Posted tagged ‘sun’

” I told you, I don’t shoot to kill. I want a silver bullet to be a symbol of justice.”

October 15, 2013

The night was chilly so the house was cold again this morning. I threw on my sweatshirt and started the heat. The house is now cozy and warm. The sun is streaming through the front door and Fern has staked her spot. Gracie is having her morning nap. All is right with my world.

I have a few errands today then I get to watch Red Sox baseball at four. I think that’s a strange time for any game, let alone an ALCS game.

The Lone Ranger and Roy Rogers were on this morning, and I watched them both with the critical eye of an adult. Poor Tonto was simply the “Injun” and was told to be out-of-town before nightfall. The town set was composed of building facades though a few long shots were filmed outside. The Lone Ranger explained as he did on every show that he was on the side of the law despite his mask. He and Tonto fought, defeated and captured the bad guys as they always did. The Lone Ranger and Tonto said good-bye, and as they were leaving, someone wanted to know who that masked man was. The sheriff said, “That was The Lone Ranger.” The end of the program was the familiar scene of the Lone Ranger and Tonto riding out-of-town on that dirt road with rocks on each side. The Lone Ranger shouted,” Hi-ho, Silver, away,” as our two heroes rode off side by side.

Roy Rogers was actually filmed outside, no fake scenes there. Roy had his whole crew: Dale on Buttercup, Pat driving Nellybelle, Bullet running along side and Trigger. Dale wore great outfits with lots of fringe. I chuckled at hearing little lady and old-timer being used. When I was a kid, I never thought about this program as being modern, 50’s modern. It was just a western to me despite the jeep. In this episode, a fake federal agent even wore a suit and tie, but Roy and Dale were faithful to their western roots. Roy wore his two-gun holster while Dale’s had only one gun. They both wore tooled boots, and Roy wore his cowboy hat. At the end of the program, I got to sing along with Roy and Dale. “Happy trails to you until we meet again.”

“Plain food is quite good enough for me. “

October 8, 2013

More fall-like weather followed last night’s rainstorm. Today is in the 60’s and the rest of the week will be the same. I went back to my sweatshirt this morning. The day is a bit dark though no rain is predicted. Every day is closer to the end of deck time. That makes me melancholic.

This morning I had a library board meeting, the last entry on this week’s dance card. I thoroughly enjoyed last week’s empty card except I did have that cleaning frenzy, now gone thank God, so this week looks like a lie on the couch and read week. Maybe I’ll add a few bon-bons.

The sun has just decided to make an appearance. It has that sharpness that comes on a cool day when the sun is just light, not warmth.  I can see it glinting through the leaves. The bird feeders by the deck are in shadow now, a consequence of the changing angle of the sun. If I never went outside, I would still know the time of year by following the path of the sun.

When I was a little kid, I liked fall but I disliked the shorter days because we’d only have a little time to be playing outside after school before homework and dinner. In the summer we’d be outside until close to seven and even later. This time of year five was pushing it and four was more likely. We’d come in, plop down in the front of the TV and watch Superman and The Mickey Mouse Club while my mother cooked supper. We always had a vegetable, usually from a can, mashed potatoes and some sort of meat. My mother was a whiz with hamburger. Her meatloaf was spectacular with ketchup on the top and bacon over the ketchup. We used to fight to get the crispy bacon strips. She’d also make hamburger in gravy over mashed potatoes and American chop suey. One of our favorites was a pseudo-Chinese dish with bamboo shoots and hamburger. That one always seemed exotic. We’d also have chicken, but my mother always baked it. Roast beef was reserved for Sunday dinner. The only fresh vegetable I remember eating was carrots, and I didn’t like carrots until I was older. I wanted canned Le Seuer peas and could eat them every night. For my last family meal before leaving for Ghana, I chose roast beef, mashed potatoes with gravy and Le Seuer peas. I chose comfort food.

“Autumn flings her fiery cloak over the sumac, beech and oak.”

October 7, 2013

The weather is quirky. One minute it is dark and gray then the next is sunny. The house is cold while outside is warm. Showers are predicted for later. On my way to breakfast, I noticed many leaves had fallen. Piles of yellow were on the road and sidewalks. I thought it strange. Many trees have yet to change color while others are almost bare. My oak is still green.

