Posted tagged ‘rain’

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“Accidents will happen in the best regulated families.”

November 5, 2010

It rained all night, but it was so warm I left the window opened in my bedroom. Today is dreary. The leaves hanging over the deck are mostly brown now and are barely clinging to the branches. The deck is covered in leaves and pine needles. It looks deserted. I miss my deck.

I haven’t heard from my computer man. That is not a good sign.

Rainy days make me want to curl up on the couch with a good book and read the day away, but I have a few errands, nothing big, and a few house chores, also not so big. I grouse a bit but don’t really mind getting dressed and going out because I get to ride around in my new car. The old car is in the driveway and still hasn’t been cleared out, but I’m hoping tomorrow will be a nicer day.

I have broken three bones in my life. One was my wrist when I was around four. It broke when I was jumping off the fence backwards and braced myself on the ground. The judges would have taken off points for a bad landing, but I was quite proud of that cast. The next was my cheekbone broken one early morning when I fell down the stairs. It was the least of my injuries. I don’t remember falling. I cleaned up, changed, called my friend to tell her about my injury then went back to bed. I have no memory of any of  the rest of that either. The last was a fractured shoulder when I fell off the ladder while I was window washing. I also don’t remember that. I just remember waking up in the lemon verbena and going inside to use one arm to finish the window. My sisters claim that all these injuries just prove I’m my father’s daughter, but I disagreed in part. His injuries came from every day sorts of mishaps: the sawing himself out of the tree, catching his thumb with his fishing hook, slightly electrifying himself while putting up lights and cutting his fingers on a fan blade. Mine are a bit more dramatic and happen far less often. At least that’s what I kept telling myself.

Yesterday I caught my finger with a staple while I was putting up my inside Thanksgiving lights. It was most decidedly something my father would have done.

Categories: Musings
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Comments: 11 Comments

“Many’s the long night I’ve dreamed of cheese – toasted, mostly.”

October 28, 2010

I have an early appointment in Boston so I’m writing this yesterday. It seemed like a good idea so I wouldn’t have to hurry in the morning, but I’m having tense problems. I keep wanting to use is so I will.

Today is a favorite kind of day. It’s raining and has been all day. Sometimes the rain is gentle; other times it rages against the windows and back door. The room here is darkened, lit by the television screen and the monitor. Most days I never watch TV, but today I wanted to watch old black and white science fiction. I didn’t get dressed all day. It just seemed right to be comfortable. For lunch I had a toasted cheese sandwich with tomatoes. It was delicious.

My sandwich had cheddar cheese, Vermont sharp cheddar cheese, and it got me to thinking about cheese. Cheddar is my current favorite, all sorts of cheddar. Its parentage doesn’t generally matter.

My favorite often switches as I am a fan of most cheeses, bleu being the exception. When I was in Africa, I craved cheese, but my mother never thought to send Velveeta, and I never thought to ask. It would have been perfect.

I remember entertaining and feeling quite accomplished when I put together and served my cheese balls. They were covered in nuts or some sort of greenery. At Christmas I think there used to a rule which declared that all households celebrating the season must serve at least one cheese ball. I lived through the fondue era and cheese fondue was my favorite though I have a special place in my heart for chocolate fondue and pound cake.

When I have company, I always serve cheese as one of the hors d’oeuvres. I put out a slab of cheese, lately cheddar, and a triangle of cheese like a mango chutney with cheddar. The crackers vary. I also slice pickles and put out something like fig compote and olive tapenade    (which I never touch) to have with the cheeses. I also still use Velveeta, but it’s never mentioned in polite company.

Categories: Musings
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“Hearing nuns’ confessions is like being stoned to death with popcorn.”

October 15, 2010

Last night I opened my bedroom window so I could fall asleep to the sound of the rain. I heard the wind and I heard the raindrops tapping on the overhang near my window. It was a lovely way to drift off to dreamland.

The day has yet to make up its mind. Should I be sunny or cloudy?

Yesterday I put the storm door on the front. While I was retrieving it from the cellar, I happened upon a dead mouse. By the looks of it, the mouse had met its heavenly reward a while back. I’m figuring Maddie was the mighty hunter. Fern is the queen who sleeps on a couch pillow.

I used to moan and groan when my mother woke me up for school. Nothing is worse than being torn from a warm bed, forced to eat lumpy oatmeal and made to walk to school in all weather. A kid’s lot is a tough one.

Nobody does well sitting in the same place most of the day, especially if it’s a confining desk, but the nuns kept us in line, mostly from fear of both them and our parents. I don’t ever remember a kid acting up in class. Whispering was the extent of our misbehavior, and you had to do that just right or risk wrath. You ducked your head behind the person in front of you and used a mixture of whispers and hand signals to get your message across while at the same time keeping an eye on the nun in front. Short messages had the best chances of success.

If you got away with it, talking in class was a deed worthy of song, one to be remembered in the annals of time and to be reenacted over and over during recess.

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“Middle age is when you’re sitting at home on a Saturday night and the telephone rings and you hope it isn’t for you.”

