Archive for the ‘Musings’ category

“There are no extra pieces in the universe. Everyone is here because he or she has a place to fill, and every piece must fit itself into the big jigsaw puzzle.”

September 12, 2010

The house was only 65° when I woke up this morning. I hunted through the top layer on my closet floor, the summer layer, until I found my slippers. I can never feel warm with cold feet. I am now comfy and cozy.

Last night we had dinner on the deck and watched a movie. It was cold out, but the chiminea fire helped keep us warm most of the evening. Close to the end of the movie, though, after the wood had burned down, we started feeling the cold, the mid-50’s cold. Sadly, last night may have been the deck’s swan song until next summer, and I will dearly miss it. I spent more time on the deck than in the house. Summer passes too quickly.

I slept in this morning, far later than usual. Fern and Gracie stayed with me. Neither seemed all that anxious to leave their warm human. Both were sleeping right next to me. We all must have instinctively known today is not a pretty day. It is overcast and chilly.

Jigsaw puzzles are a favorite of mine. I started young with huge pieces in an eight piece puzzle and worked my way up to the larger puzzles. My favorite size is 500 pieces because the finished puzzle fits perfectly on my table. My mother used to have one in process on the dining room table, and everyone, on the way to the kitchen, always stopped to try and add a piece. I gave my mother a new puzzle every Christmas, and my sister continues the tradition. She gives me one in my stocking. Last year it was snowmen. I enjoy doing the puzzle while watching TV. It’s a perfectly fine way to spend an evening.

“Plunk Your Magic Twanger, Froggy!”

September 11, 2010

It’s that time of year when inside the house stays cooler than outside, when the waning warmth of the morning sun can’t compete with the chill of the evening. Last night I shut the windows. I’m figuring that’s a metaphor.

I have friends coming for dinner tonight, and they are hoping for a movie. I advised sleeping bags, down comforters and dressing in layers. Maybe we’ll watch The Day After Tomorrow. That too could be a metaphor.

I don’t think I ever had a favorite pair of shoes when I was a kid. If I needed a new pair, my mother would drag me to the shoe store where I’d play around while she looked. I’d use the silver sliding sizer to check my foot size, put my foot into the x-ray machine to see my bones and pick shoes off the racks and try them on, size notwithstanding. Meanwhile, my mother would shop. She looked for shoes which fit the family budget and would wear well. Buster Brown shoes were a favorite of hers. They were for me too but only because they were the sponsors of Andy’s Gang, one of my favorites on Saturday Mornings. I remember the commercials where Buster spoke from inside the shoe, “This is my dog Tige, he lives in a shoe, I’m Buster Brown, look for me in there, too.” I was always proud to carry home a box of Buster Brown shoes.

Because all our shoes were tie shoes, learning to tie the laces was a rite of passage and a necessity before starting school. My mother taught me. I still remember her sitting in the chair by the picture window while I knelt on the floor beside the arm of her chair. She took a shoe and slowly, one step at a time, showed me how to tie it. My fingers took a while to work. They fumbled with the loops, and I lost them several times, but my mother was patient. We did it over and over until I finally tied the shoe. The knot was loose, but it is still one of my greatest triumphs.

“Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting and autumn a mosaic of them all.”

September 10, 2010

The morning is breezy and chilly, and the sun, in its fall course, has drifted away from the deck so I read my papers inside this morning. I missed the deck and all its comings and goings, but from my perch here by the window, I can still watch the birds at one of the feeders. The sun is bright but not warm. It peeks in and out from behind a couple of clouds. The rest of the sky is a deep blue. It is an autumn day, no denying it.

The end of summer brings a sameness to my life. It’s happens every year. It’s just a fact, an unlamented fact. Life quiets down and loses some spontaneity. The weather gets colder, and the deck becomes a desolate place in winter. I venture outside only to fill the feeders. Chairs and tables are covered. The candles are stored away in bins. The aroma of basil from the deck planters is no longer borne on the breeze.

With the change in season, the house becomes my refuge from the cold. I stay by myself more. I plan trips I may never take. It’s the planning I enjoy. I read, sometimes all day. Nothing is better than a book you just can’t put down. Some days I stay in flannel cozies and slippers. I nap on the couch under a warm, comfy afghan. I feel content with my lot. It’s far different than summer but no less satisfying.

I’m sorry to see the summer go as it was a grand one, but I’m just fine with the coming of fall, and I don’t really mind winter all that much. It’s that sameness I mentioned. It’s comfortable in the cold.

“Activity conquers cold, but stillness conquers heat”

September 9, 2010

The other day I read an article where a woman of 65 was described as old. I was taken aback because I remember wanting to be old. I remember wanting to be sixteen. It seemed the perfect age. You could drive at sixteen, go to the movies at night and even sit in the balcony. Streetlights no longer set a curfew. I could go to bed when I wanted, and I wasn’t forced to eat vegetables. Life was getting more and more interesting. It’s funny how age becomes relative over time.

