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“The mouse that hath but one hole is quickly taken.”

August 1, 2011

Lazy day is my mantra.

It was a restless night so I made up for it by missing a good portion of the morning. I slept in until 10 o’clock. About seven I let Gracie out, and she came back in at some point and joined me. She always has a morning nap. It’s already hotter than they predicted for today, but there is a nice breeze on the deck where I’ll go when I finish here. I have a new book to read called Children of the Street. Kwei Quartey, the author, is a Ghanaian and the mystery takes place in Accra. I read his first book, Wife of the Gods. It was okay, but I wished there was more Ghanaian English as it has wonderful peculiarities, but the books are fun to read as they mention familiar places. This one has some Hausa, the language the Peace Corps taught me.

Anther summer month has come and gone. If I were a kid, I’d be appalled at the back to school commercials on TV. We never went back until after Labor Day, and that’s still over a month away. No reminders were necessary.

Another mouse yesterday, but this one was still kicking. Gracie was making a ruckus in the dining room so I went to check and found the mouse. When I went to pick it up to get rid of it, the mouse’s legs moved. I should have known it was still alive as Gracie has no interest in one already gone to its heavenly reward. I was grossed out. I don’t mind dead mice, but I do mind half-dead mice. I called my mouser, my friend Tony, who came up and took the mouse outside. Tony was gentle and said he was sorry to the wee mousie. I don’t think it will survive, but at least it was outside and away from Gracie.

All my neighbors must be at the beach as the street is really quiet. I grew up in a neighborhood which was only quiet late at night. All day long kids played on the street or in the backyards. Mothers yelled out back doors for their kids to come in for lunch or dinner, and every kid who jumped through a cold sprinkler squealed. At night, you could hear the TV’s from the different houses and even see the wavering black and white screens through the windows. I remember the sound of snow on empty stations. I know now it was static, white noise, but back then it was a little mesmerizing with its sound and flickering dots. I figured it looked like a giant snow storm which is why it got its name.

I’m ready for lunch. Today is hummus.

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“There are good days and there are bad days, and this is one of them.”

July 30, 2011

You’ll get no cheery good mornings from me today. Already I hate today. When I went to get the papers, I tripped and fell. I cut the hand I used to cushion my fall and now the two last fingers of that hand are useless. It’s a good thing I only type with two fingers or I’d really be in trouble. When I got up off the ground, there was no one there to say comforting words and ask how I was. I walked slowly and a bit mournfully into the house and cleaned the now bleeding cut and put the swelling fingers under cold water. After I’d finished the first aid, I found holding my hand up made me look silly, but it made my hand hurt less. I’ll take silly over pain any time. Finally I got my coffee and carried the cup, papers and my pen outside to the deck hoping the morning would perk me a bit. I took a sip of the coffee, and it had grounds in it. Of course, it had grounds in it. On a morning like today, there had to be grounds. I decided I didn’t want to make another pot so I started reading the paper. Nothing in it was cheery, as usual. The Mid-East, the drought, the budget and Lord knows what else combined to make me feel even worse. Even the Red Sox had lost and Pedroia’s hitting streak had ended. I decided to read the comics and do the crossword puzzle. I couldn’t hold the pen right so my letters were all outside the lines and the words were barely readable. I had a bit of a cry for myself.

I never have days like today. Usually a fall doesn’t bother me at all, even when I break bones. It’s just something I do well. Coffee grounds-no big deal. I’d normally make another pot, but not today. I didn’t dare risk it. I had visions of pieces of glass all over the floor and me stepping in the tiny pieces I’d missed.

My friend Tony called about movie night. I said sure, but I know the tone of my voice belied my words. He’d said he’d barbecue, and I said okay with little enthusiasm then it all spilled out. I even added the part about my iPod, and how I can’t add music or delete it or how iTunes doesn’t even recognize I have an iPod, a really well-named iPod. He brightened my day by inviting me to dinner and drinks. I think I should capitalize the D in Drinks.

