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“No rain but thunder, and the sound of giants.”

August 19, 2017

Last night we had the best rainstorm complete with thunder right over my house and lightning bolts striking in the sky above my backyard. One clap of thunder made Gracie and me jump as it was both unexpected and close. The rain pelted the roof and windows. It was so loud I had to turn up the sound on the TV. At one point, around 10:30, the rain stopped so I raced to take Gracie outside. The rain started again only minutes after we had gotten back inside. The drops were so heavy and loud they were the only sounds I could hear. I figured it was serendipity the rain stopped for just that small while. Gracie lasted the rest of the night and into the morning.

I’ve nothing on my to-do list for today. The roads will be filled as Saturday is turn-over day at cottages, and tourists will be looking for something to keep kids busy on a dark day, on a no beach day. Board games can only work for so long.

The remnants of the storm are a gray sky and high humidity, the sort of humidity my father used to say you can cut with a knife. The small breeze does nothing to change the close, damp air. We won’t see the sun until tomorrow.

I remember when I was a kid and the thunder and lightning kept me inside. I’d take a book and find a quiet place to read. Sometimes it was in my room because everyone else was downstairs watching TV. It was dark enough I needed a light to read by, the light on the headboard behind me. It seemed to shine only on me and the pages of my book. I felt safe and cozy.

Thunder never scared me even when I was a kid. I remember being told thunder was angels bowling in heaven. I also remember reading Rip Van Winkle’s thunder was the men in the mountains, Henry Hudson’s crew, playing nine-pins. Either way, it was just bowling.

I love lightning, jagged and bright in the sky. One lightning bolt hit the ground right in front of my house in Ghana. It was magnificent. I’ve never seen the like.

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“In my opinion, too much attention to weather makes for instability of character.”

February 27, 2015

Today is balmy at 24˚. When I woke up, the sun was bright and framed by a deep blue sky, but the perpetual grayness of this winter has reappeared. There are now only patches of blue, and the sun has become a hazy light from behind a cloud. Tonight will be in the teens but with no wind. Next week one day will be in the 40’s if the forecast holds true. I’m expecting a parade and fireworks and picnics on the town green.

Lethargic pretty much describes me. I read a whole book from Tuesday afternoon to Wednesday night and then started on another. I did change my bed and the cat litter yesterday and went to the store as I had no bread. That’s it. That’s all I did, and I exhausted myself. Winter’s cold saps my energy.

I don’t know how old we are when weather becomes an issue, a topic of conversation. When I was a kid, the weather just happened. I got wet when it rained and cold when it snowed, but neither bothered me. It was hot in the summer, but that’s what summer is. Sitting under a tree for a while and running through the sprinklers were cure-alls for a hot day. The hot nights never stopped us from falling asleep. We were exhausted from playing all day. In my early 20’s I was in Ghana where 100+ degrees was the every day temperature this time of year. I didn’t complain about that either. I went to bed soaking wet after my shower and easily fell asleep as I air-dried.

Growing older and complaining about the weather are connected. I need the house warmer than I used to both during the day and at night. 68˚ is my usual daytime high though I’ll turn it higher if I’m cold. 64˚ is nighttime. I used to keep my house at 66˚ during the day and 58˚ at night. The two cats I had both slept under the covers. They were Siamese and liked warmth. Now, I can’t even imagine the house that cold.

Yesterday was snowing when I went out. A lady walked by me and said, “Oh my God more snow,” then kept walking. Weather does bring people together giving even strangers something to talk about.

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“Boredom can be a lethal thing on a small island.”

January 30, 2015

Drab is about the best description for today. The sky is grey, and it is very damp outside. At times it is spitting rain as my mother would say. I’m okay with that as my sister outside of Boston is getting snow again: 4 to 6 inches. I’d be screaming.

