Posted tagged ‘Mother Nature’

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“The first day of spring is one thing, and the first spring day is another. The difference between them is sometimes as great as a month.”

March 24, 2014

If I were to add up all my errands from this morning, today would be the most industrious of days, a day worthy of commendation. It was my annual physical first then three more stops. One stop was for the animals, including the birds, who now have enough seed, food and treats to last through the snowstorm. I stopped at the grocery store and bought all I need and a few things I didn’t need, like Twizzlers.

The roads were fairly empty without the usually frantic before the storm shopping. That will be tomorrow. Did I mention we are expecting a storm with blizzard conditions starting tomorrow night into Wednesday? The Cape will be the hardest hit and get the most snow. Predictions as to how much varies. The last one I saw said 6-8 inches. But by Saturday, though, we should be close to 60˚. I think Mother Nature is pulling a Gaslight, as in the movie, on all of us. The kindly, grandmotherly Mother Nature in bright clothes, a pretty cloak and flowers in her hair is beginning to look more like the Witch in Sleeping Beauty every time it snows, but I’m thinking this might just be winter’s last hurrah.

It’s cold today, no way around it. Everyone is bundled and back to puffy jackets and scarves. I saw a really old woman who could barely move her arms because of the layers.

I don’t really care. I grumble just because it seems the thing to do. Really, though, what’s one more snowstorm in a long line of snowstorms? It’s not stopping me from doing anything. I just sit in the house and wait for the plowman, Skip, to come. There are books to read, TV programs to watch and a comfy bed for a nap. I have Twizzlers. I’m happy.

Categories: Musings
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“Own only what you can always carry with you: know languages, know countries, know people. Let your memory be your travel bag.”

March 14, 2014

The day is bright with sun but it’s a cold morning, a 25˚ morning. Icicles hang from the edges of my roof. Snow still lies on the ground but the roads are clear. The weatherman says tomorrow will be a warm day. We might even hit 50˚,  but this winter has made a skeptic of me. I don’t trust a warm day. It’s Mother Nature toying with us. She probably giggles when a warm day makes us hopeful knowing that the cold is just biding its time, waiting for its turn. It’s inevitable.

When I was last returning from Ghana, my carry-on was so heavy I couldn’t lift it into the bin. I asked the man beside me, and he was quite happy to help, but he did mention how heavy it was. The reasons were two pottery bowls and a few other breakables I didn’t trust to my checked luggage. The bowls were nothing fancy but are common ones for grinding peppers or ginger.

Souvenirs are tricky. When I was a kid, I tended toward pennants, magnets or plastic gewgaws made in China. Each had the name of the place we were visiting. I remember buying snow globes and plastic dolls dressed in regional costumes. Quality wasn’t an issue for me.

From the beach I brought home colorful shells and dead starfish. The shells stayed around a while, but the dead starfish would start to smell, and my mother would make me throw them away. The round nautilus type shells were always my favorite.

When I was in Africa as a Peace Corps volunteer, I bought cloth and had it made into dresses which I wore every day. They weren’t really souvenirs. I sent home as gifts wooden animals, heads and giraffes. Ghana didn’t have any giraffes. I bought leather bags and woven baskets, but I used them. One basket became a lamp shade. When I was leaving Ghana, I bought a whole collection of the African Writers’ Series, a fugu (smock), some cloth and not one gewgaw. I would have bought a snow globe but it would have been weird to find one in Ghana.

No matter where I have traveled, I’ve bought souvenirs. Among them are a pottery tea set from England, platters and dishes from Portugal, wooden figures from Russia, cloth from Ghana, a tagine from Morocco, curtains from Dublin and a tablecloth from Hungary.

I didn’t think about it when I was buying everything, but in retrospect it seems as I had grown-up so had my souvenirs.

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

March 13, 2014

Yesterday Gracie and I went to the dump then we went for a ride. It was sunny and warm and a perfect day to wander. It was even 51˚, a gift of sorts. Last night it poured. I could hear the rain pounding the roof as I fell asleep. When I woke up, it wasn’t raining anymore. It was snowing and it’s still snowing. The lawn has disappeared. The tops of branches are covered in white. Mother Nature is not that sweet old lady who turns the world beautiful with one swish of her wand. She is, instead, the witch with the poisoned apple knocking on Cinderella’s door. Winter continues.

