Posted tagged ‘cold’

“Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky.”

March 9, 2013

Enough! Enough! I have endured too many sunless days. Today is cold and cloudy. I can deal with cold, but I’m sick and tired of cloudy. That last storm with its snow, rain, slush and wild wind was just a walk in the park on a nasty day, more like nasty days as the storm lasted close to three days. Nobody complained. Most people just shrugged. That’s the way it’s been. I am, however, out of shrugs. I’m complaining. Give me some sun!

When I lived in Ghana, we went months without rain during the dry season. The sky was blue every day. The grasses were dead, browned by lack of rain. The fields were empty. Any leftover millet stalks had been burned away. Every day was the same. We used to joke by saying it looked like rain knowing full well rain was months away. That never got to me. I knew what to expect. I knew the rains would come as they did every year. It was just a matter of patience.

This morning I filled the bird feeders. It was from guilt because when I looked out the kitchen window I saw a house finch and a gold finch sitting longingly at the empty feeder. I filled a bag with sunflower seeds and went out and filled all three feeders. It was cold out there, and I expect the birds to be appreciative. A thank you banner wouldn’t be amiss.

A few of the daffodils I bought the other day have finally opened. The flowers are beautiful, and their bright yellow has helped a little to satisfy my need for color.

Winter clothes should be colorful. We should be wearing bright blues and yellows and pinks and any other colors which catch our eyes. It is the season most in need of color and the one with the least. Next year I will wear colors all winter.

“It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade.”

March 8, 2013

Earliest I sloshed my way to the mailbox and then to the driveway to get the papers. My road is slush covered. Tire marks show the route of my paper delivery, and when I got inside, I could see my footprints. It is lightly snowing, slanted and from the northeast, but I can also hear drips on the deck from the roof. The weather for today is rainy and cold with temperatures in the 30’s. I just hope it stays above freezing. The wind was with us all night but has since pretty much disappeared. On the early news was a house which had fallen into the ocean. I suspect it won’t be the last as the rain pits and wears away the dunes. This is just ugly. The only bright spot is I have heat and electricity.

I stood at the back door while the coffee perked. The storm is a bit mesmerizing with the snow coming across rather than down. The railing on the deck outside the door has an inch or more of what used to be snow and is now slush. That slush is the color of cement and Gracie’s paw prints look permanent as if she walked across the new part of a sidewalk. Lots of birds are hovering around the feeder, the squirrel buster feeder. I filled it the other day so there is plenty of seed. All of the birds are gold finches still clad in their dull winter feathers.

March is a difficult month. It doesn’t know whether it wants to be the first spring month or the last month of winter. Easter is at the end of the month so March best make up its mind. Light dresses and pastels don’t work as well with winter coats.

I know they’ll be snow and frost and windshield scraping. I have lived in New England all of my life and haven’t thought about moving anywhere else. Winter is the price we pay for spring and fall, especially fall. All I ask is a sunny day, a winter’s sunny day is fine with me. I know the winter sun is sharper and colder, but sun is sun, and it makes me glad.

“Progress is made by lazy men looking for easier ways to do things.”

March 5, 2013

It is, as my mother would have described it, a raw day, the sort where you feel chilled to the bone from the cold and damp. Right now there is a snow shower with small flakes being blown about by the wind. It won’t amount to anything, but its mere existence is beyond the pale. “Too much, too much,” I whine to no one but myself.

The weather in today’s Cape Times predicted the rest of the week much like today. Each day has the possibility of rain or snow showers. Saturday will be the first sunny day, if the paper’s prediction is correct. I went out earlier and filled the bird feeders. Gracie didn’t even bother to get off the couch until she heard me drop something. She then came to the deck, checked out what I was doing and then went right back inside the house, back to the couch.

Last night I was so tired I went to bed around 9:30, unheard for me, the night owl. I slept through until 8 and stayed in bed under the covers a little bit longer. I was too warm and cozy to face this day. I could see the sky through my window and nothing about it was inviting. When I came downstairs, Gracie went right outside. That surprised me as usually I have to open the door. Not this time: I never closed the back door last night. I guess I didn’t force Gracie out one more time but, instead, just shut off the light in the den and went upstairs to bed.

My legs are still wobbly from the vet bill yesterday. It was closer to $400 than $300, and this was a well dog visit, but the outcome couldn’t have been better. Gracie is healthy, and the vet said she is beautiful. If she didn’t have some grey on her muzzle, the vet said she’d think Gracie is still a puppy. She told me whatever I’m doing is working well as most boxers she sees tend to be overweight, but not Miss Gracie. She also got her nails done yesterday, like a sort of mini-spa.

