Posted tagged ‘sunny day’

“Sunday is the golden clasp that binds together the volume of the week”

May 20, 2012

Yesterday was a Kathleen day, one fraught with danger, mishaps and bodily injury. My back was bad so it took me forever to haul in my purchases from the plant sale. I grabbed the fence post for support while I opened the gate and got a splinter in my thumb. It was a small one but digging it out hurt nonetheless. I banged my wrist on the table edge and got a huge bruise which is still there but the swelling has gone down. That’s a good thing. I hit the top of my head twice on the same cabinet. The first time was happenstance while the second time was stupidity. I have my baskets on a rod from the ceiling in the dining room, each basket having its own arm. I was adding a basket which meant rearranging, and I hit the basket with the lavender stalks and knocked the stalks to the floor. They fell and, being dried, tiny blossoms were all over the place. It took a while to sweep those up. Cody, Gracie’s friend, came to visit and his tail swished across my succulent garden and dirt was spread over the floor. I cleaned that up too. The last straw was when the cabinet door where the kitchen trash basket is came off in my hand. It seems the screw holes have gotten too big for the screws. I immediately shut the door as well as I could, dragged myself upstairs and took a nap.

Last night, wary of moving too much, I stayed on the couch. I am always an accident waiting to happen so I figured the couch was a safe refuge from the plight of every day living. It was and I had the pleasure of an easy night and a Red Sox win.

Today is another beautiful day, and it is already 68°. The dog has been outside all morning, and a while ago she was resting on the lounge in the sun. I think we’ll be fighting for that spot later in the afternoon.

Enjoy your Sunday.

“Courage is fire, and bullying is smoke.”

May 17, 2012

It’s chilly but still a beautiful and bright sunny day. It’s also nap time for the animals. The cats are on my yet to be made bed which they love, and the dog is on the couch snoring as if she were a bulky man in a tank top who fell asleep in his chair watching football. Those animals inspire me!

When I was growing up, there were good kids and bad kids, and we all knew the differences. Bad kids were bullies. They were name-callers and they were sneaky. All of them hung together in a sort of gang because the rest of us, the good kids, wanted nothing to do with them so they were stuck with each other. I didn’t know many bad kids. I know I punched one in the face at recess when I was ten, but I don’t even remember his name. I do remember the satisfaction of that punch. He, the nameless one, deserved it for making my friend cry by constantly calling her names. He wouldn’t stop when I asked so I punched him. We both ended up in the principal’s office, but I told her why and she let me go. I don’t know what was said or done to him but he stopped name calling.

In high school, on the bus, one kid got teased all the time. His name was Billy Marrota, and he always took it from the other guys as if he were the designated target. I think there were three or four other guys, and they always sat in the back row. It was a public bus as we went to school in a different town to a Catholic high school. The ride was a long one so I used the time to study. The boys in the back didn’t, and they annoyed me with their noise and laughter and their teasing which was always aimed at Billy. I couldn’t understand why he didn’t tell them to stop. It seemed humiliating, but he laughed with them, probably out of self-defense. I spoke to the bus driver and made him the bad guy. He yelled and told the guys he’d throw them off the bus if they didn’t behave. They did.

When I was young, I believed that most people were good and they were. Even the bullies stopped when confronted (or punched). We were all so innocent back then.

“The noblest of all dogs is the hot-dog; it feeds the hand that bites it.”

March 27, 2012

No lingering today to take in the morning: it was too cold. I hurried inside with my two papers in hand and found the house warm and filled with the smell of freshly brewed coffee. I sighed.

True to my word, I stayed home yesterday. I did laundry but I didn’t even make my bed. The two cats were lolled on the comforter when I went upstairs, and I didn’t have the heart to roust them. After all, Maddie has been doing a bang-up job dispatching mice so I figured this was a small reward. Right now they are sleeping in the sun from the front door.

The sun is bright and the sky blue, but they’re deceiving. It’s looks like a lovely day, a day to enjoy the sun, but it’s still cold at 33°. The male cardinal came back and found the feeder I had filled with a special seed cardinals like. He’s hanging around perched on branches near the feeders so I guess he’s happy with my offering. The feeders hanging on tree limbs are swaying back and forth in the wind. The birds don’t seem to mind. They just sit and eat and sway.

When I was young, I wanted snow but not rain. I wanted to ride my bike as soon as the weather allowed. I ate vegetables but those I didn’t eat far out-numbered those I did. I loved to make a mound of my mashed potatoes and would put an indentation in the middle. That was for the gravy, and I used to try my best not to let the gravy overflow the mound. I only used ketchup on my French fries, never my eggs and never on hot dogs. I loved Rice Krispies but not Cheerios. I always put sugar on my cereal. The best part was lifting the bowl and drinking the sugary milk left when all the cereal had been eaten. I could never cut the bologna off the roll thin enough. My sandwiches all looked deformed. My mother always bought French’s yellow mustard in the small glass jar and Cains mayonnaise which is locally made. I always put mustard on my bologna. My mother put small slits down hot dogs then she’d fry them until they were browned. My mother was a believer in butter, never margarine. I preferred soft-boiled eggs when I was young because it was fun to dip the toast in the yolk. The game was to try not to get any yolk down the egg cup. I usually lost.

