Archive for the ‘Musings’ category

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“Vegetables are a must on a diet. I suggest carrot cake, zucchini bread, and pumpkin pie.”

April 8, 2011

Warm weather is coming. Starting tomorrow it will be in the 50’s for the next four or five days. My only wish is that the wind takes a break and stays off-shore so we can enjoy the weather. Gracie and I have a few things to do this morning then we’ll be back to watch the Red Sox play their home opener. Never in my scariest nightmares did I expect them to be 0-6 to start the season. Maybe playing the Yankees this afternoon will raise them to a higher plane.

I don’t cook for myself very often. It just seems too much trouble to pull out the pots and pans. Most times I just fall back on cheese and crackers or a sandwich. I keep hummus in the fridge, and there are always eggs, but, if the truth be told, my diet is sadly lacking in vegetables though I do take vegetable credit for coleslaw with its cabbage and carrots. I really like vegetables so there are no reasons to avoid them. I swear it’s just laziness as most go best with a meal to complement them. Carrot sticks might just be my salvation.

I don’t think I have had okra since I was in Ghana, but okra stew was one of my favorites though I had to overcome the slime when I first ate it. In the far north where I lived, it was often served with tuo zaafi, better known as T-zed in English. T-zed is like a thick porridge and locally it was made from millet. I’d grab a piece of T-zed and then dip it into the stew. It was delicious. Groundnut stew was another favorite to eat with T-zed. I never would have imagined a soup with a peanut butter base, but it was wonderful. Usually it came with chicken.

In Bolga, chop bars lined the lorry park. They were hole-in-the wall places to eat with unmatched tables and rickety stools or chairs. In the back, the sound of fufu being pounded was a sign dinner was nearly ready. I’d buy my fufu with whatever stew was available, place it in a pot and drive it home on my motorcycle holding the pot with one hand and steering with the other. I guess I’d call it take out.

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“Whenever I feel blue, I start breathing again”

April 5, 2011

My patience is wearing thin. It’s another gray day with rain expected. If April showers really bring May flowers, this entire area should be covered in lovely, colorful flowers with barely an open spot for walking. The wind was heavy all night, and this morning even the biggest pine trees are rocking back and forth. Later I have a few errands so Miss Gracie and I will be heading out.

With all the rain yesterday I didn’t get the feeders filled so that is a definite chore for today. I miss seeing the birds through the window as I write this. They always perk up my morning. I feel bad that I have neglected them.

Gracie got on the lounge the other day, the only day with any sun, but it was too cold and windy so she got off and came into the house. I know she wants, as I do, to nap in the sun. Her two favorite spots are the small patch of grass in the backyard and the lounge on the deck.

I always feel as if I’m hibernating most winters. I get out a couple of times a week but mostly the cold keeps me inside warm and cozy. The first sunny day is like a magnet drawing me outside. I sit with my face to the sun, my eyes closed and let all that warmth surround me. I know it’s coming but this year, for some reason, I am just so tired of the cold and the lack of  spring here on the Cape. I know it has been the same all the years I’ve lived here, but this year seems somehow worse. Maybe it was missing three months after the first surgery or that I haven’t really gone anywhere of late. I just know the sun and the warmth better come soon and chase away the winter blues.

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“This morning’s scene is good and fine, Long rain has not harmed the land.”

April 4, 2011

A trip to Boston has put me way behind my time and then the drive home was slow because it rained almost the whole trip. Even now it’s raining enough to keep Gracie from venturing outside.

The alarm was an unwelcome intrusion when it went off this morning at 7. I cursed my fate but got up knowing I needed a cup of coffee before I left. The trip wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I brought a pillow for my back and got home with nary an ache. In two weeks, I have the marathon to work so I know I’ll be fine after I did so well today.

The house is chilly with the dampness the rain has brought. My hands are cold, and I feel the need for a nap under warm covers. When I finish here, Gracie and I will get cozy.

When I was a little kid, we walked to school in all weather. When it rained liked today, we’d run as far as we could hoping to stay as dry as possible, but I still remember the smell of wet wool from our uniform skirts and winter coats. The drips from those coats would soak the cloakroom floor. No recess on a rainy day made us cranky.