Nothing was more enticing than the piles of leaves in the gutters next to the sidewalk curbs on my way to school. I’d kick through the piles and spread leaves all over the side of the road. The dry leaves on the bottom made a crunching sound while the newest fallen leaves on the top always seemed a bit damp and filled with morning. Most of them were yellow leaves. The trees were spaced beside the sidewalk edge. In summer the sidewalk was shady; in winter it was bare and open to the wind. The sidewalk was a straightaway to school. From the top of the small hill I could see to the railroad tracks and once there I could see the front lawn of the school building, but I couldn’t see the statue. It was too far off the road. I never minded that walk except when it rained. That was when the straightway seemed to go on forever. If I had known how perfectly descriptive a word it was, I would have said I plodded my way home.

The Cape has few sidewalks. Only the oldest parts of some towns seem to have them. My town has a few which slope and have cracks. None of them have curbs. No one kicks leaves.

I remember my dad and all the other dads standing on the side of the road near the curb burning piles of leaves. By then the leaves were curled and brown. They burned easily. All of us kids stood near the fires and watched. Our clothes afterwards smelled of fire and burning leaves. It is still one of my favorite smells, one of my favorite memories.

“Dwell on the beauty of life. Watch the stars, and see yourself running with them.”

September 6, 2013

Last night was put an afghan on the bed and close the windows cold. It was a delight. I slept soundly and late, didn’t wake up until 9:30. My mother would have said I must have needed the sleep. I watched the Sox and Yankees until 11:30 then read for an hour. Fern and Gracie stayed close to me in bed. They must have been chilly.

Today is a beautiful day with a feeling of fall about it. The sunlight is sharp and warm, but it drifts in and out of clouds. Fern is stretched in the sun by the front door.

It is so quiet here. The kids are all in school, not a single lawnmower can be heard, the house next door is empty for the season and I don’t think I’ve even heard a car go up the busy street at the end of my road. I like the silence.

My life has been amazing and now and then I think about it and give thanks. The other day I talked to Grace in Accra for a long time and last week I called Rose Atiah in Bolga. I just picked up the phone, called Ghana and spoke to students I taught in 1969. It is still a little mind-boggling to me that I actually lived in Africa for a little over two years. Who gets that lucky?  I worked for 35 years doing something I loved. Granted, I still groaned when the alarm went off at 5, but I never really minded going to work. I never considered it a grind. Every day was somehow different despite the sameness of the tasks. I got to retire early, nine years ago, and I love every day and am seldom bored. I can to sit outside on the deck in the morning with my papers and coffee and linger as long as I want. Who gets that lucky? I have traveled many places in the world and have seen the most glorious sights, pages of my geography books come to life. I dreamed I would travel, and my dreams came true just like in a Disney movie. Cinderella went to the ball. I went to Machu Picchu.

I have one errand left over from yesterday’s long list, but there’s no big hurry. I have all day.

“The school looks very good. The uniforms are a good thing. It will be easy for my wife. She won’t have to fight about clothes.”

August 8, 2013

Unlike the past few days, the weather this morning is humid and cloudy with intermittent rain, a soft rain you barely notice, but the paper does say a chance of thunder showers throughout the day and has predicted them for tonight and tomorrow, but right now the sun is working its way from behind the clouds seems to be struggling, maybe even losing the battle for today’s weather. The breeze is a bit stronger, always a bad sign on a cloudy, damp day.

Yesterday I earned a blue ribbon. I did my laundry, finally, all two loads, watered the inside and outside plants, paid all my bills, did four errands, filled the bird feeders and took all the stuff off the walls in the bathroom which is right now being painted and then around 6:30 met my friend for dinner. Today I have one stop, to buy more flowers for the front garden and some bird seed, then I’m going Peapod on-line grocery shopping. I think I have been the ant, not the grasshopper, for the last two days and deserve a few days of rest which I will gladly take.

We never needed back to school clothes except for a new pair of shoes and one outfit, for the first day, as after that we wore uniforms. My mother was glad for those uniforms as they saved her so much money. Outfitting four kids was expensive. We didn’t care about wearing them because that’s all we knew and all our friends wore them too. Even in high school I had a uniform; all Catholic high school students wore one sort of uniform or another.