When I was a kid, we had a boxer named Duke. He never had a well dog visit. He got rabies shots I think but nothing else. My father used to douse him in flea powder periodically. He ate canned dog food with horse meat. He was free to roam anywhere he wanted, and he did. He wasn’t supposed to get on the couch, but he always slept there when we weren’t around, and we could hear him get off the couch in the mornings when we’d go downstairs. Duke lived a long, long life for a boxer though he wasn’t pampered, didn’t eat all natural foods, ate Oreos my sisters fed him and anything else left on our plates. I don’t know if there is a lesson in that. I know we people are less immune to germs because our lives are so antiseptic. Maybe it’s the same with dogs.

I had an idea to do a couple of errands today but that thought disappeared with the first flake. I’m not even going to bother to get dressed. I will out-sloth a sloth today! Maybe I’ll pay some bills so I can claim a bit of industry.

“Dust is a protective coating for fine furniture.”

February 21, 2013

Yesterday I leaned against the bookcase in the living room and my sweatshirt came away blackened. All that smoke from last week’s fires has left the tops of tables, the cabinet shelves and the bookcase filthy with ash. I couldn’t stand the mess so I polished everything. Someone should have been there for pictures. I’d have grinned broadly while holding the filthy cleaning cloths. I finished the living room, but, as with any contagion, I wasn’t done. I moved on to the dining room then to the den. When each cloth got too filthy, I’d throw it on the floor then grab another from the plastic tube. I left a trail of dusty, dark polish cloths from room to room and felt a bit like Gretel only my leavings were more substantial. When I was done in, I picked up the cloths, tossed them in the basket and took a nap. I had earned it. Cleaning anything is debilitating.

I need medication. The disease is spreading. This morning while I waited for my coffee, I cleaned the top of the hutch in the dining room. On it are interesting bottles and a few carafes, and I cleaned them all. I realized the shelves need to be next, but just before I reached for another cloth the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, and I was able to pull myself away. I haven’t been out much or seen many people so I can’t understand where I picked up this cleaning bug. I googled but found no cure. It has to run its course.

Today is cold, and tonight will be colder. Even though the sun is shining and the sky is blue you can almost see the cold. There is a breeze though I think it might be strong enough to be called a wind. The feeders are empty so I’ll have to venture out on the deck later. The birds who visit are many, and I’d hate to disappoint them.

Snow is predicted for the weekend yet again, but this time the Cape will not be getting much, only an inch at most. Boston and further north will get more. I’m happy for them!

I read an article in the paper about how the police have muddled the Pistotius case. It was an AP reprint. The end of the article is worth noting. It quoted Detective Botha, the main muddler who has since been dropped from the case and is now under investigation for attempted murder, about an accidental shooting, date unmentioned, in which the athlete was involved. According to Botha, Pistorius asked someone else, “to take the wrap.” The quotes are theirs!

“The only disability in life is a bad attitude.”

February 18, 2013

Today is a pretty day as long as you’re looking out from inside the house because it’s cold, and that dilutes the pretty. No drips from the roof and no melting of the weekend’s snow despite the bright sun is a sign of how cold it is. I had to walk through fairly deep snow to get my newspaper, but my plowman just arrived and shoveled the walk, freed my car and made the mailbox accessible for the mail truck tomorrow. I may go out later, but then again I’m liking the warm house.

When I was a kid, there was a blind girl in a neighborhood a few blocks from mine. I didn’t know her personally, but I knew her name was Patty. I remember her eyes were set in from her face and looked black to me. I don’t know if she ever went to school. I really didn’t know anything about her. Her parents would tie a rope around her waist which allowed her to go to the sidewalk but not into the street. Patty would walk up and down the sidewalk and clap her hands whenever a car went by, and I remember how loud the claps sounded. It didn’t seem strange or cruel to me that she was tied outside. I just figured it was the safest way for her to be there. On the few occasions, I go back to my hometown, the route sometimes takes me right by Patty’s sidewalk. I always wonder about her.

Another person I remember was developmentally disabled though in those days he was considered retarded. I don’t remember his name, but he was an adult when I was still a kid. I remember he always neatly dressed in grey, heavy chino work pants, a collared shirt and a light jacket. He walked everywhere around town and shook hands with just about every man he met. My dad always stopped to say hello and shook hands and always called him by name. Just about everybody did. I know he went to all the funerals at St. Patrick’s. I don’t know about the other churches. He always sat in the back and nobody ever minded. I don’t know what happened to him. We moved away and I never saw him again.

While I was growing up, I never saw anyone else who was in any way disabled. Maybe they were kept inside the house or in hospitals or boarding schools. Patty and the man I mentioned were part of the fabric of my town. I never thought twice about their disabilities. That was just part of who they were.

“There are those to whom one must advise madness.”

