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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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“Sometimes the most urgent thing you can possibly do is take a complete rest”

March 25, 2011

Today is beautifully sunny but still chilly. We’ll have the low 40’s for the next four or five days and the low 30’s and even the high 20’s at night. My birds have found the filled feeders, and I watched the chickadees for a while from my window here in the den.

I have come to the conclusion that I am not Wonder Woman. I drove my car on Tuesday from Falmouth, filled the bird feeders yesterday and last night went to our usual trivia night. I wouldn’t have minded the aching back when I left the Squire after the game but we were awful. We consoled each other by the fact we had won three weeks in a row, and this horrendous loss was our kind way of giving a new team the chance to shine. At least dinner was delicious. I started with hummus and then had a fish dinner.

Last night I woke up several times trying to find a way to be comfortable given my back pain. I had to keep pushing Fern off my hip. I hate it when she sleeps there but most times I’m too asleep to notice but not last night. Gracie ended up right beside me with her head on my shoulder. She barely moved every time I woke up. I slept late but it was an uneasy sleep.

My dance card is empty until Sunday with breakfast at the diner and dinner at my friends’ house where we’ll watch The Amazing Race together. Until then, I intend to remove my Wonder Woman bracelets, my lasso of truth and my tiara. They just don’t seem to match my sweatshirt and flannel pants though I do like those red boots.

Lois Lane was one of my heroes when I was kid. She sniffed out stories and was willing to risk everything for her by-line; of course, she knew Superman was never far away. I remember those suits and hats she always wore. Lois had the wardrobe of a businesswoman of the 50’s, and there were very few of those. Her hats were always ugly or at least I thought so. In my guest room I have a small collection of women’s hats from the 50’s and three of them could have been worn by Lois. Two of them have feathers standing straight up. My favorite is a black one with a red feather.

Well, it’s time to get off this chair and get comfy. I do love pampering myself.

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“Every spring is the only spring – a perpetual astonishment.”

March 23, 2011

The sky is white gray, and it’s cold outside. The paper said snow this evening and tomorrow, not much accumulation, but the mere thought of any bit of snow in late March is just beyond the pale. My father always said snow this time of year is poor man’s fertilizer, and that is about as optimistic as I can be with the weather prediction.

My back is hurting so today is a lazy day. My only chores are paying a few bills, watering the plants and refilling the feeders. I miss seeing my birds.

March always seemed the longest month to me even when I was a kid, and it feels the same to me still. We had only one day off from school, St. Patrick’s day, and no special events broke up the rest of the month. Most times the weather kept us inside after school, and I’d spend the time reading or we’d play games at the kitchen table until dinner. Only the Saturday matinee and church on Sunday broke up the week.

April has a magic about it. The air smells sweet, and the grass is a brighter green and soft to the touch. The garden is finally awake, flowers are blooming and the sun seems to shine every day. All of a sudden we too are bright with color. Pastels take over from the winter grays and dark blues and our ears feel the breeze and our hands stay warm even without gloves. Only at night does it feel chilly again, but by then we are warm and cozy inside the house tired from a day of school and from playing all afternoon.

I’m counting the days until April and eagerly awaiting that first warm day when I can sit on the deck, smell the sweetness of the air and close my eyes to listen to the sounds of spring.

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“That takes the cake”

March 22, 2011

My jubilant thoughts of spring have had to be modified just a bit. Yesterday it snowed. The flakes started as tiny aren’t they cute (facetiously said) then became thick wet flakes which left the grass with a white covering which quickly disappeared. It was cold. Today the sky has a glimmer of blue, and the sun is fighting its way out of the clouds. The paper says the 40’s for today and much the same the rest of the week.

My car is getting a new tire so I am housebound. It seems we both, the tire and I, picked up some screws. I got a chuckle out of that.

The house is just so quiet. The animals are having their morning naps, no cars have driven down the street and the wind of the last few days has finally stopped.

