Archive for the ‘Musings’ category

“Climb the mountains and get their good tidings.”

June 22, 2010

It’s an overcast morning, but that’s how mornings are here. Soon the sun will break through to bring us a hot Colorado summer day. Yesterday was in the mid-90’s. Later, in the deep afternoon, the clouds will make their return and the early evening will be a delight.

Everything is still green here. From the airport, I got my first view of the Rockies, still covered in snow at the higher altitudes. They never cease to amaze me. I remember my first view of the Rockies when I just sat silent struck totally by their beauty. That was when I totally understood the words, “For purple mountain majesties Above the fruited plain!” for the first time. 

Last night was just catch up with each other night. We do talk on the phone every week, but nothing beats sitting around the patio table chatting and eating chili verde made by my brother-in-law. This morning he delivered coffee and his homemade cinnamon roll to me here at the computer. I might just have to bring him back with me.

We ‘ve planned an easy day today as we’re leaving early to get to Denver where we’re be having dinner before the game then we’ll descend on Coors Field in our Red Sox shirts. I can’t wait for the game.

Rod, my brother-in-law, and I are the only ones awake. The house is quiet except for the meows of a cat looking for a little affection and a lot of treats. We all spoil our pets.

“If a June night could talk, it would probably boast it invented romance.”

June 20, 2010

It’s that glorious time of year. The flip flops are out of the closet. I’m shaking the sand off my towel, applying sunscreen and trying to keep ice cream from dripping down my fingers. It’s summer! It’s when I spend more time outside than inside. Every morning I stand on the deck and wait for the coffee to brew. The mornings smell of the basil in the deck boxes and the lavender by the door. I get my coffee then go back outside with my cup in one hand and the papers in the other. I sit at the round table under the red umbrella. In the afternoon, I get lost in a book  then indolently nap on the lounge with Gracie for company. Just before bed, I shower under the night sky.

It’s barbecue time. Bring out the ribs, the burgers and the chicken wings then add some sweet summer corn. Home grown tomatoes are getting bigger on the vine and before too long they’ll be red ripe. It’s the best season for cold, juicy watermelon and seed spitting contests.

The town band is practicing, and soon enough they’ll fill the white bandstand on early Sunday evenings. Kids will march around the bandstand carrying small flags, just as they do every week, and the crowd will stand and clap during The Stars and Stripes Forever.

The Cape League started this week, collegiate summer baseball at its best. The teams have Cape names like the Whitecaps, the Mariners and the Anglers. People bring picnics and sit on grassy hills or watch from bleachers where there are no bad seats. Under the lights, the outfield looks emerald green. One refreshment stands is always opened and, of course, there are hot dogs. They seem to go together, hot dogs, summer and baseball.

Happy first day of summer!

“Old as she was, she still missed her daddy sometimes.”

June 20, 2010

Father’s Day gives me the chance to use my whole posting to talk about my Dad. He was the funniest guy, mostly on purpose but lots of times by happenstance. We used to have Dad stories, all those times when we roared and he had no idea why. He used to laugh along with us and ask, “What did I say? What did I say?” We were usually laughing too hard to tell him.

I know you’ve heard this before, but it is one of my favorite Dad stories. He, my mom and I were in Portugal. I was driving. My dad was beside me. On the road, we had passed many piggyback tandem trucks, some several trucks long. On the back of the last truck was always the sign Vehiculo Longo. We came out of a gas station behind one of those. My father nonchalantly noted, “That guy Longo owns a lot of trucks.” I was laughing so hard I could barely drive and my mother was roaring.

My father wasn’t at all handy around the house. Putting up outside lights, he gave himself a shock which knocked him off his step ladder. He once sawed himself out of a tree by sitting on the wrong end of the limb. The bookcase he built in the cellar had two shelves, one on the floor and the other too high to use. He said it was lack of wood. When painting the house once, the ladder started to slide, but he stayed on his rung anyway with brush in hand. The stroke of the paint on the house followed the path of his fall. Lots of times he set his shoe or pant leg on fire when he was barbecuing. He was a big believer in lots of charcoal lighter fluid.

