Posted tagged ‘sleeping late’

“Sleep is good, he said, and books are better.”

October 3, 2017

Words are never enough. We can throw around sympathy, sadness, sorrow and tragedy, but none of those salve our feelings or change the situation. Sarah Huckabee Sanders at her press conference said, “And it would be premature for us to discuss policy when we don’t fully know all the facts, or what took place last night.” What more does she need to know? 59 people were killed and over 500 wounded by a man who had legal weapons according to Nevada law. She continued, “And this isn’t a time for us to go after individuals or organizations. I think that we can have those policy conversations, but today is not that day.” We know there will probably never be a day that strict gun control becomes the law of the land, especially now.

Last night I watched a variety of news programs until I couldn’t stand them any longer. I switched to Cozi TV and watched, of all things, The Munsters. Finally I just turned the TV off and read and tried to lose myself in the pages. That didn’t ‘work. It was a long night.

I slept late this morning. That put me way back. The house was cold when I woke up. I’m thinking it will be that way every morning for now on. Good thing I had my sweatshirt handy. I fed Gracie and Maddie and then took care of myself. I’m on my third cup of coffee. I had an English muffin slathered with butter and jelly. I shared with Gracie.

Tonight is game night, postponed from Sunday. It is my turn to bring food so I’m making Mexican. Yesterday I shopped for all the ingredients. That leaves most off my day free. I do have bird feeders needing to be filled, but that takes only a little time. I got a new book from the library yesterday but I’m working on another, the one I tried to read last night.

I’m thinking what I need is a B movie, a black and white science fiction movie from the 50’s. They hold my attention. They make me laugh. I’m going hunting. Talk to you on Thursday.

“I may just be on the outskirts of being okay.”

November 3, 2016

Neither of my two newspapers had the results of the game last night so it’s a good thing I stayed up until the end. This game 7 of the World Series had everything: a come from behind team who tied the game, a rain delay and extra innings. It was exciting. I was happy for the Cubs. They reminded me of the Red Sox who had gone so long before winning a series. They also had former Sox players and Theo Epstein who guided this, his second, team to a spectacular win.

I slept late this morning, a mirror under the nose late. It was eleven before Gracie and I woke up, but it didn’t matter. My routine stayed the same. I put the coffee on, went to get the papers and yesterday’s mail, came back inside, greeted Maddie and gave her morning treats, filled Gracie’s dry food dish, changed the dog’s water, put bread in the toaster, got coffee and my toast then sat down to read the papers. By this time it was closer to 12 than 11.

Gracie and I are going out today. I have a few errands I can do and a few places where I can shop. I am in the mood. It’s been a while since I last shopped just for the sake of shopping.

I’m finding myself talking out-loud more and more. Usually I start my conversations by naming Gracie or Maddie so it seems as if I am actually chatting with my pets. Maddie tends to ignore me. She even keeps her back to me. Sometimes I clap to make sure she hasn’t gone deaf overnight. So far she is just ignoring me, doing that superiority of a cat thing. Gracie is a wonderful conversationalist though she doesn’t say a word. She looks into my eyes the whole time I’m talking. She cocks her head every now and then which makes me think she might have a question. I don’t usually explain. I end most conversations with Gracie by patting her, a thank you for listening. Maddie just walks away.


“Money is better than poverty, if only for financial reasons.”

January 28, 2016

Today is sunny and warmer than it has been. The snow is almost gone. It lingers in piles on the corners of the streets and beside driveways. My deck and parking space are clear. The drama of the first snowstorm is over.

I woke up early, a relative term I realize, but decided I wasn’t ready yet to face the day. I slept another hour and a half. Gracie joined me. I took my time reading the papers. There just seemed to be lots of news. It was a three cups of coffee morning.

Today has an empty agenda. I’m not even sure I’ll get dressed. I’m not going anywhere. My car’s trunk is filled with trash but Leandro and Rosanna will be here in a bit to clean so tomorrow will be the big day, a banner day, a day to be out and about. Tomorrow is dump day, and the weatherman says it may rain. Of course it will. It is also get Gracie’s license day as the price goes up 100% after tomorrow which also happens to be the last day I can pay my real estate taxes on line. How will I pay you ask? Tomorrow is pay day.

My dad got paid every Friday when I was a kid. He’d hand his check over to my mother, the family accountant, who would cash it. It was her job to divvy the money into budget envelopes and to pay her Christmas club for the week. I remember those envelopes. On the front of each was the amount my mother put in every week. The envelopes over time became a deep tan color and were bound together inside a red cover with strings to close it.

When I bought my house, I started to use budget envelopes, but I wasn’t fancy. I just grabbed white envelopes, labeled them and put the amount on the front. I got paid every two weeks. The first couple of years I owned the house the mortgage was half my month’s salary. Those were the lean years. I didn’t travel anywhere for the first time since 1969 when I went into the Peace Corps. Restaurants, except once in a while, were not budget items. Grocery shopping was limited to needing only. I got sick of hot dogs and hamburgers for dinner.

