Archive for the ‘Musings’ category

« home page
« Older Entries
Newer Entries »

“Being frightened is an experience you can’t buy.”

October 22, 2010

The morning is cold, and the wind is brisk. The weatherman says the cold will be here for a couple of days. A blanket is permanently on my bed. The windows are kept closed. The deck is bleak, its furniture covered and everything else put away. I can see my neighbors’ houses again through bare branches. Around the house I wear my warm slippers and a sweatshirt. I’m quickly getting into winter mode.

Yesterday in the late afternoon we had a thunder shower. The rain came and went quickly. First it got really dark then came giant drops pelting the house and roof. Gracie raced inside and shook the rain off her fur. I sat in the dark for a while and listened to the thunder. It’s one of my favorite sounds. The storm was spent in about twenty minutes and the sun reappeared.

As a little kid, I loved feeling scared, surprised by the unexpected. It was different than being afraid because scared was fun. It was a haunted house display at Halloween when a creature jumped out waving its arms and screaming boo. We used to love to scare each other. We’d hide behind the house or a tree and jump out and yell. No one ever admitted to being scared, but we were. It always made us laugh afterwards, mostly in relief.

I remember being home when my parents went grocery shopping. If I heard strange noises, I’d stop and listen and sometimes get afraid. Once I even took to hiding under my bed. When I got older, after having seen too many horror movies, I found out it was the first place a murderous creature would look. The closet was a close second. Once I yelled at the noise. “Hello, anyone there?” I figured bravado would scare it away. My father answered. He was at the front door with the groceries, and I had heard him fumbling at the doorknob. He scared the heck out of me.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , ,

Comments: 12 Comments

“Morning is the fresh page of nature.”

October 21, 2010

The day is beautiful, but the cold settles in tonight, down in the 30’s, and the next few days will be chilly.

There is something about mornings. Sunlight angles into my house from the front, and a beam of light shines on the floor below the door where the cats settle into the warmth. The air smells clean. Mornings are cooler. The sun has yet to have its way with the day. Dew makes the grass glisten and frost makes it crunch underfoot. When I get the papers on a cold morning, the first steps outside take my breath away. I used to be a night person, up all hours, but now I savor the mornings. I read my papers and drink my coffee and leisurely start the day.

Crisp fall mornings are my favorites. I remember walking to school. The sidewalk near the baseball fields had no trees to protect it, and a cold wind always blew across and made us run from there to the sidewalk beyond the railroad tracks, the part sheltered by tree branches and the houses along one side. I remember leaves strewn across the sidewalk. They were wet from the dew and clung to the walk. Yellow is the color I remember the most.

No matter where I travel, I love the early mornings. It’s when the tourists are all asleep and the world goes about its business. Store owners unfurl awnings or unlock gates and market women set up their wares. Trucks rumble on the streets and make deliveries. Nobody ever notices me. They’re too busy. I get to be a part of all I see.

Categories: Musings
Tags: ,

Comments: 8 Comments

“My childhood smells like a box of Crayola crayons.”

October 19, 2010

‘Tis a dreary day, cloudy and still. Last night was cold and some of it has lingered into the morning. Gracie’s coat feels chilly when she comes inside the house. Weekdays are quiet in my neighborhood.

My crayons were kept in a cigar box. The inside top and sides of the box were a panoply of colors. My crayons ranged from full size to barely big enough to hold. I never threw crayons away. I just couldn’t. I’d tear off the paper as they got smaller and smaller and then choose by hue rather than name. Every Christmas we’d find a familiar green and yellow box in our stockings. Nothing but Crayola Crayons would do. Any others were mere imitators. I liked it when the box came with a sharpener. Crayons with points made it easier to stay in the lines. I always thought white was a wasted color. I couldn’t see it on the coloring book page, and I had to run my finger over the spot to feel the crayon marks. The Christmas coloring books always had lots of pages of Santa with his white beard and his red suit trimmed in white, and I’d use my white crayon for the sake of my art.

By the time my Christmas crayons had become mere stubs, I’d get a new box in my Easter basket. Easter coloring books were my favorites. The eggs could be one or even multi-colored. The Easter Rabbit always wore a short jacket and most times I’d color it blue. I think the reason was the Peter Rabbit influence.