Air conditioning is being installed today. Most summers have been tolerable, but this summer was so humid that even reading a book caused me to sweat, and I refuse to go through that again. I wanted the air installed earlier, but it seems a huge number of people had also reached their boiling points, and I had to wait my turn.

When our choices are limited, we seem to be far more tolerant. I didn’t even have a fan in Ghana, in Bolga, and it got so hot a candle melted without ever being lit. I’d stand up from my living room chair and the imprint of my body would be left  in sweat on the upholstery. I went to bed still dripping from my shower so the air and water would cool my body enough so I could fall asleep. I never complained. That was life in Bolga.

I have been back here far too long. I am now spoiled. My expectations are grand. I don’t need to be hot. I don’t need to be cold. Every discomfort has a solution.

“I’m not going to buy my kids an encyclopedia. Let them walk to school like I did.”

September 7, 2010

On my way to an early morning meeting, I saw mothers on the corners waiting with their kids for the elementary school bus. I was reminded of my first days of school, especially grammar school.

There were only eight first days of grammar school, a small number, but those eight days had so many different feelings attached. I remember regret for the end of summer, for the end of days filled with fun and adventure, but I also remember excitement, getting to wear new clothes and new shoes and finally getting to use my new schoolbag with the pencil box and crayons tucked inside. Walking to school, I’d carry my lunchbox with one hand, and it would sway back and forth as I walked. Getting closer to school meant getting nervous. I always wondered which teacher I’d get. There was always a good one and a bad one. I remember running into the school yard waving and shouting at my school friends, and I remember the bell. When it rang, we formed our two by two lines  and we walked into the school one grade at a time. The nuns walked with us. That part never changed year to year.

I had forty seven total first days of school. I remember fear, nerves and excitement the first few days of my freshman year in college, and I remember being really nervous, butterflies in my stomach nervous, my very first days of teaching ever, both here and in Ghana. After that, first days were nothing extraordinary though I did wear new shoes and a new outfit. Some traditions were worth continuing.

This is the seventh school year without me. I didn’t have to buy new shoes or new clothes, and I didn’t have to set my alarm for 5:15. It’s still summer for me and it will continue to be summer no matter how cold it gets.

“Take rest; a field that has rested gives a bountiful crop.”

September 6, 2010

Movie night was last night  and it was chilly. Clare bundled, Gracie slept on her afghan, Tony wore a hat and I wore a sweatshirt. We ate appetizers for dinner, enough for a whole theater full of people, and we watched Raiders of the Lost Ark, a movie none of us had seen in a long time. It was fun.

I still think of today as the end of summer. When I first moved to the cape, there was no extended season. The day after Labor Day the motels closed, Route 28 was dark and Main Street in Hyannis had two way traffic again. The cape had been returned to us. Now, the season extends to Columbus Day weekend. Tour buses filled with old people, older than I people, roam the main roads. They stop at Cuffy’s to buy Cape Cod sweatshirts and at the Christmas tree shops to buy bagfuls of bargains. Motels are filled on weekends. Main Street in Hyannis is always one way. It’s not my Cape yet.

When I was young, I always wondered why nobody worked on Labor Day. It seemed a contradiction. No-Labor Day would have been my suggestion for a name. I knew nothing of the history of the day. I knew all about Memorial Day, July 4th, Columbus Day and all the other single day holidays, but Labor Day was a mystery, and I didn’t care. It wasn’t my favorite holiday. I just thought of it as the day before school started.

Now that I know Labor Day pays tribute to the contributions and achievements of American workers, I don’t think one day is enough.

“We could never have loved the earth so well if we had had no childhood in it.”

September 5, 2010

Days like today usually come only in novels or in movies enhanced by special effects. The sun is bright and piercing, the air warm in the sunlight. A breeze blows the branches and shakes the leaves. It’s a beautiful day.

I can see and feel the coming of fall.  The shadows on the deck have moved, have shifted with the sun. The nights are sweatshirt cold. I stayed inside this morning for coffee and the papers. The sun hadn’t yet warmed the deck. I missed my morning ritual, but I’ll have the sun in the afternoon.

When I was a kid, life was simple. The weather was warm or cold, dry or rainy. Days were school days or weekend days. Saturday was for fun, Sunday for church and family. I had play clothes, school clothes and Sunday clothes. I had two of pairs of shoes, one for playing in and the other for wearing to school and church. I had few boundaries or limits. Streetlights were one. Time was a number for me, hands on a clock. I didn’t understand it had significance beyond the moment. My life was in small chunks, and I only looked as far as a day or two. The worst things in life were eating vegetables, getting up to go to school, doing homework and going to bed too early. I did have all sorts of dreams. By the time I was eleven, I knew I’d travel. I never thought about the when or the what. I just knew I would. Being a kid was easy.

This blog gives me a chance to remember.

“September: it was the most beautiful of words, he’d always felt, evoking orange-flowers, swallows, and regret.”

