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“I am too young to be called wise and I am too old to be called young.”

January 16, 2017

Today is winter warm. The sun is shining and the sky is pale blue. In all respects it is a pretty day.

This morning I had a burst of energy. The laundry got put away, and the next load of laundry is leaning against the cellar door. I expect I’ll wash it later. I brought the vacuum up from the cellar. I washed a few cups and glasses. I even got dressed. It has already been quite a day.

Growing up, I never learned any household skills. My mother did everything. She even made our beds. When I was first on my own and the washing machine buzzed, I had no idea why. I took out the clothes, wrung them close to being dry and put them on the line. I had an apartment my junior and senior years in college. Almost everything I ate came from a can. Dinty Moore’s Beef Stew was a favorite. It had everything: meat, potatoes, and vegetables. I ate a lot of spaghetti with jarred sauce. I also ate several meals of hot dogs and hamburgers. They are still two of my favorites. When I graduated from college, I could wash clothes and understand the buzzer. I could sort of cook. I could also teach English.

If, when I was 11 or 12, I was asked what my life would be like when I was retired, I would have had trouble answering. Being old enough to retire was way beyond my ability to imagine. Even being in my 20’s seemed really far away., but I was sure of a few things. I’d travel the world. I’d write books about my travels. My life would be exotic. Auntie Mame and I would be kindred spirits.

Okay, how’d I do? I’ve traveled the world. Though there is still so much of it to see, I’ve done well. I’ve traveled on three continents. I have lived in Africa, an amazing adventure, an exotic adventure. I haven’t written a book, but I do write. That’s sort of a half-done. I never became an Auntie Mame. She was so flamboyant I could never pull off her style. I live for comfort. I suspect Auntie Mame would be horrified with my wardrobe.

Some things I’ve learned have amazed me. Cooking and baking are two of them. Doing needlepoint and crewel are two others. Never did I see any domesticity in my future. My 12- year-old self would laugh, heartily.

 

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“Do not fire on them unless they fire first, but if they want a war, let it begin here.”

April 20, 2015

Cold, windy day today. The sky is a light grey. The high will be in the very low 50’s. I have no plans for the day so I’m staying home, cozy, warm and, best of all, comfortable. Huzzah, there are buds on my forsythia and on my wild rose bushes. I noticed them this morning. They are always the first to bloom.

Today is Patriot’s Day here in Massachusetts, a state holiday. It commemorates the Battles of Lexington and Concord, the start of the Revolutionary War. That day helped define the character of Massachusetts.

I remember in the sixth grade learning about the Revolutionary War. Miss Quilter told it like a story, and I was enthralled. She explained about Paul Revere’s ride and how he, William Dawes and other riders rode all night to get to Lexington. She told us why it was called the “shot heard round the world” in Emerson’s poem. There was a picture in my textbook of Patriots hiding behind rocks to shoot at the Redcoats. Miss Quilter explained the picture and guerrilla warfare. That word wasn’t in my textbook, and I thought it was the same as the big monkeys. Miss Quilter went on to tell us the Red Coats didn’t see the shooters or know where the bullets were coming from. The Patriots followed the British all the way back to Boston and shot from behind rocks and trees.

We did a family outing one Sunday to Lexington and Concord. It was history come to life. I remember walking across the Old North Bridge in Concord and I remember standing on the Lexington Green just imagining the battle. The statue of the Minute Man seemed to stand above all else. We went into the tavern where Adams and Hancock were before they fled. On the way home we traveled the same route Revere had. I was in awe that whole day.

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“What a strange power there is in clothing.”

September 26, 2014

The rain fell for most of the night, but it wasn’t nearly enough to wash away the drought. The sky is still cloudy and the day is dark though the sun is supposed to make an entrance later, hang around for a while and give tomorrow some summer warmth. I’m thinking it may be warm enough for the last movie on the deck night.

When I was a kid, I was not a girly girl. My sisters were. They played with dolls, wore dresses with pouffy slips underneath and loved hats and patent leather shoes. I didn’t. I wore skirts and blouses when I was forced to get dressed-up and had to wear them to school and church. Slacks and sometimes sweaters were my weekends and after school ensembles. I went through the wearing the cardigan backwards fashion craze. I suppose that made me a bit stylish or at least current. I remember stretch slacks with the loops on the bottoms for your feet. They were popular for a while, and I got a pair for Christmas one year. I also got a pink fuzzy sweater the same year. They too were popular. I loved that outfit and wore it until the fuzz disappeared.

I don’t get dressed up much any more. I wear nice pants and blouses or shirts when I go out. If it is somewhere special, I pull out one of my three dresses. Because my entire professional career was spent in dresses or skirts, I figure I’m entitled to wear what I want. I do make sure everything complements each other so I’m never messy or odd, just comfortable.

I think there is magic age where you can mix and match whatever you want. That black and white striped shirt is just fine with the yellow plaid capri pants, the blue ankle socks and the white sneakers with velcro. You just have to be old enough to pull it off.

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