Posted tagged ‘weather’

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“If you don’t like the weather in New England now, just wait a few minutes.”

June 12, 2016

The morning is beautiful. The sun is shining, and it’s warm, even hot. The wind is blowing so my deck is dirty again from the trees all around it. I had already decided today would be outside day. The rug goes down, the feeders get filled, the chairs scrubbed and the table cleaned. The rest of the deck will have to wait to be blown clean.

I turned on the news this morning, on channel 7, my only choice. I don’t ever watch this news, but I was stuck this morning. It was awful. I won’t go into particulars because I am trying to forget, to erase the experience from my mind. The anchors had silly repartee, inane comments. They don’t seem to do well without a script or a teleprompter. I want real reporters of the news. I want Cronkite and Chet and David. I don’t want any of the newsmen on the 10 best-dressed list from Vanity Fair.

I am not a complainer about the weather. I do make observations like it’s a bit cold for June or I really hate humidity. I think those are New England things as the weather here can change in a heartbeat. I remember my mother and I were shopping in Boston one day. It was so hot my mother’s face was bright red. I made her sit down and drink something cold. By the afternoon, though, we had to buy sweatshirts to keep us warm.

I am out of coffee, a traumatic event. This afternoon, when I’m done outside, I’ll go to the farm stand which sells Ugandan coffee. I bought it once and thought it delicious. I’ll also buy a few vegetables and a loaf of freshly baked bread. If they have different flowers for my garden or the deck, I might just buy a few of those. I am a sucker for flowers.

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“To lose one parent may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness.”

April 5, 2016

I saw the sun this morning. The day was lovely for about a half an hour. The sky was so blue it didn’t look real. It looked painted, a combination of blues, maybe even by Van Gogh. I can hear the drops from melting snow so we’re above freezing. If this were January, I’d be happy with melting snow.

The sun has just come out again and I can see blue appearing from among the clouds. I’m hopeful that the sun will decide to stay for a while.

The Sox and the Indians were postponed yesterday because of the weather: no surprise there. The game is today and starts at one. The Sox are now being introduced to boos, of course. Most of the team is wearing the jersey head coverings just in case. The stadium is fairly empty. The announcer is wearing his winter coat.

When I was young, I didn’t care about the weather. It wasn’t as if I could do anything about it. My day to day didn’t change come rain, snow or sun. I walked to school no matter what. I tended to hurry on the rainy days and saunter on sunny days. On winter days my friends and I huddled to walk together, the better to stay warm. I remember it was hard to breathe on the coldest days and sometimes my nose would run. I’d use my sleeves for that problem because no self-respecting kid carried a Kleenex or even worse a handkerchief, besides that’s why sleeves were invented. It grossed out my mother so she’d sneak and tuck a Kleenex into my jacket pocket but it usually stayed there most of the winter. Sleeves were far more convenient.

I always moaned and groaned at the trials and tribulations of being a kid. Life was ordered so I didn’t have a whole lot of choices. What I didn’t realize was I didn’t have a whole lot of responsibilities either. I had to go to school unless I was close to dying. I had homework to do. I had to bathe occasionally. When I got home from school, I had to change from school clothes to play clothes. My vegetables had to be eaten, but my mother generally served the ones I liked so that was no big issue. I had to go to bed early on school nights. Early was contested all the time. My mother and I differed on its definition. I usually lost. That was part of being a kid: losing arguments with parent, but I’d start one anyway. I was always hopeful.

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“But the adjectives change,” said Jimmy. “Nothing’s worse than last year’s adjectives.”

February 20, 2016

Gracie and I did some sightseeing yesterday. It was mostly to get us out of the house. We didn’t see much. I had brought my camera but didn’t use it. We made a few stops. One was at a candy store where I bought salt water taffy and a caramel, a soft outer layer caramel with a white center much like marshmallow but tastier. I then went to buy the bread I had forgotten on my last trip. Before I went into the store, I hid the candy inside a bag inside another bag. Gracie hadn’t ever touched stuff in my car, but I was being cautious. When I came out of the store, I opened the passenger side so I could put my groceries there. I noticed ripped pieces of paper all over the front seat and the visor was down. The paper came from the candy bag. I checked and found out Gracie had helped herself to a caramel. She must have eaten the paper as well. Nothing else was touched. I think the visor was her attempt to hide her activities. We then had a conversation, “Gracie, what did you do?” No answer. “Gracie, did you eat the candy?” No answer. She didn’t even look guilty let alone contrite. I was just glad it wasn’t chocolate.

The day is cold, windy and grey, uninviting in every way.