Now, I prefer rain over snow. I eat more kinds of vegetables than I don’t. I buy my bologna sliced, thinly. I never buy yellow mustard. I love all sorts of mustards and always three or four different kinds are in the fridge. I seldom eat cereal, but if I do, I don’t add sugar. Once in a while I have a soft-boiled egg but I don’t put it in an egg cup. It goes in a bowl, and I use crumbled crackers instead of toast. My mother used to do that, and now I do. I love hot dogs on the grill, and I always put slits down the length. I can’t imagine eating them in other way.

“Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience.”

March 5, 2012

Sorry for the lateness of the hour, but I had my yearly physical this morning, the last of my scheduled yearly or semi-yearly appointments. I have now crossed off three doctors and a dentist. All that’s left is to schedule my eye appointment.

When I was a kid, I only saw the doctor if something happened or I was really sick which was seldom. My parents were of the generation which didn’t see doctors for well visits. My mother was sick one Christmas in Colorado and my sister dragged her screaming to the doctor who said she had pneumonia. That was her first visit to a doctor since my sister had been born over forty years before that. I have a stable of doctors, or at least that’s what I call them, as several parts of my body have their own specialists. It seems the older I get the bigger the stable.

It is cold today but sunny, and the sun is warm. My car was hot when I left the doctor’s office. A wind is swaying the tops of the pine trees and blowing the dead leaves hanging off the branches, but I think I’d call it a pretty day if anyone asked.

When I set up an appointment for next year’s physical, the receptionist asked if I had any preference for a day. I said no. I didn’t tell her they’re all the same to me, that they are my days to do what I want. She asked if morning was okay. I said no. Once a week I set my alarm to meet my friend for breakfast at nine, and I don’t fancy setting it for any other day. My alarm clock is battery run, and I only put in the battery when I need to use the clock so the battery and clock sit idly on my bureau. I don’t even wear a watch though I did bring one to Ghana last year which is funny when I think of it. Ghana runs on its own clock. The time is arbitrary. Meet me at nine means nothing of the sort to a Ghanaian. It really means meet me whenever. The buses run by the Ghanaian state transport leave on time, but they only go to major stops. The other buses which go from town to town and village to village leave when they are filled. That sometimes means waiting hours.

I am by nature impatient, but I became patient when I lived in Ghana. After I got home, the patience wore off. Last summer it came back, and it was one of the favorite parts of my trip: remembering that life isn’t a whirlwind. Things will get done. You just have to be patient.

“I collect clothes-they keep building and building. I buy them instead of having them washed.”

September 14, 2010

The morning is gone. Blame my tardiness on the sun. Because the day is warm and lovely, I dawdled and sat out on the deck for the longest time, even after I’d finished with my coffee and papers. I watched the birds. The goldfinches are back, mostly males still bright and beautiful in their summer colors, and my crow too is back. He watched quietly from his usual pine tree perch. A slight breeze wafted the aroma of food from my neighbor’s kitchen to my deck . The aroma is both familiar and foreign. It is familiar because I smell it often and foreign because I have no idea what’s cooking. My neighbors are Brazilian, and when I ask about the food, I get the name of the dish in Portuguese. I also get a list of ingredients, but that doesn’t help all that much. Some of those are in Portuguese as well.

The winter covers for the new furniture arrived yesterday, but I left them in their boxes. It’s not yet time to give up the deck. When a sweatshirt and the chiminea stop being enough to keep me warm, I’ll cover the furniture.

Because yesterday was a work day, today I play. That’s one of the rules I established when I retired: no two days in a row are to be wasted on any sort of work. The only exception is making the bed. That’s no chore for me. It has to do with my innate need for tidiness.

My mother never made us do chores when I was growing up. That was just the way it was, and I never gave it any thought. She made our beds, washed clothes and did the dishes every day. When we came down in the morning, breakfast was on the table, and our lunches were already packed for school. I’d throw my dirty clothes in the hall hamper, and a day or two later they would magically reappear washed and folded. It wasn’t until college that I learned to use a washing machine.

On a recent Peace Corps Ghana blog, I saw a picture of line after line of clothing drying in the sun. The caption described the clothes as belonging to trainees who had washed them in buckets. Not once did I ever do that. Even during the first two weeks of training, people found a laundry lady. We’d bring her our clothes one day and fetch them back the next. Our per diem money during training was small small, as they say in Ghana, but none of us ever thought paying for laundry was extravagant, especially after we saw a Ghanaian iron. It was kept hot with charcoal.