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“A great many people think that polysyllables are a sign of intelligence.”

July 29, 2011

We all slept in this morning. It was nearly ten before I woke up, and my moving around rousted Fern and Gracie sleeping beside me on the bed. They got their morning treats then we all came downstairs together. As I was going to the door to let Miss Grace out, I found a gift in the hall: a dead mouse. One of the cats had had quite a busy night. I disposed of the deceased, put the coffee on and went to the driveway to get my papers; hence, the lateness of my posting.

It is a cloudy, still day with the sort of humidity which carries a bit of a chill. Rain is forecasted for this evening so I figure the day will stay much like this morning. I don’t expect the sun.

The paper had a great column the other day about the misuse of words and the word literally took front and center. I understood exactly what the author meant as I hear it literally all the time (just kidding). The article also mentioned the misuse or overuse of words. Two examples stood out for me: moot and iconic. It’s a moot point is used to stop any further discussion or argument. It’s been said to me, and it drives me crazy, literally. In that context moot means still open to discussion, but somehow that meaning has been lost. I once had an argument, debate?, with someone about him using the words “a moot point” incorrectly, but I lost. The argument was moot.

Iconic was discussed next and described as one of the latest, trendy overused words. I see it written far more than I hear it, and I figure if so many things are iconic, none really are.

Some words and phrases just disappear. People stop using them. When was the last time anyone was referred to as no spring chicken? We wore blue jeans and sneakers when I was a kid. My mother sometimes told me to stop being a prima donna. I didn’t know what a prima donna really was, but I knew what she meant. Why don’t you just take a picture? I remember using that if someone stared. When I visited my grandparents in the city, I sat on the stoop. I don’t think houses have stoops any more. My grandmother wore galoshes. I wore boots. How about wazoo? My mother often had it with us up to her wazoo. Maynard G. Krebs was a beatnik. A decade later he’d have been a hippie.

I figure all those lost words and phrases are floating around in the cosmos just waiting for the day of their return. That would be, for all of them, a red letter day.

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“A small town is a place where there’s no place to go where you shouldn’t.”

July 28, 2011

The morning is already warm. It is 77°, but I am in the cool den which doesn’t boil over until afternoon. Soon enough, though, I’m turning on the air-conditioner. This morning I went to the Thursday farmers’ market. It’s a small one but I managed to spend some money, not a big surprise. I bought lavender and oregano for the garden, sweet orange-vanilla soap for me, a couple of cucumbers and some cherry tomatoes, corn bread, some pulled-pork to go with it and for Miss Gracie, yogurt, banana dog biscuits. The woman from whom I bought them guaranteed their taste. She had given them a try and thought them delicious. Gracie agreed and ate the sample I gave her.

The Buttery, a store in my town, had wooden barrels out front. Some were filled with flour and sugar and their barrel tops held cheese for sale. The cheese was always cheddar and was sold in chunks. The store was filled with household essentials like soap powder, blue laundry whitener and Quaker’s Oats, the kind you cook on the stove. I used to like to look in the windows filled with produce like potatoes, onions and carrots, all sitting in long wicker baskets with handles. I don’t remember when the Buttery became The Children’s Corner, but now an Indian restaurant occupies the same spot. My sister and I had lunch there, and it was delicious.

Many of the stores used to have awnings of all different colors. They made the square look festive. My friends and I would walk uptown just to roam and window shop. The sidewalks always had people carrying bags filled with whatever they’d bought. Some even carried baskets. I remember seeing the loaves of bread still uncut. Whatever the shoppers needed, they could find. The square had everything.

It’s still called the square, and many of the oldest buildings are there but not the old stores. None of those are left. The fish-market is an upscale Italian restaurant; the shoe store was torn down and only a space is there. Wordsworth’s is a fabric store. I forget what the drug store is now, but that old drug store, Middlesex Drugs, had my favorite soda fountain, a white marble one which always felt cold.

