Keep the Coffee Comimg

Hunker down and stay safe is the advice. We have had an extended thunder storm and a tornado warning. Already nearly 2 inches of rain have fallen. The wind is blowing over 40 mph. On the local news channels, the cape’s weather is usually an after thought. Today it is the news. I’m thinking because we haven’t had rain in a while, this storm is the Rain God having his way.

I have to go out later. The dogs expect to eat today. They need both wet and dry food and even biscuits. I have uke practice tonight. We practice outside so I hope the sun comes out of hiding. Our music this week is from the color book. This is our only practice, but we have played this book before. My uke calendar is short this week: last night’s concert, practice today and a lesson tomorrow.

When I was a kid, the kitchen always had a junk drawer. In it was a strange assortment. Some things, like buttons, just landed there having no other place to go. Small tools, like a screw driver, were there in case of a kitchen emergency. Elastics, pencil stubs, glue bottles, mostly dry, band-aids and loose paper clips also called the junk drawer home.

I have a junk drawer, but it is in the living room, in an old table, one of the first pieces of furniture I ever bought. Sometimes the drawer is difficult to open. That is the main characteristics of a really good junk drawer.

I keep all the orphan socks. The law of socks dictates you never throw an orphan away because, after you do, the other sock magically appears. Besides, I figure if I wear my high tops, no one will notice two different socks. I might even start a fashion trend.

I love my house when it is raining, especially during the fiercest of storms. It seems to hug me. When the rain is beating the roof and sides of the house, I am safe and dry inside. The lights cast a comforting glow. The rain is the only sound.

The rain has stopped. The sky is lighter. The day is looking promising.

The morning was the afternoon. It was one of those nights. I just wasn’t tired. I read for a while, turned off the light then turned it back on when I couldn’t fall asleep. It was close to six when I finally turned off the light and fell asleep. It was noon when we woke up, the dogs and I. Despite the time, I chose to approach the day leisurely. Two newspapers, an onion bagel and two cups of coffee later, here I am.

On my dance card is my usual Monday concert. We’re doing the color book. I also need gas and dog food.

The day is dark, cloudy and damp. I think it might have rained as the plastic on the papers was wet. It is 75° right now and showers are predicted.

I remember two strange finds when I was a kid. The first was in the woods beside the field below my house. It was a tiny shack made from odd sized boards. The entrance was a hole. There was one window cut out of the wall. The floor of the shack was dirt. Inside was a small stack of magazines. They were girly magazines.

The next find was in a green, large wooden box beside the tracks and on the corner of the road. Across the street was the red store. Inside the box was a couple of stacks of comic books with string tied around each. The comic books included Little Lulu, Henry, Superboy and some other 50’s comics. We sat on the ground and read a few. We took them, employing the kids’ philosophy of finders keepers.

I always jumped over the rail ties which had a double 00 on them. We thought the double OO’s were as dangerous as step on a crack, break your mother’s back so, because I did not want to be responsible for my mother’s injury, I jumped.

Name calling hurts. When I was a kid, they were the weapons of bullies. I used to retaliate and say over and over, “Sticks and Stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me,” even though they did. I remember being in the fifth grade and defending my friend who was in tears because she was being bullied. I asked the kid to stop, and when he didn’t, I punched him in the face. He stopped. We were sent to the principal’s office. I explained, and the principal said the next time I should tell someone. He got punished.

The morning is warm at 78°. It will only get as high as 80°. Today will be a sunny day. Tomorrow is supposed to be rainy.

The concert on the beach was perfect. We were under a canopy close to the shore. There were eight of us. We played Beach Boys’ music. I parked across the street and trudged through sand to get to my seat. I had to go back to my car as I had forgotten something. Today, my back remembers the trudging. I look like a question mark.

Sunday is different than any other day. It lends itself to quiet. Nothing was open when I was kid. I wish now it was the same. We all need a day of rest, a day to enjoy just for the sake of it. That is my plan for today.

Saturday has always been chore day. That dates back to when I was a kid. My father went up town to the Chinese laundry to pick up and leave his white shirts. I remember those white shirts with starched collars and Windsor knotted ties. My father would get his hair trimmed and visit his buddies, especially Pullo at his pharmacy. At home, he’d mow and rake the lawn. He always used a hand mower and a rake with wooden teeth. I still remember the sounds, the clicking of the mower and the scraping of the rake.

