Posted tagged ‘cold day’

“The first day of spring is one thing, and the first spring day is another. The difference between them is sometimes as great as a month.”

March 24, 2014

If I were to add up all my errands from this morning, today would be the most industrious of days, a day worthy of commendation. It was my annual physical first then three more stops. One stop was for the animals, including the birds, who now have enough seed, food and treats to last through the snowstorm. I stopped at the grocery store and bought all I need and a few things I didn’t need, like Twizzlers.

The roads were fairly empty without the usually frantic before the storm shopping. That will be tomorrow. Did I mention we are expecting a storm with blizzard conditions starting tomorrow night into Wednesday? The Cape will be the hardest hit and get the most snow. Predictions as to how much varies. The last one I saw said 6-8 inches. But by Saturday, though, we should be close to 60˚. I think Mother Nature is pulling a Gaslight, as in the movie, on all of us. The kindly, grandmotherly Mother Nature in bright clothes, a pretty cloak and flowers in her hair is beginning to look more like the Witch in Sleeping Beauty every time it snows, but I’m thinking this might just be winter’s last hurrah.

It’s cold today, no way around it. Everyone is bundled and back to puffy jackets and scarves. I saw a really old woman who could barely move her arms because of the layers.

I don’t really care. I grumble just because it seems the thing to do. Really, though, what’s one more snowstorm in a long line of snowstorms? It’s not stopping me from doing anything. I just sit in the house and wait for the plowman, Skip, to come. There are books to read, TV programs to watch and a comfy bed for a nap. I have Twizzlers. I’m happy.

“Own only what you can always carry with you: know languages, know countries, know people. Let your memory be your travel bag.”

March 14, 2014

The day is bright with sun but it’s a cold morning, a 25˚ morning. Icicles hang from the edges of my roof. Snow still lies on the ground but the roads are clear. The weatherman says tomorrow will be a warm day. We might even hit 50˚,  but this winter has made a skeptic of me. I don’t trust a warm day. It’s Mother Nature toying with us. She probably giggles when a warm day makes us hopeful knowing that the cold is just biding its time, waiting for its turn. It’s inevitable.

When I was last returning from Ghana, my carry-on was so heavy I couldn’t lift it into the bin. I asked the man beside me, and he was quite happy to help, but he did mention how heavy it was. The reasons were two pottery bowls and a few other breakables I didn’t trust to my checked luggage. The bowls were nothing fancy but are common ones for grinding peppers or ginger.

Souvenirs are tricky. When I was a kid, I tended toward pennants, magnets or plastic gewgaws made in China. Each had the name of the place we were visiting. I remember buying snow globes and plastic dolls dressed in regional costumes. Quality wasn’t an issue for me.

From the beach I brought home colorful shells and dead starfish. The shells stayed around a while, but the dead starfish would start to smell, and my mother would make me throw them away. The round nautilus type shells were always my favorite.

When I was in Africa as a Peace Corps volunteer, I bought cloth and had it made into dresses which I wore every day. They weren’t really souvenirs. I sent home as gifts wooden animals, heads and giraffes. Ghana didn’t have any giraffes. I bought leather bags and woven baskets, but I used them. One basket became a lamp shade. When I was leaving Ghana, I bought a whole collection of the African Writers’ Series, a fugu (smock), some cloth and not one gewgaw. I would have bought a snow globe but it would have been weird to find one in Ghana.

No matter where I have traveled, I’ve bought souvenirs. Among them are a pottery tea set from England, platters and dishes from Portugal, wooden figures from Russia, cloth from Ghana, a tagine from Morocco, curtains from Dublin and a tablecloth from Hungary.

I didn’t think about it when I was buying everything, but in retrospect it seems as I had grown-up so had my souvenirs.

“What is drama, after all, but life with the dull bits cut out.”

February 11, 2014

I’ve been duped again. Looking out my window I see sunlight framed by a blue sky. I’m thinking warm day, but it’s still cold. I swear I saw a fat spawn sitting on the deck eating sunflower seeds and wearing a really ugly winter sweater.

Today I am uninspired. It would have said uninsured, but I caught spell check in time.

By February winter gets loathsome. Snow is still on the ground: crusty, icy and hard. A rare day in the 40’s is cause for city-wide celebrations and dancing in the streets. If the weatherman predicts snow, we just sigh. We used to curse. Many of us stay cozy and warm at home and try to find something to keep us busy or distracted. Even doing laundry fills a bit of the day as does an afternoon nap. A good book works best. I’ve read two in the last three days.

Today I am going to face the elements and go out to do a couple of errands. I need bread. I also want to buy the fixings for dinner. I’m thinking meatloaf and mashed potatoes with peas on the side, a dinner ranking high on my list of comfort foods. I’m also going to buy some Twizzlers just because.

