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“Once the travel bug bites, there is no known antidote, and I know that I shall be happily infected until the end of my life.”

October 5, 2021

The rain just stopped. It rained all day yesterday and all night. The air is chilly. The day is dark. I have no plans today. I figure to stay around and read a bit. My new housecleaner is here right now. I had reached my self-cleaning limit. Nala welcomed her with opened paws. Henry barked then was fine.

I don’t know what to do with myself. My laundry is done, and my house is in the middle of being deep cleaned. I suppose I could take up knitting.

When I was a kid, in the sixth grade, I caught Barrett’s disease. It was when I found out my sixth grade classmate Marty Barrett went to England every couple of years to see his grandmother. I was totally envious. He was the only person I knew who had been to Europe. My family vacations back then were either stay at home and do things or head to Maine to stay a tiny cottage with a million people. I dreamed of traveling and imagined my trips. I’d go to England first and see London and Stonehenge. I’d head up to Scotland to find the Loch Ness monster. I’d visit Ireland. I’d ride a camel in the desert and take train rides across Europe. My imagination worked overtime.

When I was older, I still held to those dreams. My count, by the time I was sixteen, was one county, Canada. In the fall of my senior year of college, my friends and I planned a trip to Europe on one of those 60 countries in a day and a half type trips. My parents gave me the trip as a graduation gift, but I was waiting, hoping to hear from Peace Corps. I did, and I accepted. I was going to Africa, to Ghana. My second country was quite a leap from my first, on my list: Canada one and Ghana two.

I have favorite places to which I’d return if given the chance. Ghana is the first. I’m hoping for one more trip back. I think about Ghana all the time with a sort of reverence. I watch videos which catch me in the throat. I want kelewele and jollof rice. Ghana is very much home to me.

I’d go back to Morocco, to Marrakesh. The time I spent there was not enough. Dinner at the Jemma el-Fna and coffee at the cafe were two of my favorite things to do. After walking through the city, I’d sit and watch the world go by. I could hear conversations in Arabic. In the square, I watched dancers and henna artists, magicians and water carriers by day and ate dinner outside at one of the stalls each night. I bought fresh figs in the market. I took a horse-drawn carriage tour. I was the only passenger. Every day I saw something new and ate something I didn’t know and couldn’t pronounce. Good thing the menus had pictures.

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“I think that travel comes from some deep urge to see the world, like the urge that brings up a worm in an Irish bog to see the moon when it is full. “

June 1, 2015

I apologize for the lateness of the hour. Every Monday my neighbor and I chat. It is her way of improving her English. She is Brazilian and does speak English but is hoping to learn better pronunciation. Today her son, who is graduating from high school on Saturday, joined us, and the three of us chatted about everything including corn ice cream, a favorite in Brazil. I couldn’t imagine ice cream and vegetables being a good pairing. Her son agreed.

The day is damp and cold. My house is only 65˚ so we’re back to sweatshirt weather. It has started raining, and it is a welcomed rain. My garden needs the moisture as does my grass. My pollen-covered car could use a good cleaning and a heavy rain will do the trick.

When I was a kid, I dreamed of going to faraway places. My geography book was a wish book filled with pictures of where I would travel. I was in Rio on the top of the hill standing below the giant statue of Christ the Redeemer. I went up the Amazon on one of those long wooden boats while two tribesmen paddled. Each tribesman had a bone through his nose. I wandered down the rows of banana and cocoa trees growing on plantations. I saw the sphinx in Egypt from atop a camel. Riding in an airplane was part of my dream. Though no one I knew traveled just for pleasure, I knew for certain I would.

I once walked from my grandmother’s house in East Boston to Logan Airport. My uncle, only two years older than I, was the guide. It was a long walk, miles, but I didn’t care. We wandered the terminals, the old wooden terminals. I stood on the observation deck of one of those old terminals and watched the planes coming and going. From displays scattered around the gates I took brochures describing airline routes, sights and hotels. I watched people with their suitcases getting in lines to board planes. I was both wistful and jealous.

When I got back to my grandmother’s, my parents were livid, but I thought their anger a small price to pay for what had been a grand adventure. A few days later, I started reading the brochures and cutting out pictures. I began an album of my trip. I described the plane ride and flying into and being surrounded by clouds. The pictures of my hotel rooms had arrows pointing to my bed. All the wonderful sights we saw in the different cities were pasted on the pages and described by me in a first person account. I was traveling the world.

I filled the whole album with wishes and dreams.

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“A snowball in the face is surely the perfect beginning to a lasting friendship.”

December 27, 2013

Yesterday was an odd day. I never did get dressed, but I wasn’t a sloth either. I did a variety of chores. Al the bird feeders were filled, the laundry was brought up, folded and put away, the camel’s head was glued back as was the zebra’s ear. Paw prints were cleaned off the kitchen floor, and the litter boxes were emptied and refilled. It was a banner day. The funny event was when I pulled out the barrel with the bird seed in it from underneath the grill cover on the deck. A chipmunk jumped out and ran by me as if his life depended on it. The chipmunk scared me as much as I had scared him.

