Posted tagged ‘raw day’

“Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year.”

February 25, 2014

The cold weather is back and snow may be on the way tomorrow, but I, however, am finally resigned to winter now that it is nearly over. There is no sense complaining. It just makes me grouchy and serves no purpose. Over the weekend it was 50˚, and I got to thinking ahead to barbecue and beach weather. Spring will eventually come. It always does.

My life has a routine. It has always had a routine, but the routine has changed as I have changed and grown older. The longest routine was during the thirty-three years I worked in the high school. I got up the same time every day, came home around the same time and spent my evenings in the same way as I had the day before and the day before that. I never thought of my routine as a rut. I liked my job though for all those years 5 o’clock always struck me as a barbaric time for waking up and getting out of bed. I don’t do that any more. This summer I will celebrate ten years of retirement. The only time I set my clock now is on Mondays for breakfast with my friend at nine. It’s a wonderful thing that I have to set the alarm to get out of bed by eight. I like the routine I find myself living now.

This morning the paper had pictures of purple croci ( I had four years of Latin in high school so I’m going with first declension masculine plural on this one). They are a hopeful sign as are the green shoots in my front garden. I saw a few more this morning which had been hidden under the snow. They made me smile and forget for a moment that it’s cold and a bit raw today.

The world continues to amaze me. Sometimes I am stopped in my tracks. There we are, Gracie and I, just riding along when all of a sudden I am struck by the beauty of the marsh or the colors of the sunset. I’m usually moved to talk out loud and use words like wow or oh my God. It doesn’t matter how many times I have seen the sheer beauty of the ocean or the glory of a sunny day or a sky lit with stars. I can’t help but be overwhelmed. I think it a wonderful thing that we can live years and years and still be moved by the every day.

“I hate people who are not serious about meals. It is so shallow of them.”

January 18, 2014

Raw is the best description for the morning. It is cold, rainy and dark, a stay close to home and keep warm sort of day. If I had the fixings, I’d make stew with dumplings.

My memory banks seem to be closed today. In between typing sentences I get up and walk around to find something to do. On my last wandering I stopped and oiled the old child’s desk in the bathroom. It looks great. I’d wash my kitchen floor next, covered as it is in paw prints, but it is still raining.

I have two hot dogs left. All I’d need to add would be brown bread and baked beans to make our family’s usual Saturday night dinner. I never ate the beans, but I liked the brown bread. I even like brown bread now but toasted. I still don’t like beans.

I ate sardines when I was young. My dad would open the can using the key attached to the bottom and roll the top. He’d bring out the Saltines, and we’d finish off the can. That grosses me out now. My dad also loved Spam, straight from the can in a sandwich with mustard, the yellow kind. My sister still likes Spam. I never did. I used to hate vegetables, and there are still a few I won’t eat, but for the most part, I love vegetables. It’s interesting how tastes change.

My mother never made us eat what we didn’t like. She disguised carrots by mashing them with potatoes, and we ate them not knowing we had been duped. We liked peas, except for my brother, so she served those often. We all ate corn, especially fresh ears of summer corn. I tolerated green beans but now eat them only at Thanksgiving dinner which isn’t complete without green bean casserole. My mother made favorite dinners like American Chop Suey, fried dough and a hamburger dish we thought exotic because it had bean sprouts and water chestnuts. I could have eaten her meatloaf every night, especially the one she frosted with mashed potatoes. For the most part, though, we were average kids, not adventurous eaters. I, however, have become an adventurous eater mostly through circumstances and ignorance.