My mornings are spent with cups of coffee and two newspapers. Today I added a bagel. It got a little too brown as I watered my plants while it was toasting. The dogs got the brownest part. They do not have discerning taste.

When I worked, Sunday was laundry and dump day, but those chores no longer have a designated day. I’m thinking Monday for both if I am in the mood. My dance card has three events for the week: our usual uke concert in Hyannis tomorrow, practice Tuesday and my lesson on Wednesday. I doubt I’d leave the house if I didn’t have my uke. Last week I had 5 events in six days. My inner sloth was exhausted.

The morning is cloudy and humid. I noticed the darkest cloud just sort of hanging in the sky off in the distance when I went to get the paper, but the weather report claims sun and 77°. I hope so as I have a uke concert on the beach. I’ve ever pulled out my Hawaiian shirt. We’re playing Beach Boy songs.

Okay, it is now raining. That dark cloud has had its way, but I’m still expecting that sun!

When I was young, my world was amazing. Every day was a new adventure. Walking to school was the same route, but it was never the same. In the fall I collected red leaves and carefully stowed them away in a book in my school bag. In the winter we walked in the snow and sometimes threw snowballs at each other as we ran. The best time, though, was spring. I got to see the gardens come alive, and I saw the first shoots poke their heads above ground then I watched them get taller. I saw the buds then I saw the first flowers, a riot of color from garden to garden.

I check YouTube for films of Ghana, especially of Bolga. I recognize some of the buildings and the route through town. I see the market, the huge market compared to my day, and remember how much I enjoyed shopping on market day. Every third day, I went to town. I carried my shepherd’s bag which stretched to hold all of my purchases: the green oranges, the onions, tomatoes, eggs, meat, maybe garden eggs, and whatever surprises I’d find, like that watermelon.

I remember my first view of Ghana on the ride from the airport to our training site. I saw kiosks side by side a bit back from the roadside, women in bright cloths walking in front of the kiosks and men in white robes sitting under trees. The ride was just a glimpse of Ghana but enough to keep me glued to the window until I fell asleep. It was a long ride.

I was filled with the wonder of Africa on that first ride, and that wonder stayed with me the whole two years. I still think myself marvelously blessed for having lived in Ghana, for having had the adventure of a lifetime.

It is late I know, but this morning started in the afternoon, but I took my time anyway. The coffee was delicious, and I ate one of the scones I had bought yesterday at the farmer’s market, a blueberry scone. It too was delicious. Today has had the best beginning.

Yesterday we had a concert, and I have another tomorrow, the fifth uke event of the week, so today is another sloth day. I do have a few weird chores. I need to move a rug into the eaves and hunt through the closet here in the den for a couple of newspaper canvas slings. That last one entails moving baskets, my ironing board serving table and a couple of posters, but I’m not so sure I’ll finish it as that chore violates the sloth code to which I have dedicated my life.

When I think back, I know I had an amazing childhood. We lived just about at the top of a hill. That made for great sledding in the winter and speedy downhills on my bike during the rest of the year, the snowless parts of the year. Just beyond the hill was a big field mostly surrounded by trees. By summer the grass in that field was tall. I remember running through it and leaving a bit of a path behind me, a sort of a parting of the Red Sea path. The field was filled with brown grasshoppers. They’d jump in front of me as I ran. I’d catch them in my bare hands. The swamp was beyond the field. It was the best place in every season: winter skating, spring tadpole watching and summer frog catching. I used to like to fight my way through the trees and underbrush beyond the water just to see what was there.

Uptown was special. It was filled with stores including a diner, a spa, a few drug stores, a movie theater and the best store of all, a Woolworth’s. At Christmas time, uptown was decorate with strands of greenery from light to light and a bell in the middle of each strand. Different groups took turns singing Christmas carols on a raised dais in the middle of the square. I remember feeling proud and excited when my classmates and I sang. I hoped everyone noticed me.

I was a joiner. I was a Brownie then a Girl Scout and lasted long enough to get my ten year pin. I was on the drill team from about when I was eleven until I moved to the cape. First it was practice on Saturday mornings to learn the basics like marching, about face, attention, all the parade commands. Then I marched with the senior drill team, an all year activity: practice all winter learning our field maneuver and competitions all summer. I still have wonderful friends I met when I marched.

