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“Home, the spot of earth supremely blest, A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest”

May 1, 2012

Happy May Day!

I remember the May Day parades through the streets of Moscow. The news would show the marching  troops stepping in unison and missile after missile being hauled through the city, all meant as signs of Russia’s military might. I also remember May poles with brightly colored ribbons and flowers. I always preferred the flowers.

It’s raining. I’ve got music playing which helps dispel the darkness of the day. It’s cold at 47°. My heat went on this morning so the house must have been really cold. Gracie went out for only a minute. She is not a lover of rain. The birds were here earlier but have since disappeared. I suspect they’ve found shelter.

I know every sound my house makes. I know which floor boards creak. I know the sound of heat roaring into rooms through registers. Gracie’s dog door makes a crinkly sound, and I usually have to figure out if she’s coming or going. The ice cubes falling into the tray make a plunking sound. The other morning, though, it took me a moment to recognize the water flowing through the pipes. It was the outside irrigation system, a spring-summer thing, and I needed to jog my memory. Sometimes I hear a strange sound, and it takes a while to figure it out. I walk around the house trying to find it. One time it was a mouse in a cabinet. Another time it was a giant bug hitting the inside part of the screen. I let the bug out. The mouse got away.

In the summer, with the windows open, I recognize which dogs are barking and which kids are outside playing. I know whose lawn is being mowed. I hear car doors shutting, sometimes one but more often two, and I figure a neighbor is just leaving or just coming home. I recognize every neighbor’s car and wonder why a strange car goes down my street.

Home fills all my senses.

Categories: Musings
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“Mothers are the necessity of invention.”

January 31, 2012

The day is warm by winter’s usual standards. It’s 49°, but there is a little breeze which makes the day feel colder. On days like today I’d love a jacket like the ones I had as a kid. With those, each sleeve had a jersey cuff inside which kept the wind at bay, and all the jackets had hoods attached. Nothing is worse than ears which are red and frozen.

We always walked to school and never thought twice about the weather. Most families had only one car, and it left early to work with the dads. In my neighborhood, the only woman who drove was a widow who had no choice. The other mothers walked to do most of their errands. The only exception was the weekly groceries. It was a Friday tradition in my house for my Dad to drive my mother to the supermarket. I never went, but I’m willing to bet my dad waited in the car. Grocery shopping was a woman’s job.

When I was a kid, there was a clear delineation between household jobs for men and for women. I didn’t know any mother who had an outside job. Every mother in my neighborhood stayed at home and took care of the house and kids. Every morning the fathers, wearing suits and fedoras, drove to work. In the winter they shoveled and switched to snow tires, in the summer they mowed and trimmed the bushes, in the spring they planted and changed tires again and in the fall they raked and burned the leaves. They took down and put up the storm windows. They got the oil in the car changed and picked out every new car. On warm Saturday mornings, they washed those cars. They read the papers on Sunday mornings and watched football on Sunday afternoons. They were the threats our mothers used to keep us in line. Everything else our mothers did.

Categories: Musings
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“If the only prayer you said in your whole life was, “thank you,” that would suffice.”

November 24, 2011

My mother used to wake up around five to make the stuffing then she’d stuff the turkey and put it in the oven. I’d wake up to the aroma of turkey wafting through the house. We four kids would settle in front of the TV, still in our pajamas, and watch the Thanksgiving Day parade. We’d snack on tangerines, mixed nuts still in the shell and M&M’s. We’d fight over using the nucracker. Dinner was usually around two, and it was always pretty much the same menu: turkey, my mother’s wonderful stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry sauce with the decorative ridges from the can, peas, asparagus in the can for my father and a roving vegetable, a different one each year. Dessert was always pie: an apple and a lemon meringue and sometimes a blueberry cobbler. The kitchen was small and always hot from the turkey cooking. The windows were steamed. My dad always wanted the drumstick, and the rest of us usually chose the white meat. When we got older, we’d also eat the dark. I remember making the well in my mashed potatoes for the gravy and trying hard not to let it overflow the bank of potatoes. Our plates were groaning and so were we after dinner. My dad watched football, and the rest of us sometimes played a game or just sat around talking. My mother always cleaned up after dinner.

Today I am thankful for so many things. I am thankful for the love of my family and friends, and I am thankful for a head filled with incredible memories and for a childhood which had wonder and joy. Marty Barrett will always have my thanks. It was he who infected me with Barrett’s disease, my envy for his trips to England when he visited his grandmother. When I was eleven, I vowed to out-travel Marty, and I’m betting I have. I am thankful for all of you who have become my friends even though we have never met in person. I wish you all the blessings of the day and a wonderful Thanksgiving.