The biggest box of Crayola crayons was 64 when I was a kid. It had neat colors like forest green and, one of my personal favorites, raw umber, which no longer exists in a crayon box. Legions of kids will no longer know the color of umber.

I have some sets of crayons. One is a commemorative set of all the colors, including those retired over time. Raw umber is there along with lemon yellow and maize. That box is a keepsake, a piece of my childhood.

For Halloween this year, I am giving out boxes of crayons. I never give out candy; kids get enough of it everywhere else. The box is a small one with just five crayons, but five colors are enough to fill in just about any page in a coloring book.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , ,

Comments: 14 Comments

“All autobiography is self-indulgent.”

October 18, 2010

The day is a bit chilly but beautiful. The sun is brilliant and glints off everything. Tonight is supposed to be in the high 30’s. That’s downright cold. It’s winter nibbling on fall.

It is amazing how blank my mind is right now. I have started about four different paragraphs and none led anywhere. I was going to give a run-down of the week, but tonight and dinner with friends is my only social event. I have to grocery shop, but that doesn’t count. Next, I had an inspiration. I’ll talk about colors and seasons. I got as far as summer and the world bursting with color then I lost interest. I knew winter would be a problem. A flicker was at the feeder, the first one I’ve seen in awhile, but that one sentence said it all. English grammar even reared its ugly head, but I figured I’d lose most people at the mere mention of an objective complement. I have written almost endlessly about my childhood, and there are probably hundreds of amusing anecdotes I haven’t mentioned, but right now nothing comes to mind. I’m spending more time looking out the window than at the keys.

I have no favorite color or lucky number. I have never been superstitious. I believe more in the existence of extraterrestrials than I do in the existence of ghosts. Reading is one of my all time favorite ways to spend time. I like to do crossword puzzles. If I could always dress in my coziest clothes, I would. I’m not one for frou-frou. I don’t like cruises, but I’d go down the Nile, the Amazon or the Chobe if I got the chance. The first time I flew over the Sahara and the flight over the Andes are my two favorite views from a plane. I love trains and have ridden on some wild rides. The train from Quito to Guayaquil was the wildest. I wish I spoke several languages. I can survive in Spanish and just barely in French where I’m best at ordering food. Pomme frites and bifteck with a side of harigots verts were always a fallback. I send postcards when I travel. Christmas shopping is an all year event with me. I hate olives.

Okay, that’s it for today, a thumbnail sketch of me now.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , ,

Comments: 12 Comments

” I once walked in on the queen wearing her crown and pink, fluffy slippers.”

October 17, 2010

The morning is cold. The sky is deep blue, the sunlight sharp. Last night the wind was fierce and loud, but today is quiet and still. Many of the trees are now bare, and the ground is strewn with leaves. My front yard is speckled with pine needles. Fall is losing its grip.

The house is always chilly in the morning. The sun just isn’t enough anymore. I turn on the heat to warm the house then I turn it off again. It’s just too early in the season for the heat to be blasting.

I was a pajama sort of kid, never one for nightgowns as they never kept me warm enough. My favorite winter pajamas were a matching set made of heavy jersey with cuffs at the wrists and ankles. They made me feel cozy all over, except for my feet. Those were kept toasty warm in sock slippers. Every Christmas I’d find a new pair of sock slippers under the tree. They were always brown. I used to love the scuffing sound they make on the floor when I walked. My mother didn’t. Last year my sister gave me a pair, and when I opened them, I felt like a kid again. Those too were brown.

Now I wear a sweatshirt around the house which keeps me nice and warm. Most times it’s an old one which is pretty ratty, but that’s okay with me. I’m into warmth, not fashion. Flannel pants and slippers complete my winter ensemble. My slippers make scuffing noises on the floor when I walk.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , ,

Comments: 12 Comments

“Peanut butter is the pâté of childhood.”

October 16, 2010

The day has little to commend it. It’s cold, windy and raw. The heat is not on steadily yet and is set for 64°, but on this chilly morning it started by itself before I even got out of bed. I was loathe to leave my warm covers, but Miss Gracie wanted out, and I figured a cup of hot coffee made going downstairs almost worthwhile. The feeders need filling so I’ll bundle up later, go out and make my birds happy. Yesterday a flicker dropped by and ate his weight in sunflower seeds.

