Posted tagged ‘farmers’ market’

“Youth is when you’re allowed to stay up late on New Year’s Eve. Middle age is when you’re forced to.”

December 30, 2016

Today is sometimes sunny and sometimes windy. The big storm yesterday was a disappointment. Not that I wanted snow, but I was hoping for a nor’easter and the loud  drumming of rain against the windows. I wanted to see branches fiercely blowing left to right and almost reaching the ground; instead, it just rained.

Today is quiet. Even the dog is bored looking out the front door. She kept hoping for foot traffic where there was none. She is now napping on the couch.

I went to bed earlier and woke up earlier. I’m working on getting up before nine, okay, maybe by nine thirty.

When I was a little kid, I always wanted to stay up to greet the new year. I seldom did. I’d fall asleep before the ball dropped or Auld Lang Syne played. When I got a bit older, I managed to stay awake but found out it was no big deal. Blow a horn and yell Happy New Year was the sum total of my celebration. Come to find out, all the celebrations are almost the same. Add a kiss and a drink then yell Happy New Year.

Nothing much is going on around here. I scoured the paper looking for diversions. All the local New Year’s Eve festivities were listed. There is an indoor farmer’s market tomorrow and an antique fair on Sunday. None of these tempt me to brave the cold.

In the Globe today was a picture with the header, “Seniors ring in New Year with a bit of rock and roll.” At the party yesterday they counted down to noon. They ate mashed potatoes and chicken. They twisted and shimmied and danced away the afternoon.  That, I guess, is full circle.

“Things have their time, even eminence bows to timeliness.”

July 26, 2014

Here I am standing alone in the spotlight in the middle of the stage bowing to the adulation of the crowd. They are on their feet clapping and whistling. Why you wonder? Well, I did five errands this morning and just got through putting everything away. Now I am sitting, having a cold drink and drying off. The breeze behind me is cool so it won’t take long. Traffic everywhere was so thick I swear there must be deserted towns off cape. I was behind cars from five different states.

My first stop was the bank then next was the farmers’ market where I spend all but $1.80 from the bank money. I bought pickles, eggs, corn, heirloom tomatoes, bread, goat cheese and mosquito repellant spray. My last stop was for tonight’s movie night and the few things I needed. Those few things filled three bags.

The movie tonight is Westworld unless the crowd has already seen it of late. I know I haven’t. Yul Brynner is amazing as the android gone amok, relentless and frightening. In a bit, I’ll get the deck ready so I can loll when my moviegoers arrive. I really enjoy movie night.

Living in New England means four distinct seasons, four singular ways to enjoy the world. When I was a kid, my favorite was summer with its endless days to do whatever I wanted. I remember sleeping outside in the backyard and how the night was bright with starlight. Every day was sunny. Fall was beautiful but it had to shake off back to school time. It mostly did. I still associate fall with one of my favorite all time smells, the aroma of burning leaves, even though it has been years since I last smelled those leaves. I loved walking in the gutters and kicking leaves as I walked. Winter had snow and Christmas, an unbeatable combination. I loved winter despite the cold and even sometimes because of it. Spring was a delight. It was time to put away the heavy coats, hats and mittens and bring my bike out of hibernation. I remember flying down the hill riding my bike on the way to school. I’d let loose of the handlebars and stretch my arms straight out in the wind. I was exhilarated, and I was airborne. Being stuck in traffic gives me time for memories.

“A family is a unit composed not only of children but of men, women, an occasional animal, and the common cold.”

July 21, 2013

A cooler day with no sun but lots of humidity is today’s weather. I turned off my air and opened all the windows and doors. The house needed the fresh air after being closed up the whole week. It. looks like it rained for a few minutes earlier this morning. I was expecting thunder showers and am disappointment by the rain’s poor showing. Gracie and I are going to the dump today.

Yesterday I bought some vegetables at a couple of farmer’s markets. I also bought some balsamic vinegar, olive oil and corn chowder base. It was in the early morning, but the heat became too much too quickly so I hurried home to the cool house where I did two loads of laundry. Last night I had dinner at my friends’ and neighbors’ house and got home around ten. It was by far my longest and most productive day in over a month. Today I’m pretty much done in. I see the dump, a shower and a nap in my future.