The day brightened for me a bit when I watched Foreign Correspondent made in 1940, a favorite Hitchcock of mine. It’s the reason I’m running late. I can’t be a brilliant writer and watch my movie at the same time. During the credits the background music is the singing of The Star Spangled Banner. I find that a wonderful touch.

“The first fall of snow is not only an event, it is a magical event. You go to bed in one kind of a world and wake up in another quite different, and if this is not enchantment then where is it to be found?”

January 30, 2014

If someone was giving out gold stars, I’d get a few. I feel so accomplished. This morning I had blood drawn, went to the bank, the dump, the pharmacy and Dunkin’ Donuts, all by 9:30. Yesterday the @#$%$$#dump was closed because of the snow on Tuesday night. My trunk had been filled with potentially smelly trash so I was not happy. Luckily it stayed cold. Now I am done with errands and intend to stay inside cozy and warm. I have earned it. A sloth I will be.

Both my papers had stories about Atlanta. One headline was “City Brought to Standstill by 3 Inches of Snow.” It gave me the chuckle I suspect was meant. We got between 4 and 5 inches overnight on Tuesday which is not even considered a snow storm, a dusting maybe. The schools were even open. I swept the walk all the way to the car which plowed easily through the snow in front of it to the road without needing any shoveling or sweeping. By late morning the sun was shining, and the road was down to pavement. Today the sun is shining again with that shimmering light that only comes with winter and the sky is stark blue, both helping the day take on the illusion of warmth. It was 20˚ went I went to the dump.

The threshold between childhood and adulthood is hazy and comes in steps. Thinking of snow as a bother is one of those steps. When I was a kid and it had snowed, I was just so excited. I’d grab my sled and we all, the whole neighborhood, sledded, and flew down the hill whizzing by those trudging up the hill, those who had already flown. We’d build snow forts and use water to ice and reinforce the walls. They’d last for weeks. We had snowball fights. The world was a giant play-land. Some time or other all that stopped and snow on the ground meant shoveling and not much more. That’s still my current stand about snow. Once you cross the line, it’s usually forever.

The sledding and the snow forts may go, but a few pieces of that childhood and snow never disappear. I think snow is lovely when it falls, when the world is hushed. When I was young, I’d watch the flakes fall in the shine of the street light by my house. Now I turn on the outside lights and stand at the door to watch the flakes falling and sometimes I put out my hand to catch a few.

After the storm, I used to pile on the winter clothes, put on a hat and mittens, shovel the walk and then free my car. Sometimes it took hours depending upon the amount of snow, and I’d come close to freezing. The snow had stopped being pretty and had become a nuisance. Now I stay and wait for Skip, my plowman. The snow is pretty again.

“Hope Smiles from the threshold of the year to come, Whispering ‘it will be happier’…”

December 31, 2013

A dusting of snow was the surprise this morning. I first noticed it on the tree branches outside my bedroom window. The weatherman must have been so intent on the Thursday-Friday storm he forgot to mention this dusting, probably too little to notice.

It is cold. We have no sun for the third day in a row, and I’m beginning to forget what it looks like. All I see is a foreboding sky with dark, bare branches silhouetted against it. 

I intent to stay inside all day today. Yesterday I did a couple of errands so I’m all set. Warmth and comfort are all I seek. I have a book to keep me occupied and laundry to do if I feel any need to be industrious, but the laundry has been sitting in plain sight a couple of days so that’s not likely. I am in my coziest clothes, the coffee is freshly brewed and the larder is sufficient. 

I have no plans for tonight. When I was younger, I always celebrated on New Year’s Eve, usually at a party with a few friends. A couple of times I went to First Night in Boston and once in Reading, a town north of Boston. More than not, though, I just stayed home. My mother always called to wish me a Happy New Year. 

I don’t make resolutions. I used to but was horrific at keeping them. Now I just hope that every new year is better than the last and that I stay healthy and happy. That seems to be more than enough. 

I wish you all the happiest of new year’s and thanks for hanging around for another year!

“In skating over thin ice, our safety is in our speed.”

December 30, 2013

Monday means breakfast at the diner. My diner is a small place with only 12 or so booths and some stools at the counter. A few regulars were there and the owners are always at the front of the house doing whatever needs to be done. They greet all the regulars and stop at the booths to chat a bit. It wasn’t too busy when I first arrived but all the booths were taken by the time I left.

