Archive for the ‘Musings’ category

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“I think we are drawn to dogs because they are the uninhibited creatures we might be if we weren’t certain we knew better.”

May 16, 2011

I just got home from a doctor’s appointment in Boston but decided to write a few musings anyway despite the lateness of the day. It rained last night, again this morning and on and off during my ride. The day is dank, damp and chilly, and the weatherman says it will stay this way most of the week. When I woke up, I turned on the heat just to warm the house. It was 49° outside.

The trip was uneventful, but I got a chance to see how all the trees along the highway are far more leafy, far more into spring, than the ones here on the Cape. The new leaves are light in color and the rows of trees have beautifully varied hues of green leaves. Some have a touch of red. I watched a hawk ride the thermals against the gray sky. Traffic was light and for that I was thankful.

Today is a nap day, no question about it. I woke up earlier than my alarm and had time for coffee and both newspapers before I left at 9. I yawned most of the way home. Gracie, who came with me, slept all the way up and all the way back. She got lively when I walked her in Cambridge near my doctor’s office. She sniffed just about every flower garden by the sidewalks. Gracie is usually a great walker but today she was excited and dragged me from garden to garden. Not being a city dog, today’s outing was quite exciting for Gracie, the country bumpkin. She did her part by leaving behind smells for the local dogs to ponder.

Last night I was standing by the back door waiting for Gracie. She was somewhere in the back of the yard as she had triggered the sensor lights. I noticed what I thought was a moving shadow near a tree so I kept an eye on it and saw a small possum quickly made its way out of the yard through the only part of the fence with an opening. I was glad it was I, not Gracie, who noticed the possum.

My Red Sox swept the Yankees.

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“We call this a fine mess of squirrels.”

May 15, 2011

The day is lovely, sunny and warm. I sat outside for a long while talking to my neighbor as her dog, Cody, romped in the backyard with Gracie. They are the best of friends and have been since Gracie was a puppy. Cody tires first, but Gracie is relentless.

Tonight my friends are coming for dinner. It has been a long while since I cooked a real meal. Most evenings I am content with eggs or a sandwich or even cereal. We’re having Mediterranean chicken which translates into a Moroccan rub, couscous with raisins and pine nuts and baby carrots which I’ll probably steam. I needed them for color. When I choose a menu, I imagine how all the dishes will mesh, and I visualize the meal to make sure it has a bit of color. I used to cook all the time, but I’ve gotten lazy; however, with summer coming, I’ll be making dinner more often for deck dining. Saturday is always movie night, and I like to serve dinner first while we wait until it gets dark enough to see the movie. My sister and brother-in-law are coming this summer. Rod said he wants to see a movie on the deck  and wants to take an outside shower. I’ll be happy to accommodate him as Rod is the best of hosts when I visit Colorado.

Yesterday a small red spawn of Satan was in one of the feeders. I ran at him waving my arms and screaming like a crazy woman, and he jumped out of the feeder onto a tree limb then up the tree where he sat and scolded me. Later he was again in the feeder, but this time I waited until I got closer to scare him. He fell out of the feeder to the ground then scampered up a tree where he sat reprimanding me for the longest time. Gracie was circling the tree. I was not at all sympathetic. From my desk, I can see that feeder, and crazy woman is sitting and watching and waiting.

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“The ‘Amen!’ of Nature is always a flower.”

May 14, 2011

I know it is very late for me, but I have all sorts of reasons. Last night I went to bed quite late, or early depending upon your perspective, and so I slept in until 10. At the CARE Center, an emergency 24-7 animal hospital, there was a plant sale, and I wanted to go. The money from the sale is for the Sampson Fund which helps people who can’t afford to pay vet bills and it also pays for the vet bills of abandoned, hurt animals. I filled my trunk with herbs and plants. My next stop was Dunkin’ Donuts as I had left the house before my coffee. I got my coffee and also a butternut donut which had been saved for me by a former student. When I got home, it was read the papers, have another cup of coffee and share my donut with Gracie time. That brings us to now.