My students in Ghana had three different uniforms. Most bought the cloth and had the dresses made. The classroom uniforms were lilac and all the students wore same style and color, regardless of which level they were. I remember watching students iron the uniforms using a charcoal iron. The uniforms were always stiff with starch and wrinkled easily. The students also had their afternoon chore dresses, and there were four different patterns, each one designating the graduation year of the student. The dresses were simple: one piece. Their Sunday bests, wore for church service and into town, were traditional, generally three pieces, and were also four different patterns. You could identify whether the student was T1, T2, T3 or T4 just by the pattern. The patterns followed the students from one year to the next so they only had to buy whatever they had grown out of or worn out. The incoming T1’s would have their own patterns.

I thought of my students when I saw Harry Potter and his friends go into town for the day, for the one day they were allowed off grounds. For my students it was Sunday. They could have visitors come or the older students could go into town to do some shopping, and usually a photographer or two came to the school and took pictures of students into their spiffiest clothes. I have a few of those pictures which were given to me as gifts so I wouldn’t forget my students. They did the same thing at the ceremony last summer. They had a photographer come and take pictures of the event and individual pictures of me with one of them, and they ordered copies. This time it was so they wouldn’t forget me.

“I’ve never really wanted to go to Japan. Simply because I don’t like eating fish. And I know that’s very popular out there in Africa.”

July 29, 2013

Last night it rained a bit, but today is sunny. The paper forecasts a chance of showers and temperatures in the 70’s. It seemed pretty warm when I went out for breakfast. I had the car air going but I had also opened a window. I wanted a bit of fresh air. When I got home, this part of the house felt cool. The sun hasn’t yet worked its way around.

My peace and quiet is gone. I can hear the new renters next door. They sit on their little deck, and their conversations are perfectly clear. Gracie isn’t used to strange sounds from next door so she gets up and checks every time a car moves or a door slams. One of the ladies next door was born in Maine, not in May, and she said it so loudly Gracie ran out back and barked. I am considering that an intruder alert.

My dance card has a few entries this week. On Wednesday is a play in Chatham and on Thursday friends are coming to dinner, my first entertaining gig of the summer. I should have fireworks!

I love most fish and shellfish. Salmon is an exception. Pink fish is unnatural. I also don’t like oysters, especially on the half shell. They can’t slide down fast enough. Steamed clams do have a bit of a resemblance to those oysters but steaming them then washing them in broth and dunking them in butter makes those clams quite tasty. My father, sister and I would sit at the kitchen table eating steamers. That always grossed out my mother who wouldn’t even eat fried clams with bellies. What in the heck kind of New Englander doesn’t eat clams with bellies? I only like fresh tuna; the stuff in cans is disgusting no matter what you add to it. Crabs are a lot of work. but I love crabmeat. We used to go down to the rocks and pull off the mussels just under the surface then we’d steam them and devour them. Nothing was as fresh as those mussels.

I haven’t been clamming in years, but I still vividly remember one Sunday. We were on the Brewster flats when the fog started to come in, and it came in quickly and scared the heck out of us. We grabbed our shovels and baskets and ran to the shoreline which, in only a short time, we could barely see. A few more minutes, and the shoreline would have disappeared, and we would have been stuck in the fog not knowing in which direction to walk. Yelling would have been useless. The fog distorts sound. When we got to the beach, we sat in the sand and watched the fog rolling in and covering everything. You couldn’t even see the water. We were lucky that day. We filled our baskets, got safely to shore and had steamers for dinner.

I love the fog, especially in the mornings coming off the water. That Sunday was the only time I have ever been afraid of fog.

“Did you know that there are over three hundred words for love in canine?”

July 22, 2013

Today is sunny and really humid but much cooler than it has been. My windows and doors are open to the world. Gracie loves the freedom of going in and out on her own. I met my friend for breakfast though it was a mad dash to get there. I woke up at 8:45 and 9:00 is our usual meeting time. I multi-tasked: brushed my teeth while I was getting dressed and let the dog out while I was trying to find my sandals. I left my glasses home in the rush, but the spare pair was just fine. I made it in 17 minutes. To some people on the route I was a red flash they weren’t sure they saw.