I used to get home, change into my play clothes or even my pajamas and lie in bed and read. I needed to feel warm after the walk home through the rain. I loved lying in bed with a favorite book while listening to the rain hit the window panes. Sometimes the rain was so heavy, I couldn’t see outside because of the drops. The lights were always on in the kitchen and the living room. I’d go downstairs in time for Superman and The Mickey Mouse Club. My mother would fix dinner while we watched TV. My Dad usually came home too late to eat with us, but my mother would keep his plate warm. We’d do our homework and then watch some TV before heading up to bed. I was always tired on a rainy night. I swear it was all that running to stay dry.

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“Flowers are the sweetest things God ever made, and forgot to put a soul into.”

April 3, 2011

The sky is that beautiful deep blue that takes your breath away. A few, small wispy clouds are close to the horizon. The breeze is slight enough to keep the day warmer than it’s been. More flowers have appeared in the front garden, and I stop to look every time I’m out there. They make me realize how close I am to the time for my many visits to the gardening shop. Today I need dog food at Agway so I’ll also probably stroll through the flowers they have outside. This time of year they are hardy sorts.

I went to a lecture about butterflies the other day. It was about the Long Meadow Pasture Butterfly Mosaic Trail, an Audubon site not far from here. The slides were wonderful. I learned all about the host plants for local butterflies. Now I want to try and find some to plant so the butterflies have places to lay their eggs. I never heard of most of the plants and the lecturer said they had to order many on line when they planted the trail. I have to decide which butterflies I want to attract then get my fingers busy. The only host plant I already have is the violet which attracts the Silver-Bordered Fritillary and the Great Spangled Fritillary.

When I was a kid, the field below my house was filled with milkweed, and I remember the butterflies flitting all through that field. I didn’t know until much later they were Monarchs who lay their eggs on milkweed. I haven’t seen milkweed growing anywhere around here in the same numbers I used to see them when I was a kid so I guess I’ll have to help.

Soon enough I’ll be putting out my hummingbird and Baltimore Oriole Feeders. I was thrilled last year at the numbers of each I saw off the deck as well as the other birds, my old friends, who stay around all year. Later this afternoon I have to refill the feeders. So many birds drop by that the feeders empty in only a couple of days.

Gracie and I have a dump run this afternoon, about the only excitement for the day.

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“Baseball is a ballet without music. Drama without words.”

April 1, 2011

It poured all night long. I could hear it on the roof and windows, and I just stayed in bed and listened as I fell asleep. My house in Ghana had a tin roof, and the sound of rain filled all the rooms especially when the tremendous thunder and lightening storms came which announced the beginning of the rainy season. Those storms and that sound are some of my favorite memories.

Today is damp and gray. The rain became intermittent drops just before it stopped earlier this morning. Gracie didn’t mind and neither did I when I went to get the papers. There is barely a wind, and the day is quiet.

I have four nephews, my sister’s two sons and my brother’s. Mike, who lives in the next town and is a baseball fanatic and collector, still remembers his first visit to Fenway Park. I took both him and his brother Tim. It was a beautiful summer day, and we sat in the bleachers. Mike remembers who had hits, who pitched and how much fun he had. His first impression was how green the outfield grass was and that Fenway was smaller than it looked on TV. He has hopes that we’ll go to a game together this summer and so do I. Ryan and Justin are from Colorado, but they are Sox fans. It’s a family thing. They also remember their first game at Fenway Park. I took them too.Ryan remembers where we sat and who pitched. I am glad to be part of those memories.

My sister is having the whole family over for today’s Red Sox opening game. She was trying to figure out her menu when we talked yesterday. My friends Clare and Tony are coming here for the game. We’ll all wear our Red Sox gear including Gracie. We have been waiting for this day all winter.

It is cold and damp and rainy but baseball means summer isn’t so very far away. The game starts at four, my time. Colorado will call after especially good plays and after every Sox home run. I’m hoping they’ll be many. I’m hoping that phone will ring off the hook. I am so glad for the start of baseball season.

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“You will do foolish things, but do them with enthusiasm.”

March 31, 2011

The sky is cloudy and hiding the rain which will start sometime tonight and go into tomorrow. We’re getting all rain, but up north, they’ll get snow. It’s a nor’easter according to the weatherman. That is always the worst storm whether snow or rain.