Our house was small though I suspect four kids would have made even a bigger house seem small. In the kitchen, the stove was narrow, and the table and chairs barely had room against the wall, and you had to maneuver in and out sideways. I remember the back screen door was green. The fridge was next to the back door. We’d open it and stand there trying to decide what we wanted, and that drove my parents crazy. My father would yell we were letting all the cold air out. In the summer all that cold air felt good. My mother shopped once a week, usually on a Friday night after my father got home. By Tuesday, all the cookies were gone, except for the stuff we couldn’t touch, the stuff for school lunches. We’d complain there was nothing good to eat, but my mother was never sympathetic. We were the ones who ate it all. Oreos were our favorite cookies. My sisters used to open theirs, eat the middles then feed the cookie parts to the dog. I always ate the plain side first then slowly savored the frosting side. I still like Oreos.

Peanut butter is one of the best all time foods. We always thought of it as a snack food, not one for school lunches. We’d make a peanut butter and marshmallow or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. My mother usually bought grape jelly which had a tendency to ooze out the sides of the bread, and you had to be quick to catch it before it fell. Sometimes we’d eat Saltines with peanut butter. They were a great snack for TV watching. I’m still a peanut butter fan.

My mother never bought much cheese when we were kids, and whatever she bought was always yellow. For years I thought cheese came only in yellow and was from a box. It was quite a surprise to find not only did cheese come in colors but it also came in flavors. I love all sorts of cheeses, except blue, and I have to admit I still use Velveeta. It makes the best Mexican cheese dip.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , ,

Comments: 13 Comments

“Hearing nuns’ confessions is like being stoned to death with popcorn.”

October 15, 2010

Last night I opened my bedroom window so I could fall asleep to the sound of the rain. I heard the wind and I heard the raindrops tapping on the overhang near my window. It was a lovely way to drift off to dreamland.

The day has yet to make up its mind. Should I be sunny or cloudy?

Yesterday I put the storm door on the front. While I was retrieving it from the cellar, I happened upon a dead mouse. By the looks of it, the mouse had met its heavenly reward a while back. I’m figuring Maddie was the mighty hunter. Fern is the queen who sleeps on a couch pillow.

I used to moan and groan when my mother woke me up for school. Nothing is worse than being torn from a warm bed, forced to eat lumpy oatmeal and made to walk to school in all weather. A kid’s lot is a tough one.

Nobody does well sitting in the same place most of the day, especially if it’s a confining desk, but the nuns kept us in line, mostly from fear of both them and our parents. I don’t ever remember a kid acting up in class. Whispering was the extent of our misbehavior, and you had to do that just right or risk wrath. You ducked your head behind the person in front of you and used a mixture of whispers and hand signals to get your message across while at the same time keeping an eye on the nun in front. Short messages had the best chances of success.

If you got away with it, talking in class was a deed worthy of song, one to be remembered in the annals of time and to be reenacted over and over during recess.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , ,

Comments: 10 Comments

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

October 14, 2010

The summer is gone. The irrigation system has been turned off, the outside shower closed and most of the furniture on the deck covered. The backdoor already has the storm door on and later today I’ll do the front. Though the days are still in the 60’s, the nights are chilly, in the 40’s. I snuggle under a blanket to stay warm, and the animals sleep close to me. The house is cold in the morning. Winter inches closer and closer.

The birds are fewer. Gone are the orioles and the goldfinches. The sky is sometimes filled with flocks flying elsewhere, somewhere warmer, but the chickadees, nuthatches and titmice will stay all winter. From my window, I’ll watch them at the feeders. Birds seem hopeful to me. They know winter doesn’t last forever so they’ll stay around and abide the cold knowing spring will return in all its glory.

My house is decorated for Halloween. It has the usual grinning jack-o-lanterns and witches, but it also has monsters and rats. Dracula, Frankenstein and his Mrs., the Creature from the Black Lagoon, the Mummy and the Wolfman adorn my mantle, though I suspect adorn isn’t quite the right word. A few rats with beady eyes sit on tables. They’re my favorites because they’re so unexpected.