I remember when I was twelve I had a white visor I wore all the time. It was like a girl’s version of a baseball cap. I have a few pictures of our family vacation that year, and in every picture I’m wearing the visor. In one picture I am leaning against a tree and have a hand in my pocket and one leg bend at the knee resting on the tree trunk. The white visor is, of course, on my head. It was obviously posed, but in it I see the first glimmers of a teenage me. I think it was the pose I chose and the look on my face. I wasn’t a little girl any more, and I knew it, white visor and all.

When I’d meet relatives I hadn’t seen in a long while, usually my parents’ aunts and uncles, each identified me as George’s oldest or Chickie’s oldest (the name my mother was known as since she was a little kid). I don’t think any of them ever knew my name. They identified me by the parent to whom they were related and my birth order. Just after I got out college for the summer, the one before my senior year, a car stopped by the house. In it were Aunty Madeleine and Aunty Clara, two of my mother’s aunts, my grandmother’s sisters. They asked for my mother. I explained she and my father had gone away for the weekend. They stayed in the car, and we conversed through the window. Aunty Clara right away wanted to know who was taking care of us. I told her I was. She was shocked and couldn’t imagine my parents had left us alone. I told her I was nearly twenty-one and quite old enough to babysit for a weekend. She didn’t say anything, just frowned. Aunt Madeleine said good-bye, and they drove away. I don’t think they even knew who I was. No one asked if I were Chickie’s oldest.

“A small town is a place where there’s no place to go where you shouldn’t.”

July 28, 2011

The morning is already warm. It is 77°, but I am in the cool den which doesn’t boil over until afternoon. Soon enough, though, I’m turning on the air-conditioner. This morning I went to the Thursday farmers’ market. It’s a small one but I managed to spend some money, not a big surprise. I bought lavender and oregano for the garden, sweet orange-vanilla soap for me, a couple of cucumbers and some cherry tomatoes, corn bread, some pulled-pork to go with it and for Miss Gracie, yogurt, banana dog biscuits. The woman from whom I bought them guaranteed their taste. She had given them a try and thought them delicious. Gracie agreed and ate the sample I gave her.

The Buttery, a store in my town, had wooden barrels out front. Some were filled with flour and sugar and their barrel tops held cheese for sale. The cheese was always cheddar and was sold in chunks. The store was filled with household essentials like soap powder, blue laundry whitener and Quaker’s Oats, the kind you cook on the stove. I used to like to look in the windows filled with produce like potatoes, onions and carrots, all sitting in long wicker baskets with handles. I don’t remember when the Buttery became The Children’s Corner, but now an Indian restaurant occupies the same spot. My sister and I had lunch there, and it was delicious.

Many of the stores used to have awnings of all different colors. They made the square look festive. My friends and I would walk uptown just to roam and window shop. The sidewalks always had people carrying bags filled with whatever they’d bought. Some even carried baskets. I remember seeing the loaves of bread still uncut. Whatever the shoppers needed, they could find. The square had everything.

It’s still called the square, and many of the oldest buildings are there but not the old stores. None of those are left. The fish-market is an upscale Italian restaurant; the shoe store was torn down and only a space is there. Wordsworth’s is a fabric store. I forget what the drug store is now, but that old drug store, Middlesex Drugs, had my favorite soda fountain, a white marble one which always felt cold.

I eat at the Italian Restaurant after I see a play at my old movie theater, and I’ll go back to the Indian restaurant because the food was so good. Near the theater is a small cafe I’d like to try. The only store from my childhood I really miss is the bakery, Hanks. It had the best window display, and I loved the lemon cupcakes with their domes of lemon. I think every town needs a bakery with the aroma of baking bread wafting through the air.

Not that I’m excited or anything but four weeks from now I’ll be on a plane winging my way to Ghana after a stopover in Frankfurt.

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