The bird feeders are empty again. I swear there must be a sign which announces the menu and all the birds flock to dine. The goldfinches are getting brighter. I noticed a few the other day with real yellow on their breasts. In the front garden, some of my spring bulbs have flowered. I saw small pink ones when I went to get the paper. Color is so welcome this time of year when most of my world is still gray and brown.

I’m finding the long string of winter days is morphing into boredom no matter what I do. My pile of books is much shorter, but I get tired of sitting and reading and get up and stand at the door like Gracie does. We both hope for a little excitement. The other day I drove to Wellfleet and brought my camera, but nothing perked my interest. The bakery with the best cheese bread around which had my mouth watering at the mere thought of it was closed. I turned around and came home.

Today I’m going to the Audubon Society’s lecture about butterflies. I’ll write down the flowers which attract them to the garden and put a bed out back so I can see the butterflies in all their colors, their splendor and glory. The deck in summer is already filled with birds flying in and out of the feeders. Adding butterflies will make my backyard such a wonderful place to just sit and enjoy the world.

My mother was always the best at April Fool’s Day jokes. She always caught my youngest sister even though she was on alert. Our kid jokes were never very original, but we still laughed uproariously at our victims. One joke had to do with empty buckets seemingly filled with water which we’d throw on our victims. They always yelled anyway and called us names. They hated getting caught in the prank. We pretended to see dog poop on the backs of coats and jackets: poop jokes are most decidedly a kid thing. I don’t remember the last prank I pulled. I think I may have to spend a bit of time planning for tomorrow. The joke has to be subtle and believable. My mother will be my inspiration.

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“If things are getting easier, maybe you’re headed downhill.”

March 29, 2011

Today has exactly the same weather as yesterday and the day before and the day before that. Poor Gracie goes out, tries to get comfy on the deck lounge but finds the breeze far too cold and comes back inside. She sits at the front door and lets the sun coming through warm her fur, and she watches the neighborhood but sees very little. When I’m done here, we’re going for a ride down cape. Maybe that will remove the ennui the weather is causing the both of us.

When I was a little kid, very little grossed me out. I’d see classmates picking their noses and checking out their finds, but I won’t even describe but some them did with their bounties. Once in a while someone would get sick in class, and it was an event to be described over and over at recess. As I grew older, though, my tolerance for the gross disappeared. I’d get car sick on even short trips. At dinner once, someone’s milk got spilled into a plate of spaghetti, and that sent me running to the bathroom. It was Ghana which finally cured me.

I remember going into a market for the first time. The stalls in front sold goat patties for fuel and they didn’t smell all that great. I ran outside to be sick. I was embarrassed, but I was stuck with a sensitive stomach. That lasted about two more weeks. I stopped noticing the smells. Some, like wood charcoal burning, became a favorite smell, a sweet one which still never fails to bring me back to Ghana. Public toilets, here a term loosely used, could be smelled blocks away. My neighbors in the field behind my house squatted in the millet adding their own fertilizer. I learned to aim perfectly at the hole in the public toilet and to squat when forced by necessity. When I visited Morocco, my skill returned quickly. I figured it was like riding a bike, something you just don’t forget.

I am going to Ghana in late August. I have the dates and am hunting for a flight which won’t exhaust my bank account. I figure it might take me a day or two to get acclimatized to those smells I remember. The one thing I know is my aim is still good.

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“Leftovers in their less visible form are called memories. Stored in the refrigerator of the mind and the cupboard of the heart.”

March 28, 2011

It’s close to 11 am, and the temperature has risen to 35°, but the wind makes it feel much colder. Gracie and I were awakened today by the sounds of blowers from my neighbor’s yard. He and his men are doing spring clean up. They came here next, and it gave me hope when I saw the garden beds clear of dead leaves and branches. My herb garden already has some growth. I showed Sebastian, my neighbor and landscaper, where I wanted a raised bed for a few vegetables. He thought the spot perfect. The men removed all the dead pine branches from the backyard and blew the deck clear of leaves. It may still be cold, but when clean-up begins, I think of a warm day, a sunny deck and flowers. I’m holding on to that thought with a grasp so tight my knuckles are white.

When my sister came and stayed for a week after I had had my surgery, she experienced much the same as I had in my old town where she lives now. Sheila lived on the cape for a long time but has been gone even longer. We drove familiar streets which now have unfamiliar views. Her grammar school sits empty, no longer used. The printing shop where she worked for so long was torn down to make way for a park which is right by the water. The park is an odd one with small hills and only a few benches. She was a bit amazed by all the changes. I knew exactly how she felt.