October 2, 2010

We got our rain, and I think somebody else’s too. It poured all afternoon and evening, but I didn’t mind. It was welcomed as we hadn’t had rain in so very long. The storm also brought us a cool day and one without humidity. The air is clear and the sunlight sharp. The forecast is for chilly nights, down to the low 40’s, for the next few days. That sounds like fall to me.

When I was kid, every Saturday had a routine: up early, Saturday TV, cereal for breakfast and a matinee at the movie theater if my mother had the money. If she didn’t have the money, Saturday was a roam around and see what we could discover day. We’d head to the woods or the tracks or uptown. We didn’t have plans. We were open to any adventure that came our way.

Saturday night was bath night.

My father had his own Saturday routine. In the morning, he’d head uptown to the Chinaman’s to pick up and drop off his white shirts. He’d get a haircut if he needed one then he’d visit his friend Pullo at the drug store before heading home to do Saturday chores. This time of year was yard cleaning and leaf raking and burning.

My mother did the same things she did every day. She made beds, cooked meals, washed dishes and cleaned the house. The only difference in her day was we were all home to drive her crazy.

When I worked, Saturday was errand day for me. It was run around town and do what I hadn’t time for all week. I never minded all that much. It was nice to be outside in the daylight.

Now, Saturday is a whatever day. I have a routine of sorts: the papers, coffee and writing. After that, I’m always open to adventure.

Categories: Musings
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“Sex education may be a good idea in the schools, but I don’t believe the kids should be given homework.”

September 17, 2010

The sky opened and the rain fell, all night into this morning, and I drifted off to sleep listening to the sounds of the rain. The storm was quixotic. The drops sometimes pelted the roof then they’d fall gently, in almost a whisper. Today is quiet, the way it is after a storm; only the birds break the stillness.

It was one of those guess the day mornings. I could have sworn it was Saturday, but a quick review of the last few days brought me back to Friday. I had no plans for the day, whatever it was. The house is clean, the larder filled, and I have some books from the library. I think my world is just about perfect.

Most times we didn’t get homework on Fridays. I guess it was the nuns practicing charity. Every other day of the week, though, found me at the kitchen table in the afternoons right after school. I liked to do my homework right away so the rest of the day could be mine. I never moaned about getting homework. Somehow I understood it to be my lot in life, and it never took much time when I was in elementary school to do a few arithmetic problems or learn some new spelling words. I was quick and out the door in no time.

At the end of the year when I was in the third grade, I got three ribbons for excellence: one for spelling, another for religion and a third for English. I still have them upstairs in a scrapbook. The ribbons were homemade by the nuns, and each had a pin on the back so I could proudly wear them. They were the first prizes I ever received, and I wanted to save them forever. I’m still working on that.

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“Let’s Give A Rousing Cheer…”

August 24, 2010

An early morning meeting and a trip to the library has put me behind my time for which I apologize. Usually by eleven I’m finished writing and lolling on the lounge with my bon bons.

The skies opened and a deluge fell all of yesterday and last night. The wind howled and even overturned the umbrella stuck in a fifty pound stand. I had guests for dinner last night but, “The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men, Gang aft agley.” There I was holding my umbrella and trying to watch the meat as it barbecued, a tricky maneuver as I was cooking a rare, a medium and a well-done. On one of my check the meat trips I literally did, trip I mean. My flip flops skidded and I hit the deck, uninjured but soaked. After that I forwent the umbrella. The meat cooked perfectly, but I was soaked, necessitating a change of clothes. For the next dinner, I’m checking the weather before I make out my menu.

It is still raining with a dampness which chills to the bones so most of my windows are closed. According to the paper, the sun won’t be back until Thursday, and the forecast  for Saturday is a good one, perfect for a deck party.

Edward Kean has died at age 85. His name is probably not familiar but his music is. Mr. Kean wrote the theme song It’s Howdy Doody Time to which I still remember all of the words and would sing along if Buffalo Bob appeared miraculously on Saturday morning television in black and white and asked, “What time is it, kids?”

I always find it amazing what sticks in my head, and I’m guessing a lot of yours too.

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“The cocktail party has a simple function in modern society. Its basic purpose is to pay off social debts.”

August 23, 2010

Today is cold and rainy. I even had to close a couple of windows. Last night a heavy wind was the opening act for this rain which didn’t start until after I’d gone to bed but has been steady ever since. Tonight I have company coming for dinner, and we’ll have to eat inside, and they’ll miss the loveliness of an evening on the deck. I took an inside shower this morning, the first inside one since early June.

Today isn’t like a summer rain, the sort which falls gently and cools the day a bit. It feels more like an autumn rain with a hint of the colder weather to come. When I was a kid, my mother used to make us stay in on rainy, chilly summer days like today. I never minded. It was always a favorite sort of day when I could nestle under the covers with my bed lamp lit over my head and a good book in my hand. Most times I wasn’t bothered. My little sisters often played in the cellar with their dolls and doll carriages, and I don’t remember where my brother went. I got to be alone with my book.