My father loved games, mostly cards. We played cribbage all the time, and I loved making fun of  his loses, especially if I skunked him. When he won, it was superb playing. When I won, it was luck. I remember so many nights of all of us crowded the kitchen table playing cards, especially hi-lo jack. He loved to win and we loved lording it over him when he lost.

My father was a most successful businessman. He was hired to turn a company around and he did. He was personable and funny and remembered everyone’s names. Nobody turned him down.

My father always went out Sunday mornings for the paper and for donuts. He never remembered what kind of donut I like. His favorite was plain. He’d make Sunday breakfast when I visited: bacon, eggs and toast. I can still see him standing over the stove with a dish towel over his shoulders. He always put me in charge of the toast.

If I ever needed anything, I knew I could call my father. He was generous. When we went out to eat, he always wanted to pay and was indignant when we one upped him by setting it up ahead of time that one of us would pay. One Christmas he gave us all $500.oo, not as a gift but to buy gifts.

My father left us when he was far too young. It was sudden. He had a heart attack. I had spoken with him just the day before. It was pouring that day, and I told him how my dog Shauna was soaked. He loved that dog and told me to wipe his baby off. I still remember that whole conversation.

“A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike.”

June 19, 2010

“Oh, what a beautiful mornin’, Oh, what a beautiful day.” The sun is shining. The birds are many and loud, and all sorts have dropped by to dine: the cardinals, the Baltimore orioles, my old standbys, the chickadees, and some catbirds liking the grape jelly. I sat outside through both papers and my coffee then took an outside shower. What a delightful way to start the day.

I leave tomorrow for Boston then on Monday I’m off to Colorado. I have a few errands today in preparation for the trip then I’m going to be right back on that deck. The new book is a good one, and I want to relax and read with only the sounds of the birds and the trickling from my fountain as background music. Gracie and the cats have a new sitter who’s moving in tomorrow afternoon.

A certain excitement accompanies any of my trips, no matter where I go. Walking down the jet way is always filled with expectation for me. I love the familiar sounds and smells as I approach the airplane door. While I wait in line to board, I look through the little jet way window at the runway. It never gets old for me. I know plane travel is increasingly uncomfortable and expensive, but it’s the destination which makes it all worthwhile.

I’m watching Ghana play Australia in the World Cup. Right now the whole of Ghana must be at a standstill with people glued to TV sets or radios. The score is tied at one-one.

I am loving the day and feel as if I should dance a jig and shout to all of you at the top of my voice, “Have a wonderful Saturday!”

“As they say on my own Cape Cod, a rising tide lifts all the boats”

June 18, 2010

I have been industrious. The screens on the doors are in, the wash is spinning and the bed is made. I don’t know what has come over me. On the table are three new books. The day is beautiful with a bright warm sun, and I swear the deck is calling my name. What am I doing being a hausfrau? If I put on a dress, pearls and small heels, send help.

I am still amazed by Cape Cod. In the spring, the wild roses in whites and reds are everywhere. They grow on the edges of fields and woods and in front of old captains’ houses. They have no shape but grow willy nilly, wild and tall. The captains’ houses are mostly half capes with sloping roofs. Their shingles are gray and weathered by years of wind and salt. The air in the morning sometimes smells of the ocean even this far away. On those mornings, I linger on the deck. When I cross the bridge over river on an early morning, I sometimes see fog spread across the water and quahoggers outlined in the mist. The warmth of June has brought gardens filled with color. Short white picket fences stand behind them like sentinels. Some houses have carefully tended lawns. Others just have pine needles spread across their front yards. It seems we always have a breeze, mostly from the south. The nights are beautiful, bright and starlit. They perfectly complement the loveliness of the days. I always think how lucky I am to live here.