My sister went grocery shopping for me before she left. I had her buy Rice Krispies which I haven’t bought in years. All of a sudden I had a craving for cereal and snap, crackle and pop is my favorite. I also had her buy whole milk. The watery stuff just wouldn’t do. I remember the top of the milk under the cardboard tab always had a layer of cream when I was a kid. Licking the tab was almost as tasty as licking the beaters after my mother had made a cake and then whipped the frosting. Her mixer was one of those Sunbeam stand alone ones, and she kept it on the counter. When we cleaned out her house, we found it in the cellar cabinets. It hadn’t worked in years, but she didn’t part with it.

My father had bought it with some bonus points from work, and I remember the first time my mother used it. We all leaned on the counter over the bowl and watched as the beaters turned and mixed the ingredients. Even to my mother it seemed like a miracle. When the batter was ready for the cake pan, she emptied the bowl and gave us the beaters. Our tongues got the outside then reached into the middle to get the rest of the batter. We didn’t care that our faces were covered in batter. We had found a brand new treat we could fight over-four kids into two beaters!

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“There is nothing like staying at home for real comfort.”

March 21, 2011

Two weeks seems such a long time to be away. I’d have thought today, in commemoration of my return, would dawn with sunny bright skies, lots of warmth and blue birds flying around singing and tweeting in their prettiest voices. Well, it didn’t. The sky is light gray and it’s damp and chilly. Nothing outside looks at all inviting. I do need to fill the feeders, but that will be it for the day.

This last recuperation has been amazing. I was up and around almost immediately, and the story would be boring except for Friday, my discharge day. It was decided mid-morning I could leave, but no one was available to pick me up. My sister, who was supposed to, had a problem with her car. I asked if discharge could be delayed a few hours and was told no. The nurse said I had to leave regardless as my bed had already been given away and the paperwork was done. I asked if I could sit in the lobby until such time as I could get a ride. Nope. The social worker said I had to take the bus. The hospital would give me a chit for the cab and money for the bus. Don’t carry anything heavier than a phone book I was told which pretty much excluded my bag, but that made no difference and was ignored. The social worker gave me $16.00, not enough for the bus I told her. As I had not a cent of my own, that would have meant sitting and begging at the station. She told me she’d looked it up, but I had also done the looking and knew the amount. I called her and told her to check again. She said it was on the Greyhound site which it wasn’t. I sent her to the Plymouth and Brockton site where the bus rate was listed as $19.00 to Hyannis. She came back, gave me three dollars and wanted to know what happened to the days when people trusted one another. I was flabbergasted. Well, I was walked to the door and put into a cab, three days days after surgery. I got to the bus terminal and stood at the bottom of what seemed like a million stairs. I felt like an extra in a 30’s movie where heaven is in the clouds at the top of a huge flight of stairs and an angel, usually a guy, waits at a desk for the check-in. It took a while to get up those stairs without a banister for balance but I managed and got my ticket, walked to the gate and just about crawled up the bus stairs where the man in the first seat got up and offered his seat. I took it. During the ride, I slept on and off and don’t remember much. At Sagamore, the man beside me got off and when I stood, the lady behind said, Oh my God, you’re back.”

I made it to Barnstable where my friend Tony picked me up and drove me home. My nephew Michael greeted me with flowers and not long after that my sister arrived. It was close to 7, and I went up stairs to bed. I woke up on Saturday at 4:30 in the afternoon.

The week in between has been wonderful. My sister drove me anywhere I needed and waited on me. It was wonderful to come downstairs and be handed the papers and a cup of coffee. I could live like that.

Well, I am back (almost a pun here) for good. This surgery seemed to have worked. I guess the practice run helped.

Thanks again for hanging around and waiting. I’m just so happy to be writing Coffee again!!

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“My doctor gave me six months to live, but when I couldn’t pay the bill he gave me six months more.”

March 7, 2011

The wind howled all night. I could hear tree trunks moaning and creaking. Even now the wind is so strong tops of pine trees are swaying. Brown leaves at the tips of the branches blow sideways like flags. It sounds like a wind tunnel out there.

