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“Things have their time, even eminence bows to timeliness.”

July 26, 2014

Here I am standing alone in the spotlight in the middle of the stage bowing to the adulation of the crowd. They are on their feet clapping and whistling. Why you wonder? Well, I did five errands this morning and just got through putting everything away. Now I am sitting, having a cold drink and drying off. The breeze behind me is cool so it won’t take long. Traffic everywhere was so thick I swear there must be deserted towns off cape. I was behind cars from five different states.

My first stop was the bank then next was the farmers’ market where I spend all but $1.80 from the bank money. I bought pickles, eggs, corn, heirloom tomatoes, bread, goat cheese and mosquito repellant spray. My last stop was for tonight’s movie night and the few things I needed. Those few things filled three bags.

The movie tonight is Westworld unless the crowd has already seen it of late. I know I haven’t. Yul Brynner is amazing as the android gone amok, relentless and frightening. In a bit, I’ll get the deck ready so I can loll when my moviegoers arrive. I really enjoy movie night.

Living in New England means four distinct seasons, four singular ways to enjoy the world. When I was a kid, my favorite was summer with its endless days to do whatever I wanted. I remember sleeping outside in the backyard and how the night was bright with starlight. Every day was sunny. Fall was beautiful but it had to shake off back to school time. It mostly did. I still associate fall with one of my favorite all time smells, the aroma of burning leaves, even though it has been years since I last smelled those leaves. I loved walking in the gutters and kicking leaves as I walked. Winter had snow and Christmas, an unbeatable combination. I loved winter despite the cold and even sometimes because of it. Spring was a delight. It was time to put away the heavy coats, hats and mittens and bring my bike out of hibernation. I remember flying down the hill riding my bike on the way to school. I’d let loose of the handlebars and stretch my arms straight out in the wind. I was exhilarated, and I was airborne. Being stuck in traffic gives me time for memories.

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“We can’t all be heroes because somebody has to sit on the curb and clap as they go by.”

May 25, 2014

Yesterday was a delight. It was so lovely a day that, despite the tourists, I ventured out to do an errand or two. First was the hardware store for a new American flag, pole and holder. I found one and will put it up today. Next I checked a small antique shop where I am sometimes lucky in finding odd, small, neat and inexpensive stuff. Yesterday I wasn’t lucky. I stopped to get gas then I took a roundabout ride to Dennisport partly for the joy of the ride and partly to avoid the traffic. When I got to Dennisport, I was shocked. Usually I can just pick a parking spot as there are few cars, but yesterday I had to ride around twice before a car pulled out right in front of where I was headed. I smartly paralleled parked and went to get my sandwich and pastry.

Today is cloudy and chilly but the sun is trying to break through to bring a little light. The oak leaves are being tossed by the wind. The day is pretty quiet. I don’t hear any neighbors. I guess today is an inside day.

All the villages are having parades tomorrow. I love Memorial Day parades. They are the same in every small town in America. They were exactly the same when I was a little kid. The police cars with lights blinking start the parade and the fire engines ringing their bells end it. In between are color guards, the veterans from various wars, school bands, the brownies and girl and boy scouts. My town always has a WWII jeep, the same one each year, carrying a veteran too old to walk. The parade takes maybe fifteen minutes to pass by. The small crowd is enthusiastic and claps for everyone especially the veterans.

I remember marching in my first Memorial Day parade. I was a brownie and my whole troop marched. I was probably around seven and I took the event quite seriously. I was proud of being a part of that parade. My parents clapped when I walked by them. That was a highlight for me. When I got home, I was bubbly and so very happy as I relayed the whole story of the parade from the beginning to the end, from one street to the other. I proudly told my parents that everyone was out of step but me.

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“As they say on my own Cape Cod, a rising tide lifts all the boats”

May 24, 2014

It is really late, I know, but I slept in. It was a mirror under the nose to make sure I was still alive type morning. It was nearly eleven before I got out of bed. Excuses? I need none. I do have a few things I could do but nothing of any importance, and I am a bit afraid to go out as the traffic to get on the cape was backed up for miles so the roads will be heavy with cars. I’m going to practice all my traffic curses to get ready for the season.

When I was a kid, we never came to the cape. We went to local beaches in Gloucester or we went north to Maine or New Hampshire. I was in high school before I first came down here, and it wasn’t with the family. It was with the drill team to march in a parade in Hyannis. We parked on a side street at the northern end of Hyannis. It was right across from what would become my father’s office in a couple of years. I noticed it was the Hood plant, but it didn’t make a big impression. Had I been a soothsayer, I’d know that plant meant moving and leaving all the friends with whom I was spending the day. After we marched, we spent the rest of the day at a beach. I think it was Scusset Beach right on the canal. It was a fun day.