This is a busy week for me. The last plays are this week for both my Wednesday and Friday theaters, and on Saturday I’m having a cocktail party. I know it sounds really fiftyish, even to me. I picture women in puffy skirted dresses and men in suits and ties all carrying martini glasses complete with olives on toothpicks. The table has several cheese balls, some covered in nuts, and a variety of chaffing dishes. I think one must have cocktail franks and maybe another has Swedish meatballs. Is that a fancy jelly mold with suspended fruit on a plate beside the cheese ball? I can even picture the groups of men standing and the women sitting. Most are smoking. The men discuss sports and the women discuss their kids and maybe even other women.

That is not my party. Dress is casual, and there won’t be a single cheese ball or cocktail frank.

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“Our birthdays are feathers in the broad wing of time.”

August 17, 2010

They are my fault. The last two thunder and lightning storms started when I got up to go to the bathroom. This morning it was around three when the sky lit up several times over and over and the thunder roared. The same thing happened last week. It sounds unlikely I know, but it is far too much of a coincidence to ignore. I will no longer have any cold drinks before bed.

It is a damp, dark day, befitting after all the rain we had. The humidity is thick enough to cut, and the house feels closed as if the walls are getting closer. Nothing is stirring, not the slightest breeze. I do hear a few birds but all else is quiet, dulled by the heavy air.

The roads will be filled with tourists looking for something to do, something to amuse them and keep their kids occupied. The movie theater will be crowded and parking will spill over to the grass and the road across the street. I will stay home.

Today I will don my tiara, my long gloves and my favorite gown with matching slippers, figuratively of course, to celebrate this auspicious occasion. It is my birthday, and I am as old as I have ever been. My friend Clare always leaves on my front steps the biggest mum she can find, and there it was when I opened the door. I can think of no lovelier way to start a birthday. Tony and Clare will make dinner, all my favorites, and we’ll celebrate.

I don’t remember most birthdays when I was a kid. There were probably parties and gifts, but for some reason they never stayed in my memory drawers. I remember turning  twenty-one when my friends took me out for dinner and my first legal drinks. They had a few drinks themselves and forgot to buy my dinner. They also forgot the tip so I got stuck with both. Once they realized what had happened, they offered to take me out again, but, with tongue in cheek, I told them I couldn’t afford it.

Birthdays need to be celebrated with balloons, confetti, noisemakers and good friends. I’ll have those tonight, and it will be a grand celebration.

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“A private railroad car is not an acquired taste. One takes to it immediately.”

August 5, 2010

It’s finally raining, but the humidity is still horrific. Typing is even sweat producing. All I can imagine doing is lying languidly on a chaise lounge while eating bon bons. The paper says the weather will break in a couple of days. I hope so. This is the worst stretch of hot, humid weather I can remember.

I so love rain storms and dark rooms and the sound of the raindrops on the windows. I can hear a bird or two but no cars or people. The animals are asleep. The heat makes them drowsy and listless. Fern is stretched out across a couch pillow with her paws hanging. Gracie is in her crate. Maddie is upstairs asleep on the bed. My typing is the only sound in the house. I find the silence comforting.

Traffic was at a standstill in Hyannis. The gate was down, and the train was heading back to the station. I got to listen to the train whistle and watch the cars pass.  It was like being a little kid again when the train ran every day. I remember putting a penny on the tracks and waiting for the train wheels to flatten it. The trains carried freight, never passengers. I liked the caboose most of all. The other cars were mostly black or brown. The caboose was always red.

I have a fascination with trains and love riding them. Sleepers are the most fun and hearing the clack of the wheels on the tracks is about the best way to fall asleep. I’ve slept on trains in Africa and Europe, in first class beds and on couchettes with six to a room.

If I could go back in time, I’d take the Orient Express from Paris to Istanbul. I’d dress for dinner every night and drink fine wine. I’d mingle with royalty, a few celebrities and hope for a spy or two.  Nothing like a little intrigue to enliven a journey.

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“It is too humid to continue.”

July 10, 2010

The day is dark. It has rained a little, small drops which fell for only a while, disappeared for a bit then fell again. I was outside under the umbrella the whole time and stayed dry. I love the sound of the rain on the umbrella. In Ghana, I loved the sound of the rain on the tin roof. I’d sit on my porch under the overhang to watch the rain fall. It was all around me falling in heavy drops with a bit of lightning for drama. I’d listen to it hitting the roof over my head and never tire of the sound. Sometimes I wish I still had a tin roof.

I hope the rain doesn’t mean my first outdoor movie will have to be postponed.

The air is oppressive right now. It dulls sounds and curtails activity. Not a leaf moves in the thick humidity. I should be hearing lawn mowers and kids’ voices. All I hear are a few birds. It will be a day on the deck with a book and some cold drinks.

This week I lost track of the days. I thought yesterday was Saturday. That confusion happens every once in a while and comes from my not keeping a personal calendar any more. The computer is nice enough to give me a day’s notice if I have an appointment, but beyond that I’m on my own. It used to be I knew it was Sunday when The Amazing Race was on, and that was all I needed to help keep track. Now, baseball is on every night, no help there, but I don’t really care all that much. The day is mine to make of it as I want. That’s good enough.

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