Sunday, May 31, 2009
“It takes a tough man to make a tender chicken.”
The day is glorious: sunny, warm and inviting. In a bit, I'm going to Bray Farm for the annual sheep sheering festival. They'll be a hay ride, sheep herding, spinners, a blacksmith and local crafts for sale. The day is perfect to visit a farm.
My dad once took us to the Hood Farm in New Hampshire. I was really young, but I have a few distinct memories. The farm had white fencing all around the greenest grass I'd ever seen. The barn was immaculate, and I remember we wandered around the stalls checking out the cows. Music was playing in the barn because the man working there said the cows love the sound and give more milk. I never questioned that. It just seemed right somehow.
My town had a dairy farm which sold its own milk. I have a few of the bottles. We used to drive by the farm on the way to my grandparents. We always looked out the window at the cows. They were black and white and usually in the field or drinking at troughs. The barn and the farmhouse were white. There was also a white silo with silver on the bottom beside the barn. I remember how muddy the ground looked between the barn and the field where the cows walked. But Weiss Farm is not there any more, no more cows. The people who now own the land sell mulch. Piles of the stuff covered with black tarps dot the field where the cows used to roam.
I raised chickens in Africa. I guess that made me a chicken farmer. My first brood all died of Newcastle disease. A friend then gave me a laying hen and her eggs. That hen was a horrible mother who lost most of her chicks to snakes or predator birds. She was dinner one night. I bought new hens who were great mothers and I started to have numbers of chickens. That's when I became a successful chicken farmer. Because my chickens were food, never pets, I didn't give them cute names though I could have named most of them roasted or fried. They were free range and went out every morning and returned every evening like clockwork. They had no idea of their fates. I knew they were destined to be the main course. I still like chicken.
My dad once took us to the Hood Farm in New Hampshire. I was really young, but I have a few distinct memories. The farm had white fencing all around the greenest grass I'd ever seen. The barn was immaculate, and I remember we wandered around the stalls checking out the cows. Music was playing in the barn because the man working there said the cows love the sound and give more milk. I never questioned that. It just seemed right somehow.
My town had a dairy farm which sold its own milk. I have a few of the bottles. We used to drive by the farm on the way to my grandparents. We always looked out the window at the cows. They were black and white and usually in the field or drinking at troughs. The barn and the farmhouse were white. There was also a white silo with silver on the bottom beside the barn. I remember how muddy the ground looked between the barn and the field where the cows walked. But Weiss Farm is not there any more, no more cows. The people who now own the land sell mulch. Piles of the stuff covered with black tarps dot the field where the cows used to roam.
I raised chickens in Africa. I guess that made me a chicken farmer. My first brood all died of Newcastle disease. A friend then gave me a laying hen and her eggs. That hen was a horrible mother who lost most of her chicks to snakes or predator birds. She was dinner one night. I bought new hens who were great mothers and I started to have numbers of chickens. That's when I became a successful chicken farmer. Because my chickens were food, never pets, I didn't give them cute names though I could have named most of them roasted or fried. They were free range and went out every morning and returned every evening like clockwork. They had no idea of their fates. I knew they were destined to be the main course. I still like chicken.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
"Television! Teacher, mother, secret lover."
Partially sunny is the weather prediction for today. I figure the prognosticator is an optimist.
I woke up at 5:20 this morning. It was a shock. I tried to go back to sleep but couldn't. Since then I've read the papers, had too many cups of coffee, almost finished my book, wandered the deck checking out the morning and made my bed. I'm ready for a nap.
If I were little again, I'd be wearing my pajamas and sitting in the living room watching cartoons. The cartoons would be in black and white. I'd be sitting too close to the TV trying to watch it and eat breakfast at the same time. My bowl would be filled with Rice Krispies. I loved the snap, crackle and pop. I'd fill the bowl with too much milk so I'd have plenty at the end. I remember how the milk left on the bottom tasted sweet and had small bits of cereal. I always lifted the bowl to my mouth to finish it. Most times I'd put the bowl on the floor so I wouldn't miss any cartoons or my other Saturday programs. Howdy Doody was my favorite. A friend, knowing I'd love his gift, sent me a DVD of The Howdy Doody Show. As soon as it started, I remembered the opening song. I used to sing it every Saturday. It's strange the stuff which stays in our heads.
I woke up at 5:20 this morning. It was a shock. I tried to go back to sleep but couldn't. Since then I've read the papers, had too many cups of coffee, almost finished my book, wandered the deck checking out the morning and made my bed. I'm ready for a nap.
If I were little again, I'd be wearing my pajamas and sitting in the living room watching cartoons. The cartoons would be in black and white. I'd be sitting too close to the TV trying to watch it and eat breakfast at the same time. My bowl would be filled with Rice Krispies. I loved the snap, crackle and pop. I'd fill the bowl with too much milk so I'd have plenty at the end. I remember how the milk left on the bottom tasted sweet and had small bits of cereal. I always lifted the bowl to my mouth to finish it. Most times I'd put the bowl on the floor so I wouldn't miss any cartoons or my other Saturday programs. Howdy Doody was my favorite. A friend, knowing I'd love his gift, sent me a DVD of The Howdy Doody Show. As soon as it started, I remembered the opening song. I used to sing it every Saturday. It's strange the stuff which stays in our heads.
Friday, May 29, 2009
I Wish I Was the Moon: Neko Case
"The summer night is like a perfection of thought."
The deck is awash in debris and streaks of green pine pollen because of the rain. It could be the closing scene in a movie about plague and the death of mankind. I think I'd add an empty swing blowing back and forth in the wind for poignancy. The only sound would be the wind and a squeaky chain.
I read a lot of science fiction when I was a kid. Back then even a trip to the moon was imaginary, a book by Jules Verne. I used to lie on the grassy hill behind my house and look at the night sky. I'd try to decide if the man in the moon was smiling or not. Sometimes I thought he looked surprised. I remember that sky of my childhood was ablaze with millions and millions of stars which lit up the night. I could see just about everything in shadow, the houses, the trees and the cars on the street. Summer nights were never dark. They were also never quiet. Night birds sang. Grasshoppers and crickets chirped from the field near my house. Frogs in the swamp called to one another. A mosquito would buzz my ear, and I'd swat it away, but I knew it would be back. Mosquitoes were persistent. Sometimes I'd hear a rustling in the bushes, but I'd stay away. I always figured it was a skunk walking from one yard to another. With all the screened windows and doors opened and the houses so close together, I could hear my neighbors. Their voices were low and indistinct. Their televisions were louder. My mother used to open the back screen door and step out to call us inside. I guess she figured her voice carried further that way. I always hated going inside because I loved those summer nights.
I read a lot of science fiction when I was a kid. Back then even a trip to the moon was imaginary, a book by Jules Verne. I used to lie on the grassy hill behind my house and look at the night sky. I'd try to decide if the man in the moon was smiling or not. Sometimes I thought he looked surprised. I remember that sky of my childhood was ablaze with millions and millions of stars which lit up the night. I could see just about everything in shadow, the houses, the trees and the cars on the street. Summer nights were never dark. They were also never quiet. Night birds sang. Grasshoppers and crickets chirped from the field near my house. Frogs in the swamp called to one another. A mosquito would buzz my ear, and I'd swat it away, but I knew it would be back. Mosquitoes were persistent. Sometimes I'd hear a rustling in the bushes, but I'd stay away. I always figured it was a skunk walking from one yard to another. With all the screened windows and doors opened and the houses so close together, I could hear my neighbors. Their voices were low and indistinct. Their televisions were louder. My mother used to open the back screen door and step out to call us inside. I guess she figured her voice carried further that way. I always hated going inside because I loved those summer nights.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Easy as the Rain: The Little Willies
I Lost a Day to the Rain: Darryl Purpose
"It's a sure sign of summer if the chair gets up when you do."