Last night the house was ablaze with color. The tree lights were on in both rooms as was the wooden star, a plastic Santa, shell lights, the red pepper clump in the kitchen and the snowflake night-light in the bathroom. The house looked so lovely.

I remember the tree after Christmas with the toys still underneath it. My brother and I would sit by it and play one of our new games while my sisters played dolls. New sleds had to wait for snow but new bikes could be ridden despite the cold. The excitement of counting the days and waiting and hoping was gone, but we had all these new toys, and I always had new books so we were glad. I remember sitting in bed and being cozy and warm and reading a new Trixie Belden. The day passed almost unnoticed.

If we had snow, we’d be outside sledding on the hill behind our house or making snow forts. We older kids would sled down our street if it still had a layer of snow. That was the best ride of them all. It was a huge hill. From the top, you could barely see the bottom. I’d be wearing snow pants, my winter jacket, boots, a hat and mittens. When I walked, my snow pants made a swishing noise. My mittens would get clumps of ice attached to them, and snow found its way into my boots.

I was always freezing when I finally went into the house. I had to go through the cellar and hang up my wet clothes on the laundry lines. My skin was always beet red from the cold. I’d run upstairs to my room and put on warm pajamas and my slippers then I’d sit in front of the radiator to get warm. It was always the best day.

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“Everybody’s a dreamer.”

February 23, 2012

Yesterday was a perfect day. It was warm and sunny and the morning was filled with the sounds of bird songs the way spring mornings are. I did all the outside chores I’d been holding off until the weather got warmer. My new palm tree was assembled, put on the deck and lit up last night. My neighbors phoned and said they were thrilled to see it. They called it iconic and likened the tree to the Citco sign at Fenway. This new palm tree is taller than the old. Some of my friends used to have to duck under the old fronds. This one is a foot taller. I also figured out why the ground lights had been off for so long, and they too were bright last night except for the two strands which had lit their last. I bought two new ones, and I’ll put them up today. I have missed all my night lights.

Today is cloudy but warm. A while back the sun tried to break through the clouds but just didn’t have enough oomph yet but it keeps trying. I’m rooting for the sun. Every now and then the leaves move but the day is calm. It rained last night, the second night in a row, and it’s still damp.

The sun just reappeared and the sky has touches of blue. I think it will be a lovely day.

When I was a kid, some things just seemed exotic to me. Palm trees were on that list. I pictured a white sandy beach, water so clear you could see the fish and a line of palm trees along the sand. I imagined drinking from a coconut just knocked from the tree. I think it was Swiss Family Robinson which conjured my imaginings. When I saw my first palm tree, I wasn’t disappointed.

The desert was also among my exotic imaginings. I saw myself dressed like a Bedouin and riding a camel. My clothes were bright reds and greens and blues, and I wore a cloth across part of my face to keep out the sand. I could see myself sitting on the saddle as the camel slowly walked across the desert. It must have been a movie which had me imagining the Sahara as I don’t think any of my books did.

New England is the least exotic place I know, but I figure for some people New England and all it offers might be part of their imaginings. Sledding down a big hill in winter, collecting shells along the shore, swimming in the ocean and eating freshly caught fish might just be part of someone’s dreaming.

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Comments: 14 Comments

“Everybody’s a dreamer.”

February 23, 2012

Yesterday was a perfect day. It was warm and sunny and the morning was filled with the sounds of bird songs the way spring mornings are. I did all the outside chores I’d been holding off until the weather got warmer. My new palm tree was assembled, put on the deck and lit up last night. My neighbors phoned and said they were thrilled to see it. They called it iconic and likened the tree to the Citco sign at Fenway. This new palm tree is taller than the old. Some of my friends used to have to duck under the old fronds. This one is a foot taller. I also figured out why the ground lights had been off for so long, and they too were bright last night except for the two strands which had lit their last. I bought two new ones, and I’ll put them up today. I have missed all my night lights.

Today is cloudy but warm. A while back the sun tried to break through the clouds but just didn’t have enough oomph yet but it keeps trying. I’m rooting for the sun. Every now and then the leaves move but the day is calm. It rained last night, the second night in a row, and it’s still damp.

The sun just reappeared and the sky has touches of blue. I think it will be a lovely day.

When I was a kid, some things just seemed exotic to me. Palm trees were on that list. I pictured a white sandy beach, water so clear you could see the fish and a line of palm trees along the sand. I imagined drinking from a coconut just knocked from the tree. I think it was Swiss Family Robinson which conjured my imaginings. When I saw my first palm tree, I wasn’t disappointed.

The desert was also among my exotic imaginings. I saw myself dressed like a Bedouin and riding a camel. My clothes were bright reds and greens and blues, and I wore a cloth across part of my face to keep out the sand. I could see myself sitting on the saddle as the camel slowly walked across the desert. It must have been a movie which had me imagining the Sahara as I don’t think any of my books did.

New England is the least exotic place I know, but I figure for some people New England and all it offers might be part of their imaginings. Sledding down a big hill in winter, collecting shells along the shore, swimming in the ocean and eating freshly caught fish might just be part of someone’s dreaming.

Categories: Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Comments: 14 Comments