The morning is cold. Yesterday throughout the day and night we had torrential rain and late last night the wind began to roar. I imagined the pine trees bending and swaying with loud creaks of protest, and when I let Gracie out this morning, I noticed a few branches, smaller ones, had fallen in the backyard. My outside Christmas lights died around 8, and the back dog lights blinked on and off for a long while. For my neighbors’ sake, I kept hoping the lights would stop blinking. They did and the yard went dark. This morning I turned on the timer for the outside lights, and nothing tripped so I guess all is well.

When I was a kid, I didn’t know anyone who traveled during Christmas vacation, and I didn’t know anyone who skied. Both of those would have been far too expensive for our family and for my neighbors. We had sleds and ice skates, and they provided winter amusement. My friends and I would skate at the swamp or on the rink at the park. That rink was put up every winter and taken down in the spring. The small building at the rink had wooden planks for seats, and we’d put our shoes, tied together, underneath the planks. The building was always warmed by a pot-bellied stove. One man worked there, and he was in charge of keeping the stove going. The skating was free, provided for by the town. I’d skate until my feet hurt.

Sometimes my mother would give us bus fare and entrance money for the MDC rink over the line in Medford, the next town. We had to walk up-town to catch the bus as it was really to far to walk. On Saturdays and school vacations, the bus was filled with skaters. The MDC rink had two fenced-in skating circles and a building with lots of seating and a refreshment stand. We’d skate a while then take a break in the warmth of the building then go back outside for more skating. We’d be there most of the day. I remember taking off my skates and how strange my feet felt. It was as if they had forgotten how to walk. We’d buy a hot chocolate then go outside and wait for the bus. I remember standing on the sidewalk and looking down the street hoping to see it coming our way. We were cold and tired and more than ready to go home.

“…we went to watch the waves that bitter day and the wind took your red cap and mittens – blew them into the sea…”

November 4, 2013

I should be singing “What a Difference a Day Makes.” Yesterday’s warmth has given way to a seasonably cold morning in the mid-40’s. The view outside my window even looks cold with a here again, gone again sun, a strong breeze and cloudy skies. The weather isn’t inviting though I’ve already been out for breakfast and have to fill the bird feeders later. I’m thinking today is a good day to lounge.

I remember walking to school every day regardless of the weather. The worst walk was during the winter when it was cold and sometimes so damp my bones would chill. My mother made us wear snow pants, thick coats, hats, mittens and sometimes boots, but when I got to a certain age, snow pants were out. I didn’t want to wear them anymore. They were, in my mind, for little kids. Worst of all was I looked silly wearing them because my uniform skirt was worn over the pants instead of tucked in, never an attractive look. My mother, still trying to keep me warm, bought me pink thermal underwear instead. I remember the legs of the underwear reached to my knees. I also remember the underwear was really ugly.

I have a winter coat but I seldom wear it. Going from the house to the car to a warm store doesn’t seem to warrant a heavy coat; instead, I wear a sweatshirt most of the winter, but if it gets really cold, like single digits, I add a lined jacket, a light jacket. I still wear mittens instead of gloves. They keep my hands warm with all the fingers interacting. I have earmuffs but am seldom outside long enough to need them. They’re an emergency item. I hate having red, cold ears.

I have a couple of pairs of boots, but I don’t wear them either. They’re the sort with laces up the front, and, in the age of velcro, that seems an awful lot of work. I usually just wait until my walk is shoveled before I go anywhere and then I wear my wool winter clogs which I have in four different colors. If nothing else, my feet are fashionable in winter.

“Oh dear sunday, I want to sleep in your arms and have fun day.”

October 6, 2013

The sun is gone to regions unknown. It is a chilly, damp day. I always think Sundays should be bright and sunny. A beautiful warm day  would make me optimistic about the rest of the week.

This morning I didn’t tarry for a look at the garden. I grabbed my papers and came right back inside the house. I know a few flowers are still blooming. The other day the bees were all over them. That morning I stopped and watched. I think it’s time for the front storm door.

The week seems to have an empty dance card, the same as last week. I liked it. One book was finished and another begun, and the odd places in the house were cleaned and polished: bookcases, knick-knacks, lamp shades and the tops of books. I lemon oiled the old wooden surfaces and cleaned tiles. I was possessed.

I still hold for quiet Sundays. When I was a kid, I complained there was nothing to do, and there wasn’t, but that has changed. Sunday is now the same as any other day except the newspaper is thicker. That seems wrong, not the paper of course, but the rest of it. We all need a day to enjoy life, even to do nothing which is enjoyable in itself. Lie on the couch and read or watch football, even take a nap. Most things can wait until tomorrow.

My boys won again yesterday. The Red Sox are now up 2 games to none. Big Papi hit two home runs. What made the win especially sweet was they beat Price. I love the post season.

Tonight is games, appies, The Amazing Race and dessert. Sounds like a perfect Sunday night to me.