The day is perfectly lovely with lots of sun and a blue sky dotted with clouds. It’s an outside day so Agway is definitely in my future. Those plants I bought this morning have caused a cascade effect. I want more.

My family was never really into gardens when I was a kid. My father planted mostly pansies in the front of the house in what was a very small garden. When we moved to the cape, he was still pretty much an indifferent gardener. I don’t even remember flowers. The house they moved to when I was in the Peace Corps was where flowers bloomed. My mother had her garden right outside the kitchen table windows. In it was a bird bath and a statue of St. Francis with his hands out holding seeds and several varieties of flowers of all different heights. My dog Maggie loved to visit that garden, and I was forever pulling her out and replacing the wire fence. The front by the house had all sorts of plants, and the window boxes were beautiful with flowers filling them and ivy hanging from them. Every Mother’s Day we bought my mother gift certificates to a nursery.

When I bought my own house, a sense of pride forced me to start a garden in the front. My parents came to visit and brought plants as a gift. My dad planted them, and those plants are still there. My brother and his then girl friend gave me a forsythia tree as a gift, and that too is still in the front garden, and an offshoot is down the street in my friends’ yard. The garden is in the same spot as when I bought the house, but I have moved the fence behind it so people can see my garden. I am that proud of it. The perennials have already appeared as have the lilacs in a side garden. This year I will add some vegetables to a raised bed in the backyard and plant herbs in the deck boxes which sit on the rail.

I have become a gardener.

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“Men are probably nearer the central truth in their superstitions than in their science.”

May 13, 2011

Gracie has been out all morning, a sure sign of a nice day, and she’s right. The sun is shining and the sky is blue, a deep blue. It’s a little chilly still but warmer than it’s been. I’ve been out on the deck a couple of times just to survey the world and watch Gracie romp through the yard. When I was out, I noticed fill the bird feeders must be put on my to-do list.

Today is Friday the 13th. I have never been superstitious so it’s just another date for me, but I admit I never walk under ladders. That, however, has more to do with the possibility of paint falling on me than anything else. I don’t think I have any phobias either. Spiders eat insects so they’re okay in my book. Bats do the same thing, and I even have a bat house in my yard. I don’t mind mice which are well and lively, but I’m not big on mice which seem to be close to their heavenly rewards. I call my friend Tony for those. I’ve never thrown salt over my shoulder, have broken a few mirrors in my day and have a black cat named Maddie who crosses my path constantly. I may be tempting the fates to some, but I don’t need to clutter my mind with a variety of fears. I remember being afraid of the atomic bomb, a fear caused by all those duck and cover practices, but that was a long time ago.

I went looking and found some very interesting and some very strange phobias. Rhytiphobia is the fear of getting wrinkles. If I had that one, it  would have reared its head a long time ago. My face has character is the way I describe it. Wrinkles have nothing to do with it. Clinophobia is the fear of going to bed. From the number of naps I’ve enjoyed over the years and continue to enjoy, I know I don’t have that one. My favorite phobia is zemmiphobia or a fear of the Great Mole Rat. That one, I suspect, is pretty uncommon.

In case you have a burning desire to know, the fear of Friday the 13th is called friggatriskaidekaphobia or paraskevidekatriaphobia. Now go walk under a ladder, spill some salt, open your umbrella inside the house and enjoy the day!

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“Nothing compares to the simple pleasure of a bike ride.”

May 12, 2011

No sun again yesterday had me thinking I must be a character in the Ray Bradbury story All Summer in a Day. Today, though, is much lighter despite the clouds, and I swear it looks as if sunlight is struggling to break through. There are lots of errands to do today as I lolled and read yesterday. I haven’t told Gracie yet, but the dump is on the list.

My deck is a mess from all the wind and rain. It had been cleaned and readied for occupancy and now has to be again. The feeders are empty. I watched a cardinal hunting for pickings in the big feeder. After I get home, I’ll mosey out and do a bit of clean-up and give the birds their seed.

Today I’m mailing my passport to the Ghanaian embassy to get my visa. It will be accompanied by two applications, a money order, a return registered envelope and four very ugly passport pictures.

