Posted tagged ‘town barn’

“I told myself that I was going to live the rest of my life as if it were Saturday.”

September 30, 2017

During the night, I grabbed the afghan as my house had gotten so cold. This morning it was 66˚. I admit I turned on the heat for a while until the house was warmer. Putting on a sweatshirt also helped. The sun was out when Gracie and I got the papers. Now the sky is cloudy, and rain is predicted for this afternoon and evening. I have nowhere I have to be today, and I’m glad.

Saturday has always been my favorite day. When I was a kid, I had the whole day to do what I wanted. Breakfast and favorite programs were first then I was out the door. Mostly I rode my bike so I could explore more. No part of town was out of riding reach. The best end of town was the zoo. It didn’t cost anything in those days. Sometimes we’d ride to the next town over and bike around Lake Quannapowitt. Other times we had no destination. We just rode around town and checked out our favorite places like the house of the newspaper and rag man which had a huge porch and an out-building, both filled with papers. We’d check out the town barn and the horses. On warm days, the firemen sat outside the station in front of the engine bays, and we’d stop to talk with them. They’d let us go check out the fire engines. We’d ride down the hilly driveway to the schoolyard then skid in the sand along the sides of the yard just for the fun of it. I don’t remember ever being bored, even in winter we found stuff to do.

When I was in Ghana, I’d go into town on a Saturday and roam the market hoping to find something unexpected. When I’d finished, I’d sit and have a cold Coke at the one place which had a fridge. It was the last store in a line of stores on the main street. It had a few tables and chairs outside. It was there an American guy stopped to talk to me. He wanted to know where the bare-breasted women were. I was angry and horrified. I told him so. He quickly left. I never ran into him again.

When I was working, I wanted one free day to do whatever I wanted. Saturday was the perfect choice, the historical choice. Once in a while I’d grocery shop on Saturday and once a month I’d dust and vacuum, but mostly Saturday was for fun.

Now I always say every day is Saturday.

 

“The rain began again. It fell heavily, easily, with no meaning or intention but the fulfillment of its own nature, which was to fall and fall.”

April 2, 2016

“It’s raining. It’s pouring. The old man’s snoring. He went to bed and bumped his head, and he wouldn’t get up in the morning.”

The poor old man has been in bed now for two straight days. Yesterday it rained on and off with a few torrential downpours in between. Today it is raining constantly, but the rain is softer, quieter than yesterday’s. I woke up to the sound of the rain on the roof. I stayed in bed a bit and listened. I have always been a lover of rain.

I am going to the dump today, not my usual day, but I figure the rain will keep most people away so it will be a quick trip, no waiting. I need to go to the ATM and I need gas. How nice it is to need only a few things.

When I was a kid, a rainy Saturday probably meant going to the movies this time of year. My dad would drive us and most times we’d walk home in the rain. Whether the rain was light or heavy determined our route home. A light rain meant we’d go by the town barn and check out the horses. From there we’d stop by the ragman’s house. I remember his porch sagged under the weight of all the piles of newspapers. A second building was where he kept his horse and wagon. I don’t remember ever going into his yard. We just checked everything out from the sidewalk. I don’t know why but it is one of the brightest images in my memory drawers. The two buildings formed an L. The long part was his house. I could see the door but not the windows. The paper piles were too tall. I think at one time the house had been white but by this time it just looked dirty. The short part of the L had a wide doorway so he could back his wagon inside. The driveway was dirt and stones and led right to the horse building.

Sometimes we’d go straight home from the ragman’s house; other times we’d go back a couple of blocks and take the railroad tracks. The choice depended on how wet and cold we were. The tracks ran behind the ragman’s house, pass the old train depot and the red store. We’d stay on the tracks only a bit further until we reached the tracks closest to the field not far from our house. We’d then leave the tracks and walk up one street to where we could cross the field. That left only the hill to our house.

We were always soaked by the time we got home. Kids don’t mind being soaked. It is one of the neat things about being a kid.