When I was born, it was around 2 in the morning. My father was the only person in the waiting room. The nurse asked for Mr. Ryan as if it there was standing room only with crowds of men pacing the room. He saw me right away, minutes after I had been born, then rushed to my grandparents’ home to give everyone the news. The Duchess of Cambridge is in labor. Media trucks, cameras and reporters are outside the hospital waiting for the birth of the next heir to the throne. Tradition dictates that the news of the birth will come from an easel erected at Buckingham Palace. I didn’t have photographers or crowds waiting for my birth, but I had my Dad who rushed to make the announcement: the first grandchild had been born.

Today is dump day, finally. Gracie, of course, is coming. She loves our dump trips. She hangs her head out the window and takes in all the aromas. I never can smell anything. It’s definitely a dog thing.

Around 3:30 this morning, I heard Gracie’s bells. They were so loud I knew she was swinging them back and forth on the doorknob: her frantic attempt to wake me up. I came downstairs and let her out. She ran to the back and started to eat grass so I knew she had an upset stomach. I stayed on the deck. It was lovely and cool so I sat for a while. No lights were on in any house, and Gracie stayed in the way back so she didn’t trigger the dog lights. After a time, I came back inside. Gracie didn’t, and I started to get worried so I put on flip-flops, grabbed my flashlight and went looking. I found her right away still munching on grass. I called her inside and gave her several spider plant fronds. She chewed every one of them then got on the couch and started to fall asleep. It was around 4:30 by then so I went upstairs to bed, and she eventually followed and fell asleep. This morning she is fine. I’m really tired.

‘I don’t know why, but the meals we have on picnics always taste so much nicer than the ones we have indoors,’ said George.”

May 14, 2013

Although it is only a bit after 10, I have already had a busy morning in contrast to yesterday’s day of sloth. I woke up at 6:30 to the sound of raindrops, came downstairs, went to get the papers then read both of them. When I was finished, I went upstairs and  changed my bed. As I unfurled the bottom sheet, a sock flew out of the corner, the missing sock to one of the few pairs I have without holes. I never throw socks away. I always figure the shoe hides the holes. I then finished the bed, got dressed and left for my 9 o’clock library board meeting. Our biggest agenda item was choosing between plastic or wood for planting tubs and between Alberta Spruce and some other bush with a Japanese sounding name. We went wooden and the bush with a Japanese sounding name. I tried to Google the name of the bush and put into Google Odd Bush with Japanese sounding name, but George W. kept appearing. That gave me a bit of a chuckle. My next stops were the post office and the pharmacy. My last stop was voting in the town election. The big race is for selectman, three running for two spots. There were also two requests for tax overrides and a non-binding question as to whether the nuclear plant in Plymouth should be closed. People are a bit edgy that the evacuation route means driving by the plant. While I was driving all over town doing errands, the sun came out and the sky turned a light blue. It is, however, still a bit cold, only in the low 50’s. My heat came on this morning.

When I was a kid, we never went on a picnic just for the sake of a picnic. We’d eat outside sitting on the back steps which is, I suppose, a cousin to the picnic; however, I do remember stopping at rest areas and eating at picnic benches but only on long rides, usually to somewhere for vacation. We ate at the beach, but it was the water and the sand which drew us, not a picnic. My mother had a picnic basket and a red Tartan jug. She made great sandwiches, and there were usually chips and Oreos.

When I was in Ghana, we went on picnics just for the fun of a picnic. We’d bring the small charcoal burner, some hot dogs from a can or from the meat factory that used to be in Bolga, bread, chopped tomatoes and onions and probably something for dessert though I don’t remember what. I’m leaning toward the sweet donuts or the toasted coconut balls. We’d load up then ride our motorcycles a bit into the bush. Once I remember being near Tonga and another time paying guys to haul our bikes across a small pond. We’d sit on a blanket, enjoy our lunch and watch Ghana. I loved those picnics.

Here on the cape we used to have picnics on a hill overlooking the Grist Mill. We’d climb and complain about it as we carried the basket of goodies and the drinks. I remember being so glad to reach the top and hurrying to spread out the blanket so I could collapse. We’d stay for hours.

