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“As you get older it is harder to have heroes, but it is sort of necessary.”
October 15, 2011This morning is fall in all its glory. The sky is a bright blue and the sun is shining. The air has a bit of a chill, and it’s sweatshirt weather. It is the loveliest of days.
Where have all the heroes gone? When I was a kid, they were easy to identify. Every Saturday morning I watched the Lone Ranger, Hopalong, Gene Autry, Will Bill Hickock and Roy Rogers. The bad guys never had a chance. All those cowboys had codes of behavior which didn’t seem silly or naive. None of us scoffed at the Lone Ranger when he said that all men are created equal and that everyone has within himself the power to make this a better world. At the end of every show there was a moral, and doing the right thing was the gist of it. Hopalong made honesty a badge of honor. Gene Autry never took advantage of anyone, even his enemy. Wild Bill reminded us to study hard. The code of the west was you always kept a promise, and I still always do. I won’t make a promise unless I know I can keep it. It is my word, my honor. I learned that when I was very young, and I learned it from television.
I am an optimist. I try to believe in the best of people even though that belief has been tested and strained time and time again, but I can’t give it up. I have to believe that people will do what’s right. I guess I’m still naive, but I prefer it to being pessimistic and hardened.
Some of my friends look at the world with a jaundiced eye. I feel sorry for them and for their loss. Hope is what gets me up in the morning. I hope it will be a good day; I hope that I might have a laugh or two, see a marvel or be dazzled by the night sky. I hope the world will be a better place than it was the day before. If that’s naive, please let me stay that way.
“Logic will get you from A to B. Imagination will take you everywhere.”
October 14, 2011The day is still, one of those damp days which seems to smother movement. It’s warm, not even a sweatshirt day. I heard the rain earlier this morning, but I just nestled and went back to sleep. I swear it got light for a bit, but I think the sun felt overwhelmed by all the clouds and went back inside to mull over its future.
You know I love the rain, but a succession of rainy days tends to get dreary, to make me a bit lethargic. Yesterday we did errands, including Gracie’s favorite spot, the dump, but today only the laundry awaits. Nothing exciting there. Maybe I should add dusting. Nope, that doesn’t do it either. I do have a book, but that seems too easy: lying on the couch and reading. I guess Gracie and I will venture out to see what awaits us in the world today. You never know what you’ll find.
If I were a character in a Stephen King novel, I’d find something during the venture which I, in retrospect, would wish I’d never found. It might be the store with the strange man behind the counter, a man dressed in a black suit and wearing a fedora who might even have an unlit cigar hanging out of the side of his mouth. His store is filled with what looks commonplace, but he’s really offering time or place or a wish he’d grant which I’d come to rue later, too late I might add. Festivals are common on the Cape this time of year. This weekend I can attend a scallop festival, an apple festival or harvest day at Bray Farm. It’s that last one which has the potential of Stephen King about it. A hay ride is always part of the day, and I’m thinking of scarecrows with hellish grins who move when you’re not looking or a trail leading to a place none of us recognize. There are chickens on the farm. I mean, really, what farm doesn’t have chickens. Chickens have beaks, and when a brood of hens join forces and attacks, none of us are safe. Oops, now I’m straying into Alfred Hitchcock territory. It’s the rain. It has my brain astir. My imagination is running amok. Where is my book? Gracie, the couch is mine!
“leafless trees dripping – autumn rain”
October 13, 2011Last night I fell asleep to the sound of rain and this morning I woke to it. When I went to get the papers, I was surprised at how warm the day felt. I expected that damp chill which seems to find your bones. The rain stopped for a bit but has started again, and I can watch it fall through the den window. Gracie’s just came in and her coat is all wet. The ground is strewn with leaves brought down by the wind and rain. It gives the yard the look of fall.
When I was a kid, I loved it when the street gutters were filled with leaves. We didn’t walk on the sidewalk. We preferred the gutter route. The brown leaves crinkled when you walked through them and some broke and split when you kicked them into the air. We’d send leaves and pieces of leaves all over the street. Sometimes we’d pick up handfuls of leaves and throw at each other, laughing the whole time. We’d spend the rest of the walk taking pieces of leaves out of our hair. We never did it going to school, only coming home.
