Keep the Coffee Comimg

The back of my house still has the coolness of the night chill so it is comfortable, but outside is already hot, 77°. It will get just a bit hotter, a couple of degrees. Tonight will be in the 60’s, perfect sleeping weather.

When I was a kid, my mother kept the house dark. She covered the windows in the living room to keep out the sun. It was as if we were living in a sort of a cave. The kitchen was the brightest room. Upstairs always got hot and stayed hot even at bedtime. I remember a bit of tossing and turning before I fell asleep. I kept flipping the pillow to find the cool side.

I had what I called my visor summer. I wore it all my waking hours. It was white, and when I wore it, I felt somehow older. I don’t think it did much against the sun, but I thought it the perfect look, even fashionable. I think I was around eleven or twelve.

When I was a teacher, I used to travel to Europe every summer. I carried a backpack. One summer I even carried a sleeping bag. I used it a couple of times. One time was in Helsinki, Finland. We got in town late and didn’t find a place to sleep so we slept in the brush among the trees somewhere in the city. The next day we found a hostel. I bought street food for breakfast. My friend, with whom I was traveling, warned me not to eat street food. I just laughed. I ate it in Africa.

We used to take overnight busses and trains. That saved us money because we didn’t need a place to sleep. I remember looking out at the houses long the tracks. It was dark so the houses were lit. I found it intriguing to wonder about the people living in those houses. I could see them from the train window. I could sneak a peek into their lives.

I still have that list of chores. The only thing I did was go to the dump, and it wasn’t even on the list. Today I have a couple of errands. It is my only uke-less day of the week so I’m torn. Do I finish some of the chores on this my free day or do I embrace the life of a sloth on this, my only free day? Such a dilemma!

Today is a pretty day with a cooling breeze, lots of sun and a temperature of 71°. The heat and humidity will arrive next week. Some of the state will be hot enough for record heat, but here on the cape we will be cooler. For that, we bless the ocean.

When I was a kid, my father was the great mosquito hunter. During the hunting season, he carried a rolled up newspaper. I remember him waking me up when he stood on the bed swatting mosquitos on the ceiling. If any had already bitten one of us, my father always commented. “We’re too late.” The ceilings always had squashed bugs and a bit of blood.

I love the sounds of summer, the leaves rustling in the trees, the birds greeting the morning, the buzzing of the insects and the clicking of the cicadas, the male cicadas. One other summer sound sits in my memory drawers, the slamming of the back screen door. When I was a kid, we had a wooden screen door. I remember the wood was painted green. All summer long you could hear my mother, “Don’t slam the door.” Usually her warning was too late. My screen doors click closed. I find that perfectly dull.

I have been the epitome of sloth. My to do list just gets longer. I did go to the dump yesterday. It was really crowded. That was my only accomplishment. My deck is cleaned but still needs unveiling. I have put that on the top of list. I want to enjoy my morning coffee and newspaper outside. I want to light my chiminea with the piñon wood I have. It smells so amazing when it burns. It always reminds me of my trips to Santa Fe.

My parents had the best dog. Her name was Bebe. She had been found with other pups in a box at the dump. Her breed was unknown. She was black with curly fur. If people asked, my father always said she was a Canadian sheepdog. They believed him. Bebe loved to ride in the car. If she heard keys, she was right there with a mournful look in her eyes. I’d take her for a ride around the block. Bebe fetched rocks. Her kingdom was the front yard. She seldom wandered. The one time she did, the dog officer arrested her. She would be released the next day, but that night it thundered. Bebe was afraid of thunder. My father went to where Bebe was being held and tried to get her as he was afraid for her. He couldn’t get her. She came home the next day to hugs and kisses. Bebe was the last dog my parents ever had, but they doted on mine, spoiled them rotten!