Posted tagged ‘Go away’

“After the rain cometh the fair weather.”

April 1, 2017

“It’s raining. It’s pouring. The old man is snoring. He went to bed and bumped his head, and didn’t wake up in the morning.” My mother used to sing this to us on rainy days when we were little. I thought of it this morning when I heard the rain beating the roof.

Yesterday Gracie and I got all our errands done even though the rain started just as we were leaving the house and I was loading the car for the dump. Of course, it would start then! Rain tends to be inconvenient.

The dump was our first stop. It was fairly empty of cars. People far smarter than I stayed home. Gracie watched as I emptied the trunk. She stayed dry. Our next stop was the pharmacy to pick up Gracie’s prescription. I got wetter. Gracie kept watch out the window. We next went to the central administrative office for the school district where I worked. I needed a notary stamp on a form to prove I am still alive for the retirement board. I was thinking a picture of me holding the day’s paper might have been a neater proof of life, but I balked. Our last stop was for dinner. I bought a fresh pot pie.

I crossed off every item on my errand list and none on my to-do list because of the weather as items on that list were outside. They’ll have to wait yet another day. I did bring my laundry down to this floor where it is leaning against the cellar door. Given my laundry history, I figure it’ll lean there for a while.

I have a bunch of catalogs, assuming that catalogs come in bunches. I’ll spend the afternoon going through them, whiling away the hours. Sometimes I get lucky and even find a Christmas present or two to order.

Gracie hasn’t been out since last night. She stuck her nose out the door this morning and pulled it right back inside. I tried later and still no luck. She’s sleeping. That dog stores water like a camel.

It’s time for lunch.

“It’s still magic even if you know how it’s done.”

July 8, 2014

The breeze is just about gone, pushed aside by the humidity. We will be in the 80’s today while Boston will suffer in the low 90’s. Sitting on the deck under the umbrella surrounded by trees seems a perfect spot to spend the day. After my errand, that’s where I’ll plunk myself with a book and music to sweeten the day.

Both my sisters had extreme weather yesterday. In Colorado there was rain, wind and hail. My sister said the sky got so dark they knew the hail was coming followed by the rain, a deluge. My other sister who lives outside of Boston got tremendous thunder and lightning. She was outside watching when a bolt hit close, and she realized how silly it was to be out there, but lightning is so amazing it seems to draw us to watch. I remember the same realization hitting me when I was in Ghana. It was the start of the rainy season when thunder and lightning herald tremendous rain storms. I was outside in the front of my house on the porch under a roof covered in tin. Lightning struck the ground in front of me, and I decided I best get inside before the roof attracts a bolt of lightning. I had to be happy with a window view.

Deluge was one of my mother’s weather words. It didn’t rain cats and dogs. It was a deluge. Spitting rain was another, and I always knew what she meant. It was too cold to snow she’d tell us, and I believed her never having given thought to the Arctic filled with snow and fatally low temperatures. I was an adult before I realized snow could come regardless of the temperature.

My mother used to play a game with us called Jack and Jill. She would attach a band of paper on one finger of each hand, the same finger on both hands, and place only those fingers on the edge of the table. She would say, “Go away, Jack,” and raise her hand in the air then bring it back down and put the finger on the table again. Jack, the band of paper, was always gone. She’d do the same with her other hand and finger. This time it was Jill who disappeared. We would look under the table on the floor, behind my mother on the floor and on her lap. We never found Jack or Jill. My mother would then say, “Come back, Jack,” and raise her hand again. Jack always came back. She’d do the same with the other finger and Jill would come back. I was aways in awe of my mother and her magic trick. I’d ask her to teach me, and she’d say when I was older, but she didn’t need to teach me. She knew when I was older I’d figure it out for myself and I did. In my mind’s eye I can see my mother with her fingers on the table and my brother and me watching and hoping to catch Jack and Jill. Never finding them made me love that trick even more. My mother was magical.

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