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“The trouble with retirement is that you never get a day off.”

July 14, 2010

We had rain last night, a quiet summer rain. It was a sit under the umbrella and listen sort of rain. It left today dark and damp and still with a gray sky which doesn’t forecast rain. The house feels closed in from the humidity. The rooms are dark. I almost want to whisper.

I have several errands today, and I know I’ll be a sweaty mess by the time I’m done. One of my errands has been a long time coming. My Peace Corps slides are going to be send to be digitalized. They were in old carousals for a projector long gone so I haven’t seen them in a while. I’m pretty excited. The rest of my errands are mundane, including a dump run. My days are often too exciting to describe in detail.

I’ve been toying with taking a day off each week from Coffee. The last day off was when I flew home from Colorado and the three before that were when I was in the hospital, a few years back. I probably would have posted then, but they didn’t allow computers. My friend Christer takes Wednesdays off, and it is the perfect day for me too as it is always a busy day with a play at night so this will be the last Wednesday posting until after Labor Day.

I feel a bit guilty about leaving you in the lurch.

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“If it’s tourist season, why can’t we shoot them?”

July 13, 2010

The hot and humid air mass just hangs over New England. The slightest movement makes me sweat, not a pleasant sight. The air conditioning at night gave me a cold which is now just about gone. I thought it was allergies, but it was too persistent. Maybe the dog huddling beside me every night should have been a hint.

Summer is hot and winter is cold. These are givens. People complaining when it is too hot and too cold are also givens. The weather seems to be the one thing we all share, a commonality. It is an ice breaker, a reason to chit chat in the grocery store line. “How about this weather?’ or my favorite, “Hot enough for you?”

One summer it rained every weekend and a few days each week. Even I felt bad for the tourists. I couldn’t imagined being stuck in a cottage with herds of children and no diversions. I pictured countless games of Monopoly, the most boring of all games. The movie theaters were so filled every rainy day that summer people were parking on the grass and across the street at the lumber yard. The roads were totally clogged with cars driven by harried parents hoping to find something to keep their kids busy and quiet. I would have suggested duct tape. It seems to work for just about everything.

Every day is a beach day this summer, and the tourists are delighted. I’m glad for them. Nothing makes me happier than to see jubilant tourists.

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“It is well to lie fallow for a while.”

July 12, 2010

The night was perfect with a small breeze so we had our very first movie night, and it was a fun evening. The set up was easy. The new table held the projector and the screen pulled open from the sides. All I had to do was load the movie and adjust the sound. The debut film was Jaws. When those familiar notes announced the shark at the beginning of the movie, we were almost giddy with anticipation. I got pinched when my friend Clare jumped at the sight of Ben Gardner’s face in the boat. We decided we’re going to have a movie night every week. I won’t sit near Clare.

The weather doesn’t allow for much activity. It is still hot and sticky. Sitting in a chair on the deck, drinking lemonade and reading is about as strenuous as I want to be all day. The book is already outside waiting.

I really don’t remember the heat when I was a kid even though I was busy every single day. In the mornings I was at the playground where I played checkers, horseshoes, a little tennis and did all sorts of crafts. I made countless potholders and gymp bracelets. Once I painted a tray. I remember because it was one of the best things I ever made. I was never really all that talented when it came to drawing or painting, and this was a masterpiece. The tray had flowers, red and white ones. I gave it to my mother. I went home for lunch every day then back to the playground in the afternoon. Once or twice a week, we played softball against the other playgrounds. I was a pitcher and a fearsome hitter.

Twice a week, from the time I was eleven, I had drill practice at night under the lights. The competitions were on the weekends, usually Saturday nights or Sunday afternoons. We competed in the CYO and Eastern Mass circuits. Bands and drum corps also competed at the same competitions. The fields were hot, always totally in the sun, as were the stands. I remember one of my friends fainted a few times during competitions. I think we just walked over her, not wanting the routine spoiled. She doesn’t remember. Good thing probably.

All I want is one sweatshirt day.

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“Vacation is what you take when you can’t take what you’ve been taking any longer.”

July 11, 2010

The movie got rained out last night. We had a tremendous storm which lasted only a short while but still drenched everything. Today we have a bit of sun, but the humidity is as bad as it’s been. Just sitting here typing makes me sweat. The movie is a maybe for tonight as there is still the possibility of afternoon thunderstorms. I wish the rain would clear the air.

I was never one wishing for summer during the cold of winter. I always say it is easier to get warm than it is to get cool. Being inside right now is stifling though outside doesn’t feel much cooler. I figure on spending a good part of the day in my bedroom in the air conditioning.

My muse is on vacation. I think she was driven away by the heat and humidity. It’s difficult to be creative when you’re sweating. I start thinking wonderful thoughts then in pops the I’m so hot I can’t stand it thought. All else is gone.

I want to be Samantha or Jeannie with the power to whisk me away to somewhere cool. I won’t be greedy, just for the day would be fine.