“In the morning a man walks with his whole body; in the evening, only with his legs.”

June 17, 2010

The radio woke me up this morning. What a horrible way to wake up, blasted out of bed by unnatural sounds. I set it because I have to be somewhere by nine and wanted time for a cup of coffee, the paper and this blog. It’s a dreary morning, a damp morning. I heard it rain last night. It fell gently.

The Baltimore oriole is back this morning. He found the feeder I filled yesterday with grape jelly. I’m guessing it needs more jelly today as the rain would have washed some away. All of the feeders are now filled, and I threw some corn on the ground for the squirrels. I am not totally heartless, even a rat’s cousin gets fed in these parts.

The other night I was coming home from my friends’ house down the street. It wasn’t really late but, still, none of the houses were lit, and the street was totally dark. The stars were bright. The night was lovely. I got home and went out on the deck to sit for a little bit. It was chilly, but I had on a sweatshirt and was comfortable. The only night noises were a few peepers. I seemed as if I were the only person left in the world.

When I travel, I love the odd hours, especially the early mornings. I get to see different sorts of sights like streets washed and windows unshuttered as stores are readied for business. I get the freshest rolls for breakfast and watch people hurrying to work. It’s looking at their real world, their daily lives. I remember women in dowdy dresses covered in aprons sweeping the sidewalks in front of their houses in a small town in Portugal. They reminded me of my grandmother. In Ireland, I watched the fishing boats leave the port. In Africa I could smell wood fires and hear the rhythmic beat of the pestle as fufu was being made.

I never need an alarm when I travel. I am up early every day, all the better to see the world.

“May you live every day of your life.”

June 16, 2010

The tale of the deceased squirrel has a Monty Python sort of ending. My friend Tony, who is my savior from the dead and dying, arrived with his trusty trowel and some plastic bags in hand. As he was removing the beast, he gave a running commentary. He even offered me an opportunity to check the heft of the bag. I declined. Because the dump was closed, he told me he was taking the squirrel to the park. All I could think of was Monty Python and the dead parrot, and I imagined Tony at the park holding a leash attached to the squirrel. “No no he’s not dead, he’s, he’s restin’!”

It’s a cool, cloudy day, a good day for chores. The bird feeders are empty, the herbs need to be cut and the deck plants need watering. I also have a few errands and Gracie gets to come.

Last night I proposed a Chinese fire drill on our next ride. We laughed at how many light cycles it might take. We figured it best be a deserted road.

When we were kids, life was serendipitous and spontaneous. We never made lists or appointments. That was my mother’s job. It was whatever we felt like doing or whatever we happened to find, like the horses in the pasture or the raft on the pond. I remember trying to catch the horses so we could ride them, and I remember shifting our weight so the raft wouldn’t sink as we poled across the pond. We thought those great finds. We never stayed home. That was for my little sisters. We roamed. We walked or rode our bikes everywhere. Sometimes we brought our lunches with us packed in brown bags. We ate when we were hungry. I remember eating at a picnic table in the zoo and on the back of a train by the tracks.

We’d get home late in the afternoon, filthy and tired. My mother would ask what we’d been up to all day. “Nothing,” was our usual answer.

“We call this a fine mess of squirrels.”

June 15, 2010

The day is beautiful with a bright sun and a cooling breeze. A bit earlier I went out on the deck to enjoy the morning. I stood there for a while taking in the sunshine then I noticed a spawn of Satan lying dead on its back in my yard. Live animals don’t bother me at all but dead ones do. I know it has be be picked up and disposed of, but the whole idea gives me the willies (another good word by the way). My sister wanted to know how the squirrel died. I have no idea and an autopsy is not on my to-do list. Both my sister and I agreed that the removal of dead animals is a guy thing, sexist maybe, but I don’t care. My friend Tony will be over to save me. He told me to cover it with a sheet and suggested a toe tag. He also wanted to know how the squirrel met its maker. I have no idea. I have only viewed the recently deceased from the deck. There will be no services. In lieu of flowers, do nothing.