We’d bring picnics to Sunday night band concerts every week. We all took turns bringing the appetizer, the dinner or the dessert and then we’d share. Another time we had a picnic before a town meeting. Lots of people did. We all sat about the baseball field or the bleachers enjoying dinner from a basket. The meeting was with both towns about the school budget and was on the high school football field. The chairs were under a tent and I thought it had a bit of the circus about it. A group of musicians played before the meeting and the snack bar was open. That was a long time ago.

I think it’s time to bring back picnics and Tartan jugs.

“Life is more fun if you play games.”

April 21, 2013

Last night was cold, and today is chilly though the sun is warm. I envy Fern who is sprawled on the mat by the front door in the sun. Her fur is hot to the touch. Cats know how to live.

My tulips have bloomed. Their bright red is eye-catching. The hyacinths are pink and white and purple and are in the front garden where everyone can see them. My neighbor called and thanked me. She said she looks out her front window often to see how beautiful the colors in the garden are.

I only remember pansies from when I was a kid. They were the only flowers my father planted in the small garden near the front door. I loved their faces. To me they had eyes and mouths and different expressions and they all looked like they were wearing bonnets. I expected them to break out in song. Their voices I figured would be high like the voices in the old cartoons. They’d sing and bob their heads in unison.

When we were really little, my dad would lie on the floor and raise his legs just a bit. We’d get on his feet, stomach first. He’d then raise his legs all the way and up we’d go as high as his legs would take us. He’d hold our hands and spin us using his feet.  We’d laugh the whole time. The worse part was we had to take turns. Even this ride had a line.

I loved it when the whole family would jump into the car for a Sunday ride. My dad would pick back roads, and we’d see farms and cows and sometimes horses. My brother and I each had a window. On warm days I’d open the window, and stick out my hand so the wind could blow it.

When I was growing up, my parents did all sorts of stuff with us. I doubt they knew how important all of it would become, how it would become part of who we are now. They gave us a love for museums, the fun of taking a ride with no destination, and the best of all, playing games together at the kitchen table. Tonight my friends and I will play Phase 10 and Sorry, a game I’ve been playing since I was six.

“Sunday is the core of our civilization, dedicated to thought and reverence.”

April 14, 2013

The day has potential. The sun is working its way from behind the clouds so every now and then I see light which gives me a bit of hope. A patch of blue also appears then disappears so I’m thinking maybe a nice afternoon might be the order of the day. I think a lovely Sunday afternoon is the best of all. During the week most people work so lovely goes to waste, and Saturday is generally chore and errand day so though we may get out into the sun we don’t get to enjoy it. It’s just the backdrop. Sunday, by tradition, is the quiet day, a day with no ambitions, a day to be enjoyed.

Tomorrow is a holiday, Patriot’s Day, when we commemorate the Battles of Lexington and Concord. Paul Revere and William Dawes will make their way on horseback to warn everyone the British are coming. This time around, though, state troopers will escort the riders. There is also a reenactment of the Battle on Lexington Green which begins around 5:30 and later, at 9, is one at the Old North Bridge in Concord. Tomorrow is also the marathon. This is the first year in a long time I haven’t worked it, but my back prevents it; instead, I’ll watch the Red Sox. Their game begins at 11 because of the marathon.

This is April vacation week for kids. When I worked, I always went to Europe for the week, to one country or city. They were adult trips: no backpacks or hostels or sleeping on night busses. Usually we rented a car and travelled all over. Portugal is still my favorite trip, but I did love Belgium and the Netherlands. The scariest ride was in the fog through the Black Forest. I couldn’t see the road more than a few feet ahead of the car, and I’d have been doomed if not for the white line. The prettiest rides were through the Ardennes and in the Netherlands with its windmills. My parents were my fellow travelers, and they were great fun. My dad and I played cards every night after dinner while my mother worked on her crossword puzzles. They were amiable travelers and didn’t really care which road we took. All of if was new to us. They never balked at any restaurant and were willing to try new foods. I drove and my mother was the navigator. My father thought he was, but he butchered every language so my mother would repeat the city where we were going, and it never ever sounded even close to what my father had said. He never caught on.