I have been the luckiest person. My dream came true when I went into the Peace Corps, a dream I’d had since I was 13. I have traveled so many places, also a dream from when I was a kid when I longed to see the world. I had a career I loved, working with high school kids. They kept me on my toes, but they were amazing. I got to watch them grow. I got to be a part of that. I don’t think there is anything more rewarding. I have the best memories of my kids. That is always how I think of them.

It was cold last night, 56°. I had to shut all the windows and the back door. Nala had to ring the Poochie Bells to let me know she wanted out. I put on a sweatshirt. It was the second cold night. Tuesday night the temperature got down to 59°. The days, though, have been lovely, warm and dry and only in the 70s. This is a strange beginning to August.

Yesterday I had my uke lesson then I came right home, got into my cozies and enjoyed a sloth day. I was content.

Today I have a couple of errands. The dogs expect to eat so I’m off to Agway. I also expect to eat, but I continue to freezer shop so I only need the basics: milk, bread, cream for my coffee and maybe a Snickers bar, a member of its own major food group.

When I was a kid, I loved Good and Plenty which is strange considering I do not like black licorice, but I liked the color, the pink, the only pink candy I ever saw. Sometimes, though, the candy was old and stale and biting the coating endangered teeth, but I was a kid so I ate the candy anyway.

My mother made the best brownies. She didn’t use a mix. I don’t think she ever did. She frosted her brownies with chocolate frosting, not overkill. Chocolate has no limit.

A corner store near me kept Milky Ways and Three Musketeers in the freezer. I usually bought the Milky Ways. I still put them in the freezer.

When I lived in Ghana, I used to buy Cadbury’s Fruit and Nut bars. Around the corner from where I lived was a DPW store. It used to sell the chocolate and cold cokes. Buying both was a huge treat.

Today is another uke concert, at the Harwich Farmer’s Market. We’re playing The Beach Boys. One of the sellers there has scones. I always buy some, the mixed package. Coconut scones are my favorites. They don’t have chocolate, but I give them a pass.

The weather is perfect. The temperature is 70°. The morning is clear with a bright sun and a Crayola aquamarine colored sky. The breeze is ever so slight. It is a day to savor.

When I was a kid, the first of August was the beginning of the end. School was no longer inching closer. It was roaring towards us at a rapid speed. School clothes shopping was the first reminder of what was coming. My mother brought all four of us to the stores, but they were mostly quick stops. We didn’t need much. First was the shoe store. My feet got measured, and I got to see the bones of my feet in the x-ray machine. My mother picked sturdy shoes hoping they’re last all year. They never did. The next stop was for school uniforms, for a new blue skirt, white blouses and an ugly blue string tie. My mother bought the rest without us, the socks and underwear.

My favorite stop, the longest stop, was at Woolworth’s for school supplies. I got to pick what I wanted. I spend time checking out all the pencil cases. I wanted the perfect case. It was choosing the decorated top that was important because the cases were pretty much all the same. They were made of heavy cardboard and you slid out the holder. Inside were always pencils, an eraser, a six inch ruler and a compass and sometimes small colored pencils and some scissors. I never had any idea what the compass was for except to draw lines and semicircles. The next, the most important piece of going back to school, was the new lunchbox. When I was young, I chose lunch boxes with characters like Annie Oakley or Roy Rogers. I still have one with the Mickey Mouse Club on the top, but when I was older, I wanted designs. In the fourth grade it was a black and red tartan plaid design. My mother only filled the thermos on really cold winter days when she’d give us soup, usually chicken noodle. She always put in a few Saltines. By the end of the school year my lunchbox was usually the worst for wear. It had a few dents and a bit of rust inside, but, regardless, its usefulness continued. It became the repository for crayon stubs. Now, I use a cigar case. Things change but not by much.

This morning is glorious. The sun is wonderfully bright and the sky is a deep blue. Everything is quiet. Even the chimes in the background are still. Last night was cool, at least in comparison. It was easy to fall asleep. It will be the same most of the week: 70s during the day and 60’s at night, even as low as 62° by mid-week.

Nala is bringing the outside in which I prefer to her usual acts of thievery. Last night I found the remnants of a leaf filled pine branch, a small pine leafy branch, on the living room floor. The leaves were dead and brown and in small pieces on the floor and rug. Pieces of branches were in the living room and the hall, all chewed on the ends. Nala is quite adept at deception. I never heard her haul in these treasures through the dog door.

