Keep the Coffee Comimg

The day is perfect. The sun is brilliant. The air is dry. It is 69° and won’t get much hotter. An intermittent breeze sways the small branches and flutters the oak leaves. I should stand on the porch and sing “Oh What a Beautiful Morning” as I dance about like a character in a musical.

I have a concert today on the village green in Hyannis. I think a village green harkens back to earlier days. The women in the audience should be wearing long dresses and carrying parasols while the men should wear suits and bow ties and straw boaters on their heads. We’re singing songs about America.

Last night we had a tremendous rain storm with thunder and lightening. For the first time, Henry got scared, leaned on me and shook a bit. I hugged him and spoke softly hoping to reassure him. Nala didn’t seem afraid, alert maybe but not afraid. After the thunder died away, Henry settled down and fell back asleep.

When I was a kid, summer life was easy. My sole responsibility was to have fun. During the day, I seldom stayed home. Even in the rain I was out and about. I used to explore. In my mind’s eye, I can still see that field below my house. It had a path where the tall grass had been beaten down by footsteps. On both sides of the field were trees. One side had thick trees while the other side had fewer trees and led to a street. It was on that side where we buried our turtle. He was in a cigar box, and we buried him deep. Later they would build elderly apartments there, and I always wondered if they found the box. On the other side was another path which led to the water tower. Blueberry bushes were on one side of the path. We ate them and cleared the bushes. The middle path had the thick rotted trunk of a tree with a split off branch on its side. We climbed over the branch though we could have walked around it. It was a sort of ritual. That path led to the swamp and ended at a street. I always used it as a short cut. I remember when they plowed the field under and cut down the trees to build more elderly apartments. They destroyed a piece of my childhood, but I had a memory drawer filled to the brim. I get to visit that field still.

We had rain last night. It started after one. Today is damp and dark, and more rain is predicted. I did have flower shopping on my to-do list, but I’ll stay inside and do around the house chores. Gee, maybe I’ll vacuum!

Today is quiet. I can hear the birds outside and Jack meowing inside. Both dogs are napping. Henry is upstairs on my bed while Nala is beside me on the couch. I can hear her deep breathing. She sleeps soundly. Henry is ever vigilant.

When I was a kid, summer lasted forever. Every day was mine to do whatever I wanted. I walked out the door in the morning and sometimes didn’t get home until late afternoon. Those were the days when I’d make my lunch, a sandwich and some Oreos, and take it with me. If I stayed close, I went home for lunch, a sandwich and some Oreos.

My brother and I would ride our bikes to Horn Pond in Woburn and fish. We always caught fish, and we always put them back. We’d walk to the zoo or to the pool if it was really hot. Both of them were on the other side of town from where I lived so they were long walks. Walking back from the pool was hot and tiring. I carried my bathing suit wrapped in my towel. I stooped and rested. The best spot for a rest was on the benches under the trees by the town hall.

I remember summer nights in my neighborhood. The screen doors were on the back doors of all the houses. You could hear TV’s and people talking. From the houses on the top of the hill behind my house kitchens lights shined through the windows. On my street, the picture windows in the living rooms sent arcs of light across the grass lawns. Sometimes I’d sit outside in the early evening on the back steps by myself. Night birds sang. I still cherish that memory.