I eat at the Italian Restaurant after I see a play at my old movie theater, and I’ll go back to the Indian restaurant because the food was so good. Near the theater is a small cafe I’d like to try. The only store from my childhood I really miss is the bakery, Hanks. It had the best window display, and I loved the lemon cupcakes with their domes of lemon. I think every town needs a bakery with the aroma of baking bread wafting through the air.

Not that I’m excited or anything but four weeks from now I’ll be on a plane winging my way to Ghana after a stopover in Frankfurt.

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“Computers are like Old Testament gods; lots of rules and no mercy.”

July 26, 2011

The morning has been so wonderfully cool that I slept in far later than usual. Somehow I feel as if I’ve overslept. When I worked and I was late getting up, I could be dressed and out of the house in minutes, coffee and paperless but on my way. Today I lazily got out of bed, brewed my pot of coffee and read both papers. It’s later than usual, and I do have to be at an appointment at 12:45 so I hope my muse is raring to go.

My computer goes shopping or out for coffee or somewhere. I can’t seem to get it to do a couple of tasks at a time. It gets busy and does no task. I sit here frustrated and impatiently waiting so I can get started. Today was like that. While I was waiting, I got to wondering where my computer would go. The Apple store is out as it is a Steve, who is the guy who put it together for me. Maybe I shouldn’t have named my computer. That could be the problem as we all know about Hal. I finally decided after much thought it might window shop at Best Buy or Staples looking for accessories like a new scanner now that the old scanner has gone to hardware heaven. Finally, after I closed Firefox, Steve decided to stop wandering and allowed me access. My iPad too had a glitch. Last night it wouldn’t connect to the internet. I checked all the settings, and they seemed just fine. I tried my Mac later, and it didn’t connect. All the lights on my linksys seem to be working so I am in a quandary. When I have more time, I’ll try and figure out the problem. Right now, I feel as if I have lost a friend.

I can do a lot of different things. I even have some talents, but computer problems make me feel like a country girl visiting the big city for the first time who’s lost on the subway and being crushed by the crowd.

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“There’s an unseen force which lets birds know when you’ve just washed your car.”

July 24, 2011

The day is dark and perfectly still. The leaves are barely moving. I only hear birds. It rained this morning for a while, a short while. Before I went to breakfast, I turned off the AC and opened the windows even though today will be in the 80’s. Gracie was tired of being stuck in the house, and I missed the sounds of the street and my little world on the deck. Later, when it hits the 80’s, I may have to turn on the AC again. Starting tomorrow and for the next few days, we’ll have a summer reprieve. Temperatures will be in the 70’s.

My friend Glenn sent me pictures of last January’s snowstorm. His house and car are covered in snow, and his street has yet to be plowed. I remember that storm, and I remember wishing for summer.

I’ve come to the conclusion that people need something to gripe about, even the happiest among us. It is just the nature of the beast. Though I count myself among the latter, the happy ones, I’ve been complaining about the heat and humidity, the traffic and the gawking tourists who slow down all that traffic. I figure venting by filling the air with a few blue words is my way of thwarting grumpiness.

Sunday was usually the day we went to the beach. On Saturday my dad did his house chores, mostly the yard, so it was his day to work around the house. Sunday we’d load up the car. The picnic basket, the tartan cooler, assorted towels, the beach blanket, shirts to ward off sunburn, four kids and my parents were piled into the car, the car without air-conditioning. All four windows would be opened, but the air always felt hot, and I was prone to car sickness. The two windows by the backseat could only go down halfway so that added to the misery. Once I threw up out the window, and my father thought it had started to rain. My poor sister sat in the middle between my brother and me, but we’d still fight over sides. I’d complain his foot was on my side and he’d yell back that it wasn’t. Meanwhile, with his eyes on the road, my father would swing his arm back and forth over the front seat hoping to hit one of us. He never did. The threats were next, ” Keep this up and we’re going home.” That generally quieted us down as we all loved the beach.