I never really concerned myself with the weather when I was a kid. I didn’t even have colorful, descriptive words. I went with sunny or cloudy, hot or cold and rainy or snowy. Every day fit one of those descriptions, meager as they are. I actually used nice to describe a warm spring day. I hate the word nice in the same way I hate good and bad. They say nothing: nice day, good movie, bad day and nice dress or shoes. I described food as good or bad tasting. My father described some people as good eggs. I knew what he meant, but I had no idea how he got there.

People don’t want a long winded description of a movie or a TV show. My sister used to say you didn’t have to watch the show, just ask Kat. Sometimes that was a compliment and sometimes it wasn’t. In my mind I usually put it on the compliment side of the ledger. Using DVR (or taping as some of my friends still call it) and On Demand have made me obsolete. I was great for the highlights.

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“The sixties were when hallucinogenic drugs were really, really big. And I don’t think it’s a coincidence that we had the type of shows we had then, like The Flying Nun.”

January 11, 2016

This morning I was at my neighbor’s at ten then came home and went back to bed; hence, the late hour. I am just tired though I haven’t really a good reason to be.

It finally stopped raining last night, but the warmish air has deserted us. It is seasonably in the 30’s today. I guess I ought not to be complaining but I figure that’s what the weather is for. It is a common topic of conversation and great for the line at the supermarket.

My aunt was a nun. We always called her my aunt the nun and seldom used her name. When I was little, we’d put on our church clothes and ride to Connecticut to see her. We used to stop close to her convent, go to the bathroom and be tidied by my mother so we’d pass a visual inspection. This aunt was not real to me in the same way my other aunts were real. She wore a habit and didn’t have a whole lot to say to us. It was always questions about school. We answered in short, quick sentences hoping she’d move on to my parents. Meanwhile another nun would show up with a tray. It had cookies, milk, coffee and a few soft drinks. The nun would put it on the table and then leave without saying a word, but she did make a swishing sound the way all nuns did. After our snack, we’d go on a tour of my aunt’s school. I never thought it was interesting but it did eat up some time for which I was grateful. We’d head back to the convent and start our good-byes until the next year.

In time nuns were freed from their habits, were allowed to use their own names and could travel anywhere they chose, but my aunt the nun was still my aunt the nun to us. She started to wear skirts and blouses and jackets and always a big cross she used to wear on her habit. All those years of not having to choose her outfits left her with a really bad taste in clothes. My mother and I used to give her clothes for Christmas, clothes with a bit of style. She began to spend every Christmas at my parents’ house. My mother was a trooper about it, but she drove my father crazy by calling him brother instead of his name.

I was always polite when my aunt the nun stayed at my parents, but she never seemed to like me all that much. It was no big bother to me. I could live with that!

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“Keep some souvenirs of your past, or how will you ever prove it wasn’t all a dream?”

January 3, 2016

Today is sunny and in the high 40’s. I have no complaints about this winter’s weather, at least not yet. We’ll see what January and February bring. A New Englander is an eternal skeptic about the weather.

When I went out for the papers, I found one of my decorative vases broken into several pieces all over the middle of the road. It had been taken from my front garden and smashed. I picked up the pieces, and in typical fashion managed to cut myself three times.

Every kid had a sled and a bicycle. Some of us also had roller and ice skates. These were all every kid needed, the rest was just icing. If stuck in the house, games kept us sane. We got a new one every Christmas so we had lots of choices. I still don’t like Monopoly. It took too long and was boring. My favorite from back then which we still play today is Sorry. I have even introduced it to my friends who are now fans in a Sorry kind of way. It’s a game you love because it can change in a heartbeat, and it’s a game you hate for the same reason. My sisters used to cry when I’d send one of their pieces back to start. My friends curse. It’s a grown-up game of Sorry.

When I was young, I had scrapbooks filled mostly with newspaper articles. I remember one book was all about the new Pope, Pope John XXIII. That was a huge thing in my life, the death of one Pope and the election of another. I sat in front of the TV watching the smoke and hoping for white.  That was the last Pope inspired scrapbook I ever made. I had one filled with articles from the paper which mentioned my name, no matter how slight the mention.  The drill team scrap book had programs, local articles, pictures and articles from the Globe when we won big.

I still have a couple of those scrapbooks. The tape no longer holds the pictures to the page. Where the tape was is discolored in the shape of the tape mostly in the corners. Every now and then I pull one out of the eaves and carefully turn the pages. At the playground one summer, I was the checkers and the horseshoe champion for my age group. I do have hidden talents.

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“Winter, slumbering in the open air, wears on his smiling face a dream of spring.”

February 2, 2014

Today is even warmer than yesterday. It is already 44˚. I need to get outside for a while as this will be the warmest day of the week, and I don’t want to miss it. Maybe my trusty canine and I need to hit the road.