My license needs be renewed. I was sent a letter from the registry which said I had reached the magical age (my description) of needing to renew in person. I’ve made the appointment. Going to the registry is actually a mild form of torture guaranteed to try your patience.

Lately I have been on a cereal kick. Cinnamon Toast Crunch is my current favorite, but Rice Krispies, my all time favorite, waits in the wings. Periodically, though, I do take a risk and buy the variety packs. The dogs get the Cheerios.

This is a uke filled week: concert today, practice tomorrow, lesson Wednesday and concerts Thursday and Saturday. I also have a couple of errands. I don’t have the dump!

When I was a kid, my life was easy. Everything was done for me. I didn’t have any responsibilities. The only thing I was required to do was go to school and go to mass. I remember the first time I did my own laundry. The washer started beeping. I had no idea what was wrong. I checked the washer and found the clothes still soaking wet. I ended up wringing them by hand and then putting them in the dryer. It was a while before I found out what an imbalance meant in the washer. I felt sort of dumb.

Last night it finally rained. It also got really cool, down to the mid 60’s. I snuggled under the spread to keep warm. It was a wonderful feeling to be cold. This morning it has stayed in the 60’s. Right now it is 68°, but the high should be around 73° or 74°. The sun is wonderfully bright and is framed by a blue sky. Today is a lovely day.

I always think of Sundays as quiet days. That started when I was a kid. We had mass in the morning and a family dinner around 2 so we mostly hung around the house. I can still see my father sitting in the comfy chair by the picture window reading the paper. He always brought it home after mass. Every Sunday there was a small gray wooden wagon on the sidewalk below the church steps loaded with newspapers. It carried The Globe, The Herald and The Record American. A guy wearing a canvas change belt sold the Sunday papers. My father always bought The Record American, a bit of a tabloid. I only read the funnies.

My favorite Sunday dinner was roast beef with gravy, mashed potatoes and a veggie or two, maybe peas and carrots. My mother used to cook the roast with sliced onions on the top for added flavor. I always snatched one before the roast was sliced. I do the same thing with the onions if I cook roast beef. The only difference is I get to eat all the onions.

My father loved homegrown tomatoes. He’d slice one, put it on a plate then add a huge dollop, even a bit of a hill, of mayo for spreading on the slices. If I were visiting for the weekend, I’d surprise him with tomatoes from a local stand in front of someone’s house. He’d always bring the plate into the living room and watch TV while munching. He did love his snacks.

I have no plans for today, but my dance card is filled for the rest of the week. I have uke practice, a lesson and three shows. The music for the week is The Beach Boys.

Yesterday was a success. My car has gas, the trash is gone and my larder has been replenished. The dump was hell on Earth. In the winter it is the Russian steppes, but in the summer the sun beats down and the heat mirage ripples across the sand. I was so excited to get home into the cool house.

Today is already hot at 84°, and the humidity makes it worse. We have had sun then clouds then sun again. Right now the clouds are back. Thunder showers are predicted, but I have my doubts. The storms seem to miss the Cape.

When I was a kid, summers stretched out in front of me, seemingly endless. I found something to do every day. I wasn’t ever bored. Even if I was stuck inside by a storm, I was busy reading or playing in the cellar. I never saw the time pass. It just did.

I’ve always liked roller coasters. Nothing beats the anticipation and excitement of rolling up that first long hill knowing what was coming. The downhill always took my breath away. When I was a kid, the roller coasters were wooden. I remember the sounds of them on the tracks, the creaking and groaning. We had no seatbelts so we were tossed from one side to the other. From the roads, from a bit away, you could see the highest hills of the coasters at Revere Beach and Nantasket. Going home from my grandparents’ house, I could see just a small peek (peak too) of the very top of the River Beach coaster. My eighth grade trip was to Nantasket. I rode the coaster many times with my friend Jimmy. When I was in high school, we sometimes went to Revere Beach just for the food and the rides, especially the coaster. When I was much older, my mother and I vacationed in Williamsburg and stopped at Busch Gardens on our way home. I rode the looping coaster. I just couldn’t resist. My mother watched. Facing the ground was as scary as anything but sometimes, like this, fear is part of the fun of the ride.

I don’t do well on rides which go in circles, speedy circles, on tracks. I remember one trip to the Barnstable Fair and riding the sort of Tilt o Whirl except the cars were covered. I got off and got sick. As I said, I don’t do well on speedy circle rides. Merry-go-rounds, though, are perfect.