Gracie can get outside through the dog door and has a patch of driveway at the end so she can do her business. The only problem is she likes to go into the backyard for her more substantial business and she can’t get there. After I let her out this morning, I saw her squat then I went to get my coffee. When I got back to the door, I saw she was gone which is surprising as there is nowhere to go then I noticed her head and one paw poking out between two back steps from behind. She had gone under the farmer’s deck. I ran and switched from slippers to shoes and then ran to the door to go help her. Well, she had already figured out to follow her way under to get out and was walking up the steps.

Water is dripping from the roof and icicles are forming at the edges. The beauty of the snow is disappearing because the day is above freezing and the rain slowly pits and erodes the snow. Nothing about today is pretty.

It’s a short post today mostly because my inactivity has made life a bit boring. I read, picked appetizers to make for Super Bowl watching, play backgammon against the computer and caught up with Grantchester, a wonderful series on PBS. I even napped in the afternoons. I suppose I could clean but that is the last desperate measure.

It’s time to get moving. Gracie and I are going to the dump for one of our errands. She’ll be thrilled: as for me, not so much.

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“The end-of-summer winds make people restless.”

October 9, 2014

I swear it was sunny when I went outside to get the papers. Now it is cloudy and dark. The trees in the backyard look stark against the grey sky. It is cooler than it has been. I have no complaints, though, as it was 70˚ yesterday. I went about my errands with the window down. I had a list and missed nothing, even got my flu shot.

I have been restless and don’t know the reason. I go from being on-line to reading to cleaning and finally to wandering the house looking for something to do. I have polished and dusted. I have swept the kitchen then wet mopped the floor. My timing, though, is bad. My cleaning couple come today.

I don’t remember watching my mother clean the house. She did it while we were in school. I have no idea as to her routine. I just know the house was clean and the beds were made when I got home. In the late afternoon, my mother would start to work on dinner. I remember her standing by the sink peeling potatoes. It is always 16 Washington Ave in my memories. That is where I spent most of my growing up years. Here and there are memories of earlier and later places, but I can still remember every room at 16 Washington Ave. I remember looking out the picture window at the rain or the snow or the wind blowing leaves down the street. The television was in a cabinet. There were two closets downstairs almost right next to each other, and I always wondered why the builders did it that way. The first, the larger of the two, was where the coats and boots were kept. My dad would come home from work, take off and then hang up his topcoat and put his hat on the shelf. The other closet, in a nook, wasn’t as deep. The ironing board and iron were there, and my mother used to hide Christmas presents in the back. That’s all I remember about that closet.

We always said Washington Ave, never Washington Avenue. I don’t know why.

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“People ask me what I do in winter when there’s no baseball. I’ll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring.”

January 31, 2014

The day isn’t pretty, but it’s warmer than it has been so I’ll take it. Icicles are dripping and falling off the eaves. Gracie barks at the sound of them falling thinking we have an intruder. The snow is melting off the roof to the deck and sounds like rain. Miss Gracie has been in and out all morning, another sign of a warmer day. Her paw prints cover the kitchen’s tile floor. Maddie the cat, on the other hand, sits with her head inside the lamp shade close to the bulb. I’m thinking it is her way of fighting seasonal affective disorder. The light isn’t needed for reading any more but I’m leaving it on for Maddie.

I am bored with winter. I am sick of staying inside and tired of being cold. I want the snow gone. I want spring. This weariness, this languor, isn’t unexpected. It happens the same time every winter, at the beginning of February, two weeks from pitchers and catchers and three weeks from position players reporting for spring training. My mind gets filled with images and sounds. I can see the grassy, plush outfields and hear the crack of the bat hitting the ball. I think about watching the ball arc and sail over the wall followed by shouts and cheers. I can’t wait for baseball to start. I check the sports pages every day for even the smallest tidbit about the Sox. Forget the Celtics, easy to do this year, and the Bruins. Bring on my Red Sox.

My sister gave me a Red Sox sweatshirt for Christmas. I now have three: a blue World Series 2007, a green one with Red Sox across the front and now the new red one with Boston emblazoned on it for all to see. No one will doubt my allegiance.

I’m more than ready to hear Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to Fenway Park.

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