The events of the morning have intruded on my usual pleasant musings about life long ago; instead, I’m remembering snakes eating chickens in Tamale and the crocodile pond in Paga where, for the price of a chicken, you get to sit on the crocodile who has just dined on said chicken. I used to buy my chickens live from the market, but we never developed a relationship. Food shouldn’t ever have pet names.

All I could think of this morning was how excited Granny Clampett would have been to see dinner delivered.

“If a word in the dictionary were misspelled, how would we know?”

June 14, 2010

It’s a quiet day, no sun again, but no rain either. The air is damp as if rain is in the wings just biding its time. Yesterday I watched sports all day, soccer in the morning, baseball in the afternoon and basketball at night. It was exhausting.

A string of dark, dank days seems to sap my energy. It’s as if my solar panels have been depleted. I need to get out of the house today. My newest book and the couch are just too tempting.

I wonder sometimes how things get their names. I used to tell people an old lady from New Jersey was responsible for many. I pictured her rocking on the porch trying to decide what to call the plastic ends of her shoelaces. She rocked and rocked until one she stopped rocking and shouted aglet to the world. I did look aglet up just now out of curiosity and found the word originally came from the Latin word acus, needle, which gave birth to aguillette, the Old French word for needle, which then became aglet in English. I guess I’m impressed, but it’s just as easy to call it the end of the shoelace.

I didn’t know the belt loop which holds the end of the belt from flopping around had a name. Loop worked just fine for me, but it’s called a keeper in case you need a conversational tidbit at some cocktail party. I used to have contests with my friends to see which of us could spit cherry pits the furthest. I just found out that chanking is the word for spit out food, for those pits we left on the road. I’ll stay with pits.

My favorite new word is one I had no idea existed. Ophryon is the exactly middle spot of the forehead just above the eyes. I suspect that old lady rocked for days before she came up with that one.

“Every man’s memory is his private literature.”

June 12, 2010

It is such a lovely morning. The sun is warm, and there is a slight breeze. I saw lots of birds when I was on the deck earlier so I need to get out there and fill the feeders to keep them coming. I’ll stay around to keep the squirrels at bay. I did start to put my ottoman together yesterday. I got the drawer done, but the other pieces are heavier than I expected so it will take a bit longer to figure out how to hold them or even prop them and use the screw driver at the same time. During the game today, I’ll give it another try. I refuse to let a few screws and pieces of wood get the better of me.

Memory is a funny thing. I remember long ago, but I forget a bit of last week. I figure as I’m getting older all the old memories are finding a way to surface and are keeping the new ones from settling. I have all these pictures in my memory bank of single moments. I remember wearing my gray spring jacket, the one with the zipper, when I rode my bike to school. I can also remember feeling the wind on my face when I rode that bike as fast as I could down the hill from where I lived. I know exactly where I sat in the third grade. My sixth grade teacher had thick glasses. They made her eyes look huge. I sat near the back. In high school, we had a small room with a stage. It was where the drama club performed one act plays. I remember my directorial debut. My star forget all her lines and kept repeating the same line, something about wings. The nuns sitting beside me said nothing. I died.

The first stop before we left for Ghana was staging. It was in Philadelphia, and I remember where I sat on the flight to get there and I remember the guy who sat beside me. I had several carry-ons, and he asked jokingly if I had enough luggage with me. I told him I was leaving for the Peace Corps in Africa. He bought me a couple of drinks out of guilt. When I was outside the airport waiting for a taxi, I saw a guy about my age with lots of luggage. I just knew he and I were both going to the same place. We shared a cab. The last image I have of Philadelphia is sitting in the lobby reading the paper. The front page announced Judy Garland had died.

These singular moments were not monumental or life changing, but, for some reason, they still sit taking space in my memory drawer, but I’m okay with that. I don’t really need to know why I’m in the kitchen. It will come back to me.