The morning is quite humid and really still; nothing is moving in the thick air. It’s almost eerie. I’ve been watching the weather, and Earl will here late this afternoon, but he seems to be losing steam as he comes up the coast. The brunt of the storm will on the ocean side, east of us but close to Nantucket. I did a lot of preparation yesterday, but I still need to take down the bird feeders and turn over the chairs. I do need help with the palm tree so my friend Tony will be here later, but everything else is down and protected. The deck looks winter bare.
Yesterday I went and bought a few provisions, my kind of provisions. I bought quesadillas, dip, cheese, crackers and a Milky Way. I’m all set. At one counter, I stood next to an older woman who was laughing as she chose her provisions: a codfish dinner, a piece of summer lemon cake and some clam chowder. She said she wanted to ride out the storm in style.
Yesterday I washed dishes, one of my favorite mindless activities. All of a sudden I remembered our kitchen after dinner and my mother at the sink. The kitchen was quite small. The table was against the wall across from the back door. The sink was in the middle of the kitchen counter not all that far from the table. I used to do my homework at the kitchen table, a quiet place after dinner. The family, except for my mother and me, was in the living room with the TV. I remember studying to the sound of running water as my mother washed the dinner dishes. I’d sometimes look up from my books and watch her. She’d use a soapy dishrag to wash the dishes then rinse the soap off under the running water. I remember the sound of clinking dishes and silverware as my mother filled the dish strainer. We seldom said a word to one another, lost as were in each of our tasks. I do remember my mother standing there, but I remember the sounds most of all.
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