Keep the Coffee Comimg

I never tire of beautiful days. Today will be 75° and sunny while tonight will have a low of 58°. The morning is quiet and still. My tasks today are simple, fill the bird feeders and vacuum the Henry fur which is all over downstairs. The little balls of fur resemble tumbleweeds in their shape and in their ability to travel in the breeze when the dogs and I walk by them.

I miss phone booths. I miss the banks of them at train and bus stations. I miss them on corners. I never went by one without checking the change slot. I sometimes found a dime. They were refuges in the rain. I’d wait behind the folding door hoping the rain would stop. If I was walking and got tired, I’d sit in the booth for a while. I know cell phones are convenient and sometimes life saving, but the old phone booths had personality and real operators.

When I graduated from high school, my gift was a typewriter for college. I used it all four years. I also used bottles of white-out and those tiny typewriter sheets you put between the ribbon and the offending letter and then typed on the sheet the correct letter. I was often impatient waiting for the white-out to dry. My typewriter is in my cellar somewhere. I’d like to find it. I suspect hunting in the cellar will resemble an archeological dig.

My dogs and I have regimens. When we first get downstairs in the morning, the dogs rush out the dog door. One time they tried to go together and got stuck in the door. Henry goes to his favorite tree and lifts his leg. Nala runs into the yard. They both come back in for a biscuit and a small treat then they have their morning naps. I make my coffee. I read the newspaper and have two cups of coffee. This months the coffee is from Uganda. After that I start my musings. It is pretty much the same very day. It is never a grind. It is a routine.

The sun is breaking through the early morning clouds, and I can see the blue. It will be another lovely day in the 70’s and in the 50’s tonight. That’s just about perfect.

My favorite Sunday dinner was roast beef with gravy, mashed potatoes and baby peas. I used to make a crater in the potatoes to hold the gravy. I’d also mix my peas with the potatoes. It wasn’t pretty, but it was tasty. My mother used to put slices of onion on the beef when it was roasting. I’d try to steal an onion, but the oven door was loud, and I always got caught.

When I was a kid, I dreamed of traveling the world. I’d be Nelly Bly. I had no specific destination. I wanted to see the whole world. I don’t know when my dream started. I remember making travel books filled with pictures from brochures and magazines. On each page, I’d write about my travels as if I’d really been there. They were my dream books.

Canada was my first foreign country. We stayed on the Canadian side of Niagara Falls. We didn’t need passports. Everyone spoke English. We ate at McDonald’s for lunch. I loved the falls, but I was disappointed that Canada didn’t seem foreign at all.

I wish I lived in the days of the Pan Am Clipper. I’d be traveling in luxury, crossing oceans and landing in foreign countries, really foreign countries. I’d travel first to Hawaii then on to Asia, exotic Asia. I’d make my way across the continent. I’d fill my travel trunk with souvenirs like a kimono from Japan. I’d write in my journal every night and not have to imagine.

I always think I have been lucky in life. My childhood dreams became real. I got to travel the world, except for Asia. I had a trip booked but bought a house instead. I always sort of joke about living in Asia. I’d still like to go there, but I want to go back to Ghana first. I’m hoping for a trip in three years, a birthday present from me to me. That is when I turn 80. Such a monumental birthday demands a monumental gift.