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“The bicycle, the bicycle surely, should always be the vehicle of novelists and poets.”

April 15, 2016

The day is windy and cold but still lovely with lots of sun and a blue sky that even Crayola can’t duplicate. I really have nothing to do today. I spent the morning playing around with my MAC which was a bit feisty. I couldn’t use it until I solved the problem. I seem to be getting much better at healing my MAC.

When I was a kid, today was a big day because at the end of school April vacation started. We had the whole next week off. I don’t remember if the week was warm or not. I just remember my bike was out of the cellar, and we were all over town. We didn’t have a specific destination. We just rode. I remember we went to the zoo a couple of times and through parts of town we didn’t know well. Sometimes we brought our lunches while other times we went home for lunch and a bathroom break though we didn’t really need an inside bathroom. One of my favorite rides was to the farm. The cows were always out in the field and we’d watch a long while. I have a couple of milk bottles from that farm. It is still there, but it sells sod and fertilizer and stuff like that. The cows are long gone.

We’d ride to the next town and around its lake. It was to us a huge lake, and we loved that it was right in the middle of a town. Sometimes on our rides we’d end up where we started while other times we’d only go about halfway around, leave the lake and end up in a different town. That town also bordered my town but on the other side. It was a boring town but it did have a great diner. When I was older and visiting for the weekend, my father would sometimes take my mother and me out for breakfast there. I still love diners. I also still love going out for breakfast.

Every day we did something. Five days away from school were never to be wasted. I don’t remember a whole lot of walking, but I figure we must have gone into the woods and walked to the swamp. We kept careful watch on the seasons at the swamp. We knew when it was warm enough the tadpoles would be there darting away from our fingers. I remember the sun shining on that swamp and warming my back when I was lying down on the grass beside where the tadpoles were. That swamp was one of the neatest places I have ever known.

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“On a bike, being just slightly above pedestrian and car eye level, one gets a perfect view of the goings-on in one’s own town.”

June 27, 2015

The inside is cooler than outside. I went on the deck earlier and filled the bird feeders, all except the red spawn of Satan’s favorite one. Afterwards I sat outside for a while patting Miss Gracie. It is a lovely morning.

My back pain had me groaning loudly enough to wake myself up several times last night, just about every time I moved. My guess is Gracie and Fern never moved and slept through my pain. I’m tired today so I see a nap on the horizon.

June was exciting only because it meant the end of school. Now I could go wherever I wanted and stay as long as I liked. My mother never knew where we were. We left in the morning with our packed lunches and got home in time for supper. I remember going to the next town over, Wakefield, and riding the circumference of the lake. At the end of the lake, the end furthest away from us, was a teepee, the symbol of a gift shop selling Indian doodads. It never occurred to me how strange that was. There were very few Indians, exactly none, in suburban Boston yet I could buy a tom-tom or a hatchet decorated in beads and fringe. Sometimes we’d leave the lake at that end and ride our bikes to Reading. I remember signs announcing some sort of a military base. Once in a while we’d even see an army truck or jeep. We’d ride through Reading Square and sometimes take a detour to the train station and sit on the benches a while hoping for a train. I always thought it was a cheat that the towns on each side of mine had trains, and we didn’t. My town was stuck with buses. We’d leave Reading and ride the back roads home. We’d pass a golf course, a cemetery and a big corner store called Fortini’s. Sometimes we’d ride the swamp path through the woods, the quickest way home, while other times we’d stay on the road.

My mother would ask us what we’d done all day. Just riding around was always our answer.

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“How dreary – to be – somebody! How public – like a frog – to tell your name – the livelong June – to an admiring bog!”

June 12, 2011

The day is a mean one-the rain has left a damp chill. It’s a stay in, read all the papers and watch the ballgame sort of day. I may even sneak in a nap.

Everything is still. No wind blows the leaves. The pouring rain of yesterday has cleared the pollen. The yellow is finally gone. Now only a few drips from the roof disturb the silence.

Ants are in my kitchen. I found a couple in the sink. I figured they were advance scouts for the rest of the army. The traps have been set. The ants’ days are numbered.

The last couple of days have been uneventful. I’m probably jinxing myself by saying that, but I’ll take the chance.

My very favorite vacation when I was a kid was in Vermont. We were so far up state my parents went to a town in Canada for dinner. I love the beach, but I don’t love salt water. It makes my skin dry and itchy. In Vermont we were on a lake. It was filled with fish, and I could see them just off shore where the bottom dropped and the water got really deep. I don’t open in my eyes in the salt water, but I do in a lake. I could see all the fish darting out of my way as I swam underwater. My hand seemed to move in slow motion when I reached toward the fish. Some were really small and some were middle sized. I have no idea what kind they were. I knew catfish from the pond near our house where my brother often fished, but I didn’t know the names of any others. All I knew was they were really fast.

We traipsed through the dense pine woods, went frog hunting in the stream which ran parallel to the house and swam every day. I loved that vacation, and I’d do most of it again. I think I’d just eliminated the frog hunting. They’re too slimy for me now.

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