When I was a kid, my bicycle, after spending the winter in the cellar, needed to be spruced for spring. The chain had to be greased, the handle bars polished and the rest of the bike dusted. It was a heavy bike; they all were back then. It was difficult to get my bike out of the cellar because the stairs from the cellar were to the left of the door, and the bike just didn’t bend that way. Usually the best way was to hold the bike by the back fender and lift the front end into the air to turn it toward the stairs. I then pushed it up the stairs to the backyard.

I remember the joy of those first spring bike rides. The air was filled with the smells of flowers and of dirt freshly turned. My street was a hill, and that first ride was like flying. I never pedaled. The hill just took me and my bike. My small town was my world and once spring came, no where was beyond my reach.

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“Spring – An experience in immortality.”

May 9, 2011

When I woke up, the sun was bright and warm as it streamed through the front door. Now it plays tag with a few clouds, but I fear its battle will be lost. The clouds are getting more numerous and darker. The wind is fierce, howling at times, and even bending the biggest trees. Pink and white petals from my neighbor’s flowering trees are blowing in the wind and look like snow flurries. It’s 55°.

I noticed my lilac tree has flowers, deep purple flowers. I love their smell, but lilac flowers do a job on my allergies so I admire them from afar. The other day I was outside talking to my neighbors when a woman walked by us. She stopped long enough to say how beautiful my garden is. I thanked her, and she said, “No, thank you. I love walking by your house.”

The other day I watched a pair of amorous robins. They fluttered together from the ground to the top of the fence and back again. When one flew, the other followed. I was standing on the deck being as quiet as possible as one of the robins took a bath while the other perched on a nearby branch. When the first was done, the second took its bath then they flew off together and kept going. A squirrel is building a nest between branches close to the deck. I watched it climbing and jumping from branch to branch with leaves in its mouth. I followed with my eyes until I saw my nest. The squirrel disappeared inside. Spring is the season of romance.

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“My mom is a neverending song in my heart of comfort, happiness, and being. I may sometimes forget the words but I always remember the tune.”

May 8, 2011

It is a damp, chilly Mother’s Day.

This morning I filled my heart with memories of my mother. Thinking about her made me smile. I miss her today as I do every day.

My mother had a generosity of spirit. She was funny and smart and the belle of every ball. She always had music going in the kitchen as she worked so she could sing along. She played Frank and Tony and Johnny and from her I learned the old songs. My mother drew all the relatives, and her house was filled. My cousins visited often. She was their favorite aunty. My mother loved to play Big Boggle, and we’d sit for hours at the kitchen table and play so many games we’d lose track of the time. Christmas was always amazing, and she passed this love to all of us. We traveled together, she and I, and my mother was game for anything. I remember Italy and my mother and me after dinner at the hotel bar where she’d enjoy her cognac. She never had it any other time, but we’re on vacation she said and anything goes. I talked to her just about every day, as did my sisters. I loved it when she came to visit. We’d shop, have dinner out then play games at night. I always waited on her when was here. I figured it was the least I could do.

My mother loved extreme weather shows, TV judges and crime. She never missed Judge Judy. She also liked quiz shows and she and I used to play Jeopardy together on the phone at night. She always had a crossword puzzle book with a pen inside on the table beside her chair, and I used to try and fill in some of the blanks. On the dining room table was often a jig saw puzzle, and we all stopped to add pieces on the way to the kitchen. My mother loved a good time.

She did get feisty, and I remember flying slippers aimed at my head when I was a kid. She expertly used mother’s guilt and, “I’ll do it myself,” was her favorite weapon. We sometimes drove her crazy, and she let us know, none too quietly.We never argued over politics. She kept her opinions close. We sometimes argued over other things, but the arguments never lasted long.

I still think to reach for the phone and call my mother when I see something interesting or have a question I know only she can answer. When I woke up this morning, my first thought was of her.

Happy Mother’s Day.

(from May 2010)

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“Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie.”