September 4, 2010

Earl was a blustery tropical storm bringing a deluge of rain by the time it hit Cape Cod. The wind blew but not even the bird feeders were tossed from the trees. I stood for a while at the front door and watched the storm. The rain fell in sheets, and I could feel the spray from drops pounding the front steps. Gracie chose to forego her last outside visit. She got to the door, poked her head out and backtracked into the house. I am glad there was no damage, and everyone is safe, but I do admit I was looking forward just a bit to all that wind.

Today is a delight. The sun is shining, and a cool breeze has replaced the humidity of the last few days. The tourists who hunkered down will have plenty of beach time today and tomorrow. It’s their reward for staying. On Monday, the line to cross the bridge will stretch for miles.

School starts here on Tuesday. It is the seventh school year without me, and I couldn’t be more delighted. The best Cape weather is during September and October, and I never miss it anymore. The changing seasons happen before my eyes, and I get a front row seat. I used to watch through the windows.

I never thought the Cape had fall foliage until I came home from Ghana. It was then I noticed for the first time the colors unfolding and how uniquely beautiful they are on Cape Cod. The deep blue autumn sky and the crested waves of the ocean seem to frame all the colors. The marshes are filled with tall tan grasses and the same color grasses mix with green ones to border the dunes. The maple trees are usually the first to change color. Their leaves turn red. The oak tree leaves turn yellow, and they are everywhere. The cranberry bogs become a deeper and deeper red as they fill with berries. Along the dirt roads near the shore, the last of the ripe beach plums turn purple. Poison ivy is a brilliant red.

Fall on Cape Cod is my favorite season, and I am impatiently waiting.

“Well, if you can’t be happy washing dishes, you’ll never be happy doing anything.”

September 3, 2010

The morning is quite humid and really still; nothing is moving in the thick air. It’s almost eerie. I’ve been watching the weather, and Earl will here late this afternoon, but he seems to be losing steam as he comes up the coast. The brunt of the storm will on the ocean side, east of us but close to Nantucket. I did a lot of preparation yesterday, but I still need to take down the bird feeders and turn over the chairs. I do need help with the palm tree so my friend Tony will be here later, but everything else is down and protected. The deck looks winter bare.

Yesterday I went and bought a few provisions, my kind of provisions. I bought quesadillas, dip, cheese, crackers and a Milky Way. I’m all set. At one counter, I stood next to an older woman who was laughing as she chose her provisions: a codfish dinner, a piece of summer lemon cake and some clam chowder. She said she wanted to ride out the storm in style.

Yesterday I washed dishes, one of my favorite mindless activities. All of a sudden I remembered our kitchen after dinner and my mother at the sink. The kitchen was quite small. The table was against the wall across from the back door. The sink was in the middle of the kitchen counter not all that far from the table. I used to do my homework at the kitchen table, a quiet place after dinner. The family, except for my mother and me, was in the living room with the TV. I remember studying to the sound of running water as my mother washed the dinner dishes. I’d sometimes look up from my books and watch her. She’d use a soapy dishrag to wash the dishes then rinse the soap off under the running water. I remember the sound of clinking dishes and silverware as my mother filled the dish strainer. We seldom said a word to one another, lost as were in each of our tasks. I do remember my mother standing there, but I remember the sounds most of all.

“Name the season’s first hurricane Zelda and fool Mother Nature into calling it a year.”

September 2, 2010

The heat wave continues. An early morning breeze which made the deck pleasant has disappeared. Although this room is the coolest in the house, I’ve already started sweating.

I’m watching the weather as I’m keeping an eye on Earl. The Cape and Islands are on a hurricane watch. We are 24-36 hours out, but Earl’s track seems to be getting closer. I took down all the candles from the trees and will clear more of the deck later. Also, I have to buy a few provisions as the larder is a bit empty. The good news is the weekend weather will be a delight, compliments of Earl.

I remember only one hurricane from when I was a kid, and it was a huge one. I was seven when hurricane Carol hit. Even then I found raging storms mesmerizing, and I remember standing at the picture window in the living room watching the tremendous wind blow the trees nearly to the ground. The rain fell sideways sometimes one way then the other. The house shook. The sound of the wind was tremendous. My mother kept telling me to stay away from the windows, but I just couldn’t. It was like I could feel the wind all through my body.

We heard the loudest crack, ran to the side window and saw the huge oak tree from across the street had broken in half. The top part, with all the branches, had fallen across the road. When the eye of the hurricane arrived, my dad took us so we could check out the tree. There was this eerie stillness outside, and I swear the world was a different color. I remember climbing through the branches and seeing the split trunk. It had been the biggest and oldest tree on the street.

The next day my dad drove us to the ocean so we could see the waves. They were still huge, even tremendous. They washed up and over the seawalls to the street which was covered in water. I wanted to feel the spray from the waves, but my dad wouldn’t stop. We were just one car in a line of cars slowly working  its way up the street as everyone gawked at the power of the wind even a day after the hurricane.