Today is day two of dark skies, bone chilling dampness and intermittent rain. I caused it. I'm to blame. As soon as I had my in-ground sprinkler system turned on, the weather changed for the worse.
Growing up, I could count on certain traditions every summer. Johnny the ice cream man would ring his bell, drive up to the top of the hill and park at the small rotary. At the first faint hearing of that bell, kids from every corner would yell, "Johnny's here," then they'd run home as quickly as possible. Slamming screen doors could then be heard all over my neighborhood followed by assorted mothers' voices raised in annoyance telling kids, for about the hundredth time, not to slam the screen doors. My mother was one of them. She usually gave each of us a nickel for a Popsicle and we'd run outside, slamming the door behind us, and race to Johnny's truck. He always wore gray work chinos and on his belt was one of those silver coin changers. The truck was small with a metal door in the back. Johnny would reach in and pull out whatever you wanted. I leaned toward root beer Popsicles, still do.
In late June, a green storage box was always delivered to the playground at the end of my street. We knew that soon enough two counselors, one male and one female, would open the playground for the summer. In that box were all their supplies and equipment. The playground had a picnic table, swings, see-saws and a slide. It also had a horseshoe pit. Tennis courts were around the corner. A water fountain was just a bit further up in the same field. We used two town ball fields for our games. They were right near the playground. I spent most of my pre-teen summer days there in Pomeworth Park. I was on the softball team. I played checkers and learn to play chess. I took tennis lessons. We did arts and crafts. My favorite of all of them was a wooden tray I painted with flowers for my mother. Every summer day we'd leave the house at nine, return for lunch then go back to the playground until it closed at four. I do a nostalgia run every now and then and drive by Pomeworth Park. Only the ball fields are left. Trees have taken over where the picnic bench used to be.
Playing all day, staying out later at night and going to bed exhausted were givens every summer.
Growing up, I could count on certain traditions every summer. Johnny the ice cream man would ring his bell, drive up to the top of the hill and park at the small rotary. At the first faint hearing of that bell, kids from every corner would yell, "Johnny's here," then they'd run home as quickly as possible. Slamming screen doors could then be heard all over my neighborhood followed by assorted mothers' voices raised in annoyance telling kids, for about the hundredth time, not to slam the screen doors. My mother was one of them. She usually gave each of us a nickel for a Popsicle and we'd run outside, slamming the door behind us, and race to Johnny's truck. He always wore gray work chinos and on his belt was one of those silver coin changers. The truck was small with a metal door in the back. Johnny would reach in and pull out whatever you wanted. I leaned toward root beer Popsicles, still do.
In late June, a green storage box was always delivered to the playground at the end of my street. We knew that soon enough two counselors, one male and one female, would open the playground for the summer. In that box were all their supplies and equipment. The playground had a picnic table, swings, see-saws and a slide. It also had a horseshoe pit. Tennis courts were around the corner. A water fountain was just a bit further up in the same field. We used two town ball fields for our games. They were right near the playground. I spent most of my pre-teen summer days there in Pomeworth Park. I was on the softball team. I played checkers and learn to play chess. I took tennis lessons. We did arts and crafts. My favorite of all of them was a wooden tray I painted with flowers for my mother. Every summer day we'd leave the house at nine, return for lunch then go back to the playground until it closed at four. I do a nostalgia run every now and then and drive by Pomeworth Park. Only the ball fields are left. Trees have taken over where the picnic bench used to be.
Playing all day, staying out later at night and going to bed exhausted were givens every summer.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Space Girl's Song: Peggy Seeger
Both songs today are from A Fish That's a Song, a Smithsonian Folkways album released in 1990. Drop over and check it out.
MP3 File
yousendit
MP3 File
yousendit
"The trick is growing up without growing old."
My grandmother was the perfect old lady. Back then old ladies looked like old ladies. They were easy to spot. All of them wore clunky lace shoes with square heels. All the shoes were black. They wore shapeless, flowered house dresses. The patterns differed in the types of flowers and their colors, but the print was never loud, and the flowers were always small. I think the dresses were short sleeved. In the house, old ladies wore full aprons. The aprons had bibs, a pocket or two and some rickrack. They too were flowered. For best, old ladies wore dresses which looked silky. The dresses were one color and never had flowers. Old ladies wore hats and gloves and plain coats. They carried dark colored pocketbooks with a single strap. They never wore pants.
Men too had a sort of uniform. They wore it to work, to church and to every social event, even a baseball game. Men wore suits. The material was usually drab, often dark. White shirts, stiff with starch, were worn underneath. The top of a handkerchief could be seen out of the pocket. Men always wore ties. My dad tied a Windsor knot in his. I used to watch him make the knot and sometimes followed along with him using my imaginary tie. He always wore black shoes with laces, as did most men. My father always wore a fedora. It was the style back then. He wore a topcoat all winter. The one I remember most was black.
Old ladies today wear sneakers. Just about all of them wear pants. Around here, many of them wear track suits. Old men wear whatever they want except on special occasions when they bring out the suit coat and good pants. I am so relieved fashions have changed. I'm almost at that old lady stage of life, and I can't see myself in flowers and clunky shoes let alone a square black pocketbook with a gold clasp and a single strap. I'll stick with my sandals, my bright colors and my backpack. I'll throw in a little tie dye for memory's sake.
Men too had a sort of uniform. They wore it to work, to church and to every social event, even a baseball game. Men wore suits. The material was usually drab, often dark. White shirts, stiff with starch, were worn underneath. The top of a handkerchief could be seen out of the pocket. Men always wore ties. My dad tied a Windsor knot in his. I used to watch him make the knot and sometimes followed along with him using my imaginary tie. He always wore black shoes with laces, as did most men. My father always wore a fedora. It was the style back then. He wore a topcoat all winter. The one I remember most was black.
Old ladies today wear sneakers. Just about all of them wear pants. Around here, many of them wear track suits. Old men wear whatever they want except on special occasions when they bring out the suit coat and good pants. I am so relieved fashions have changed. I'm almost at that old lady stage of life, and I can't see myself in flowers and clunky shoes let alone a square black pocketbook with a gold clasp and a single strap. I'll stick with my sandals, my bright colors and my backpack. I'll throw in a little tie dye for memory's sake.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
“In summer, the song sings itself.”
The parade was perfect. It was everything I'd hoped and expected. The boy scouts, brownies and junior scouts marched. The middle school band provided music, and they were really good. A few more jeeps, an antique fire engine and an old police car were neat additions. The crowd was sparse but enthusiastic. It was every Memorial Day parade I remember.
I had my first barbecue yesterday. The weather was warm, deck weather. We sat outside, told stories, laughed, had a few drinks and ate up a storm. The night was lovely. I lit a fire in the chiminea, and it gave us just enough warmth to ward off the night's chill. I hated when the evening ended. It was so much fun.
Mother Nature toys with us. Yesterday morning it rained then the sun poked through, and the day was bright and warm. Today is back to the 50's and is chilly. By Friday, it will be in the low 70's, and I'll move to the deck for the day.
This is the time of year when I used to get anxious for summer vacation to start. A warm day seemed a tease. I'd stare out the classroom window and sigh, a long sigh. I'd read the same line over and over again in my book then I'd be gone, lost in a daydream. School had stopped holding my interest. My head was already full of enough new stuff. I started taking my time to get there, but I'd run home as quickly as I could. I'd change out of my school clothes then play until the street lights came on. Every day they took longer and longer. Every day vacation got closer and closer.
I had my first barbecue yesterday. The weather was warm, deck weather. We sat outside, told stories, laughed, had a few drinks and ate up a storm. The night was lovely. I lit a fire in the chiminea, and it gave us just enough warmth to ward off the night's chill. I hated when the evening ended. It was so much fun.