February 16, 2013

It’s late, but I woke up late and chose a leisurely morning. The coffee was delicious, and the maple butter on my toast was perfect. Baseball news is back in the papers, and my Red Sox are not in last place any more. I hungrily read everything and know that David’s injury is getting better each day, Lackey has lost weight and the team is much happier with its new manager. Maybe spring is not as far away as it seems. Okay, here’s the truth: I don’t really believe that. It’s just one of those things I write to give myself a bit of hope, a small bit of hope. I call it my Pollyanna syndrome. Today is cold, cloudy, icy and a really ugly day. Spring is still on some island somewhere sipping on a drink with a small umbrella while sitting on a lounge chair in the sand.

Snow has become a four letter word. George Carlin could have added it to his repertoire as the eighth dirty word. Yup, we’re expecting 4 to 8 inches of the filthy stuff starting tonight. With it will come heavy winds. The Cape is the storm’s main target. The rest of the state will get a dusting or maybe an inch or two. Once I finish here, I’ll do my storm chores and errands. The feeders need filling, the trash needs dumping, and I need comfort food. Gracie and I will go together then brace ourselves for what is to come, but I swear if I lose electricity this time I won’t be accountable for my actions. Call it temporary madness brought about by s***.

The sky has an eerie color, a before the storm color. Nothing outside is moving, not even the dead oak leaves. It’s strange and disconcerting. I feel a bit like Scarlett O’Hara did in that scene in the field where she stands, raises her fists to the sky and says, “As God is my witness, as God is my witness, they’re not going to lick me! I’m going to live through this, and when it’s all over, I’ll never be hungry again – no, nor any of my folks! If I have to lie, steal, cheat, or kill! As God is my witness, I’ll never be hungry again.” Substitute cold for hungry, and you have me.

“I am an omnivorous reader with a strangely retentive memory for trifles.”

February 5, 2013

Snow is lightly falling and has been all morning, but I doubt it will amount to much. When I went to get the papers, I almost fell as I didn’t see the ice hidden under the new snow. The ice is from the snow of a couple of nights ago which melted during the day yesterday but froze when the temperature dropped in the darkness of the late afternoon. How I didn’t fall is a mystery. I am a faller, a tripper, a down on my butt person so saving myself  is new to me, a miracle of sorts.

I’m feeling so much better that it was a busy day for me yesterday. I filled the feeders, watered plants, put laundry away, swept the kitchen floor, took down the wreaths and took off all their ornaments to save for next year and even made my bed.

We had a mouse yesterday, the first in a few days. When I went to bed, it was in the trap so Gracie and I did a midnight run. It was cold, really cold, but I decided not to leave the mouse in the trap all night. I know the mouse has to be let free over a mile away so its loses its homing instinct so Gracie and I drove to our usual spot. When I opened the trap, that mouse took off like a shot. Some mice have to be shaken a few times before I can get them out of the trap, but not this one. It was out and running. I left it at a spot where a few of the other mice have been freed. I have this vision, like Mole’s little home in The Wind in the Willows, where the other mice invite the new one into their homes where the fire is warming, the chair comfy and the bread and cheese is on the table. I know. I know. My imagination has gone amok!

I always wonder how I know some things. I probably read or heard them and my mind just put them away in my memory drawers for later use. At trivia one night the question was which cartoon character was introduced in the comic strip Thimble Theater in 1929. I said Popeye. Not one person on my team accepted my answer. They discussed it among themselves without any consideration that I might be right though I did offer Popeye one more time, but it was as if I had said nothing. They agreed on some other answer and turned it in. The correct answer was Popeye. They blamed me for the wrong answer saying I should have been more insistent.

In the crossword puzzle today the clue was ______Novo. I , of course, filled in Porto. That was easy. It is a city in Benin which used to be Dahomey when I lived in Africa. That’s one of the weird facts for which I know the origin. Thimble Theater still escapes me.

“I don’t believe in reincarnation, and I didn’t believe in it when I was a hamster.”

February 4, 2013

About an inch of snow fell last night. With the sun glinting off the ice crystals, the morning is a pretty one, but it’s cold out. I swept the snow from the walk and my car windows, got the paper then ran inside to the warmth of the house. I’ll have to venture onto the deck later as the feeders are empty.

No mouse was in the trap this morning though the trap had been sprung, but the peanut butter was still there so one of the cats could very well have been the culprit as the trap is so sensitive to touch. I’ll reset the trap and put it back in the eaves, but I haven’t found a mouse in a few days. Gracie is a bit disappointed. She enjoys her late evening mouse runs. The last mouse was my favorite. It was let loose near some woods and to get there it ran, hopped, ran and hopped again. I watched it until it disappeared into the woods. As always, I wished it well.