My favorite beach story, which I know I’ve told here before, merits retelling. It has become a family favorite repeated often when we’re together. My brother and I were tossing rocks into the water, and my mother told us to stop. We did, but a few minutes later she started yelling at us, “I told you to stop and now which one of you has hit me on the head?” We were dumbfounded as we had actually listened to her and stopped throwing rocks. We ran over and found a seagull had hit my mother dead center in the head. We told her, and she started gagging (my mother was a gagger, even when changing our diapers) as she ran to the water screaming for us to help wash it out of her hair. We did, but we laughed quietly the whole time. Only our shaking shoulders gave us away.

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“Handwriting is civilization’s casual encephalogram.”

July 23, 2011

Yesterday, at 103°, Boston was the hottest it’s been since 1926. We were close, in the 90’s, which is unusual for us, but the ocean breeze had totally disappeared. Gracie and I stayed inside almost the entire day. The few times I went on the deck the heat and humidity sucked my breath away. Today I have to go to a bridal shower, and I am not the bridal shower type. To make it even worse, if that’s at all possible, it will be hot. It’s only 10 and already the temperature is 83°. I’m going to practice my oohing and ahing before I go. I’m a bit rusty.

I remember learning the Palmer Method. First we had to learn to hold our pencils a certain way and then we did exercises. We were taught to use our hands and arms in making circles then lines. My circles were never very neat, but I was great at lines. I remember my hand moving up and down on the paper as I made my lines, and I remember the sound of hand against paper and the scribbling sound of the pencil. The nun would walk around and reposition pencils or make comments about the circles and lines.

Across the front of the room, over the blackboard, was a set of the alphabet in Palmer Method cursive writing. It was ornate with all sorts of loops. The R in my last name was one circle. It was the same R my grandmother always used. The K in my first name had a loop. I think my favorite letters were X, Q and Z. They were strange looking, and if you hadn’t learned Palmer method, you would never recognize the Q. We practiced all the time on lined sheets of paper. The capital letters went from the bottom of the line to the top. The small letters were about half the size and were easy to recognize, even the q, which looked a lot like the one my keyboard has except it’s missing the loop.

I read in the paper that schools are phasing out the teaching of cursive writing. The keyboard is replacing it. It reminded me of all that is fading away. My newspapers are ceasing to exist, bookstores are closing at a rapid rate and now cursive writing is disappearing. I’m afraid to venture a guess as to what’s next.

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“Technology is the knack of so arranging the world that we don’t have to experience it.”

July 22, 2011

The weather is just as they predicted: hot and humid. It is  one time I’d wish they’d have gotten it wrong. Today, though, will be the worst of it because, by the end of the weekend, the nights will be in the high 50’s for a couple of days. I’m all for that!

It’s so much easier living without when you have no idea what you’re missing. Fans were what kept us cool. I’d stand in front of the one in our living room until my sister or my brother complained I was taking all the cold. At night, I’d fall asleep despite the heat. A day of bike riding or walking the tracks or playing softball in the hot afternoon was enough to exhaust me for the night. I don’t remember which store was the first to be air-conditioned, but I’m betting, like in many towns, it was the movie theater. In my town in Ghana, it was a bar. The whole town called it the cold room. It was in the Hotel d’Bull, just about the only place to stay while in Bolga in those days. Crowds would so fill the bar that you could barely feel the air-conditioning. Inside the bar wasn’t a frequent spot for me. I didn’t drink beer or gin or scotch, the only alcoholic offerings. I drank coke. My Ghanaian friends loved to go to that bar so I’d meet them for a bit and hope to find a seat near the air conditioner. I seldom did.

My house is wonderfully cool right now. The two times I went outside I gasped in the heat. Gracie was out for a couple of minutes then came right back inside-nothing dumb about that dog.