We’re calling today a mini-vacation brought on by heat and humidity and the lack of a cogent thought.

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“It is too humid to continue.”

July 10, 2010

The day is dark. It has rained a little, small drops which fell for only a while, disappeared for a bit then fell again. I was outside under the umbrella the whole time and stayed dry. I love the sound of the rain on the umbrella. In Ghana, I loved the sound of the rain on the tin roof. I’d sit on my porch under the overhang to watch the rain fall. It was all around me falling in heavy drops with a bit of lightning for drama. I’d listen to it hitting the roof over my head and never tire of the sound. Sometimes I wish I still had a tin roof.

I hope the rain doesn’t mean my first outdoor movie will have to be postponed.

The air is oppressive right now. It dulls sounds and curtails activity. Not a leaf moves in the thick humidity. I should be hearing lawn mowers and kids’ voices. All I hear are a few birds. It will be a day on the deck with a book and some cold drinks.

This week I lost track of the days. I thought yesterday was Saturday. That confusion happens every once in a while and comes from my not keeping a personal calendar any more. The computer is nice enough to give me a day’s notice if I have an appointment, but beyond that I’m on my own. It used to be I knew it was Sunday when The Amazing Race was on, and that was all I needed to help keep track. Now, baseball is on every night, no help there, but I don’t really care all that much. The day is mine to make of it as I want. That’s good enough.

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“If You Should Accidentally Tear A Speaker Off…”

July 9, 2010

Looking out the window you’d think what a lovely day. The sun is shining and the sky is blue with only a few clouds, but all that’s horribly deceiving. I sat outside with my ice coffee and my papers, did very little and still sweated. I wouldn’t have been surprised to hear,”I’m melting. I’m melting,” from a nearby house. It’s that muggy. It’s one of those feel grungy sort of days when two or three showers mightn’t be enough.

Tomorrow night is the dry run for my Movies on the Deck, just a couple of friends who won’t mind if there are glitches. I want to make sure I can easily set-up and work the projector and the popcorn machine. With the sightings of great whites, I thought Jaws would be the perfect opener. I’m really looking forward to having movies outside in the cool of a summer evening. I’ve told my friends pajamas would be just fine should they prefer a retro look.

The town drive-in is long gone. All that’s left are overgrown rows where the cars used to drive looking for the perfect spot. It was a small drive-in so deep in the woods that the mosquitoes carried off small children. Sometimes the screams were from the movie, sometimes from small children. We always set in the back so we could use two spaces, one for the car and one for us. We’d set out chairs, a picnic basket and a cooler and surround ourselves with lit mosquito coils. We brought wine and cheese, crackers and fine pastries. We’d put the audio box on the car window facing us so we could hear the movie’s dialogue. We’d sit and chat and critique the movie while sumptuously dining on the goodies from our picnic basket. There were never many cars. It was always my favorite drive-in.

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“Day is done, gone the sun”

July 8, 2010

My mother would call today sticky. It’s humid again, but at least there’s a breeze. I can hear the leaves rustling, whispering to one another. The breeze is from the north, a strange direction for this time of year. My neighbors across the street have their windows open and their blinds raised, also strange. I can’t help but picture my neighbor as a Granny Clampett lookalike sitting in a rocking chair by the open window with a shotgun in her hands in case of varmints. I’m staying clear.

It hasn’t rained in forever. All the fields are brown. They crunch when you walk on them. The weatherman says maybe thunderstorms this weekend. I’m hoping he’s right.

One summer I went to girl scout day camp, Camp Aleska in the woods across from the zoo. The camp had a lodge with one giant room lined in benches which opened for storage, a huge fireplace, a counselor’s room, the kitchen and a bathroom. On the grounds were several picnic tables, each in a small glade and each for one unit of scouts. Behind the lodge, all through the woods, were wide trails covered in pine needles. Every morning we formed a circle around the pole, held hands and sang during the raising of the flag, and every afternoon we formed another circle and sang Taps when it came down. We, the oldest scouts, had the honor of raising the flag and taking it down at the end of the day. We weren’t very good at it. We couldn’t stop laughing. Our shoulders would shake when we tried not to laugh out loud. I think we were called a disgrace a couple of times, but it didn’t matter. We just couldn’t stop ourselves. One would start and the rest of us would follow. They finally took the honor away. Even then, during the afternoon circle, we couldn’t look at each other without laughing. We were at the wrong age to appreciate ceremony.

I became a counselor at the camp. They must have forgiven my youthful indiscretions.

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“Summer has set in with its usual severity.”

July 6, 2010

Hot doesn’t quite describe the weather. Both papers this morning were filled with pictures of people in fountains, at Frog Pond or by the shore. Boston will be in the 90’s-we’ll hit the 80’s. The rest of the week looks the same.

Winter has an intimacy summer lacks. In winter, we sit behind closed windows and doors in our private little worlds and try to stay warm and cozy. In summer, privacy disappears. All those windows and doors are left open so we can catch the slightest breeze. Yesterday I heard a neighbor sneeze twice.