Mother Nature toys with us. Yesterday morning it rained then the sun poked through, and the day was bright and warm. Today is back to the 50's and is chilly. By Friday, it will be in the low 70's, and I'll move to the deck for the day.
This is the time of year when I used to get anxious for summer vacation to start. A warm day seemed a tease. I'd stare out the classroom window and sigh, a long sigh. I'd read the same line over and over again in my book then I'd be gone, lost in a daydream. School had stopped holding my interest. My head was already full of enough new stuff. I started taking my time to get there, but I'd run home as quickly as I could. I'd change out of my school clothes then play until the street lights came on. Every day they took longer and longer. Every day vacation got closer and closer.
Monday, May 25, 2009
"The dead soldier's silence sings our national anthem."
Today I will stand on the sidewalk in my small town and watch the parade. The crowd is usually small but always applauds when the veterans go by. The order of the parade is the same every year. The police will be first. They come on motorcycles with lights blinking. A color guard will follow. Then will come the middle school band playing for all its worth. When the musicians hear their names called by proud parents, they'll turn and smile. Veterans groups will be next. Some veterans will be walking while others will ride in jeeps. The high school band will be near the end. They never acknowledge anyone. Last will come the fire engines. Today we honor those who gave their lives for their country and those who fought for its freedom.
Three years after the Civil War ended, on May 5, 1868, the head of an organization of former Union soldiers and sailors — the Grand Army of the Republic (GAR) — established Decoration Day as a time for the nation to decorate the graves of the war dead with flowers. Maj. Gen. John A. Logan declared it should be May 30. The first large observance was held that year at Arlington National Cemetery, across the Potomac River from Washington, D.C. The cemetery already held the remains of 20,000 Union dead and several hundred Confederate dead.
The ceremonies centered around the mourning-draped veranda of the Arlington mansion, once the home of Gen. Robert E. Lee. Gen. and Mrs. Ulysses S. Grant and other Washington officials presided. After speeches, children from the Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Orphan Home and members of the GAR made their way through the cemetery, strewing flowers on both Union and Confederate graves, reciting prayers and singing hymns.
Local springtime tributes to the Civil War dead already had been held in various places. One of the first occurred in Columbus, Miss., April 25, 1866, when a group of women visited a cemetery to decorate the graves of Confederate soldiers who had fallen in battle at Shiloh. Nearby were the graves of Union soldiers, neglected because they were the enemy. Disturbed at the sight of the bare graves, the women placed some of their flowers on those graves, as well.
Today cities in the North and the South claim to be the birthplace of Memorial Day in 1866. Both Macon and Columbus, Ga., claim the title, as well as Richmond, Va. The village of Boalsburg, Pa., claims it began there two years earlier. A stone in a Carbondale, Ill., cemetery carries the statement that the first Decoration Day cere- mony took place there on April 29, 1866. Carbondale was the wartime home of Gen. Logan. Approximately 25 places have been named in connection with the origin of Memorial Day, many of them in the South where most of the war dead were buried.
In 1966, Congress and President Lyndon Johnson declared Waterloo, N.Y., the “birthplace” of Memorial Day. There a ceremony on May 5, 1866, was reported to have honored local soldiers and sailors who had fought in the Civil War. Businesses closed and residents flew flags at half-mast. Supporters of Waterloo’s claim say earlier observances in other places were either informal, not community-wide or one-time events.
By the end of the 19th century, Memorial Day ceremonies were being held on May 30 throughout the nation. State legislatures passed proclamations designating the day. The Army and Navy adopted regulations for proper observance at their facilities. It was not until after World War I, however, that the day was expanded to honor those who have died in all American wars. In 1971 Memorial Day was declared a national holiday by an act of Congress, though it is still often called Decoration Day. It was then also placed on the last Monday in May, as were some other federal holidays.
Three years after the Civil War ended, on May 5, 1868, the head of an organization of former Union soldiers and sailors — the Grand Army of the Republic (GAR) — established Decoration Day as a time for the nation to decorate the graves of the war dead with flowers. Maj. Gen. John A. Logan declared it should be May 30. The first large observance was held that year at Arlington National Cemetery, across the Potomac River from Washington, D.C. The cemetery already held the remains of 20,000 Union dead and several hundred Confederate dead.
The ceremonies centered around the mourning-draped veranda of the Arlington mansion, once the home of Gen. Robert E. Lee. Gen. and Mrs. Ulysses S. Grant and other Washington officials presided. After speeches, children from the Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Orphan Home and members of the GAR made their way through the cemetery, strewing flowers on both Union and Confederate graves, reciting prayers and singing hymns.
Local springtime tributes to the Civil War dead already had been held in various places. One of the first occurred in Columbus, Miss., April 25, 1866, when a group of women visited a cemetery to decorate the graves of Confederate soldiers who had fallen in battle at Shiloh. Nearby were the graves of Union soldiers, neglected because they were the enemy. Disturbed at the sight of the bare graves, the women placed some of their flowers on those graves, as well.
Today cities in the North and the South claim to be the birthplace of Memorial Day in 1866. Both Macon and Columbus, Ga., claim the title, as well as Richmond, Va. The village of Boalsburg, Pa., claims it began there two years earlier. A stone in a Carbondale, Ill., cemetery carries the statement that the first Decoration Day cere- mony took place there on April 29, 1866. Carbondale was the wartime home of Gen. Logan. Approximately 25 places have been named in connection with the origin of Memorial Day, many of them in the South where most of the war dead were buried.
In 1966, Congress and President Lyndon Johnson declared Waterloo, N.Y., the “birthplace” of Memorial Day. There a ceremony on May 5, 1866, was reported to have honored local soldiers and sailors who had fought in the Civil War. Businesses closed and residents flew flags at half-mast. Supporters of Waterloo’s claim say earlier observances in other places were either informal, not community-wide or one-time events.
By the end of the 19th century, Memorial Day ceremonies were being held on May 30 throughout the nation. State legislatures passed proclamations designating the day. The Army and Navy adopted regulations for proper observance at their facilities. It was not until after World War I, however, that the day was expanded to honor those who have died in all American wars. In 1971 Memorial Day was declared a national holiday by an act of Congress, though it is still often called Decoration Day. It was then also placed on the last Monday in May, as were some other federal holidays.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
“Without heroes, we are all plain people, and don't know how far we can go.”
Last night it rained again. The sky is still overcast, a white gray. The morning is damp but warm enough for long sleeves. I finally ditched the sweatshirt. It had become a second skin. Green pine pollen is everywhere. It covers the cars, the deck furniture and most immobile surfaces. Leaving a window open means green topped furniture. Dusting is a futile activity. I thank God for that!
I have no idea what to write about this morning. Every time I finish a sentence I get up and walk around the house hoping for inspiration. I look out the back door then the front. My neighbor is spreading mulch, about as uninspiring as anything. On my last walk around I ended up wet mopping the kitchen floor. Earlier I cleaned the granite countertop and the coffee pot. The longer I am stuck for inspiration the cleaner my house will be.
Writing every day means sifting through my memory banks hoping to strike gold and find a memory long forgotten. Today I found Memorial Day. When I was a kid, it was a day of remembrance, a day to honor those who sacrificed their lives for their country. My little town always had a parade which ended at the main cemetery where the veterans' graves were decorated with American flags on wooden sticks. I remember the flags waved in the wind and lent color to the cemetery and the rows of headstones. We stood on the road around the main monument and listened to speeches about the honored dead. The ceremony always ended when a bugler played taps. No one ever spoke. Everyone just listened. I thought it the most plaintive sound.
Memorial Day is a time to pause and reflect, a time to honor all veterans. My father is buried in that cemetery I mentioned, and his grave has an American flag. He will be remembered.