I don’t remember how old I was when the changing seasons made a difference. When I was a kid, they came and went and I just followed along. I liked all of them for different reasons. Summer was easy: no school and day after day of playing or bike riding all over town. Fall was back to school, but I don’t remember minding all that much. I liked school. Fall also meant yellow and red leaves all along the sidewalk on the walk to school. The days were still jacket warm. Winter was the most difficult of all seasons. We hurried to school most winter mornings. The wind was sometimes so cold my nose froze. Maybe not really but it felt that way. I’d get to school, and my feet would tingle as they got warmer. My hands stayed cold for a long while. I wasn’t thrilled with that side of winter, but then it would snow, and I loved snow. I’d watch the flakes fall and hope for so much snow everything would be covered, including the hill for sledding. I’d be outside so long I think my lips turned blue, but I didn’t notice. I’d keep going up the hill for another slide down. Usually my mother called a halt to the day. She wanted us in to get warm. I think winter taught me perspective. I could smell spring coming. The air had the rich scent of dirt, of gardens turned. The mornings were chilly but the afternoons were warm. The trees had buds which became light green leaves which would unfurl into deeper green leaves. I think the sun shined every day.

I know spring will come, but that doesn’t make me any less impatient for winter to be gone. I am so tired of the cold and the snow.  I groaned this morning when I looked out the window. 

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“Slotted spoons don’t hold much soup…”

March 10, 2014

Mother Nature has unkindly struck again. She grants us a couple of warmer days, note warmer not warm, and the snow melts, lawns reappear, the shoots of spring bulbs stand tall in the garden, and we are hopeful that winter is finally coming to an end. How silly of us!

This morning I woke to a snow shower. It left very little on the lawns but enough to remind us that winter has a strong grip and spring is still waiting in the wings. I put my optimism away for a little bit longer.

The house is warm, I am in my cozy clothes and I have nothing that needs doing today. I did have a few houses chores planned but they can wait until tomorrow or even the day after that. Very little in my life has an urgency about it.

When I was a kid, my mother packed the best school lunches. On days like today, they’d be chicken noodle or tomato soup in my thermos, always still hot at lunchtime. I’d pour the soup in the cup-top and sip it even though my mother packed a spoon. The sandwich bread was white, and usually it was Wonder Bread. I didn’t know bread came in any other colors or flavors until I was older. Bologna was the most common sandwich filling. I liked mine with mustard, and it was always that bright yellow mustard. She never gave me peanut butter and jelly. They always made the bread soggy and the sandwich ugly-looking by lunch. Fridays I’d get tuna salad. It was a no meat day. Sometimes they’d be potato chips. Mostly I had cookies for dessert. Oreos were my favorite. The day or two after my mother had grocery shopped, I’d sometimes be surprised to find Hostess cupcakes or pink Sno Balls tucked into my lunchbox. I drank milk from the little carton sold at lunchtime. I think it was a dime, and my mother used to put in the lunchbox so I wouldn’t lose it. We could talk at our desks during lunch but only in low voices. It was the highlight of the day.

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“Winter giveth the fields, and the trees so old, Their beards of icicles and snow…”

February 6, 2014

The snow came early yesterday morning starting around four. It covered the trees and the roads and was pretty for a while then the rain came, and the snow wasn’t pretty anymore. Under the trees the snow was pock-marked. On the streets and the walkways snow became slush. My plow guy came, shoveled the snow and pushed the slush to the side then spread Safe for Paws De-icer on the tops of the steps to keep them from freezing overnight. During the snowstorm I went out and filled the feeders. They were popular all afternoon.

The snow is crusty from freezing overnight. My paper had skidded down the driveway so I had to walk through the snow to get it. The top of the snow was slippery. As I stepped, cracks fanned out from my footprints. I was cautious. On my way back up the driveway, with papers in hand, I stepped in my footprints.

The sun is now trying to break through the clouds, but it won’t be a warm sun. It will be a bit of light on an otherwise grey day.

This will be the third day in a row I haven’t left the yard or done much with any purpose. I put away my laundry and did some frantic furniture polishing, but mostly I’ve been idle. I read and even took an afternoon nap. Falling asleep warm and cozy under the down comforter seemed an act of defiance against winter.

I generally accept the weather. It isn’t as if I have any control over what happens. Getting grumpy and cursing it only frustrates me. It’s winter. Snow is inevitable. It will be cold. That’s what winter is: snowy and cold. Every now and then we do get an unexpectedly warm day. I always think of it as Mother Nature fiddling with our heads. She’s probably sitting somewhere laughing and planning the next big snowstorm. That woman has no heart.

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“It’s hard to explain the fun to be found in seeing the right kind of bad movie.”

