they were heart-broken and decided not to get another. My other sister has 2 cats. My nephews have a dog and one cat though at times they have had multiples of each. Another nephew has two dogs. He always has rescues, and he always chooses the ugliest dogs. Now he has Jack and Elvis. My niece has a dog and either two or three cats I forget which. Her roommate moved out and just left the cats. Sarah adopted them. Our family has a tendency to do that. One of my sister’s cats used to be her father-in-law’s. After he passed away, she adopted Tommy. My sister’s dog came from golden rescue, and both my cats were 5 when I got them from the MSPCA.

I think my family being pet people says a lot about their capacity to love.

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“The individual is handicapped by coming face to face with a conspiracy so monstrous he cannot believe it exists.”

September 27, 2011

This morning it was coffee and papers on the deck. The morning was warm and sunny. Gracie found a cool spot and fell asleep, sort of keeping me company. The birds were plentiful as I had filled the feeders yesterday. The deck, however, brought me a bit of sadness. Some of the flowers are dead as are a few of the herbs. The sun feels different and its shine is muted.

When I had finished the papers, I decided to go into the backyard and collect the branches which had fallen during the summer and the hurricane. After I dragged one huge branch I couldn’t even lift the whole length of the yard, I decided that was it for the day. I did find Gracie’s favorite toy and brought it back inside.

It doesn’t happen often, but I have been bored of late. I’m guessing it is the letdown after my trip. I start to read then get tired of my book and then look to find something else to do. The other day it was dust seldom if ever seen places. Today we’re going to the dump, a Gracie trip as it does nothing for me.

We rode down cape a bit yesterday as I was going to a shop which sells frames so I could hang a few of my favorite Ghanaian shots. The store has been replaced. I shrugged and figured it was all part and parcel of my boredom as even my errands come to naught. I went the back road home hoping the farm store would be open. It wasn’t even there. A squirrel has eaten a chunk from the pumpkin I just put by the front steps. I think I am in the middle of a conspiracy of sorts.

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“His socks compelled one’s attention without losing one’s respect”

September 26, 2011

Today is perfectly beautiful. The sun is warm without being hot, the sky is blue and there is a slight breeze. All week the temperature will be in the low 70’s. I doubt it gets much better than this.

My right arm is peeling, a souvenir from my Ghanaian journey. On the way up-country to Tamale, I got quite the sunburn. I told Thomas, my driver, I had to sit backwards all the way to Accra. He told me I would be uncomfortable.

Every now and then I run into a day when I have absolutely nothing going on in my head. I stare out the window hoping for some sort of inspiration and am usually disappointed. The neighborhood has a barking dog at the moment, and that’s the only excitement, and I’m stretching the meaning of excitement by even using that word. I guess this will just have to be a stream of consciousness day.

When I was young, the tops of all my socks were stretched and hung down near my shoes. My mother told me not to pull on the tops to put them on my feet. I never listened, and I really didn’t care if they were stretched. I’m not even sure if I cared if they matched. I have a friend who only wears white socks, the same kind of white socks. He never minds losing one sock.

I can sew on a button so it stays on. Sometimes I sew it so well I can’t get it into the button hole. The button has no give. My clothes can be wrinkled or faded, but I won’t wear shirts missing buttons. I even have a box of buttons so I can through and try to match the missing one. I don’t sew anything else.

Crooked pictures drive me crazy as do candles leaning to one side or the other. The rug in the living room is an area rug. It came from Turkey, and I love it for its figures and its muted colors. I have this thing about the sides being placed exactly the same on each outside board. The dog is prone to bringing her toys to that rug and play on it. She also brings a biscuit to picnic on the rug. Both things drive me crazy, but I allow them and then go back and clean up and move the rug so it is even. I figure it’s a small thing in the realm of things.

I don’t always make my bed. Strangely enough I did when I worked, and back then I left for work by 6:20 each morning. I think the reason I don’t now is every day has the potential of being a nap day, and I’d hate to mess up a well made bed.

Well, it’s time to finish. My heart is pumping. Two dogs are now barking, and Gracie is going out to investigate. I’m not sure how much more excitment I can take!

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“To be matter-of-fact about the world is to blunder into fantasy – and dull fantasy at that, as the real world is strange and wonderful.”

September 24, 2011

It poured last night, and I was lulled asleep by the sound of the rain. The window was open, and I could feel a bit of a breeze, enough to make the room comfortable. This morning I called my student Florence to say hello. After having lost touch for so many years, I wanted to make sure we stayed in touch this time. She told me it was raining in Bolga, and I didn’t have to imagine the storm. My memory is recent enough to see it in my mind’s eye: the wind, the pouring rain and the sounds on the roof. I miss Ghana.

Gracie and I went for our ride yesterday. We stopped at a farm stand, and I bought a couple of pumpkins, fresh bread, some yellow and red tomatoes and apple cider. It seemed only right that on the first day of fall I buy cider and pumpkins to usher in the new season. The pumpkins, one whitish and one orange, are on the front steps. For supper last night I had toasted bread with tomatoes and melted cheese on top. It was a delicious meal.

I have the worst hankering for travel. I was afraid that would happen. Morocco did it to me and now Ghana has revived the bug. The only hurdle is an empty larder which I will fill as quickly as possible. I figure if I live a bit austerely, I can travel out of the country again by late summer or early fall next year, destination yet to be determined.

I don’t mind traveling alone, but I do wish I had company. Every day in a new place has an allure and nothing is better than sharing the ordinary, the remarkable, the beautiful and, most especially, the extraordinary. I talk outloud when I am especially struck by the beauty or even the oddity of something. The words just seem to fall out of my mouth. I figure the people around me must be a bit perplexed by the woman talking outloud, but I don’t mine. Being a bit strange is often more fun and certainly more liberating.