The lean years lasted about four years. In the fifth year I went to Europe. My fiscal crisis was behind me: no more envelopes, no more scrimping and no more longing to be somewhere.

“In the kitchen Valeria was making breakfast, his aunt never made breakfast even though Carlo insisted for years that a hotel hoping to cater to French and Americans must offer breakfast. “It’s a lazy man’s meal.”, she always said. “What laggard expects to eat before doing any work?”

January 8, 2016

Today is a pleasant winter’s day. The sun is shining, the breeze is slight and it’s warm, winter warm anyway. I slept until after 11. Ever since Colorado, I’ve tended to sleep late, but it’s purely coincidental. I’m just sleeping late. As my mother would say, “You must need it.”

Gracie and I were out yesterday and got four errands done. We’re good for a while now.

January was always a nothing month when I was a kid. We went back to school and were stuck there with no days off until February vacation.That was like five or six weeks away. After school we were mostly stuck inside unless there was some snow for sledding or a warm afternoon for biking. I remember the boredom, the walking around sighing when there was nothing to do. I couldn’t go out. It was too cold. I didn’t have a new book, playing games was boring and TV was sparse in the early afternoons. Stretched in front of me were endless hours or what seemed like endless hours until Superman. I’m sure I must have driven my mother crazy. Usually I’d decide to read a book I hadn’t read in a while. I’d drown out every sound and be drawn into the pages. I’d forget about time. Superman surprised me. He seemed to come so soon.

My mother never made soups. She served Campbell’s. My favorite was her tomato soup as she added milk or cream instead of water. It was a thick, tasty soup perfect for dunking grilled cheese sandwiches. The two always went together. They were lunch supreme when it was cold outside.

My mother served oatmeal or eggs for breakfast in the winter. I liked the oatmeal but mostly I liked the milk and the sugar I’d put on it. My mother served the oats cooked on the stove which were never as white as the milk and were sometimes lumpy. It didn’t matter. I liked oatmeal because it was hot. The eggs were usually soft boiled and served in egg cups. My mother cut the toast into strips and put them on the plate with the egg cup and the egg. The top of the egg was open and we’d dunk the toaster strips into the yoke. That was a great breakfast.

Winter had the best breakfasts, always hot so we could face the elements. The rest of the year was usually cereal from the box, a pale version of breakfast, except on Sundays when we’d have bacon and eggs and toast, breakfast supreme.

“Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass on a summer day listening to the murmur of water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is hardly a waste of time.”

September 6, 2015

Sorry for today’s late start but it was one of those mirror under the nose mornings. I slept until 11, but as my mother always said, I must have needed it.

It is another beautiful day with lots of sun and no humidity. I have no plans except for doing a few house things like water plants, fold laundry and oil my old desk. It is an antique children’s desk and needs periodic oiling as it gets quite dry. With no humidity, it’s a great oil the desk day.

My neighbors are on their deck. I can hear them talking. I can also smell their dinner cooking on the grill. I think today is probably universal cook on the grill Sunday. Both my sisters also mentioned a barbecue. Some meat, fresh corn and a salad is the perfect menu. The local corn is now in the farm markets. It is so sweet you’d almost want it for dessert. Adding homegrown tomatoes raises the salad to culinary heights. The meat is secondary; anything will do. I’m partial to cheeseburgers but won’t turn my nose up at ribs or the lowly hot dog. I best stop now. I’m making myself hungry!

The summer has passed quickly. We might have one or two movie Saturdays left before it gets too cold. The last one has to be a blockbuster, but I haven’t yet decided what it will be, maybe The Adventures of Robin Hood or North by Northwest. I do have a couple I can’t wait to show as they are both so very bad, The Terror of Tiny Town ( and Chopper Chicks in Zombietown. That last one doesn’t even rate as a B movie.

It has been eleven years of being retired, but I still have a lingering distaste for Labor Day. It used to mean back to work and it was the symbolic end of summer. It wasn’t a day to celebrate. It was a day to mourn.

“Well you know what they say. It’s always raining somewhere.”

November 17, 2014

The vet called me yesterday around five. She had gotten the results of Gracie’s Saturday test and wanted me to know. She said the results were wonderful: the irregular heartbeat had lessened. The pills seem to be working. I would have clicked my heels in the air, but that would have been a disaster. I’d have fallen and probably hit my head on a piece of furniture. The vet told me to keep giving Gracie the pills, and she’d see Gracie in six months for another test. That’s easy to remember as I see my cardiologist every six months. Now I can stop watching Gracie and checking her while she sleeps. She’ll stop feeling paranoid.