January 27, 2014

Today is a lull from winter. The sun is bright against a blue sky and the temperature is already 42˚. But today is just a ruse: Mother Nature is chortling at our expense. Tomorrow will be 30˚ and winter will hold sway again.

January was always the dullest of months. We had no school holidays and nothing to celebrate. Our weekdays were filled with walking to school, sitting at our desks doing lessons all day then walking home. Day after day was endlessly cold. The afternoons were dark. The only bright spots every day were The Mickey Mouse Club and Superman. I think watching them was relief from tedium and kept us from killing each other. From Monday to Friday, we hungered for Saturday and the afternoon matinée, a wonderful, welcomed change in routine. We’d walk up town. The weather never mattered. We were going to the movies.

In winter every seat in the theater was filled for the matinée. Sometimes we were even allowed in the balcony, usually off-limits. My movie theater was kind of neat as it had a physical set-up which was different from most. The ticket booth was not a booth at all but was part of the side wall. After you bought your ticket you walked up an incline to the candy counter. It was the whole wall between the two aisles of seats so everyone had equal access. I remember the crowd was sometimes three deep in front of the candy counter, and everyone was trying to get the attention of the woman who manned the counter. She was Al’s wife and Al owned the theater. I can still see in my mind’s eye the counter in front, the mirror on the whole wall behind where Mrs. Al stood, and the glass popcorn machine on the left side of the counter. I loved to watch the kernels fly out of the popper to the bottom of the machine. That’s where the popcorn was scooped and put into the red and white boxes. The candy counter was glass with three shelves of candy inside. I always went for the candy which lasted the longest. Some of the guys went for candy which flew the farthest.

I forget when I grew too old for the matinée. It was probably around the eighth grade. I missed it at first as it had been so much a part of my growing up and my Saturdays, but there was a silver lining. I got to go to the movies at night.

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“He’s too nervous to kill himself. He wears his seat belt in a drive-in movie.”

July 30, 2013

If I were Mother Nature, today would be among my finest creations. The sun is brilliant, the sky a dark blue, a slight breeze rustles the leaves and the air is clear and comfortable. Earlier, I was on the deck reading my papers and it took such a long time. I kept stopping to watch the birds at the feeders and Gracie run through the yard with her deflated basketball in her mouth. She looked joyful. almost prancing, playing in the coolness of the morning. She came on the deck and sat down beside me. I read the papers and absent-mindedly patted Gracie the whole time.

Gracie and I are going to the dump later. The trash is out by the car waiting to be loaded. Poor Gracie hasn’t been riding much as it has been too hot for her to be left while I did errands, but I always take her with me to the dump.

Wellfleet still has a drive-in movie theater. Dennis used to, but it was demolished years ago. That was my favorite of all the drive-ins. It was small and it was surrounded by trees. It was like being in your own backyard. Bugs were plentiful, but you loaded up on mosquito spray before you went so they pretty much left you alone. We used to pack a picnic basket, a tradition my father started. When I was a kid, we brought our own snacks to the drive-in as the ones in the refreshment stand were so expensive. Our adult picnic basket was a bit more elaborate. We filled thermos bottles with drinks, alcoholic drinks, and had crackers and cheese and fancy hors d’oeuvres. We’d put out our lawn chairs and sit by the speaker. We always used glasses, never plastic, and real forks and knives; however, I do admit we used paper napkins.

I thought it was a tragedy when they closed that drive-in, but land had become more valuable than a screen, speakers and some parking spots; however, most of that land remains untouched. Some of it became part of a vegetable farm, but that’s gone too. Only the shed where they sold their produce is still there but it is falling apart, a victim of the weather. Most people don’t know that behind a section of trees on a pretty well-traveled road is an open spot which used to be the drive-in. I think of it every time I go by those trees and I sigh a bit for what’s now gone.

Categories: Musings
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Comments: 16 Comments

“He’s too nervous to kill himself. He wears his seat belt in a drive-in movie.”

July 30, 2013

If I were Mother Nature, today would be among my finest creations. The sun is brilliant, the sky a dark blue, a slight breeze rustles the leaves and the air is clear and comfortable. Earlier, I was on the deck reading my papers and it took such a long time. I kept stopping to watch the birds at the feeders and Gracie run through the yard with her deflated basketball in her mouth. She looked joyful. almost prancing, playing in the coolness of the morning. She came on the deck and sat down beside me. I read the papers and absent-mindedly patted Gracie the whole time.

Gracie and I are going to the dump later. The trash is out by the car waiting to be loaded. Poor Gracie hasn’t been riding much as it has been too hot for her to be left while I did errands, but I always take her with me to the dump.

