Keep the Coffee Comimg

The morning is cloudy and damp. Rain is predicted. The only sounds I hear are the songs of birds. A male cardinal was at the feeder as were nuthatches and a chickadee or two.

When I was a kid, our TV was in the corner of the living room. It was, as all TV’s were, black and white. It had an antennae with rabbit ears wrapped in aluminum foil which was supposed to give us a better picture. I remember turning the antenna to find the best picture while my father gave directions like left or more to the right or hold it there. Whoever was closest to the TV had to get up and change the channel. When the TV needed service, my father would take out the tubes in the back. That always ended in disaster. He’d bring the tubes to the TV appliance store where the guy would check them and replace the bad ones. My father would bring them all home. He had no idea where the tubes belonged. He’d tinker for a while, unsuccessfully, then call the repairman to the house.

My father often cooked breakfast on Sunday mornings. He always made bacon and eggs. The eggs were fried in the bacon grease. He made sure to keep the yolks intact. I’d do my own toast. In my mind’s eye I can still see him at the stove minding the eggs.

My father hunted mosquitos. His weapon was a rolled up magazine. I remember waking up when my bed shook. My father, with his weapon, was moving on my bed trying to whack mosquitos on the ceiling. Standing on the bed was for added height. The ceiling had spots of smushed mosquito bodies.

We are all sharing the couch. I have one end, Nala has the other, and Henry is between us. This happens every morning. The dogs are creatures of habit.

Today is a day to be outside to take in the best of days. I was on the deck to watch the birds while my coffee was brewing. The nuthatches come in waves. The chickadees are quick to arrive, grab a seed and leave. Yesterday I saw a couple of crows and the cardinal pair. I’m glad I bought more seed.

This is a quiet week for me. The only scheduled event is my uke lesson. I won’t know what to do with all the time. I guess I could clean. Better yet, I could read, take a few naps or sit on the deck.

Saturdays have always been sacrosanct to me. When I was a kid, the whole day was mine. In the winter I’d go to the matinee or ice skate or go sledding if we had snow. In the summer, I’d sometimes ride my trusty steed, my bike, and wander the town. I seldom had a destination. Other days I’d walk all over. Sometimes I’d walk the tracks. Trains still came back then. I’d stand close to the tracks, close enough to feel the wind from the train as it raced by me. I’d put a penny on the track hoping the train would smush it. I’d walk the track which ended at the station. Across the street from the station was the turnout where the trains changed direction and headed back. Sometimes I’d head back like the train. I never found the end of those tracks. I remember the station master’s house. His job was to lower the gate and activate the red lights. The train always blasted its horn before the crossing. The house is still there, but now it is just an odd shaped regular house on the side of the tracks.

I love trains. I loved the subway when I was a kid. I’d kneel on the seat and look out the window. Once I took the train to Washington D.C. Ghana, when I lived there, had trains. I used to take the train from Accra to Kumasi. I always went first class which wasn’t expensive. I’d board the first class car and find a compartment. There were four big, comfy chairs in each compartment. Sliding doors closed off the compartments. I always felt a bit like Miss Marple. Those trains are gone now, but Ghana is hoping to bring them back. I wish we would do the same.

Today, in my Africa video, I saw two white men and a Ghanaian wearing a Lakers shirt.