Posted tagged ‘the ocean’

“And falling’s just another way to fly.”

October 18, 2016

The morning is cloudy and damp. I could smell the ocean when I went to get the papers so I lingered outside a while. It was quiet. I knew my neighbors were awake as their shades were up, and their paper was gone. I don’t see them much. Thinking about it, I don’t see many of my neighbors. When I do, we always wave.

My groceries arrived right on time yesterday. My fridge is now filled. I bought some plantain hoping to make kelewele. I’m also going to try my hand at jollof rice. It’s fun making something new, especially dishes filled with memories.

I left my windows open last night. I had thought them closed for the season, but yesterday was warm. Today will be even warmer. I got to hear the birds sing when I woke up. They were far less intrusive than that Ghanaian rooster. It doesn’t really matter where I am. I love mornings the best. My dad used to switch to storm windows around this time of year. It took him the whole day. He had to get each window on hooks, and it wasn’t easy because he also had to lean on the ladder for balance. We all watched.

It is from my dad I inherited the gene associated with all my falls. His falls were sometimes spectacular. They were also sometimes funny like the sawing himself out of the tree fall I have mentioned before. He didn’t fall far. He did break his hip on a fall from a high ladder when he was painting his house. He always limped after that. I have been luckier with only a broken bone in my shoulder, and no after effects because of physical therapy. I just accept falls as a fact of life.

“Easter spells out beauty, the rare beauty of new life.”

April 20, 2014

Happy Easter!

I set my alarm for 7:00 and sneaked down to my neighbor’s yard to decorate the tree by their deck. Just as I was nearly finished, the back door was opened and the dog came out. She wagged her tail and walked over some pats. The door was closed behind her, but I left right then with a few eggs still in the bag hoping I had escaped unseen.

The vet could find nothing wrong with Gracie. All the tests for a stroke were negative. He suggested, as a couple of you did, that she had eaten something in the yard or had something caught in her teeth. I gave her one of her Easter treats this morning: a dog cannoli. She bubbled at the smell, and it disappeared in a heartbeat. She still has another cannoli and a frosted bunny left. Gracie likes Easter.

The day is sunny and bright, a bit chilly but a spring morning chill, the sort which disappears as the day grows older. It’s a quiet morning on my street, the way Sundays used to be. Not even the dogs are barking.

My friends and I will go out to dinner this afternoon to our Easter restaurant. It is a dressy place: men wear suits and most women wear dresses and some even have hats. We wait for a table by the window as the view of the ocean is amazing. The surf hits the rocks and the water spews into the air. Seagulls swoop over the water and we can hear their loud squawks through the glass. The food is delicious and the drinks remarkable.

Sometimes the Easter Bunny left our baskets on the kitchen table. Other times we’d find them on our bureaus. The big chocolate rabbit was always in the middle, in the most prominent spot. I remember some rabbits were hollow while others were pure chocolate inside and out. I liked the jelly beans and black was always my favorite. I loved sticking out my black tongue, an Easter phenomenon, for everyone to see. We never had a big breakfast on Easter morning when we were kids. Mostly it was cocoa or tea and toast. Nobody wanted food. We wanted candy.

I don’t like soft peeps. They have to be so hard they make a noise when tapped on a table. That was how they arrived in Ghana after two months in transit, and I have loved then that way ever since then. My mother used to buy them, open them and let the air make them hard. Right now I have two small packs of opened peeps too soft still for eating.

I wish you all a wonderful 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.