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“I saw old autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like silence, listening To silence.”

September 23, 2011

The day is cloudy, damp and noisy. I can hear birds making a racket all over the neighborhood. I’m thinking crows.

Last night I turned on the air-conditioner in my bedroom. The rest of the house was cool enough, but my room was stuffy. This morning I was greeted by the sight of a dead mouse on the downstairs bathroom floor. One of the cats, Maddie I’m guessing, had a busy night.

Today the stars and planets lined up and ushered in the autumnal equinox, the first day of fall, at 5:05 this morning. I know when I was a kid the seasons changed at different times than they do now. Fall began the day we were forced out of bed at a prescribed time, made to eat cereal, dressed in our uniforms and sent off to school with lunches and school bags in hand. That was the end of the glorious days of summer when every day was ours to do with as we wished.

The beginning of winter is a bit hazy. I figure it was when my mother forced us to wear heavy winter coats, mittens and those hats we took off as soon as we were out of sight of the house. With winter came dark afternoons and mornings. I swear my mother used to put us to bed earlier in the winter telling us it was late. Look how dark it is. That ploy stopped working when we learned to tell time. I didn’t like winter afternoons. They meant going inside early when the streetlights turned on triggered by the winter darkness. We spend most of our week days inside, either at school or in the house. Winter was the confining season.

Spring began when we could shed our winter coats, saw buds starting to appear on the trees and afternoons lasted longer. It became official when my mother would start to let me ride my bike to school. I was never really all that impressed by the flowers poking their heads out of the ground or the leaves appearing on the trees. I was just happy to have afternoons when I could play outside before dinner. There was a sense of freedom missing in the winter.

Summer was easy. It was the day school ended.

Autumn is my favorite time of the year here on the cape. Red is the predominant color, all sorts of reds on the maples, in the bogs and on vibrant bushes along the roadside. Here and there are trees bursting with yellow, and I love them for their contrast. I call this my let’s take a ride season when the roads are clear and Gracie and I hit the trail. We sometimes take all rights and other times all lefts. Today I have errands, but then we’re celebrating the new season by taking a ride.

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“If adventure does not wait on the doorstep, climb out through the window”

September 21, 2011

The day is warmer than it’s been, the sun is shining and the air is quite still. I was on the deck just after I woke up and thought how much about how much I love the mornings almost anywhere I am. When I was in Europe, I was always up so early breakfast had yet to be served. I’d go outside and listen to and watch the stirrings of the day. I’d smell the air as the morning air smells different. It has a freshness full of possibilities. In Ghana, the mornings begin early, but they were always my favorite part of the day. On this trip, I loved getting up at 6 and watching as Bolga woke up and began its day. When I worked, I was up at 5 or 5:15, and I felt as if I were the only person alive. No other house had lights, and I never heard cars. On warm mornings I’d stand outside and watch the sky for the first rays of the sun. It was a glorious way to begin my day.

Today I have a few errands, and my friends and I are going out to dinner to celebrate both their birthdays. Nothing much is planned for the rest for the week. My dance card is fairly empty.

My trip has stirred the travel bug far more than I expected. I had hoped to silence it for a bit, but it seems the bug is spreading throughout my entire body. I find myself looking at different travel sites wondering about my next trip. I’ll have to fill the larder, my bank account, first, but now I have a reason to save more money.

I’m laughing thinking of all the new hobbies I should start to occupy my day so I can stay home and spend nothing. Maybe I’ll learn to crochet, and everyone will get doilies for Christmas, the kind that go over the chair backs. There’s always origami and making thousands of cranes. They can decorate Christmas gift boxes of doilies. Years ago I made my own wrapping paper with stamps and water-color trees.  That sounds like a wonderful project. It goes on the list. Colorful napkins are easy to make-it’s just keeping the hems straight which gives me trouble. Maybe I’ll make them all different sizes and shapes so they’ll look avant-garde, not messy. People will think me creative rather than untalented with a needle and thread.

Well, it’s time to make the bed, get dressed and get in gear. I miss having my bed made, and I miss calling Thomas to pick me up for the day’s adventure though I suppose, no matter where, every day can always be an adventure.

 

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“She calls it “stick season,” this slow disrobing of summer, leaf by leaf, till the bores of tall trees rattle and scrape in the wind.”

September 20, 2011

The day is cloudy with the possibility of rain. When I woke up, the house was only 62°, and I was darn cold. Obviously Fern and Gracie were too as both of them were leaning against me in bed. I warmed up the house so I can take a shower when I finish here, but it still feels damp and chilly.

Life has gone back to the mundane. I’ve started my daily list of chores and was busy yesterday with the trash, the litter and the dump. Today I have wash. Just over a week ago I was a world traveler. Today I am a washerwoman.

The time is close to shutting down the deck for the year. I’m already lamenting. It was my morning spot for coffee and the papers and my afternoon spot for my books and an occasional nap on the lounge. When the sun was shining, the breeze blowing and the leaves rustling there was no more pleasant place to be. Now I’m sitting here in the den wearing my winter slippers and a sweatshirt and seeing a dreary day through the window.

I am sorry at the close of summer but here on the cape fall is the nicest time of the year. The tourists are gone except for those on buses as this is the bus tour season. The riders are always old, at least far older than I. The women walk together as do the men. They are the generation that sat the women in the back seat when couples went out to dinner so manly talk could be made up front.

Because we barely have a spring, we are rewarded with a long autumn with cool but beautifully sunny days: today, of course, being an exception. I love taking long rides down cape this time of year. The leaves are mostly red but they are striking. The farm stands are filled with mums and gourds and apples. I always stop. I can’t resist.

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