Keep the Coffee Comimg

The dogs and I are on the deck. They are eating each other’s faces with, not unexpectedly, Nala being the loudest growler. I’m watching the birds. My cardinal is back as are the stalwart chickadees. Most of the pot flowers are blooming, the only exceptions being the twice uprooted flowers from the spawn. My hibiscuses in the front garden have started to bloom.

The morning is cloudy and damp. Rain is predicted. It is 78° but doesn’t feel warm. An every now and then a breeze feels chilly in the dampness.

My friends came through with coffee, one brought beans and the other ground coffee from Brazil. I brewed a pot yesterday. I happily poured in my light cream, but it didn’t pour. It plopped. I am not a black coffee drinker so for yet another morning I didn’t have coffee. I was thinking of putting a sign in my front yard saying proceed at your own risk.

My dance card has one entry left, a uke concert tomorrow, my third this week; however, my to-do list is filled. Entries get added and seldom deleted.

When I was a kid, we lived in the first duplex on the corner of the hill in the project. There were more duplexes in a sort of an S formation with some down the street and others up the street. A small rotary was up the hill circled by the last houses so the street didn’t dead end. All the houses had lawns and backyards. Clothes lines were on squares of tar behind each house. Back then my mother had a wringer washing machine in the cellar. I liked to watch her hang the clothes. My father had a pattern for the lawn. My mother had a pattern for the clothes. Shirts were hung upside down. Three clothespins always connected two shirts. She used to keep the clothespins in a bag hanging from the line. Pants were hung by the bottoms of the legs. I don’t remember the underwear, but I figure she followed the same pattern as the shirts. I loved seeing the clothes in winter. They’d freeze on the lines with shirt sleeves straight out. I used to think they could be props in some scary movie, The Shirt Sleeve Killers.

As the White Rabbit declared, “I’m late. I’m late.” I slept in. It was one of those put a mirror under her nose mornings. Nala woke me up when she decided to lap me awake. Sometime during the early morning it rained. Right now it is misty and dark. It is damp chilly at 69 °. It will stay cloudy and in the 70’s today.

Horror upon horror! I am out of coffee, no beans left. I have my coffee delivered, and it will be here in a couple of days so I don’t want to buy another whole bag. I can’t remember a morning before this without coffee. Maybe I was a toddler says I tongue in cheek.

My bird feeders are busy this morning. Yesterday I added a beautiful decorated glass feeder in the shape of a crescent moon and opened on one side. The chickadees have found it as has a cardinal. If it were a nicer day, I’d be on the deck watching my birds.

When my mother visited, she was always jealous of my birds. She had feeders in her backyard. She attracted crows and pigeons. We used to call them country pigeons. Once, even a seagull showed up. The spawns were frequent visitors. She started to hang the feeders on the clothes line. The spawns became tightrope walkers. They were fun to watch for us not so much for my mother.

When I was a kid, I had favorite places to ride my bike. I used to like to ride by the golf course as I usually found errant balls across the street from the course. I used to ride a loop from my house to the square, down Main Street over and down the hill to Spot Pond which was a reservoir back then. I remember an island I always wanted to sneak on and stay and camp. I’d ride along the pond then take a left and ride pass some greenhouses. I’d take a right to another road. Up further was a house build beside a tall random rock wall. The wall was kind of neat and in an unexpected place. Next, I remember a small, old, empty garage just sitting on the corner. It was made with some sort of stone. I’d take Green Street, a back way to get home. I was gone for hours. When my mother asked where I’d been, I’d always tell her around.