Loving rainy days dates back to my childhood. I’d come home from school soaked by the walk through the rain then I’d usually change into my pajamas, no need for playclothes on a rainy day. During the rest of the afternoon, my brother would watch TV while my sisters played together. I’d go to my room and read. It was private time not easy to find in a small house with four kids. I always felt cozy, and I still think sitting inside on a rainy day with a good book is a cozy and warm way to spend an afternoon.
During the rainy season in Bolga, the storms were so magnificent I’d always watch. First the winds came, and they were so strong they bent tree tops almost to the ground. I’d hear thunder and sometimes even see the lightning. Then the rain would start. It never started small. The sound of the rain was a roar as if I were standing near a waterfall. The ground would run with rivers of water. If I were teaching, I’d have to stop as the sound on the tin roof was so deafening no one could be heard. That sound is still one of my favorites of all sounds, and I was lucky enough to hear it again on my trip. It rained twice when I was in Bolga, and I stood and watched just as I used to do so long ago. I was under an overhang, and I was safe and dry just as I was when I was a kid in my bedroom.
“No day is so bad it can’t be fixed with a nap.”
October 11, 2011Today is quite the contrast from the weekend. The temperature is down 20° and the sun is intermittent. I’m even wearing a sweatshirt though I’m still clinging to sandals. Shutting in my feet seems the last resort before admitting summer is really gone.
Last night was perfect for sleeping, far cooler than it’s been. I kept the window opened and could feel the night as it chilled. I’m looking forward to snuggling under covers on cool nights.
This morning I had a library board meeting. Only one other member is younger than I so the rest make me feel young. Two of the members are 90. Only one of them was here today; the other forgot.
I have no ambition whatsoever today. I won’t even make my bed as I feel a nap coming on a bit later and there’s no sense messing a made bed. Yesterday I did a little shopping so the animals and I have some food to tide us over, and I don’t have to cook for any of us. For them, it’s just open the cans and also fill the dry food dishes. For me, the chicken is already baked, the salad made, and I bought cheese, hummos and pita bread. Life is good when the larder is filled.
I think a cloudy day makes me lazy. Nothing is inviting when the world looks dark even in the daylight. Rain never stops me nor does snow. I love to watch them both. I got a couple of books when I went to the library so I can see myself prone on the couch reading with the light on beside me giving me a cozy feeling, a drowsy feeling. No question I’ll easily succumb to a nap.
“The desire to reach for the sky runs deep in our human psyche.”
October 8, 2011The weather is absolutely gorgeous. I haven’t seen Gracie all morning. She’s been on the deck and roaming the back yard. The cats are in the sun. I’m the only one holed up in a dark room in the back of the house. Soon enough I’ll remedy that!
An article in the Boston Globe this morning mentioned that the Pan Am World Wing International congress is in Boston this year. It’s a reunion of women who flew as PanAm flight attendants. The article mentioned that the women think the new show PanAm gets everything right except the pilots who weren’t young but rather mostly in their 40’s and 50’s, veterans of WWII. They said girdle and weight checks were done regularly so they could fit into the tight skirts which were part of the uniform.
I flew PanAm several times including back from Africa. That was the flight which had a buffet under the stars, tables set up in the back of the plane with meats, cheeses, salads, breads and rolls. At one point the pilot asked people to sit down and take turns at the table as the tail of the plane was dragging from the weight.
I always thought of PanAm as a modern magic carpet which could take you anywhere. I flew on it when few people flew to Europe or any exotic destinations. I remember going to the back of the plane, putting up the seat arms and lying down to sleep across a row of empty seats. Back then it was the only US airline which flew to Africa. The flight started in East Africa then made its way to West Africa with stops in Lagos, Accra, Monrovia and Dakar. We could get off at each stop and stretch our legs. I remember walking around on the tarmac in both Monrovia and Dakar.
I know I’ve mentioned before that if I could go back in time I’d ride the PanAm Clipper. I’d go to Singapore and have a drink or two at Raffles Hotel. I’d fly all over the PanAm world; of course, I’d also be rich enough to do that. It is, after all, my dream!
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