The square in the town where I grew up has changed. A whole block has been torn down. It used to hold small shops and stores like the shoe repair and a drug store. At first I was horrified because my childhood is wound around the memories of those stores. I have since adjusted to an adult view and have saved my childhood square in special memory drawers. Many of the old buildings still remain, but they have became something else. If I had grandchildren, I would walk them through the square and bore them with stories of what was.

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“Nothing burns like the cold.”

March 27, 2011

I am very late today and have nothing but sloth as an excuse. I went out to breakfast as usual, came home and read a bit of the paper and then decided to go back to bed. My little nap was for 2 and 1/2 hours. Gracie and Fern joined me. It was delightful and both warm and cozy.

The sun is shining for all it’s worth and is producing light but no heat. It is still in the 30’s, and I’m getting darn tired of winter. I want to put away my sweatshirts for the season and nap on the deck with the sun on my face. I’m tired of bare trees and empty gardens. I want fresh herbs I grew myself and a small vegetable garden. Nothing better than movies on the deck.

I imagine by August I’ll be complaining about the heat. I figure grousing is part of the human condition unless you’re somebody like Mother Teresa or Gandhi. If truth be told, I find grousing cleansing in its own way. Once all the complaints are out there, there’s nothing left but abiding.

I saw two walkers this morning, actually I could have called them trotters give their paces. They were bundled in winter coats, hats and gloves. I was not all all enticed to join them. Besides, they really didn’t seem to be enjoying their walk. One was far ahead of the other who was trying to catch up. I figured they were so cold they were hurrying to a warm home and hot cups of coffee.

My mother used to keep her house so hot the rest of us wore t-shirts all winter when we visited. She wore long sleeves in all that heat. Now I understand. I used to keep my house really cool, in the mid-60’s, and wear a long sleeve shirt. It was more than enough to be comfortable. At night I’d put the temperature down to 58° not because of the cost but because I was under the covers and have always had a dog to keep me warm. I’d turn the heat up to 65° when I woke up. That, I now realize, was a long time ago.

I wear a sweatshirt all day and the temperature is 68° in here. At night 62° is where the thermostat stays. Age is the reason, and now I know it was also my mother’s reason. Back then, I didn’t understand that. I imagine that if I reach 100, the house will be as warm as the dog days of summer.

It never occurred to me that growing older takes so much energy.

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“Grin like a dog and wander aimlessly.”

March 26, 2011

Last night it was in the 20’s. Today it should get as warm as 39°. If I’m sounding facetious, you’re right. Even the sun and the blue sky aren’t inviting. I’m glad the feeders are filled so I don’t have to venture to the deck. From the window, I can see a few goldfinches munching. Their colors are still winter muted. My friends the chickadees are also here. They are such lively birds I love watching them. In summer they zoom over my head as I sit on the deck, and they let me stand close to them as they eat. I have tried feeding them from my hand, but I get impatient. Maybe this summer I’ll learn to wait.

I’m reading during the day, but I find myself house bored. I’m almost thinking of cleaning out cabinets but I don’t want to go too crazy. My back feels good today after yesterday and a day of nothing so I suppose I could give it another day. I want to be out and about with dog and camera taking a ride, but that will have to wait until tomorrow.

My imagination has always been the favorite part of my mind. When I was a kid, I’d read books and picture the characters and where they lived. I’d visit ancient lands and foreign cities. I’d dream of places that have long been gone and visit places I never imagined I’d actually see. My geography book was almost like a novel to me. The pictures were of cities, mountains, rivers, statues, and camels in long lines crossing the desert. I think I made that trip several times and slept in a tent decorated with bright colors, pillows and beads. I shopped in bazaars and markets. I never shared my dreams, my imaginings, with anyone.

When I was 12, my girl scout troop went to New York. We climbed the stairs at the Statue of Liberty, and I saw the city from the top of the Empire State Building. We walked through Greenwich Village, and I took in everything. The city had come alive from the pages of my geography book, and it was the most foreign place I had ever visited. I was hooked.

I knew that my dreams were now a list of places I was going to visited. They had left my imaginings and become part of my real world.

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