The sun is hidden behind the clouds, but the day is bright and gives me a bit of hope that old Sol will decide to make an appearance. I looked up the temperature in Bolgatanga today to give myself a little perspective. It will be the coolest day of the week at 90˚. Most of the rest of the week will be between 100˚ and 104˚. Days like that are not among my fondest memories.

Today is Groundhog Day. Phil emerged at 7:28 a.m. and predicted six more weeks of winter, no surprise there, but there is hope. The National Climatic Data Center in Asheville, N.C., stated that Phil’s forecasts are, on average, inaccurate. According to the center, “The groundhog has shown no talent for predicting the arrival of spring, especially in recent years. Phil’s competitor groundhogs across the nation fared no better.” I think, though, that even meteorologists and the National Climatic Data Center with all their computers and weather models have their share of poor forecasting. They always apologize and blame the vagaries of wind and strange fronts, but wrong they were regardless. Mrs. G., the Massachusetts state groundhog, has, unlike Phil, predicted an early spring. I’m going with her.

I swear the male gold finches are getting brighter. A green shoot, albeit a tiny green shoot, has appeared in my front garden. These are the first tangible signs spring is coming. We just have to survive February which I always think of it as the last winter month. I know March can be cold and even snowy, but to me it is early spring as my garden starts to come alive and drags me along with it.

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“Well, many’s the long night I’ve dreamed of cheese–toasted, mostly…”

November 14, 2013

The weather is quirky. Snow fell the other day, but today and the next few days will be in the 50’s, tolerable weather. The nights will be cold but that’s November, and that’s why I have a comforter on the bed and animals who snuggle.

The bird feeders need filling and the red spawn needs to be shot. It has defeated my squirrel buster feeder by being small. It jumps from the deck to the feeder, grabs some seed then sits on the deck rail to eat it right in full view of me. I run out to scare it away but it knows when to come back. I’m thinking some acorns, a bit of irony probably lost on the spawn, or small rocks as ammo stored upstairs. I’ll open a window and aim though the sound of the acorn hitting the deck should sent that spawn running. He knows he is targeted. Think hose and last summer.

Much to do today. My friends are coming to dinner, a very late birthday dinner. They both have their birthdays in September and mine was August, and we have yet to give each other our gifts. I have to shop so last night, to save time from today, I set out all the dishes and silverware. We’re having pork tenderloin with an herb crust, smashed potatoes baked in the oven and glazed carrots. I’ll make my Moroccan appetizer, muhammara, and put out cheese, to me the most versatile food of all.

I am a cheese lover except for gorgonzola and blue. They even smell bad to me and blue always looks as if it has been around too long to eat. Cheese is a staple in my fridge as many of my meals are just cheese with bread or crackers. Brie is a huge favorite.

Ghana has no cheese because it has no milk. Ghana has cows but no Ghanaians drink milk. When I went back to Ghana, I was forced to use evaporated milk in my instant coffee just as I did in 1969. Ghana is not a place for coffee lovers or cheese lovers for that matter. If I were in the Peace Corps there now and still lived in Bolga, I’d find the Fulanis who tend the cows, buy milk from them and make my own cheese. It isn’t difficult.

In 1969, I figured everything was just part of the experience as did most of my friends, but when we got together, food always became part of the conversation. We all mused about what we missed the most. In Accra, we’d spend money at Kingsway Department Store to buy bruni food, white people’s food, to bring home. We’d travel to Lome, Togo because you could get ice cream, pastries and yup, even cheese. Lome was a volunteer’s paradise of food. One wonderful memory is when a bunch of us from Ghana were together in the Peace Corps hostel in Lome, something that didn’t happen often. We had all bought stuff to bring home, special stuff you couldn’t find in Ghana. Well, we had a huge party for no reason except we were together, had food and loved parties. We ended up eating just about everything.

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“Listen! the wind is rising, and the air is wild with leaves, We have had our summer evenings, now for October eves!”

October 5, 2013

The Cape Times gave me a chuckle this morning. The Sox beat the Rays 12 to 2, but the headlines on the Times sports page announced Breakthrough for Sandwich who beat Falmouth in football. The Sox were relegated to the bottom of that first page.

It rained yesterday and must have rained again in the early morning as the streets were still wet when I woke up. I’m not complaining as we haven’t had rain in a while. Today will also be chillier, in the 60’s. Again, I’m not complaining. This is, after all, October.

The houses around are all decorated for fall. Corn stalks stand next to front doors, pumpkins are on steps, a few stuffed Draculas sit waiting for victims and colorful gourds fill baskets. My neighbors across the street always put out a scarecrow and some pumpkins. My front step has a basket with gourds and I have hung out my fall flag, the one with apples. This is such a pretty time of the year.