I have no idea what to write about this morning. Every time I finish a sentence I get up and walk around the house hoping for inspiration. I look out the back door then the front. My neighbor is spreading mulch, about as uninspiring as anything. On my last walk around I ended up wet mopping the kitchen floor. Earlier I cleaned the granite countertop and the coffee pot. The longer I am stuck for inspiration the cleaner my house will be.
Writing every day means sifting through my memory banks hoping to strike gold and find a memory long forgotten. Today I found Memorial Day. When I was a kid, it was a day of remembrance, a day to honor those who sacrificed their lives for their country. My little town always had a parade which ended at the main cemetery where the veterans' graves were decorated with American flags on wooden sticks. I remember the flags waved in the wind and lent color to the cemetery and the rows of headstones. We stood on the road around the main monument and listened to speeches about the honored dead. The ceremony always ended when a bugler played taps. No one ever spoke. Everyone just listened. I thought it the most plaintive sound.
Memorial Day is a time to pause and reflect, a time to honor all veterans. My father is buried in that cemetery I mentioned, and his grave has an American flag. He will be remembered.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
“- "I've been thinking Hobbes --" - "On a weekend?" - "Well, it wasn't on purpose..."”
The sky is cloudy, and it's cool today. I don't mind at all. Yesterday, the hottest day thus far, I was at the garden center hauling my huge carriage filled with herbs and flowers up and down the narrow lanes. I decided I wasn't programmed for manual labor, and I didn't like heat. Today I went back there and was quite happy to haul. The flowers I bought are beautiful though I have no idea what they are, but it doesn't matter. Even if nameless, they'll be lovely in my front garden. Today I also bought my tomato plants. I'll bet the possum is pretty excited, probably rubbing all four paws together. He ate all my tomatoes last year.
This weekend is filled with activities. Today I'm heading to tour an old cemetery which I visited a long while back. The oldest grave dates from 1795, but the only stone I remember is one which says Chinese Lady. She was brought to Dennis by a ship's captain and died nameless. The cemetery is beside a New England church, the kind you see in the brochures. It is white, with a huge steeple and sits on a hill. It is called The Sea Captain's Church. Inside is a 1762 Snetzler organ which I have heard played. I was amazed at its sounds and tones.
The sky is darker than when I started writing. I just hope it holds off until late in the afternoon
Sunday is breakfast out at the diner then I have a list of possibilities for the rest of the day. I'm hedging as I still see Sunday as a day of rest, and I love those newspapers.
The parade is Monday. Last year it lasted a little under eight minutes, but it still draws a crowd. There is nothing better than a home town parade on Memorial Day followed by a ceremony on the town green. Later in the afternoon friends will by for a barbecue.
I wish you all the most wonderful weekend and a hometown parade.
This weekend is filled with activities. Today I'm heading to tour an old cemetery which I visited a long while back. The oldest grave dates from 1795, but the only stone I remember is one which says Chinese Lady. She was brought to Dennis by a ship's captain and died nameless. The cemetery is beside a New England church, the kind you see in the brochures. It is white, with a huge steeple and sits on a hill. It is called The Sea Captain's Church. Inside is a 1762 Snetzler organ which I have heard played. I was amazed at its sounds and tones.
The sky is darker than when I started writing. I just hope it holds off until late in the afternoon
Sunday is breakfast out at the diner then I have a list of possibilities for the rest of the day. I'm hedging as I still see Sunday as a day of rest, and I love those newspapers.
The parade is Monday. Last year it lasted a little under eight minutes, but it still draws a crowd. There is nothing better than a home town parade on Memorial Day followed by a ceremony on the town green. Later in the afternoon friends will by for a barbecue.
I wish you all the most wonderful weekend and a hometown parade.
Friday, May 22, 2009
She Needs Time: Donna Ulisse
This is from When I look Back, her most recent album. I've already played one song, but I thought it time for another.
What I wrote last time still stands. This is a wonderful album, "Donna wrote all the songs on this new album. It's bluegrass and a little gospel. If you had told me I'd be playing bluegrass on Coffee, I'd have laughed. It took a while to convert me, but I'm now singing its praises. I think you'd like this album. I did."
MP3 File
yousendit
What I wrote last time still stands. This is a wonderful album, "Donna wrote all the songs on this new album. It's bluegrass and a little gospel. If you had told me I'd be playing bluegrass on Coffee, I'd have laughed. It took a while to convert me, but I'm now singing its praises. I think you'd like this album. I did."
MP3 File
yousendit
"Spring - an experience in immortality."
It was a beautiful day yesterday, and today promises to be the same. The temperature will again be in the low to mid 70's. I have a list of errands and chores to be done. The last on the list is to buy my garden flowers. That is my favorite of them all. For this year, I'm thinking red and white flowers. Last year I went with yellow.
Each day is different this time of year. It rains often. Sometimes the rain is light, almost misty, and the sky, on those days, appears white with only tinges of gray. When the rain is heavy and incessant, the sky stays dark and threatening. The sun is usually warm, but more than not a breeze chills the air. In the shade, it feels cool, sweatshirt weather. In the sun, it's short sleeve weather. Gracie lies in the shade, and I sit on the lounge warm in the sun. Every morning when I go out on the deck, the leaves are fuller than they were the day before. I can no longer see three houses down to my friends'. They have disappeared until the late fall. The front flowers are taller, and I see buds on several of them. The irises have a bit of purple. They didn't yesterday. A variety of flowers blooms each day, and I always check my garden when I go to get the papers. Different birds seem to find my feeders. Today it was a junco.
I find the spring amazing. Every new day bursts with life.
Each day is different this time of year. It rains often. Sometimes the rain is light, almost misty, and the sky, on those days, appears white with only tinges of gray. When the rain is heavy and incessant, the sky stays dark and threatening. The sun is usually warm, but more than not a breeze chills the air. In the shade, it feels cool, sweatshirt weather. In the sun, it's short sleeve weather. Gracie lies in the shade, and I sit on the lounge warm in the sun. Every morning when I go out on the deck, the leaves are fuller than they were the day before. I can no longer see three houses down to my friends'. They have disappeared until the late fall. The front flowers are taller, and I see buds on several of them. The irises have a bit of purple. They didn't yesterday. A variety of flowers blooms each day, and I always check my garden when I go to get the papers. Different birds seem to find my feeders. Today it was a junco.
I find the spring amazing. Every new day bursts with life.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
"Now and then we had a hope that if we lived and were good, God would permit us to be pirates."
Summer has come to South Dennis. It was in the 70's yesterday and will be again today. The new leaves on the maple trees glow in the brightness of the morning, and the backyard has bouncing dots of lights from the fairy mirrors hanging from branches. My outside shower is open for business. It's time to buy my herbs and flowers.
When I was little, we'd go to our friends' houses, knock on their doors and ask if they could come out and play. Our summers were filled with adventures on the high seas, in the woods of Sherwood Forest and the plains of the wild west. We played cowboys and Indians, outlaws, pirates and whatever else our imaginations could conjure.
When we played pirates, we used sticks for swords. Tree trunks were our ships and sometimes doubled as planks. We said things like ahoy and matey. We never wore eye patches. We just pretended. We always wanted the other pirates to surrender, to give up their ships. I think we had a mutiny once. Long John Silver was our inspiration.
Tree branches, straight and long and stripped of their leaves, could be about anything. They were staffs like Robin and Little John used on the river bridge. They were rifles to shoot bad guys and came with sound effects. Bang, bang was a repeater. We, who had been shot, died dramatically. We clutched our chests and flayed from side to side before falling. We never went quietly or easily.
We always caught the bad guys. They were no challenge for us. We had dead-eye aim.