When I was a little kid, my friends and I always asked each other what we were going to be for Halloween. For that one night, we would be witches, ghosts, pirates or whatever else we could dream to be. Our neighbors always wanted to know who we were behind those masks. We didn’t tell. We were the unknown spirits of the night. We’d even change the sound of our voices. Ghosts said boo and waved their shrouded arms; pirates threw around words like matey and plank while witches cackled. We were, for that one night, our imaginations. That was even more fun than the candy.

Categories: Musings
Tags: ,

Comments: 8 Comments

“Look! It’s moving. It’s alive. It’s alive… It’s alive, it’s moving, it’s alive, it’s alive, it’s alive, it’s alive, IT’S ALIVE!”

October 12, 2010

Today is dark and rainy. It’s a stay in sort of day. I’m thinking old black and white science fiction movies might be perfect to while away the day. I already know the plot. Strange creatures will attack, some terrestrial, some extraterrestrial. Our heroine will run away screaming. She’ll be wearing a dress and high heels, and she’ll fall. Heroines always do. Our hero will grab her just in time, just before the creature does. He’ll save her and he’ll save the day.

Every Halloween I pull out the old horror movies, the monsters of my childhood, Dracula, Frankenstein, the Wolfman and the Mummy. They didn’t need to be in color or have gore. They scared me anyway.

I’ll never forget the eyes of Dracula in his guise as the count. They looked huge and frightening shining in the light. Even though I never saw Dracula bite his victims, I knew what was happening when he pulled his cape around them. What I imagined was always scarier than what was real. Renfield with his hysterical laughter and his flies and spiders was almost as fascinating as the count, maybe because he had once been just an ordinary person.

I always felt bad for the Wolf Man. I thought of the character as poor Larry Talbot. I never liked that Gypsy woman who tells Larry he’s a werewolf. She was almost scarier than the wolf. It was the eyes again.

I have favorite scenes in Frankenstein. One is when he is awakened by the electricity, when the current goes up and down the coil and the lightening strikes. The scene with the little girl is another. The mob running through the village holding torches and leading dogs to hunt down the monster is my all time favorite scene.

The Mummy is not so scary, but I love it anyway especially the scenes where Im-ho-tep walks with his arms out straight and his wrappings dragging as he hunts for his beloved.

When I was little, I knew the movies weren’t real, but I still had a nagging doubt and always hoped it wouldn’t be a werewolf attacking us. We’d never find a silver bullet.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , ,

Comments: 6 Comments

“The life so short, the crafts so long to learn.”

October 11, 2010

The day is beautiful with a warm sun and an azure sky, but autumn is losing its hold. The nights are chilly, even cold. I put an afghan on my bed. It’s enough for now, but barely. Gracie cocooned herself this morning; she pushed the spread and afghan to the bottom of the bed and surrounded herself in covers. She is my harbinger of cold weather and the coming of winter.

I don’t have a single thing to do today. I think I’ll go out for a bit and meander with the dog. She likes a ride as much as I do.

When I was a little kid, we colored Easter eggs and made Christmas ornaments every year. My mother used to put newspaper on the table and we’d sit there and be creative. For Christmas, my mother used to save all sorts of scraps of cloth and ribbon and a box of assorted buttons she’d put out for us to use. Elmer’s glue was essential and messy, and our fingers used to stick in the scissors’ finger holes. Our finished ornaments were never pieces of art, but it didn’t mattered. My mother always hung them on the tree anyway. Coloring Easter eggs wasn’t all that messy. My mother would put out small bowls on the table with different colored dyes. We’d use spoons to dip and then dip the eggs again. There wasn’t much more to it than that, but those eggs looked beautiful in a basket of green grass.

Last year my friends and I started doing crafts before some of the holidays. We decorated skulls for Día de los Muertos, carved pumpkins for Halloween, made floats for Mardi Gras, folded origami for Chinese New Year, colored eggs for Easter and iced individual gingerbread houses for Christmas. It was so much fun we’re going to add holidays and different crafts this year. For Halloween we’ll be making scary clothespin figures like Frankenstein, a witch and a bat. I’m already looking forward to it. I even ordered two bottles of glue. I know how messy we get.

Categories: Musings
Tags:

Comments: 13 Comments

« Older Entries
Newer Entries »