Posted tagged ‘chasing cats’

“Memory is a child walking along a seashore. You never can tell what small pebble it will pick up and store away among its treasured things.”

April 17, 2016

Today is a beautiful day despite the chill in the air. The sun is just so bright you have to squint when you go outside. The breeze is slight and only the tops of the pine trees sway a bit.

Yesterday I had my fish and chips for lunch, but they were more than just a lunch to me. They inaugurated the official start of summer food. Bring on the shrimp and the scallops. Light up the grill. I’m ready!

Operation Fern and Maddie isn’t going as easily as I’d hoped. Maddie runs and hides. Fern tries to run, but I usually catch her. This morning Fern got her liquid medicine, and I was able to rub the other one in her ear. Maddie took off. We played musical chairs for a while around the dining room table. I lost so she has yet to have a dose and she needs two. It is no big deal. I just have to rub medicine in each ear. That’s it. I could get her right now as she is asleep on the chair, but she loves to sleep there so I don’t want it associated with medicine. I’ll have to wait until she gets up and moves around.

The neighborhood is quiet, an unusual occurrence. It reminds me of when I was a kid, and Sunday was always a quite day. Every family had pretty much the same rituals: church then family dinner. There was a reverence about the day.

When I’d visit my parents for the weekend, Friday night was game night. My uncle got dropped off by one of his kids because after the night’s festivities they knew he shouldn’t get behind the wheel. He was a weekly visitor. Sometimes my aunt, not related to my uncle, also showed up. She was my father’s sister, and they unmercifully teased each other. The kitchen was the only room ever used. It was always noisy, even raucous. It was filled with laughs, even guffaws, at somebody’s expense. My dad was often the target. The room would be filled with smoke, and the backdoor, even in winter, was usually left open. The bar was on the counter. The person closest to the counter got stuck getting the drinks. We’d play game after game of cards. We’d play for hours. The room would get louder and louder. Many times I was the bartender. I used to joke with my parents and say I learned my bartending skills by the time I was six. When I delve into my memory drawer, I can still see the table filled all around, the bottles on the counter, the air thick with smoke and most of all I can hear the laughter. My uncle is the only one left of the Friday night gatherings. I have all the memories and I can still see everyone when I close my eyes and remember.