When I was little, we'd go to our friends' houses, knock on their doors and ask if they could come out and play. Our summers were filled with adventures on the high seas, in the woods of Sherwood Forest and the plains of the wild west. We played cowboys and Indians, outlaws, pirates and whatever else our imaginations could conjure.
When we played pirates, we used sticks for swords. Tree trunks were our ships and sometimes doubled as planks. We said things like ahoy and matey. We never wore eye patches. We just pretended. We always wanted the other pirates to surrender, to give up their ships. I think we had a mutiny once. Long John Silver was our inspiration.
Tree branches, straight and long and stripped of their leaves, could be about anything. They were staffs like Robin and Little John used on the river bridge. They were rifles to shoot bad guys and came with sound effects. Bang, bang was a repeater. We, who had been shot, died dramatically. We clutched our chests and flayed from side to side before falling. We never went quietly or easily.
We always caught the bad guys. They were no challenge for us. We had dead-eye aim.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
He's Got the Whole World in His Hands: Odetta
The Old Figurehead Carver: Gordon Bok
"There are very few monsters who warrant the fear we have of them."
The weather is absolutely beautiful, sunny and warm. The deck is calling my name. I'll be there shortly.
A bit of a late start this morning as a friend dropped in for coffee. We had to catch up on all the news from the winter when he's in Florida and also reminisce a bit about the old times we shared. He and I have known each other for nearly forty years and had a bit of ground to cover. It boggles my mine sometimes when I realize some of my friendships are older that that and date back over fifty years. I never stopped to realize back then that jump rope, hopscotch and playing dolls were foundations for friendships which would last a lifetime.
I remember trees that stood so tall they seemed to reach the sky. They stood in front of all the houses in the neighborhood where I grew up, and they stood in the small stretches of grass beside the sidewalks. Many were oak and elm. Their graceful branches hung over and shadowed where I walked. They were glorious in summer and spectacular in fall. In winter, the shadows of their branches looked like grasping fingers and hands belonging to monsters from the scary stories we'd heard. We'd run home, not really afraid, just a little scared, even a bit giddy from the creatures our imaginations conjured.
I don't remember being afraid of the world when I was a kid. It never crossed my mind that someone might hurt me. I was taught never to talk to or accept candy from strangers, but I didn't see any strangers, and no one ever approached me unless to ask if I was George's oldest. My dad seemed to know everyone in town. That made the two of us, my brother and me, well-behaved whenever we went up town or into any stores. We never knew who might be watching.
Life was easy going for a little kid in a small town.
A bit of a late start this morning as a friend dropped in for coffee. We had to catch up on all the news from the winter when he's in Florida and also reminisce a bit about the old times we shared. He and I have known each other for nearly forty years and had a bit of ground to cover. It boggles my mine sometimes when I realize some of my friendships are older that that and date back over fifty years. I never stopped to realize back then that jump rope, hopscotch and playing dolls were foundations for friendships which would last a lifetime.
I remember trees that stood so tall they seemed to reach the sky. They stood in front of all the houses in the neighborhood where I grew up, and they stood in the small stretches of grass beside the sidewalks. Many were oak and elm. Their graceful branches hung over and shadowed where I walked. They were glorious in summer and spectacular in fall. In winter, the shadows of their branches looked like grasping fingers and hands belonging to monsters from the scary stories we'd heard. We'd run home, not really afraid, just a little scared, even a bit giddy from the creatures our imaginations conjured.
I don't remember being afraid of the world when I was a kid. It never crossed my mind that someone might hurt me. I was taught never to talk to or accept candy from strangers, but I didn't see any strangers, and no one ever approached me unless to ask if I was George's oldest. My dad seemed to know everyone in town. That made the two of us, my brother and me, well-behaved whenever we went up town or into any stores. We never knew who might be watching.
Life was easy going for a little kid in a small town.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Time: The Pozo-Seco Singers
I Know Where I'm Going: The Highwaymen
"Like all great travellers, I have seen more than I remember, and remember more than I have seen."
The world is much brighter today. The sun has already made an appearance and is expected to stay around all week. Both Thursday and Friday will reach 71 degrees. I foresee deck days.
When I was young, I daydreamed about magic carpet rides, pirate treasure and raft trips on the river. Books brought me worlds away. I knew I would visit the far reaches of the Earth. It was my destiny, a promise made to myself when I was eleven. It was at that age I began to suffer from Barrett's disease, a malady from which I have never been recovered. I named it after Martin, aka Marty, Barrett who was my classmate through the eighth grade. His family went to England every other year, and I quietly oozed envy. In my neighborhood, people mostly went to Maine or New Hampshire. My father had been to Europe, but his trip was compliments of the U.S. Navy in World War II.
The furthest my family and I ever went was Niagara Falls. Canada was my first foreign country. That everyone spoke English was no never mind. We had to cross a border, and that's what stuck in my mind, a border crossing. Every spy novel I ever read had clandestine border crossings in the dead of night. Armed guards always walked the perimeters. Going into Canada, though, was a lot simpler. My dad passed over to the guard our birth certificates. He barely looked at them before he waved us through. I didn't care there were no heated exchanges of gunfire. I was in foreign country number one. My list was started.
When I was young, I daydreamed about magic carpet rides, pirate treasure and raft trips on the river. Books brought me worlds away. I knew I would visit the far reaches of the Earth. It was my destiny, a promise made to myself when I was eleven. It was at that age I began to suffer from Barrett's disease, a malady from which I have never been recovered. I named it after Martin, aka Marty, Barrett who was my classmate through the eighth grade. His family went to England every other year, and I quietly oozed envy. In my neighborhood, people mostly went to Maine or New Hampshire. My father had been to Europe, but his trip was compliments of the U.S. Navy in World War II.
The furthest my family and I ever went was Niagara Falls. Canada was my first foreign country. That everyone spoke English was no never mind. We had to cross a border, and that's what stuck in my mind, a border crossing. Every spy novel I ever read had clandestine border crossings in the dead of night. Armed guards always walked the perimeters. Going into Canada, though, was a lot simpler. My dad passed over to the guard our birth certificates. He barely looked at them before he waved us through. I didn't care there were no heated exchanges of gunfire. I was in foreign country number one. My list was started.
Monday, May 18, 2009
The Rain: The Subdudes
"Happiness is your dentist telling you it won't hurt and then having him catch his hand in the drill."
My feet are covered in moss. They look a bit like Hobbit's feet, only smaller. The moss also seems to be creeping rather rapidly up my legs. I'd shave but the moss would win. It's chilly. The house was only sixty five degrees when I woke up this morning. Tonight is predicted to be in the thirties. If this were winter, I'd be cranking up the heat, but I refuse to have my heat blasting on May 18th.
Squirrels are taking over. From my kitchen window, I saw three of the ravaging beasts on my deck. One was even on the lounge. I ran outside screaming like a mad woman. They scattered, but before I could get into the house, one of them was back with what I swear was a sneer on its face. A bit later I scared them again when I went back outside with my jar of jelly to refill the oriole feeder. Despite the dreary rain, the day brightened when I was rewarded by visits from two orioles at the same time.
Today I get my teeth cleaned. I hate dentists, a feeling leftover from childhood when my father took me to his dentist, the one his parents took him to see. Later, when I was much older, I realized my father's dentist had inspired a movie dentist, the one in The Marathon Man. The office my dad dragged me to had equipment so old I swear that dentist had pedal driven drills. He didn't use Novocaine. My tiny hands would grip the arms of the chair so deeply I'd leave impressions from my fingers. My father always asked afterwards, "That wasn't too bad, was it?" I was in too much pain to answer. Once, after I had to call for an emergency appointment at my dentist's, he said he couldn't find anything wrong. I told him I'd rather have my fingernails ripped from my fingers before I voluntarily came to the dentist for no reason. He looked again and found the problem.