Categories: Musings
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“Leftovers in their less visible form are called memories. Stored in the refrigerator of the mind and the cupboard of the heart.”

March 28, 2011

It’s close to 11 am, and the temperature has risen to 35°, but the wind makes it feel much colder. Gracie and I were awakened today by the sounds of blowers from my neighbor’s yard. He and his men are doing spring clean up. They came here next, and it gave me hope when I saw the garden beds clear of dead leaves and branches. My herb garden already has some growth. I showed Sebastian, my neighbor and landscaper, where I wanted a raised bed for a few vegetables. He thought the spot perfect. The men removed all the dead pine branches from the backyard and blew the deck clear of leaves. It may still be cold, but when clean-up begins, I think of a warm day, a sunny deck and flowers. I’m holding on to that thought with a grasp so tight my knuckles are white.

When my sister came and stayed for a week after I had had my surgery, she experienced much the same as I had in my old town where she lives now. Sheila lived on the cape for a long time but has been gone even longer. We drove familiar streets which now have unfamiliar views. Her grammar school sits empty, no longer used. The printing shop where she worked for so long was torn down to make way for a park which is right by the water. The park is an odd one with small hills and only a few benches. She was a bit amazed by all the changes. I knew exactly how she felt.

The square in the town where I grew up has changed. A whole block has been torn down. It used to hold small shops and stores like the shoe repair and a drug store. At first I was horrified because my childhood is wound around the memories of those stores. I have since adjusted to an adult view and have saved my childhood square in special memory drawers. Many of the old buildings still remain, but they have became something else. If I had grandchildren, I would walk them through the square and bore them with stories of what was.

Categories: Musings
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“There is nothing like staying at home for real comfort.”

March 21, 2011

Two weeks seems such a long time to be away. I’d have thought today, in commemoration of my return, would dawn with sunny bright skies, lots of warmth and blue birds flying around singing and tweeting in their prettiest voices. Well, it didn’t. The sky is light gray and it’s damp and chilly. Nothing outside looks at all inviting. I do need to fill the feeders, but that will be it for the day.

This last recuperation has been amazing. I was up and around almost immediately, and the story would be boring except for Friday, my discharge day. It was decided mid-morning I could leave, but no one was available to pick me up. My sister, who was supposed to, had a problem with her car. I asked if discharge could be delayed a few hours and was told no. The nurse said I had to leave regardless as my bed had already been given away and the paperwork was done. I asked if I could sit in the lobby until such time as I could get a ride. Nope. The social worker said I had to take the bus. The hospital would give me a chit for the cab and money for the bus. Don’t carry anything heavier than a phone book I was told which pretty much excluded my bag, but that made no difference and was ignored. The social worker gave me $16.00, not enough for the bus I told her. As I had not a cent of my own, that would have meant sitting and begging at the station. She told me she’d looked it up, but I had also done the looking and knew the amount. I called her and told her to check again. She said it was on the Greyhound site which it wasn’t. I sent her to the Plymouth and Brockton site where the bus rate was listed as $19.00 to Hyannis. She came back, gave me three dollars and wanted to know what happened to the days when people trusted one another. I was flabbergasted. Well, I was walked to the door and put into a cab, three days days after surgery. I got to the bus terminal and stood at the bottom of what seemed like a million stairs. I felt like an extra in a 30’s movie where heaven is in the clouds at the top of a huge flight of stairs and an angel, usually a guy, waits at a desk for the check-in. It took a while to get up those stairs without a banister for balance but I managed and got my ticket, walked to the gate and just about crawled up the bus stairs where the man in the first seat got up and offered his seat. I took it. During the ride, I slept on and off and don’t remember much. At Sagamore, the man beside me got off and when I stood, the lady behind said, Oh my God, you’re back.”

I made it to Barnstable where my friend Tony picked me up and drove me home. My nephew Michael greeted me with flowers and not long after that my sister arrived. It was close to 7, and I went up stairs to bed. I woke up on Saturday at 4:30 in the afternoon.

The week in between has been wonderful. My sister drove me anywhere I needed and waited on me. It was wonderful to come downstairs and be handed the papers and a cup of coffee. I could live like that.

Well, I am back (almost a pun here) for good. This surgery seemed to have worked. I guess the practice run helped.

Thanks again for hanging around and waiting. I’m just so happy to be writing Coffee again!!

Categories: Musings
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