Posted tagged ‘days of the week’

“I feel the end approaching. Quick, bring me my dessert, coffee and liqueur.”

November 10, 2016

Yesterday I actually went through all the Christmas gifts I’ve bought and made a list. I haven’t yet checked it twice, but I do have an idea what I need. It was quite a surprise to find out I have finished six people. The stuff I bought in Ghana put me over the top, but I still have to get the guys and the little ones small surprises. Everyone gets a small bag of surprises and a big gift from me. Finding surprises for the guys is never easy. I’m thinking I need to peruse the aisles at the hardware store.

The weather is chilly today. The breeze is enough to drop more leaves and needles. I figure they are like the myth of Sisyphus broadly interpreted.

The fall days seem to meld together. When I wake up, my first thought sometimes is wondering what day it is. Usually I try remembering the yesterdays which gives me the hints I need. The date is on my computer or I’d never figure that out. Before I retired, days had an identity. Now they are just lumped together. I can do what I want when I want. No more worrying about school nights or waking up at ungodly hours.

I’m going out to dinner tonight to Karoo’s, a South African restaurant. The meats, the spices and the sauces are quite different from Ghanaian food. My favorites are the curried meat loaf served with rice and chutney and peri peri chicken served in a sauce of tomato, chilies, onions and ginger. A pomegranate cosmopolitan is usually the best start to the meal. I think no dessert but then can’t resist ordering Melkert, a custard tart, which is so light it makes ordering dessert defensible as if it ever needed a defense.

“I left the fairy tales lying on the floor of the nursery, and I have not found any books so sensible since.”

November 8, 2015

Autumn has returned. The air is chilly. It is 54˚, a seasonal temperature. Last night the wind blew and howled. This morning more branches are bare, their leaves covering the ground and deck. The house was cold when I woke up so I had to turn the heat back on. Gracie and I are going to the dump and Agway then we’ll watch the Patriots.

It is a quiet day both inside and out. Gracie is sleeping and breathing deeply. The keys make noise when I type. Those are the only sounds I can hear. The quiet is a Sunday thing. That’s the way it has always been. I know the stores are all opened, but my neighborhood has no shouts from kids playing in the street and no dogs barking one after the other. Noises like leaf blowers, instead of rakes, and lawn mowers are Saturday things. They were when I was young and still are today. The rest of the days of the week haven’t as much personality as the weekend.

When I was young, I loved nursery rhymes. The way the words fit together and the rhythm appealed to my ears. I always said them sing-songy. We used to tease my brother by calling him Georgie Porgie then we’d run before he could catch us. I used to wonder about the ten o’clock scholar, “A diller, a dollar,  A ten o’clock scholar, What makes you come so soon? You used
to come at ten o’clock, And now you come at noon.” How could he be earlier if he came later? I looked this up one time and found out the word ‘diller’ is a Yorkshire term for a boy who is dim-witted and stupid. The ten and twelve o’clock lines are the other students making fun of him. It still doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me.

I don’t know if I have a favorite nursery rhyme as I liked so many of them. I always felt bad for Old Mother Hubbard’s dog, Humpty Dumpty and poor Jack of Jack and Jill fame. I used to wish on the first star, Star Light Star bright, The first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, Have the wish I wish tonight. Actually I often still do. I don’t think many wishes ever came true , but I thought I’d keep giving it a try in case. I liked the days of the week one because I was a Sunday child: But the child that is born on the Sabbath day Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay. Maybe my favorite one is Christmas is coming, the geese are getting fat, Please to put a penny in the old man’s hat; If you haven’t got a penny, a ha’penny will do, If you haven’t got a ha’penny then God bless you!

I accepted this rhyme without too many questions. It was the Christmas is coming which I loved the very thought of. Bob Cratchit and his family ate goose so that was okay with me. I got the penny part and my mother told me a ha’penny was a half penny. I wondered if you had to cut the penny in half. It took a while before I got the answer to that one.