Today is easy. I just sit with my mouth filled with spit while the hygienist chats and cleans. I even get prizes: a new toothbrush the color of my choice and some floss.
Squirrels are taking over. From my kitchen window, I saw three of the ravaging beasts on my deck. One was even on the lounge. I ran outside screaming like a mad woman. They scattered, but before I could get into the house, one of them was back with what I swear was a sneer on its face. A bit later I scared them again when I went back outside with my jar of jelly to refill the oriole feeder. Despite the dreary rain, the day brightened when I was rewarded by visits from two orioles at the same time.
Today I get my teeth cleaned. I hate dentists, a feeling leftover from childhood when my father took me to his dentist, the one his parents took him to see. Later, when I was much older, I realized my father's dentist had inspired a movie dentist, the one in The Marathon Man. The office my dad dragged me to had equipment so old I swear that dentist had pedal driven drills. He didn't use Novocaine. My tiny hands would grip the arms of the chair so deeply I'd leave impressions from my fingers. My father always asked afterwards, "That wasn't too bad, was it?" I was in too much pain to answer. Once, after I had to call for an emergency appointment at my dentist's, he said he couldn't find anything wrong. I told him I'd rather have my fingernails ripped from my fingers before I voluntarily came to the dentist for no reason. He looked again and found the problem.
Today is easy. I just sit with my mouth filled with spit while the hygienist chats and cleans. I even get prizes: a new toothbrush the color of my choice and some floss.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
"Gardening is the art that uses flowers and plants as paint, and the soil and sky as canvas."
Let's see now. How do I describe the weather? Well, I'll just reach back into my sack of adjectives and see what I can find. Gee, it looks like rainy is the winner. What a surprise! Yup, it's another dark, wet day. If I were a character in a horror novel, I'd start to worry. I'd suspect the trees and the grass. They are growing too fast, too high. The plot would have those trees extending their spindly, leafy arms to attack and drag me into the ground. I'd be screaming and clawing as I was being pulled under. I think I'll stay inside today.
My front garden has come to life. Last year's perennials are up and some have flowered. The lilac tree is filled with deep purple clusters. The irises have buds. The lilies of the valley have spread all along the side of the driveway and into the backyard. They originally came from my mother's house, as did the violets. Next week, I'll buy flowers and herbs and fill my gardens.
With all this rain, the cape is lush and bright with shades of color. The leaves vary so much saying green is just not enough. The bushes in the front are yellow green. The backyard trees are pine green. Flower colors too almost defy description. I see orange red tulips and the mahogany of bleeding hearts. I'm living in a box of Crayola crayons.
My front garden has come to life. Last year's perennials are up and some have flowered. The lilac tree is filled with deep purple clusters. The irises have buds. The lilies of the valley have spread all along the side of the driveway and into the backyard. They originally came from my mother's house, as did the violets. Next week, I'll buy flowers and herbs and fill my gardens.
With all this rain, the cape is lush and bright with shades of color. The leaves vary so much saying green is just not enough. The bushes in the front are yellow green. The backyard trees are pine green. Flower colors too almost defy description. I see orange red tulips and the mahogany of bleeding hearts. I'm living in a box of Crayola crayons.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
“A town is saved, not more by the righteous men in it than by the woods and swamps that surround it”
The sun has lulled me into slowing down my morning. I keep going to the deck and surveying the yard. Gracie is romping with her friend Cody who came to visit. The two of them growl and run and chew each others' necks. The birds are busy. I refilled the grape jelly in the oriole feeder. It had melted away during last night's rain. Dots of light flicker around my yard from the hanging tree mirrors. They make me think Tinker Bell and her friends have come to visit. My lawn just got mowed. I watched.
When I was really young, we lived in South Boston in a huge brick apartment building, one of many sandwiched together on the same block. The backyards were paved and filled with rows of fences around clothes lines, one fence section for each building. My memories are sketchy about this time, but I do remember my mother keeping an eye out the kitchen window for space on those lines. I used to play in and among those fences where my mother could watch from the upstairs window. I broke my wrist jumping backwards off the fence gate. I was four. I also remember going across the street to kindergarten. When I close my eyes, I can still see the school. It was right across the street from the back of our building. It was squat and the bottom was covered in ivy. My mother dropped me off, and I cried the whole day. She dropped me off again the next day, and I cried then too. She decided to keep me home after that. I never went back. You didn't have go to kindergarten in those days, and most kids didn't. Shortly after that we moved to the town I've described so often here.
I remember being amazed at the fields, woods and open spaces in our new neighborhood. The first week after we'd moved in my brother and I went exploring. He was four. I was five. Our parents realized we weren't in the yard. They called the police who found us about four blocks away where we were playing by a stream behind some houses. We didn't know we were lost. Not too long after that, my brother and I went exploring again. This time we went in the woods below our house where we found a tree with red berries. We didn't know what they were. I dared my brother to eat them. He did. Later he had to have his stomach pumped. It was an exciting first week.
When I was really young, we lived in South Boston in a huge brick apartment building, one of many sandwiched together on the same block. The backyards were paved and filled with rows of fences around clothes lines, one fence section for each building. My memories are sketchy about this time, but I do remember my mother keeping an eye out the kitchen window for space on those lines. I used to play in and among those fences where my mother could watch from the upstairs window. I broke my wrist jumping backwards off the fence gate. I was four. I also remember going across the street to kindergarten. When I close my eyes, I can still see the school. It was right across the street from the back of our building. It was squat and the bottom was covered in ivy. My mother dropped me off, and I cried the whole day. She dropped me off again the next day, and I cried then too. She decided to keep me home after that. I never went back. You didn't have go to kindergarten in those days, and most kids didn't. Shortly after that we moved to the town I've described so often here.
I remember being amazed at the fields, woods and open spaces in our new neighborhood. The first week after we'd moved in my brother and I went exploring. He was four. I was five. Our parents realized we weren't in the yard. They called the police who found us about four blocks away where we were playing by a stream behind some houses. We didn't know we were lost. Not too long after that, my brother and I went exploring again. This time we went in the woods below our house where we found a tree with red berries. We didn't know what they were. I dared my brother to eat them. He did. Later he had to have his stomach pumped. It was an exciting first week.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Close the Door Lightly When You Go: Eric Andersen
Wild Mountain Thyme: Judy Collins
“The grocery store is the great equalizer where mankind comes to grips with the facts of life like toilet tissue”
Last night was so windy the leaves sounded like the ocean, like the roar of the surf. I listened through my opened bedroom window as I fell asleep. When I awoke this morning, I found it was raining lightly, the sort of rain begging for company, begging for walkers who don't mind getting wet. I went out and fixed a feeder which last night's wind had knocked about. The yard was noisy. The birds were especially vocal. I heard the cooing of the mourning doves and the chatter of the Baltimore Oriole. Its grape jelly will wash away soon so I'll have to refill it when the rain stops. Gracie hasn't been outside since earlier this morning. She is not the sort tempted by a gentle rain.
Yesterday I had to go grocery shopping. The larder was so empty my footsteps echoed. All six of my reusable bags got filled, and the bagger had to use a few plastic ones as well. That seldom happens, but it is late in the month for my shopping so the list was longer. My mother used to shop every week when I was a kid. She had to wait for my father to take her as she didn't get a license until she was in her late 30's. I remember they used to go on Friday nights as my dad reserved Saturday for errands and yard work. We always looked forward to their shopping. It meant we'd have cookies and snacks for a couple of days anyway before we finished them all. My mother always complained about that, but we ignored her. Kids have a talent that way, a gift for hearing without listening.
This was a busy week for me. I was out every day and a couple of nights. Next week my dance card is completely empty.