My electric can opener broke, and I didn’t replace it because many cans are tabbed now, and my old hand can opener works just fine on the ones that aren’t. It was strange at first to wind the old opener as it worked its way around the top of the can. The lid almost always fell into the food in the can, and I was ever careful taking it out so I didn’t cut myself, but I have now become quite adept at opening the can without the lid falling, and I have yet to cut myself.

That got me to wondering what I could live without. Obviously the electric can opener is one, but I’m hard -pressed to come up with much more. My pencil sharpener is an old one with blades, but that hardly counts. I do use use my broom to sweep the floors as the vacuum cleaner is down the cellar and is now too heavy for me to haul upstairs. I guess that counts.

I can’t come up with anymore. My creature conveniences are far too ingrained. I’m going to have to give this some thought.

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“The trees that have it in their pent-up buds To darken nature and be summer woods.”

July 21, 2011

The breeze this morning was cooling, but it is disappearing. The clouds periodically give way to the sun. The 74° we have now will soon be 80°, the lowest temperature for the next three days. I feel like a hermit, a cool, comfortable hermit but a hermit nonetheless. A friend is coming late this afternoon for cocktails which sounds so 1950ish that we both should be wearing Donna Reed ensembles complete with pearls and dainty shoes with pointed toes. I need a brick patio and a husband wearing an ascot.

My town had woods everywhere. The ones below my house weren’t very big, but they had blueberry bushes, the swamp and a wonderful old tree with a split trunk which served as a plank for the pirate ship and whatever else filled our imaginings. Once we found a tiny wooden shack made with boards of all different sizes. Inside were magazines some of which had naked women. We didn’t go back there for the longest time, and when we did, the shack was gone. All that was left were a few boards. A water tower was at the top of a hill at one edge of the woods. We always wanted to climb the tower, but we never did. A small outcrop of rocks surrounded one side of the tank. Once we’d reached the tower, we used to sit on the rocks and rest as if we’d climbed Mount Everest instead of a grassy hill which wasn’t very steep.

We’d move out of the woods to the field across the street and watch the horses and try to tempt them to us with grass but we weren’t ever successful. The closer we got, the further away they got.  Sometimes we’d hike to another set of woods to a pond where we’d once built a raft. We got the idea from Swiss Family Robinson. It sank on its maiden voyage.

We’d arrive home late in the afternoon. We were always grimy, sweaty and thirsty, the best signs of a great summer day.

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“Never run in the rain with your socks on.”

July 19, 2011

The front page of The Cape Cod Times said the heat is heading our way. Generally the ocean keeps us cooler than off cape, but by Thursday we’ll be in the high 80’s closing in on 90. I expect to hibernate inside with the air conditioner on. I have to go to Falmouth this afternoon so I’ll stop and pick up a few books on the way. I can’t imagine anything worse than hibernating with nothing to read.

We had thunder and lightning last night during the rain storm. Neither was all that dramatic, always a disappointment to me. I love loud storms with torrential downpours.

When I was a kid, we used to love to stay outside during a summer rainstorm, the plain old rainstorms without any dramatics. I remember the rain was always softer in summer and seemed to invite us outside. We’d splash each other from the puddles and run along the sidewalk gutters filled with water. My hair and clothes would get soaked, but I never minded.

Running through the sprinkler was the next best thing to a rainstorm. We’d jump over it with long strides and arms spread as if we were competing in an Olympic event. The bravest among us would stand beside the sprinkler and get pelted by the cold water as it circled. Arms would be held close, crossed over our chests, as if to ward off the cold. We’d take breaks and lie on towels spread on the grass in the sun until we were warmed then it was back to the sprinkler. Our dog, Duke, loved to stop the sprinkler with his paw to drink the cold water. We’d watch him hold a sprinkler arm, slurp his fill and think him the smartest of dogs.

The sprinklers which go round and round have disappeared. Many of us have irrigation systems, and the only sprinklers I see are long and have one bar which sends the water back and forth. That wouldn’t have been any fun.

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