Keep the Coffee Comimg

The weather is absurd. Yesterday on the way home from my concert, it started to rain, windshield wiper rain. A bit further up, no rain, then further up, rain. At two this morning, I let the dogs out. It had started snowing tiny flakes. The dogs were quick. Nala came back inside. When I saw Henry at the door, I let him in then I sat down, watched TV and did my jigsaw puzzle for another hour or so. Just before bed, I let the dogs out for the last time of the night. It wasn’t snowing. The weather is gaslighting us.

Today is a pretty day with a bright sun and a blue sky, but it is a cold day. We’re in the mid 20’s now, the high for the day.

When I was a kid, I knew certain things. I knew if you made Jiffy Pop you had to be careful. The popcorn came in its own pan, an aluminum pan with a handle. It looked like a pie pan or a frying pan. You had to shake the pan on the stove all the time or the popcorn would burn. We used to take turns shaking the pan. I loved watching as the popcorn popped. The sounds of the popping started out slowly then got louder and louder. The aluminum tent holding the kernels got higher and higher as the corn popped. It was fun to watch. The only way you knew the popcorn was all popped was when you couldn’t hear kernels anymore.

I knew that ketchup never went on a hot dog. Add mustard, relish or piccalilli but never ketchup. I won’t even discuss ketchup on scrambled eggs.

My father taught me that the laziest person in the world left a dirty glass on the counter. He raised his voice to tell us that. He taught us that several times.

I learned how to bob and weave to avoid my mother’s thrown slipper and, much later, her thrown dictionary, the big red one. Luckily that one never went far.

Mashed potatoes were sometimes white and orange, the orange coming from sneaked carrots. My mother explained it away. I believed her. I learned mothers sometimes lied.

According to my mother, if I didn’t wear a hat in the winter, I’d freeze. All body heat escapes through the top of your head.

My mother predicted the winter weather. She taught us it was, at times, too cold to snow. I know she believed it. We did too for a while.

The clouds and the sun are having their turns. Right now it is sunny. The wind is now and then. Snow flurries are predicted. I am still dismantling Christmas though all that is left is to put the gathered decorations in their boxes. The living room is clear and back to normal except for the tree in a white plastic bag standing in the middle of the room. It needs to go, to be hauled outside. The hall is an obstacle course of filled boxes. The dining room and living room have stuff on tables waiting for their boxes. I just have to get motivated.

When I was a kid, we all helped decorate the house, especially the tree. I remember my father and mother would pick the tree, set it up in the living room and then wait for the branches to fall. We’d decorate together. I remember it all. What I don’t remember is taking it down. My mother dismantled Christmas while we were in school. I remember the shock of getting home to a drab, undecorated house. I always missed the tree with its color and aroma the most. Now I have one incognito in my living room.

When I was a freshman in high school, we had a sex orientation lecture in the gym which also served as the auditorium. The chairs were stored under the stage. They were directors’ type chairs with red canvas seats. They were fun chairs because if you sat on one with a bit of force you bounced as did everyone in your row. I remember the girl sitting beside me at the lecture. I don’t remember her name. She was slight. She had several siblings. Those are the only identifiers I have. I remember her hands. During the lecture she constantly rubbed her hands together and she shook. That meant we all shook, the whole time.

When I was a kid, name calling and making fun of other kids was common. “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names can never hurt me,” was the usual response. I always liked, “Takes one to know one.” And the ever popular, “I know you are but what am I.” Sometimes your mother got maligned, “So’s your mother.” The grammar school playground was a dog eat dog world.