This will probably be my last posting for at least three days. Surgery is tomorrow, and I’m leaving at 6:40 to catch the bus to Boston. I hope you’ll be here even though I’m not. Keep Coffee going while I’m away. I love your comments, and you know you’re always welcome to comment to each other. My iPad is coming with me just in case I’m feeling okay enough to check e-mails or even post. I’m hoping this surgery, which is really the other one all over again, will have a quicker recovery time.

When I was growing up, we never saw doctors unless something was wrong. I remember only three doctor’s visits until I was in college. One visit got me stitches when I fell down the stairs, another got me checked for a heart murmur and the last one told me I had allergies which I really had already figured out. My mother was of the generation that avoided doctors. When she visited my sister one year just after Christmas, she was coughing constantly. My sister dragged her to the doctor’s who diagnosed pneumonia. That was my mother’s first visit since my sister’s birth close to fifty or so years before that. Dentists fell into the same category. Only a toothache meant an appointment though I did see an orthodontist for my braces.

My sisters and I have broken with tradition. I even joke about my stable of doctors:  my primary, my cardiologist, my allergist-asthma doctor, my optometrist and a couple of others hanging around, but I only see them every five years or so. My dentist jokes with me about the yacht I’ve financed with my crowns and caps. Him I see every six months when he drops in to say hello during my teeth cleaning. Even Gracie gets her once a year well dog visit.

Well, I have a list of stuff to do today so I’d better get in gear. Stay in touch!

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From the dog’s point of view, his master is an elongated and abnormally cunning dog.

March 6, 2011

Today is warm despite the breeze and sunny with blue skies. I haven’t been able to say that in a long while. Gracie and her dog pal, Cody, are playing in the backyard. Cody lives down the street, and when he is let him out, he runs right here to play. When they’re done and banging on the dog door, I’ll open my front door, and Cody will run right home. Gracie will be panting with her tongue hanging.

I have a list for today and tomorrow to get ready for Tuesday when I’ll be taking the 7:10 bus to Boston. I have to report at 9:30 for surgery at 11:30. Coffee will then be on hiatus until I get home. My pet sitter will move in on Tuesday.

When I was a kid, our dog Duke used to stay at my grandparents’ house if we went away. They were not animal people, especially not Duke people. If they let him out, he’d head back to our house, several blocks away. He just knew where to go. My grandfather would drive up and fetch Duke, and after doing that a few times, he’d end up tying Duke outside. One time Duke was uptown and happened to find my grandmother. Those were the days when dogs roamed all over the place, no leash laws anywhere. Duke followed her from store to store though she tried several times to shoo him away. I guess she didn’t know how stubborn Boxers can be. Duke followed her into Woolworth’s where he lifted his leg on the comic books. The manager demanded payment for the ruined comics. My grandmother told him the truth, “He is not my dog.”

Duke is the reason I always have Boxers. He was a great dog. He always made us feel safe, and he’d growl at anyone walking around outside the house. Once he nearly went through the screen screen door at someone on the sidewalk by my house. Another time he did jump out of the car window while we were stopped at a red light. My father pulled over, jammed on the brakes and took to the chase. Luckily someone saw what has happening and grabbed the fleeing Duke.

Gracie is a brindle just as Duke was and, like Duke, has a tendency to take flight if given the chance. Luckily, Gracie heads down to my friends’ house, and they capture her. She is far less stubborn than Duke was, and other than taking off, she lets me be the alpha dog in the house.

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“Just around the corner in every woman’s mind – is a lovely dress, a wonderful suit, or entire costume which will make an enchanting new creature of her.”

March 5, 2011

The sun is on hiatus, and the wind makes the day feel colder than it is. I was going to the St. Patrick’s Day parade but remembered I have a movie date with a friend for the 2:10 show so I decided to hang around until then. I was on the deck earlier surveying the yard and Gracie was with me. She got up on the lounge chair. I figured she’s practicing for her summer naps. Poor Gracie has a long wait.