I had hamsters once. The guy at the pet store swore they were both males; he was half right. Those hamsters had several babies, but I did find homes and then put the two of them in separate cages. Those cages were in my bedroom. The female hamster learned how to open the cage and escaped often even after we closed it with more wire. One of the cats captured that hamster and was playing with it in the bathtub. The hamster would try and climb the side to get away, and the cat would bring it right back. It was like the Myth of Sysyphus without the rock. My mother saved the hamster which, you find later in the story, was a bit ironic. I had one of those furry rugs popular in the 60’s. It was a round one on the floor in my bedroom. The rug was bright pink. The hamster pulled it close to the cage and chewed off a section of the rug for her nest. It was one pretty colorful nest, and I had a rug with a circular piece missing. People saw the rug with the missing piece but never asked. I would have been curious. Eventually the male hamster died and the female escaped. It lived somewhere in the house, but we didn’t find it until later, until its demise. The hamster had been living behind the stove, and when my mother turned on the stove one time, the hamster, the same one my mother had saved, bit into a wire and was electrocuted. We called my mother the Lord High Executioner for a while. She never really warmed to that name.

“I don’t believe in reincarnation, and I didn’t believe in it when I was a hamster.”

February 4, 2013

About an inch of snow fell last night. With the sun glinting off the ice crystals, the morning is a pretty one, but it’s cold out. I swept the snow from the walk and my car windows, got the paper then ran inside to the warmth of the house. I’ll have to venture onto the deck later as the feeders are empty.

No mouse was in the trap this morning though the trap had been sprung, but the peanut butter was still there so one of the cats could very well have been the culprit as the trap is so sensitive to touch. I’ll reset the trap and put it back in the eaves, but I haven’t found a mouse in a few days. Gracie is a bit disappointed. She enjoys her late evening mouse runs. The last mouse was my favorite. It was let loose near some woods and to get there it ran, hopped, ran and hopped again. I watched it until it disappeared into the woods. As always, I wished it well.

I had hamsters once. The guy at the pet store swore they were both males; he was half right. Those hamsters had several babies, but I did find homes and then put the two of them in separate cages. Those cages were in my bedroom. The female hamster learned how to open the cage and escaped often even after we closed it with more wire. One of the cats captured that hamster and was playing with it in the bathtub. The hamster would try and climb the side to get away, and the cat would bring it right back. It was like the Myth of Sysyphus without the rock. My mother saved the hamster which, you find later in the story, was a bit ironic. I had one of those furry rugs popular in the 60’s. It was a round one on the floor in my bedroom. The rug was bright pink. The hamster pulled it close to the cage and chewed off a section of the rug for her nest. It was one pretty colorful nest, and I had a rug with a circular piece missing. People saw the rug with the missing piece but never asked. I would have been curious. Eventually the male hamster died and the female escaped. It lived somewhere in the house, but we didn’t find it until later, until its demise. The hamster had been living behind the stove, and when my mother turned on the stove one time, the hamster, the same one my mother had saved, bit into a wire and was electrocuted. We called my mother the Lord High Executioner for a while. She never really warmed to that name.

“An atheist is a man who watches a Notre Dame – Southern Methodist University game and doesn’t care who wins.”

February 3, 2013

I woke to a cold morning with a dusting of snow and a whitish grey sky. The breeze is ever so slight. Only the tips of the brown leaves sway. Snow sits on the oak and pine branches and covers all but the tall grass in the backyard. I think the day is pretty in its own way, even without the sun. Goldfinches and nuthatches are at the feeders. I don’t know where my chickadees have gone.

Gracie, Fern and Maddie are having their morning naps. Gracie went out for a short time and came running back inside as if she were being chased. She had spit on her forehead, always a sign she had run around the yard with her mouth open and her tongue hanging. Gracie does yard loops and runs around three or four times without stopping. My yard is big so she is always panting when the loops are done.

My big plans for today are to water the plants and go to the dump. Later I’ll watch the Puppy Bowl, one of my favorite Super Bowl Sunday events. Usually my friends and I get together for the game, but I’m still on the mend so I’ll stay home. I won’t even get dressed in outside clothes. The dump has no dress code.

My father spent every Sunday of football season watching a game, usually by himself. None of us were interested. He’d sit in the living room, eat snacks and yell and jump off the couch when something really good or really bad happened. We were usually in the kitchen. He’d come out to get something else to eat or drink and give us an update. We’d commiserate when his team was losing and give encouraging sounds, but we didn’t really care. Once in a while he’d yell to us about some play, and we’d go in the living for a minute or two and check out the TV. Most of the time I had no idea what he was talking about. Football, other than knowing a few basics, was a foreign language to me. I know a lot more now, even about some plays, the jobs of the different positions and special teams, but I still need my football to English dictionary.