When I woke up, it was pouring, raining cats and dogs as my mother would say. It was late morning, ten forty-five, as I was up until close to three. Fern was coughing, and I was worried so I read and stayed awake to keep an eye on her. She fell asleep finally and so did I. Gracie, always the stalwart, was already asleep. This morning it was the usual routine: put on the coffee then let Gracie out. I opened the door for her as she never uses the dog door for her first morning outside trip. Gracie went four steps outside and turned around to look at me. Her ears were down and she was slouching. I opened the door and she ran back inside. Now this where the dog is smarter than I. Gracie and I stood at the front door watching the rain. It was still torrential. I could see my newspapers wrapped in plastic on the driveway. Did I want the papers badly enough to get soaked or could I just have my coffee and read the news on-line? I ran out and got the papers. I also got soaked.

“Once the rain starts falling it’s hard to tell it to stop…”

December 7, 2013

This morning you needed a mirror to see if I was still breathing as I slept in until quite late. I must have needed it. When I woke up, I had the edge of the bed while Gracie had the rest of it. She seemed comfortable.

The yard lights didn’t go out last night. They are on a sensor keyed to Gracie and are supposed to turn off after 15 minutes. The heavy rain must have done something. The Christmas lights worked just fine but the yard was lit up all night long. I hoped the light of day would cause them to go out: I was right. It did. I hate having to call an electrician or a plumber.

The churches here still have Christmas fairs. I try to go to a couple every year. I love the white elephant tables as I usually find some kitchen item I can’t imagine I did without. The knitted mittens, slippers and scarfs are for stocking stuffers. Every table is manned by an old lady, which means older than I old lady. They sit behind the tables and chat and call you dear when you buy something. I always end up with an assortment of bags with lots of handmade stuff including jams and jellies and crocheted snowflakes. The old ladies always look the same and most wear an apron. I always wonder if they have old lady substitutes on deck waiting their turn at the tables. If this were a Twilight Zone episode, the ladies would all be robots, and at the end, Rod Serling would come out with some bit of wisdom.

It’s another one of those dreary, dark days. It poured last night and rain is expected today and the next few days. My sister in Colorado has snow and single digit temperatures. She played the glad game I mentioned yesterday and said how lovely the Christmas lights look in the snow. She can have the lovely lights and the snow. I’ll take wet and dreary.

Gracie dug the best hole in my vegetable garden this morning. The fence is down so she wandered in with a preserved body part in her mouth, a beef intestine I think, hard to know. She dug the hole then put her goody in the ground. She used her nose to move the dirt over it. She’ll go out later, dig it up and bring it inside. It was be disgusting looking.

“Weekends don’t count unless you spend them doing something completely pointless.”

May 11, 2013

The morning is damp and cloudy, and every now and then it rains a bit then stops. The whole day is supposed to be like that: a bit rainy, but I don’t mind. I have laundry to do, a bed to change and a book to read. It’s Killing Lincoln by Bill O’Reilly who’s not a favorite of mine but the book so far has been interesting.

I can hear lawn mowers: a Saturday sound ever since I was little. Now, though, it’s the gas mower and not the click clack of blades. Also missing is the sound of voices, of men talking to one another across lawns.  Mowing was traditionally a man’s job. Women worked inside the house except when hanging laundry and men worked outside. The yard was my father’s realm.

Saturday has always been my favorite day of the week. When I was a kid, it meant no early bedtime on Friday, a matinée in the afternoon during the fall and winter and staying up late until I was tired. This time of year it was a day to roam, to ride bikes, to have no destination in mind and no real plans. Saturday was spontaneous. When I was older, in high school, Saturday meant sleeping late, and Saturday night was reserved for friends. We’d go bowling or to a movie or just hang around together. My friend Tommy would invite us over his house, and his mother would make us pizza, great homemade pizza. When Bobby got his license and a car, we’d go to the drive-in, all of us. I remember laughing a lot.

College was a whole different set of friends and Saturday was party night. Sometimes we’d go to a hockey game and sometimes we’d party before but we always partied after. I remember going for breakfast around two or three in the morning at a local hole in the wall diner. Those were the best eggs I ever tasted. I’d get to bed around four.

When I was in Ghana, Saturday was sometimes go to market day and sometimes it was go see a really old movie outside at the Hotel d’Bull, like a drive-in without the car. Saturday was chore day for the students. They did their laundry and worked  around the school compound, but on Saturday night they had entertainment. Tribal dancing was one of my favorites. Usually Bill and I would roam all over to see the dancers. Peg usually stayed with the baby. Other nights we’d see a movie or a play completion or a singing competition among the houses.  It was, in its own way, a special day.

When I taught, Saturday was grocery shopping day and clean the house day, but it was still the best day of the week. I got to sleep late and I usually needed it. Friday was happy hour day, a day to celebrate the end of the work week, and Saturday was the day to recuperate from all that celebrating. Most Saturday nights I was busy with friends, sometimes we’d see a movie or just hang around together.

Now I joke that every day is Saturday, but there are still a few hold-over traditions. When it gets warmer, Saturday will be movie on the deck night. I love that. It’s like a return to the matinée days but without getting hit by a JuJu bead or having a flashlight shined in my eyes.

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