May 7, 2011

The morning is beautiful, sunny and warmish. I woke up to the sound of the lawnmower next door. It reminded me of every Saturday morning all summer. The lawn now is lush and green, the way it is only in the early spring before the heat of the summer sun finds it. As I write, it is being mowed and trimmed. Gracie is an interested spectator.

Last night from the bleachers I watched the Red Sox get thumped by the Twins. I ate a Fenway frank and shared some popcorn. It was fun being back at the ball park under the lights, but I would have preferred to see them win or even stay close. They have one more game to impress me as I have tickets in August.

I had Rice Krispies for breakfast this morning. I should have been sitting on the rug in front of the TV watching Saturday morning cartoons instead of reading the papers while I ate. They still snap, crackle and pop.

I can see the leaves on the oak trees. They are finally catching up with the other trees in the yard. In the front garden, many of the perennials have appeared. They make me want to buy my flowers and my herbs. That’s always a favorite shopping spree. I walk along the rows of flowers dragging my little red wagon behind me as I fill it. This is a red and pink year. I have plenty of white flowers. My friend, the garden maven, gave a list of plants to add to my garden this year. She has well over a hundred varieties in her various gardens so her advice is welcomed.

Later, I’ll venture to the deck and sit in the sun. The few errands I have can wait until the day is cooler in the late afternoon. I just can’t imagine wasting a warm day with blue skies and a gentle breeze.

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crotchety: grouchy or cantankerous

May 5, 2011

This has been a dawdling morning. The sun is in and out, but it’s cold. My heat has been left at 62° just in case, and it was on this morning. The house was mighty cold. I should have realized it when I woke up and found Gracie huddled right beside me. Last night it rained again and the day is still damp. I have little incentive to do anything. For the purpose of personal hygiene, I will shower and brush my teeth, but that’s about it.

My muse is gone for the day. I have no idea where she went, but I hope it’s warm. I started reading last night, but I just couldn’t get interested, started another book hoping it would grab me, but it didn’t either. I’m thinking it’s me, not the books. Cold, rainy days are starting to get to me. Even the Red Sox got rained out last night. My deck is ready, but the weather just isn’t. I want dinner and a movie outside in the warmth of a summer night. Crotchety is how I’d describe myself today. Good thing I’m not expecting company.

This may make a record for the shortest post ever.

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“Queen of the Angels and Queen of the May.”

May 3, 2011

Today is spring on Cape Cod, cool and sunny with a cloudy deep blue sky. Skip, my factotum, is here which is why I’m late. I have a day’s worth of stuff for him to do, and I was out on the deck for a long while with him explaining all the different chores. He took the covers off the furniture while we chatted and seeing the furniture again has made me itchy for warm days on the deck with a good book in hand. We checked the umbrellas to make sure they’d light. They did and then Skip started the fountain. My backyard haven is almost there, almost my summer paradise again. I can hardly wait to see all the candles hanging from the trees and lighting up the night.

When I was in elementary school, we had a May procession every year. We’d practice our songs in class until we knew all the words by heart. On that special day we wore our Sunday best. The second graders wore their first communion white dresses and suits. We were lined up by grade,  youngest to oldest. Walking at the end of the procession was the girl who would crown the statue of Mary in the grotto beside the church. We marched around the block from the school to the grotto. The block was a square and the procession ended almost at the same spot where it had started. Parents with Brownie cameras lined the route. You could hear names being called so pictures could be snapped. We walked as if we were in prayer with our hands in front. The nuns walked beside their classes making sure there was no talking between the songs. We managed to talk anyway. I remember when I was little I’d check out the crowds looking for my parents. The religious significance of the day was totally lost on me. When I was in the eighth grade, I did the crowning. I remember people snapping pictures of me on the route as I walked by them. I think I may have even posed a little. At the grotto, I had to climb a set of stairs and then put the crown on the statue. I was wearing my neighbor’s wedding dress, and I almost tripped on the train, but I managed to get up and down those stairs without falling, a major accomplishment for me. I remember the day was sunny, warm and beautiful.

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