Today syfy is presenting scary monsters like the boogeyman. My sister always thought he lived under her bed. Lots of kids did. If he wasn’t under the bed, everyone knew he was hiding in the closet. The boogeyman only came out at night. Things just aren’t scary in the light of day. If I hear a noise and the dog barks, I throw caution to the wind in the daytime and throw open the front door to see what might be going on, something which made Gracie bark. At night I proceed far more slowly. I turn the outside light on and look out the windows at the top of the door. Gracie is usually right behind waiting for that door to open. She’s as curious as I am. When I open the door, we never see anything.

I remember one night when Maggie, another Boxer of mine, jumped out of bed, stood at the top of the stairs and barked her scariest, deepest bark. I jumped out of bed and turned the hall light on and was ready to go downstairs. Just as I did that, Maggie turned around and jumped on the bed. She had scared the bejesus out of me but there she was unconcerned and back to sleep. I wondered if maybe a fox or a coyote had walked by the house. I never thought about the boogeyman.

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“All seasons have something to offer”

April 7, 2013

Still a bit on the chilly side, but the weatherman promised 50˚. I, however, am skeptical. Breakfast was tasty at the diner this morning: French toast with Canadian bacon, sort of an international meal says I with tongue in cheek. Gracie and I made one stop on the way home, and that should do it for the day.

On my way home I got to thinking about the seasons. Maybe it was all the flowers I saw as I passed by front gardens. I decided spring is a flamboyant old woman who wears boas and flowing scarfs and dresses. She is bright with color. Her movements are  exaggerated. She speaks quickly and her hands are always in motion. Her purple boa is around her neck like a scarf and the fluffy part waves from her breath when she speaks. Spring’s clothes are never color coordinated. That’s not her point.

Winter is an old man hunched by age. He wears a long dark coat almost to his ankles. It has large black buttons. He wears a hat, a fedora, which doesn’t cover his ears. They are perpetually cold. He keeps his hands clenched in his coat pockets hoping for a bit of warmth which doesn’t come. His fingers are stiff from the cold. Winter shuffles when he walks. He wears galoshes which are never snapped and barely stay on his feet. Winter is always sad-looking.

Summer wears orange and yellow and flip-flops. Her shirts are covered in huge flowers that look like orchids. Her face and arms are tanned. Her freckles have returned. There is a lightness to her, a reflection maybe of the warmth of the sun. She is joyful at the beauty of the day.

Fall is the season with the most difficult of all personalities. It is a bit of summer and a hint of winter. The last flashes of color are in the garden. The trees are ablaze with reds and yellows. I always think fall is giving us a warning of what is to come and is playing with us a bit. The mornings have a chill while the afternoons are warm, and, once the sun goes down, the evenings are cold. Fall dresses in muted colors and, after the summer, seems quiet, even contemplative.  Sometimes I think of fall as a long line of monks wearing brown robes with their cowls over the heads as they walk slowly and sing a Gregorian chant.

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“Fate: protects fools, little children, and ships named Enterprise.”

February 23, 2013

This morning I went out to breakfast then did a couple of errands. Each week I keep track of the number of miles I travel just for the heck of it. When I turned on the car this morning, I saw I’d gone 8 miles since Sunday. I must be hibernating. There is no other explanation. I know I don’t get dressed in real clothes (by this I mean outside clothes) most days, but, instead, I wear comfy flannel pants, slippers and a sweatshirt. I shower for the sake of cleanliness and brush my teeth every day. I spent one day and a half cleaning and a few other days reading. I went to a wake, but I didn’t drive so no credit for the mileage. Throw in a few afternoon naps, and we have this week and 8 miles until today. I have now doubled my mileage.

It’s another ugly weekend with cloudy skies. A snow storm is coming tomorrow but not here. We’ll get the rain. We have been spared. North of us will get the snow, amounts not yet determined. The weather is the topic of conversation just about everywhere and is always the lead story on the news.  Even today’s Syfy lineup of movies is into weather. You have to love these titles. I figure each one gives away the whole plot. Right now I’m watching Storm. Later will come Lightning Strikes, Metal Tornado, Super Cyclone and the evening’s big movie, End of the World. I’m glad I have popcorn.

I admit it. I have been to a couple of Star Trek conventions. My sister and I even dragged our mother to both of them. We didn’t wear uniforms or alien make-up, but we were no less fans than those who did. It was fun walking around the booths and going to the different discussions. We even got to see actors from Star Trek, The Next Generation. We both are still into Star Trek, and every year I give my sister the newest Star Trek ornament from Hallmark for her birthday. We are only missing the first one which is now too expensive to buy. It’s a collector’s item, and this collector wishes she were wealthier.

I guess I’m happy the word geek didn’t arrive until after I’d grown up.

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