Yesterday I had to go grocery shopping. The larder was so empty my footsteps echoed. All six of my reusable bags got filled, and the bagger had to use a few plastic ones as well. That seldom happens, but it is late in the month for my shopping so the list was longer. My mother used to shop every week when I was a kid. She had to wait for my father to take her as she didn't get a license until she was in her late 30's. I remember they used to go on Friday nights as my dad reserved Saturday for errands and yard work. We always looked forward to their shopping. It meant we'd have cookies and snacks for a couple of days anyway before we finished them all. My mother always complained about that, but we ignored her. Kids have a talent that way, a gift for hearing without listening.
This was a busy week for me. I was out every day and a couple of nights. Next week my dance card is completely empty.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Stewball: Peter, Paul and Mary
Los Dos: Bud and Travis
Travis Edmonson, who brought a Mexican flavor to the fertile San Francisco folk music scene of the 1950s and who, with the duo Bud and Travis, influenced Bay Area groups that lasted longer and became better known, died Saturday in Mesa, Ariz. He was 76.
In 1958, Mr. Edmonson and another guitarist and singer, Bud Dashiell, formed the duo Bud and Travis. Over the next seven years they recorded eight albums and played innumerable concerts and club dates, and their musical virtuosity and seemingly effortless comedic teamwork — not to mention their telegenic looks — earned them appearances on television variety shows and even comedy series like “The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet.”
In performance, what distinguished Bud and Travis more than anything was Mr. Edmonson’s passion for mariachi and the other Mexican musical traditions that he had absorbed as a boy in Arizona. Many Latin numbers — “La Bamba,” for example — were part of the Bud and Travis repertory.
The two would sing together until 1965 and would record ten albums. Their debut album was released in 1959 on Liberty Records. They sang a mixture of folk, calypso, show tunes and authentic Spanish music. They would later release an all Latin album, their last album together, with not only boleros but also serenatas, guajiras and juapengos. After the two broke up, there were no reunions and very little contact. Both went on to solo careers. Bud died in 1989.
MP3 File
yousendit
In 1958, Mr. Edmonson and another guitarist and singer, Bud Dashiell, formed the duo Bud and Travis. Over the next seven years they recorded eight albums and played innumerable concerts and club dates, and their musical virtuosity and seemingly effortless comedic teamwork — not to mention their telegenic looks — earned them appearances on television variety shows and even comedy series like “The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet.”
In performance, what distinguished Bud and Travis more than anything was Mr. Edmonson’s passion for mariachi and the other Mexican musical traditions that he had absorbed as a boy in Arizona. Many Latin numbers — “La Bamba,” for example — were part of the Bud and Travis repertory.
The two would sing together until 1965 and would record ten albums. Their debut album was released in 1959 on Liberty Records. They sang a mixture of folk, calypso, show tunes and authentic Spanish music. They would later release an all Latin album, their last album together, with not only boleros but also serenatas, guajiras and juapengos. After the two broke up, there were no reunions and very little contact. Both went on to solo careers. Bud died in 1989.
MP3 File
yousendit
“Memory is the greatest of artists, and effaces from your mind what is unnecessary.”
Yesterday a hummingbird visited my deck. It checked the oriole feeder for sugar water and found none. I sprang into action, pulled the hummingbird feeder out of storage, filled it with sugar water then hung it from the tree branch. I hope that bird comes back to dine.
Though the sun is shining, it's chilly. I guess I should be happy. It's better than being cold and brings hope the weather may get warmer. Yesterday I sat out in the sun on the deck for a bit. I closed my eyes and let the warmth fill me. The chickadees never mind me being there. The goldfinches do.
The last two days I took you with me back to my childhood. Come to find out, it was all our childhoods, all our shared memories and experiences. The names of the places differed, but the places themselves were the same. I dredged a few more for this morning, a few more random memories.
We rode our bikes all over our towns. Mine was a girl's bike with clunky fenders and shiny silver handlebars. It had a basket on the front. When I went over a bump, whatever was in the basket flew up and down and sometimes fell out. The bike had one speed, pedal power. I had to stand to pedal when going uphill. I felt so accomplished when I learned to balance and ride without using my hands. This time of year I got to ride my bike to school.
We played in the woods where trees were forts and huts. I went blueberry picking and grasshopper hunting. I remember when my brother and I tried to ride the horses in the pasture near our house. Luckily for us, they ran. During the summer, lightning bugs flitted all over the field below my house. It was like a mini Fourth of July. We caught them in jars with holes in the covers and then let them go later. The time we watched the praying mantis is still a favorite memory. It was the first time I'd seen one, and I thought it magnificent.
On hot summer nights, we slept in the backyard and fell asleep looking at the stars. I remember lights shining from my neighbors' houses and the sounds of their muted voices drifting out of screened windows.
We'd plan to be gone all day and pack a lunch to take with us. It was always a sandwich and some cookies and maybe an apple. We'd follow the railroad tracks or walk to the zoo which was miles from our house. My brother often walked to the next town to fish at Horn Pond.
In my memory, my childhood was idyllic. I figure all the rough spots got smoothed over time. I'm okay with that.
Though the sun is shining, it's chilly. I guess I should be happy. It's better than being cold and brings hope the weather may get warmer. Yesterday I sat out in the sun on the deck for a bit. I closed my eyes and let the warmth fill me. The chickadees never mind me being there. The goldfinches do.
The last two days I took you with me back to my childhood. Come to find out, it was all our childhoods, all our shared memories and experiences. The names of the places differed, but the places themselves were the same. I dredged a few more for this morning, a few more random memories.
We rode our bikes all over our towns. Mine was a girl's bike with clunky fenders and shiny silver handlebars. It had a basket on the front. When I went over a bump, whatever was in the basket flew up and down and sometimes fell out. The bike had one speed, pedal power. I had to stand to pedal when going uphill. I felt so accomplished when I learned to balance and ride without using my hands. This time of year I got to ride my bike to school.
We played in the woods where trees were forts and huts. I went blueberry picking and grasshopper hunting. I remember when my brother and I tried to ride the horses in the pasture near our house. Luckily for us, they ran. During the summer, lightning bugs flitted all over the field below my house. It was like a mini Fourth of July. We caught them in jars with holes in the covers and then let them go later. The time we watched the praying mantis is still a favorite memory. It was the first time I'd seen one, and I thought it magnificent.
On hot summer nights, we slept in the backyard and fell asleep looking at the stars. I remember lights shining from my neighbors' houses and the sounds of their muted voices drifting out of screened windows.
We'd plan to be gone all day and pack a lunch to take with us. It was always a sandwich and some cookies and maybe an apple. We'd follow the railroad tracks or walk to the zoo which was miles from our house. My brother often walked to the next town to fish at Horn Pond.
In my memory, my childhood was idyllic. I figure all the rough spots got smoothed over time. I'm okay with that.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
The Brisk Butcher: Tim Hart and Maddy Prior
Sad Memory: Buffalo Springfield
"We could never have loved the earth so well if we had had no childhood in it."
Writing about the drive-in yesterday made me nostalgic. I started to think about my childhood and all the places I used to go, places that just aren't there any more, places which now exist only in memories. The soda fountain at the Middlesex Drug Store was my favorite. It was almost the whole length of one side of the store. The counter was marble. On it were round silver containers for straws and square ones for napkins. Behind it, on the wall opposite the stools, was a huge mirror. Everything the soda jerk needed was close at hand. I'd give him my order and he'd get to work. He'd make my vanilla coke with a squirt of vanilla then add soda and coke syrup. A sundae order meant he'd scoop the ice cream then ladle the topping from silver containers beside the counter. The hot fudge was kept warm in its own spot. I alternated between whipped cream and marshmallow. I never wanted nuts. The drugstore had walls with wood wainscoting, and the pharmacists always wore stiff white coats.