A few of the daffodils have buds, and I wanted to do a happy dance when I saw them. The buds are on the side of the house which gets the most sun. I think they are a hopeful sign.

Last night we watched the Red Sox play the Yankees in a spring training game. The starting pitcher and catcher were the only stalwarts. Most of the other players will be in AAA Pawtucket this year, but I knew many of them as they had spent some time with the Sox last summer when injuries decimated the team. It was so good to watch baseball, to  see a green infield and to hear the cracks of the bats. Summer can’t be all that far away. In case you were wondering, the Sox won.

I used to wear girls’ blue jeans when I was little. The zipper was in the pocket. They were denim, but I always thought them a lesser breed than boys’ dungarees. We always wore canvas sneakers as our play shoes. My brother wore boys’ sneakers. They were always Converse black high tops, but nobody called them that back then. They were just sneakers. Girls’ sneakers came in all sorts of colors, had narrow toes and were only ankle high. I always wore socks with my sneakers. I don’t remember ever wearing a sweatshirt back then. My brother had some. None had hoods. I wore sweaters as did every other girl my age. We wore dresses to all the big events and to church on Sunday. Slacks were worn for informal events. They were never called pants, just slacks. I don’t ever remember wearing sandals, and I know my brother and his friends would never have worn them. They’d have thought them sissy. During the summer, I wore shorts. My brother never did. It was that sissy thing again. He always wore his dungarees with a short sleeve jersey, his only wardrobe concession to summer. Boys wore shirts. Girls wore blouses. They didn’t look the same. Boys’ shirts had buttons on the opposite side of where girls’ blouses had buttons. I don’t know why, but it seems silly to me even now.

I wear sandals all summer and hooded sweatshirts around the house all winter. My pants have zippered fronts and I seldom wear a dress. I don’t know if its sartorial progress or not. I just know it’s far more comfortable being a girl than it used to be.

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“We are indeed much more than what we eat, but what we eat can nevertheless help us to be much more than what we are.”

March 4, 2011

When the sun is bright, I am easily duped into thinking the day is warm. It isn’t, but I’ll accept being easily duped. Looks like the birds need their feeders filled. I’ll bundle up a bit later and go out on the deck with my bag of sunflower seeds.

Tonight is chili night while we watch The Amazing Race from last Sunday when we watched the Oscars instead. The chili is cooking and will cook all day long. I’ve  some corn bread and toppings to serve with it. I haven’t made my guacamole yet and won’t until just before my friends come. The only thing left is the dessert, and I have no idea what we’ll be having yet.

Italian and Chinese were the most exotic foods my mother served us. That was a good thing as we probably would have turned our noses up at most other foods. She started us out with American chop suey, not at all related to its Chinese cousin, but it was her way of sneaking bean sprouts into our diet. Later we’d order out at the China Moon. It was until my two years in Africa that I was introduced to all sorts of exotic, strange foods.

I ate Indian food at the Maharajah. It was near High Street and was on the top floor of a retail building. The walls went only halfway up so we could hear the hustle and bustle from the street below us. We sat on cushions, and I thought the restaurant was the most one exotic one I’d ever seen. There were lots of red cushions and curtains and tassels. I don’t even remember what I ate, but I must have enjoyed it as I still like Indian food. Hummus, tabbouleh and falafel were next, and it was a good thing I didn’t know anything about them because the mere mention of chickpeas would have put me off. I still like my hummus the way it was served at Tahal’s in Accra: a ring of hummus on a flat plate with sesame oil in the middle and red pepper in a ring around the outside of the hummus.

I ate food from the street vendors. Lots of times I didn’t know what I was eating, and I knew not to ask. I decided if it tasted good, that was enough. I have made Ghanaian food here for my friends to taste, but that was a long time ago. I am hankering for some kelewele and jollof rice. Maybe that will be my next offering. Luckily my friends are adventurous and will try most anything. They too have learned not to ask what is in any dish I serve.

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