Posted tagged ‘wind and rain’

“Without writers, stories would not be written, Without actors, stories could not be brought to life.”

June 17, 2017

Last night it rained and the wind blew and bent the boughs of the oak trees. I noticed a feeder or two down this morning so I have to go out later and put the deck to rights. Right now it is 65˚ and showers are predicted. Given the darkness of the day, I’m thinking it is an accurate prediction. The wind, though, is gone.

Last night Gracie’s frantic howls woke me up around 2:30. She had rolled off the couch and was on her back between the couch and the table and couldn’t right herself. I managed to lift her, and she was able to slide her legs from under the table and then was able to stand. I gave her plenty of hugs and reassurances so she jumped back on the couch and went to sleep. I, however, was awake for an hour or so. We both slept in this morning.

I  saw the first play of the season last night at the Cape Playhouse. It was called Art. I hadn’t heard of it before, but the play had won a Tony, and this production had gotten excellent reviews in the two local papers. I was struck, as I always am, by how wonderful live theater is. The stage is close to me, and I get to watch real people interact. Their faces and body movements reflect their feelings. The silences are weighty. Two chairs, a couch and a table were the only set pieces, but the plot and the characters developed around a prop, a piece of art, a white canvas, which affected each of the three characters and their relationships to one another. The play was 90 minutes long and had no intermission. It couldn’t. An intermission would have disrupted the plot movement and the changes in the characters, and the audience’s attention would have been interrupted. The cast would have had to pull us back in the hope of reconnecting us to the characters and what was happening; instead, our attention never wavered.

Gracie and I will be out and about today. I have three stops. They’ll be quick.

Last night I watched 20-20 about Watergate. I remember that whole summer. Every day was spent watching the hearing. I really how excited I was by Butterfield’s revelation that Nixon had taped his conversations, his downfall. Some years later he was asked if he was sorry he didn’t destroy the tapes. He said,” Yes as they were private conversations subject to misinterpretations, as we have all seen.”

I do believe in deja vu!

“If you get all tangled up, just tango on.”

November 2, 2014

The nor’easter started last night. Even the sturdiest tree trunks creak and bend with the howling wind. Leaves and pine needles cover every surface. The rain is heavy then light then heavy again. The wind never stops. The huge pine tree in my backyard sways as its trunk moves in the wind. The tree trunks near the deck dance back and forth when the wind is the strongest. Some branches won’t survive the storm, mostly the pines.

I am drawn to the door to watch the wind. It is so exhilarating.

The house is filled with sleeping animals. Gracie’s snoring in the only sound. I haven’t anything to do today. Football is on but not until later. I think I’ll read and relax. That sort of makes me laugh as my life is filled with relaxation.

Every wedding I went to as a kid played the Bunny Hop. My aunts always got up and danced. Almost every person who did get up was a woman. The Bunny Hop didn’t attract men. I always watched. It was sort of a silly dance. I also thought that only my aunts and their contemporaries were bunny hoppers, an old ladies’ dance.

When I was in the seventh grade, I joined the Saturday program my parish offered. Part of it was teaching us to dance. We were all girls so we had to take turns leading. The one dance I remember the most was learning to cha cha. The instructor showed us the steps then had us try them while she stood and repeated, “One, two, cha, cha cha.” We were taught turns and had to practice them a bit to try and keep the rhythm. Finally we were ready. We picked a partner, the music was started and we did the cha cha. We were awful. I haven’t gotten any better over time.

“There was an edge to this darkness…. A cold wind was blowing out of the north, and it made the trees rustle like living things.”

October 24, 2014

Today is much like the last few days, rainy and dark. The wind is still here, steady and strong. The oak leaves and the pine branches sway from side to side. The deck is littered with pine needles and yellow leaves.

Today we will venture, Gracie and I. We have five stops starting with Gracie’s second favorite place, the dump. Her very favorite place is Agway where dogs are welcome and where I buy her food and treats and food for the cats, and it too is on the list. Gracie will be a happy dog.

My backyard has lights wrapped around tree trunks. The palm tree is on the farmer’s deck. The fir tree in the deck corner has a single set of lights which are lit always. I think my yard has a touch of magic. I look out the window even on the darkest nights and see those spots of color beaming and radiating. Winter will come when night will last longer than day, but in my yard, there is always some light.

The house is quiet. All the animals are having their morning naps and all of them, all three of them, are in the den here with me. Gracie snores now and then and breathes deeply. The cats sleep soundlessly. How exhausted they all must be after a good night’s sleep. I remember sitting in school on dark, rainy days. The old school with its tall windows was the best spot to watch the rain, and I’d be drawn in by the sound of drops hitting those windows. We were quiet on day’s like today as if the rain had a dampening effect on all of us. During lunch we tended to whisper. We bemoaned our fate, stuck with no recess, no chance to let go of the energy stifled by sitting at a desk.

The basement bathrooms were four sets of wooden stairs away from the room, and those stairs were the only exercise on a rainy day. The nun herded us down in two lines, the boy’s line and the girl’s line, one on each side of the steps. At the bottom of the final set boys went right and girls went left. None of us ever dawdled. We’d finish and join the line to go back upstairs. When we were all done, the nun walked us back to our room. Nobody ever made a sound going up or down the stairs. We didn’t dare.

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