When I first moved down here, I hated it. It was my first time in a public school, I didn’t know a soul and the guidance counselor had persuaded me to take Latin 4. Even though I had spent all of my school years in a Catholic school my parents made me go to CCD at the church which happened to be across the street. My brother also had to go. The class met in the kitchen of the church hall as all the other spaces were taken. We convinced the priest teaching the class that my brother and I were twins so he’d only have to suffer through one year of CCD. It was an unruly group and the poor priest was at wits end. Eventually we took pity and quieted down. I have no idea what we learned, if anything.

My parents decided that my brother and I didn’t really like them all that much. When we first moved down here, I went to visit my friends at home at least one weekend a month and more if I could scrounge up the money, but over time I made friends and came to love the cape. When I was in the Peace Corps, my parents moved off cape back to the town where I’d grown up. They thought I’d probably join them, but when I finished my years in Ghana, I came home to Cape Cod.

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“The only escape from the miseries of life are music and cats…”

July 8, 2013

I have turned off the AC and opened the doors and windows. The morning is cooler than it has been for days, and there is a slight breeze. Gracie is in heaven. She gets to go out and come in as much as she wants as her dog door is accessible. The temperature is still in the 80’s, but I decided to brave the heat for some fresh air. The forecast is for thunder showers tonight which will be welcomed after all these steamy days with no rain. If the weekly forecast is correct, it will be in the high 70’s by Friday.

Yesterday afternoon the backup was 25 miles long to get off cape over the Sagamore bridge. I can’t imagine how long it took to go those 25 miles, and I can’t imagine sitting in a car going inches at a time. I’d have been crazed.

The open windows have brought the world back. I can hear the sounds of mowers and trimmers but even better I can hear the songs of birds. Yesterday I watered the plants on the deck and filled all the feeders. Even the two suet feeders were empty. Today I’ll sit on the deck for a bit and read. I haven’t had the inclination to read in a while. Usually I read a book or more a week, but since the surgery, for whatever reason, I haven’t be able to focus for too long. Maybe a new book will kick-start my reading.

In the mornings, Maddie is my only companion. She sits on the couch beside me. When I got Fern and Maddie from the shelter, they were both five and had grown up together. Fern right away took to the house and to Maggie, my dog. Maddie, on the other hand, spend at least three weeks under the bed. Part of it was the new house and part of it was Maggie who chased her, not with any malice or intention to do harm but for the fun of it. I used to lie on my stomach and give Maddie treats under the bed and talk to her. She came out but stayed in the guest room on one of the beds. I put a gate up so Maggie wouldn’t bother her and added a hole in the gate so Maddie could go to the food and litter. It took a while but she came downstairs and chose the dining room table as her safety spot. Gracie came only a few months after Maggie died, and she chased poor Maddie. It was puppy fun for Gracie. Poor Maddie ran for her life, but she didn’t hide. She stayed on that table. Now Maddie will even sit on the couch where Gracie is sleeping. She heads butts me for pats. During the day she sleeps on my bed and during the night she sleeps on the rug in my room. She won’t go so far as to join Fern, Gracie and me on the bed, but she stays close. Miss Maddie is a sweet, lovable cat. It’s nice to have her around. Now if she and Fern would stop hissing at one another, this would be a happy home.

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“Americans will put up with anything provided it doesn’t block traffic.”

March 25, 2013

This morning the alarm woke me at 4:30. That’s right, 4:30, the most ungodly of hours, which is a bit of a play on the day as I got that early so I could leave at 5 to go to the 20th anniversary mass for my father. It is nearly beyond belief to realize he has been gone that long. I think of him often, and we still miss him every day. The mass was in a church about an hour and a half from here, close to where he and my mother used to live. My sister from Colorado is here for a few days and came especially for the mass. I left at 5 and arrived at the church about 5 minutes before the mass ended. A traffic accident on the expressway kept me in bumper to bumper traffic. I celebrate birthdays, the Fourth of July and a Christmas or two before the traffic broke, but once I knew I was going to be late, I was patient sitting in the car, so unlike me, but I hadn’t any other choice. I listened to the radio and learned all about the fiscal crisis in Cyprus, the snow coming my way and traffic updates on the 3’s. I’m hoping someone opines about Cyprus so I can jump in with my opinion. The ride home was just as awful. Another accident kept me in bumper to bumper traffic before I even reached the city, but once through the mess, I whizzed my way home. I had an errand which I didn’t care to do and, instead, went straight home and back to bed. I just woke up.