Wellfleet still has a drive-in movie theater. Dennis used to, but it was demolished years ago. That was my favorite of all the drive-ins. It was small and it was surrounded by trees. It was like being in your own backyard. Bugs were plentiful, but you loaded up on mosquito spray before you went so they pretty much left you alone. We used to pack a picnic basket, a tradition my father started. When I was a kid, we brought our own snacks to the drive-in as the ones in the refreshment stand were so expensive. Our adult picnic basket was a bit more elaborate. We filled thermos bottles with drinks, alcoholic drinks, and had crackers and cheese and fancy hors d’oeuvres. We’d put out our lawn chairs and sit by the speaker. We always used glasses, never plastic, and real forks and knives; however, I do admit we used paper napkins.

I thought it was a tragedy when they closed that drive-in, but land had become more valuable than a screen, speakers and some parking spots; however, most of that land remains untouched. Some of it became part of a vegetable farm, but that’s gone too. Only the shed where they sold their produce is still there but it is falling apart, a victim of the weather. Most people don’t know that behind a section of trees on a pretty well-traveled road is an open spot which used to be the drive-in. I think of it every time I go by those trees and I sigh a bit for what’s now gone.

Categories: Musings
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Comments: 16 Comments

“Never run in the rain with your socks on.”

June 14, 2013

Mother Nature seems to have forgotten we’re close to the middle of June. It is 57˚. My house is cold enough that I’m wearing socks and a sweatshirt. The sky is gray and the wind is blowing. It poured rain all night into this morning. Sun is predicted tomorrow so I’ll just have to be patient with today.

I’m late as I met friends for breakfast. We get together once a month. All of us worked at the high school together and we all retired with a few years of each other. This morning there were 11 of us.

When I was growing up, nobody I knew skied or golfed. Those were sports for people with money. Miniature golf was the closest we ever got. I did go to the private golf course in my town but only in winter with my sled or my toboggan. I never even learned to water ski despite living by the ocean. My father only had a row-boat.

Only once did I ever go snow skiing. It was in Colorado when I was visiting my sister and brother-in-law. I got off the lift easily without falling, but as I went down the hill, I started speeding so fast and out of control I got afraid and threw myself to the ground just before I ended up in the trees. It took forever for me to get up and get the skis back on my feet. One or the other ski would slide down the hill by itself. A passing skier would be kind enough to retrieve them for me. One was a little kid about nine. My descent after that was tentative at best, and I still nearly ended up in the parking lot. I had trouble stopping. My brother-in-law, a skier, asked my sister and me if we minded him skiing a bit. Nope. We loved sitting in the lodge and having hot drinks. That is still my favorite part of skiing.

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“A politician thinks of the next election. A statesman, of the next generation.”

November 6, 2012

Last night was cold, but this morning the sun has made an appearance making me think Mother Nature is feeling apologetic for the last few days and for the storm expected tomorrow. When I woke up, earlier than usual, the house was cold. The furnace, programmed for leisurely mornings, for sleeping-in mornings, hadn’t yet warmed the house. I put on my slippers and my sweatshirt and we all, the dog, cats and I, went downstairs, and I right away turn up the heat and put on the coffee. When I went outside to get the papers, the air felt brisk.

Voter turnout is always greater on a sunny day.

The first election which caught my attention was in 1960 when John F. Kennedy ran for president. He was a local boy, the senator from Massachusetts, so he was my candidate. I watched the debate. I remember how bad Nixon looked. I remember only one issue from that debate: the islands of Quemoy and Matsu. I think their names have a neat sound so they stuck in my brain all this time as did the drawn maps of their positions relative to China. I remember the wooden pointers both men used. Kennedy and Nixon, of course, disagreed as to their importance. I have no idea about those islands now.

I was proud to wear my Kennedy buttons and still have the three of them. One is of a smiling Kennedy with his name across the top, another just says Kennedy for President. My favorite is a huge white button which says, “If I were twenty-one, I’d vote for Kennedy.”

I remember, “Extremism in the defense of liberty is no vice,” which was Barry Goldwater’s catch phrase. I thought its portent was scary. His bumper sticker, though, is still a favorite of mine: AuH20=1964. I wonder how many people were flummoxed by what they thought was math.

It seemed to take forever until I was old enough to vote, but, finally, the summer before my senior year in college I turned twenty-one. I voted for the first time in 1968. My choice was ever so easy. Never could I vote for Richard Nixon. Besides, I really did believe Hubert Humphrey would have made a good President.

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