When I was a kid lying in bed and trying to fall asleep, I could hear the TV downstairs and the one next door. I heard neighbors argue in raised voices and mothers yell at kids to settle down and go to sleep. The clink of glasses and the murmur of several voices meant a party. We knew most things about each other, but it never really mattered. Nobody mentioned them. We were friends and we were neighbors.

I know everyone on my street, but we are not close. My friends are at the end of the street and in between are the neighbors with whom I chat. We bemoan the heat, compliment each others’ gardens and wonder when it will rain. I can hear them through open windows, and I suspect they can hear me. Bob’s booming laugh from the house at the end of the street is easily identified. My other neighbors are Brazilian, and they speak to each other in Portuguese. Their kids answer in English. I can hear little boys screaming from two different houses. I wish I couldn’t. Dogs bark all the time. Across the street, Herb and Joanne keep all their doors and windows closed all summer. Joanne says it keeps out the heat of the sun. I think it makes them feel safe.

My favorite time is late at night. It is only then that the houses are quiet. The night birds and the peepers from the pond make the only sounds. I sit in the dark, listen to the birds and watch the fireflies. I don’t make a sound. I don’t want to intrude.

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“One of the most important days of my life was when I learned to ride a bicycle.”

July 5, 2010

The day is already hot. The breeze has disappeared. I sat outside under the umbrella, the coolest spot on the deck, to drink my coffee and read the papers. This morning, for the first time in as long as I can remember, I only had one cup of coffee, a sure indicator of the heat.

In the heat of summer, when we were kids, the boys never wore shorts around where I lived. Little ones did, the ones whose mothers dressed them, but older boys, those around nine or ten, wouldn’t be caught dead in a pair of shorts. My brother wore dungarees every day. He did wear a short sleeve jersey, a Beaver Cleaver type of jersey, but that was his sole concession to the heat of summer. Black high tops were his sneakers of choice. Girls were different. We wore shorts and sleeveless blouses. Our sneakers were white and no higher than our ankles. They were worn with socks, usually white socks. Clam diggers were popular for a while. That’s what we called them. In the 50’s, they were called pedal pushers, and, in the 60’s, Laura Petrie brought them back as Capri pants.

It never occurred to me that the name pedal pushers was literal. They were pants wore higher than the chains of bikes so the pants legs wouldn’t get caught. I wish I knew that back then. I didn’t have a chain guard on my bike. It had disappeared or fallen off. Many times my pant leg bottom would get caught and eaten by the chain. Getting it loose was a process and it took forever. I’d have to try and figure how to get off the bike with one leg caught without the bike falling, the best place to sit down and how to untangle my pants while one leg was immovable. I usually freed myself, but my hands and pant leg were always covered in grease. I usually wiped my hands on the back of my pants and left strange looking prints.

When I was much older and riding to work became quite common, I used to see guys bicycling with their pant leg folded up and held there by a rubber band. It looked a little silly, but I never laughed. I knew exactly why they did it. They had all grown up with greasy right pants legs.

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“May the sun in his course visit no land more free, more happy, more lovely, than this our own country!”

July 4, 2010

The day is glorious, warm and sunny. It is a bit stickier than yesterday, but an ocean breeze tempers the humidity. Last night my neighborhood was filled with the sounds of fireworks, with the bangs and the sizzles. The morning is quieter.

I will celebrate July 4th with my friends at a barbecue at their house. They’ll serve hot dogs and hamburgers, deviled eggs, corn and potato salad. I’m guessing that same menu is probably being repeated all over the country today. I know I’ll smell the barbecues in my neighborhood come afternoon. As for me, I’m partial to those deviled eggs.

When I was a kid, I remember sitting on my back steps watching the fireworks burst high in the sky. They were from the next town over which had a parade in the afternoon and fireworks at night. We always went to the parade. My father’s friend had a house right on the parade route, and that’s where we spent the day, on his huge front porch. It was always filled with kids and adults jockeying for seats. The parade seemed to last for hours back then with its bands and floats and militiamen playing fifes and drums. We clapped and cheered. The front screen door slammed every few minutes as someone headed to the kitchen for food or another drink. We had popsicles in so many colors and flavors. On the driveway, on the side of the house, the grill was always on and hot dogs and hamburgers were cooked throughout most of the afternoon as the chef tried to keep ahead of the hungry crowd.

When I was around thirteen, I started marching in that parade with my drill team. When we rounded the corner, I could see the familiar white house with the huge front porch. As we marched by the house, everyone on the porch yelled my name. I tried to be so military, but I always smiled, a beaming smile.

“Thus may the 4th of July, that glorious and ever memorable day, be celebrated through America, by the sons of freedom, from age to age till time shall be no more,”  The Virginia Gazette, written after the first anniversary celebration, 1777

Happy July 4th!

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