We all went to breakfast after the mass. Three of my cousins took the day off so they could go to mass and breakfast then they’ll spend the rest of the day with my two sisters. I like my family. I am much older, and though they are closer to my two sisters and spend lots of time together, I always get the hug and the kiss when we see each other. We are a family of huggers and kissers, even the guys. That’s a cool thing.

Two inches of snow are coming my way. I swear my sister brought it as she left over a foot of it behind in Colorado. The snow won’t last, according to the six or eight weather forecasts I heard, as it will be warm enough to melt the snow the next two days. I think the words were seasonably warm which didn’t get my heart thumping.

Well, that’s it for today: not much happening when you spend most of the day sitting in a car moving at a snail’s pace and listening to a combination of NPR, WBZ news radio and WEEI sports. Did I mention I found out that a 15th seed has made it to the sweet 16 for the first time?

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

July 2, 2011

Traffic coming on cape last night was bumper to bumper for about three miles. I, on my way off cape, hit no traffic at all even through the city at what was usually the tail end of rush hour. I sailed right through. Coming home around ten last night, I ran into a little traffic but not enough to make me curse. Today is so lovely it would have been worth the wait to get over the bridge.

My garden is getting edged, weeded and mulched, and the lawn is getting cut then fertilized. My landscaper and two other guys came early this morning and are still working to spread the last of the mulch. I don’t remember my father ever mulching our garden. I suppose because it was so small, and he was no gardener. He was a buy some flowers and plant them sort of guy. If they grew, all was well. If they didn’t, at least he had given it a try. My mother got into having a garden a long time later when we were all grown, and they had moved into their own house. I remember in the middle of the garden stood her statue of St. Francis with a bird on his shoulder and his arm spread wide with his hands filled with seed. The garden was lovely, and we would sit by the kitchen windows and could see and smell the flowers. I think her small garden was the inspiration for my front garden. I’m just missing the St. Francis.

Last night I listened to the Sox on my way home. I caught the 7th inning which gave them the lead they kept. My father never listened to the game and seldom watched it. He was a hockey, football guy. I am a basketball-baseball sort though I do watch the Patriots. I just don’t understand everything, only the basics. My college was and still is a hockey school, and we went to all the home games. They were occasions to warm the innards with alcohol before we went. I think most occasions in college called for warming the innards. While the crowd stood and cheered, we sat and passed the wine skin sneaked in under a heavy winter coat. We were accurate at finding our mouths even under the worst conditions though a few misses were good for laughs. I still remember how cold the seats were and how cheap the wine was.

It’s a sit on the deck and read day. The air is comfortable, and there’s sun if I want it.

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“The United States is the only country with a known birthday.”

July 1, 2011

The weather each day is spoiling me with its warm sun and cool breezes. If I could invent the perfect weather, the last couple of days would have been patented under my name. The birds are singing, the spawns of Satan are chasing each other from tree to tree and Gracie is taking a nap. I feel like I’m in a Disney movie.

This is the first big weekend of the season. Cars will be bumper to bumper waiting their turns over the bridge. Bicycles will be hanging off racks on the back. The wait to get here is easily endured. The wait to leave never is. I have to go off cape tonight to a family party celebrating my aunt and uncle’s 50th wedding anniversary. He went into the hospital earlier this week, but we were just told he is being discharged today in time for his party. Today, fifty years ago, was their exact wedding day.

I have no plans for the weekend itself. This is when most of us who live here start to hibernate. Monday I’ll go down the street to my friends’ for a barbecue. We’ll do the all-American July4th menu of burgers and franks and deviled eggs I hope. It’s traditional after all. Later I’ll put out the bunting on my fence and add flags to the garden. My flamingo will be dressed like Uncle Sam.

Through my teen years, I always marched with my drill team in the July 4th parade, a huge one in the next town over from ours. The parade still exists and is still huge. People put out chairs in the pre-dawn hours to reserve seats on the sidewalks beside the road. The ones under trees are prime seating. The sellers of balloons and such walk up and down the route selling their wares. Every year I watched some poor kid see his balloon fly high into the sky. The kid always cried and most times got another balloon which was tied more tightly to a wrist.

Lat night I could hear fireworks from further down the street, and every night now through the 4th we’ll hear bursts and blasts. Celebrating a country’s birthday should never be confined to just a single day!

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