“We pledge to fight ‘blue-sky thinking wherever we find it. Life would be dull if we had to look up at cloudless monotony day after day.”

September 27, 2013

Looking out the window this morning, I knew the day would be chilly. It is definitely bleak. The trees are silhouetted in the darkness of the day, in the grayness of a sky filled with clouds. The lighter limbs at the tops of the trees are blowing in the breeze. The heavy oak tree limbs barely move. The birds are elsewhere, somewhere sheltered. I will follow their example and stay warm and cozy.

I find myself talking to the television. Luckily I don’t hear it talking back to me so my sanity is not in question. Mostly I correct grammar. I have a friend who says it doesn’t make any difference if the grammar is correct or not. I totally disagree. So many people watch TV that using good grammar is essential just so people can hear it spoken. Him and I is very common. That makes me cringe. My friend is a musician, and he objects to music badly played or songs poorly sung on television. I don’t get it: I don’t get why he believes only music need be done well and grammar can be whatever. I guess I never will. I love the sounds of language well-spoken just as he loves the sounds of music well-played.

Gracie gets to come with me today while we do errands. We have three stops to make, and she gets to come inside the last stop, Agway, with me. She loves all the smells and she greets everyone. It’s a big shopping day for us at Agway: canned and dried dog food, dog biscuits, pine cat litter and canned cat food. I’ll need a loan to pay the bill.

I think I’m going to put out my mouse trap. I haven’t seen any indications they’ve returned, but I figure with the cold they might be looking for winter digs. My bedroom will be first because that’s where the bulk of them lived last winter. I just hope this time the trap remains unoccupied.

‘I don’t know why, but the meals we have on picnics always taste so much nicer than the ones we have indoors,’ said George.”

May 14, 2013

Although it is only a bit after 10, I have already had a busy morning in contrast to yesterday’s day of sloth. I woke up at 6:30 to the sound of raindrops, came downstairs, went to get the papers then read both of them. When I was finished, I went upstairs and  changed my bed. As I unfurled the bottom sheet, a sock flew out of the corner, the missing sock to one of the few pairs I have without holes. I never throw socks away. I always figure the shoe hides the holes. I then finished the bed, got dressed and left for my 9 o’clock library board meeting. Our biggest agenda item was choosing between plastic or wood for planting tubs and between Alberta Spruce and some other bush with a Japanese sounding name. We went wooden and the bush with a Japanese sounding name. I tried to Google the name of the bush and put into Google Odd Bush with Japanese sounding name, but George W. kept appearing. That gave me a bit of a chuckle. My next stops were the post office and the pharmacy. My last stop was voting in the town election. The big race is for selectman, three running for two spots. There were also two requests for tax overrides and a non-binding question as to whether the nuclear plant in Plymouth should be closed. People are a bit edgy that the evacuation route means driving by the plant. While I was driving all over town doing errands, the sun came out and the sky turned a light blue. It is, however, still a bit cold, only in the low 50’s. My heat came on this morning.

When I was a kid, we never went on a picnic just for the sake of a picnic. We’d eat outside sitting on the back steps which is, I suppose, a cousin to the picnic; however, I do remember stopping at rest areas and eating at picnic benches but only on long rides, usually to somewhere for vacation. We ate at the beach, but it was the water and the sand which drew us, not a picnic. My mother had a picnic basket and a red Tartan jug. She made great sandwiches, and there were usually chips and Oreos.

When I was in Ghana, we went on picnics just for the fun of a picnic. We’d bring the small charcoal burner, some hot dogs from a can or from the meat factory that used to be in Bolga, bread, chopped tomatoes and onions and probably something for dessert though I don’t remember what. I’m leaning toward the sweet donuts or the toasted coconut balls. We’d load up then ride our motorcycles a bit into the bush. Once I remember being near Tonga and another time paying guys to haul our bikes across a small pond. We’d sit on a blanket, enjoy our lunch and watch Ghana. I loved those picnics.

Here on the cape we used to have picnics on a hill overlooking the Grist Mill. We’d climb and complain about it as we carried the basket of goodies and the drinks. I remember being so glad to reach the top and hurrying to spread out the blanket so I could collapse. We’d stay for hours.

We’d bring picnics to Sunday night band concerts every week. We all took turns bringing the appetizer, the dinner or the dessert and then we’d share. Another time we had a picnic before a town meeting. Lots of people did. We all sat about the baseball field or the bleachers enjoying dinner from a basket. The meeting was with both towns about the school budget and was on the high school football field. The chairs were under a tent and I thought it had a bit of the circus about it. A group of musicians played before the meeting and the snack bar was open. That was a long time ago.

I think it’s time to bring back picnics and Tartan jugs.