“Different cocktails for different Saturday nights.”

June 6, 2015

The rain started during the night and has just stopped. Rain, even a bit of it, seems to dampen sounds. I don’t even hear birds. I did hear Gracie barking in the back yard, but I couldn’t find what prompted the warning. She has since come in and settled down for her morning nap, probably exhausted from all her barking. Fern too is napping for no other reason than just because she is a cat, and that’s what cats do.

My list did not get finished yesterday so I have to do the errands today. That’s okay as the tourists aren’t here yet for weekends, other than Memorial Day weekend, so I’ll find a place to park and not have to wait in line. I have three stops.

My father used Saturday mornings for his errands. Sometimes he would invite one of us but mostly he went alone. My Dad knew everybody in town so his errands took a while. He went to a two-seater barber shop. The one in Mayberry always reminded me of the one uptown. There was no Floyd but there was the same barber for years. He never had to ask how my father wanted his hair trimmed. He knew. The Chinese laundry also knew how my father liked his shirts. Back then my father only wore white shirts and they were always starched. I never thought about my dad taking his shirts to a laundry and not having my mother do them. That was just the way it was. Much later my father wore different colored shirts which didn’t need to be ironed fresh from the dryer. The first was a yellow button down collar shirt I gave him one Father’s Day. My mother said he’d never wear it, but he did. Another stop for my father was to visit his friend, a pharmacist at his own drug store. It was a small store crammed with anything and everything that bigger drug stores had. It even had a four stool fountain. Those stools had red covers. The last stop for my dad was sometimes at the Red Men where he’d have a beer with the guys. My dad was a member for a long time and one year was even Sachem. The organization is the nation’s oldest patriotic fraternal organization of American origin. I never knew that until I was much older. I just thought it was place for guys to sit around and have a beer or a drink. Come to find out it is both.

Some days develop personalities. Sunday is church day. Monday is the dreaded back to work day. Tuesday and Thursday are just days of the week that nobody seems to mind. Wednesday is hump day, the middle day, the starting line for the countdown to the weekend. Friday opens the weekend. We used to go out Friday afternoons when there were happy hours. It was a weekly ritual. Saturday is for chores and errands but it the best night of the week. Anything special happens on a Saturday night.

“All the Venables sat at Sunday dinner”

August 22, 2010

Outside, in the damp, cool morning I was comfortable wearing a sweatshirt, and I thought the weather perfect for hot coffee. During any break from reading the papers, I watched both the usual backyard morning antics and a few new ones. The birds were constant, mostly tufted titmice, but the chickadees too came, and I noticed a second downy woodpecker. I always there was only one. The antics were performed by a couple of gray squirrels. They are building a nest  for the winter. Each, in turn, would chew off and carry away a small branch. I had followed them with my eyes as they carried the branches to the top part of the tree and was able to find their nest. One squirrel, during his turn at the branches, hung by his feet and swung back and forth until his front paws grabbed the branch and then he pulled it free and ran up the trunk of the tree. I decided to start taking pictures of their antics so I came inside to get my camera, my telephoto lens, the phone, just in case I get a call, a second newspaper and another cup of coffee. The lens and the phone got stuffed into the sweatshirt pouch, and I managed to juggle everything else. I opened the door with my elbow, stepped onto the deck and found out it was raining. I walked back inside. put away the camera, the lens and the phone then sat down to read the paper. I miss being on the deck.

I now have no plans for the day. On a rainy day the roads are filled with tourists so I’ll be content staying home. It will be like a Sunday when I was a kid, a quiet day almost like a whisper.

Saturday was the favorite day of the week: no school, Saturday morning television and a matinee at one. Friday was a big day, the end of the school week, which made getting up and going to school a bit more tolerable. Monday was, of course, the worst day, the inescapable start of the school week. Sunday was different than all the rest. It meant church clothes, mass and staying around for the family dinner. It always seemed a formal day. Today feels a bit like that.