Hank's Bakery just recently closed. It had been in the same spot so long my mother worked there during high school. I remember the huge ball of white string which was on a spool attached to the wall. They'd box the pastries then string the box. It took only seconds, and their fingers went so fast they seemed to whirl. When you ordered a loaf a bread, they used a machine to cut it into slices. Most of the store was taken up with wooden pastry cases. I remember the lemon cupcakes with the open tops and the black and white cookies. Hank's always had the most divine smell, but it was always hot inside, especially in the summer.
The pet store wasn't too far from my grammar school and was right beside the sub shop. In the window were chameleons who climbed brown branches and hid in leaves in enclosed glass cases. I liked to watch them change colors. The shop sold fish, snakes, mice, Guinea pigs and hamsters. It always smelled bad. I used to go inside to look: the owner was patient. Only once did I buy anything. It was my very own chameleon. My mother wasn't thrilled. I did the best I could, but it just didn't last very long. I buried my chameleon in the same woods where we buried our turtle.
I collect picture postcards of the square. The old buildings have been there since the 1800's. Their owners and identities keep changing, but they all look the same, their bones perfectly preserved. My square is on a postcard from the late 1950's.
Hank's Bakery just recently closed. It had been in the same spot so long my mother worked there during high school. I remember the huge ball of white string which was on a spool attached to the wall. They'd box the pastries then string the box. It took only seconds, and their fingers went so fast they seemed to whirl. When you ordered a loaf a bread, they used a machine to cut it into slices. Most of the store was taken up with wooden pastry cases. I remember the lemon cupcakes with the open tops and the black and white cookies. Hank's always had the most divine smell, but it was always hot inside, especially in the summer.
The pet store wasn't too far from my grammar school and was right beside the sub shop. In the window were chameleons who climbed brown branches and hid in leaves in enclosed glass cases. I liked to watch them change colors. The shop sold fish, snakes, mice, Guinea pigs and hamsters. It always smelled bad. I used to go inside to look: the owner was patient. Only once did I buy anything. It was my very own chameleon. My mother wasn't thrilled. I did the best I could, but it just didn't last very long. I buried my chameleon in the same woods where we buried our turtle.
I collect picture postcards of the square. The old buildings have been there since the 1800's. Their owners and identities keep changing, but they all look the same, their bones perfectly preserved. My square is on a postcard from the late 1950's.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Falling Down Blues: Ramblin' Jack Elliott
"The movie's over. It's four o'clock And we're in trouble, deep."
This time of year, in the morning, the house is always colder than the outside air. When I open the front door, the sunshine quickly warms that part of the house, but the back of the house, where I am now, keeps a chill. It won't warm until afternoon. Both cats are lying in the sun on the mat by the front door. Gracie is in the way back of the yard sprawled in the sunshine. I'm the only one who's cold. I wonder, then, which of us is the dumbest animal?
We still have a drive-in movie in Wellfleet. It shows two films and the first, as is traditional, is for kids. When I was little, my parents took us often to the drive-in. It was in Burlington, a short trip up Route 128, and was a left off the exit where they sold tractors and backhoes. Back then you paid by the car load so it was an affordable evening for a big family. We brought our own popcorn, candy and drinks. We also brought pillows and blankets.
When I was in high school, we moved to the Cape. It had been a long time since family movie night at the drive-in. I had grown too old to sit in the backseat behind my parents; instead, I went to the drive-in with my friends. Back then, we had two drive-in theaters close to us. One was in South Yarmouth, and it was the bigger one. The back of the parking lot had an ocean view. We sometimes hid in the trunk so we didn't have to pay. That was tricky as attendants wandered the lot looking for scofflaws. We had to time our appearance perfectly. The other drive-in was in Dennis, and it was in the boondocks. The theater was small and surrounded by trees. Bugs attacked unmercifully. We'd spray ourselves and the car before we got there which made watching the movie tolerable.
When I was an adult, I still went to one or the other of these theaters. Our refreshments, by then, had changed a bit. We brought wine or alcoholic drinks in a thermos, crackers, cheese, chips and a dip. We brought comfy chairs and often sat outside the car to watch the films. It was a fun evening.
Both those theaters were victims of the great Cape land boom of the late 1970's. One became part of a farm but has since been overgrown, taken over by the woods which once bordered it. The other remains a huge empty lot. I miss both of them.
I hope families still load up on popcorn and bug juice, dress their kids in pajamas, drive down Cape to Wellfleet and watch a couple of movies together. I figure sitting in a car together for so long is a great family event.
We still have a drive-in movie in Wellfleet. It shows two films and the first, as is traditional, is for kids. When I was little, my parents took us often to the drive-in. It was in Burlington, a short trip up Route 128, and was a left off the exit where they sold tractors and backhoes. Back then you paid by the car load so it was an affordable evening for a big family. We brought our own popcorn, candy and drinks. We also brought pillows and blankets.
When I was in high school, we moved to the Cape. It had been a long time since family movie night at the drive-in. I had grown too old to sit in the backseat behind my parents; instead, I went to the drive-in with my friends. Back then, we had two drive-in theaters close to us. One was in South Yarmouth, and it was the bigger one. The back of the parking lot had an ocean view. We sometimes hid in the trunk so we didn't have to pay. That was tricky as attendants wandered the lot looking for scofflaws. We had to time our appearance perfectly. The other drive-in was in Dennis, and it was in the boondocks. The theater was small and surrounded by trees. Bugs attacked unmercifully. We'd spray ourselves and the car before we got there which made watching the movie tolerable.
When I was an adult, I still went to one or the other of these theaters. Our refreshments, by then, had changed a bit. We brought wine or alcoholic drinks in a thermos, crackers, cheese, chips and a dip. We brought comfy chairs and often sat outside the car to watch the films. It was a fun evening.
Both those theaters were victims of the great Cape land boom of the late 1970's. One became part of a farm but has since been overgrown, taken over by the woods which once bordered it. The other remains a huge empty lot. I miss both of them.
I hope families still load up on popcorn and bug juice, dress their kids in pajamas, drive down Cape to Wellfleet and watch a couple of movies together. I figure sitting in a car together for so long is a great family event.
Monday, May 11, 2009
“It wasn't that no one asked me to the prom, it was that no one would tell me where it was”
Two days in a row of sun are spoiling me. I may expect this every day. It is, however, a bit chilly but that is to be expected for a little while yet. The leaves on the trees in the backyard have started to hide my house, and the deck will soon be lost from sight. No longer are my friends able to see it from theirs at the end of the street. My outside world grows greener and more beautiful every day.
I am addicted to The Amazing Race. Every season I am glued to the TV on Sunday nights to see where the teams are going and what they will be forced to endure. This season, for one of their tasks, they ate deep fried insects and star fish. One person got sick; others just crunched through the task. Every time I watch this program, I dream about designing an Amazing Race for my family and friends. It would be short on physical tasks. We are too old. Rowing a boat or pedaling a bike would be the most exertion though repelling down a wall might just get thrown in there. Eating disgusting things would be expected. My teams would learn traditional dances and songs and perform local customs. Their rest periods would be long enough so they could recharge. I'd be Phil, well rested and waiting on the mat to greet the teams.
The other night I went to see the girl I used to tutor leave for her senior prom. She was beautiful. I was reminded of a long time ago and mine. It was at the Chatham Bars Inn which is pretty darn ritzy now. Back then, it was one of the few places large enough for a prom. My mother made my dress. We just couldn't find one. I'm glad we didn't because my dress was absolutely beautiful. It was a lilac color with brocade at the top. On the big day, I got my hair done at the beauty parlor. It was a ritual back then. My hair had a sixties flip and room on top for a tiara. I wore a bunny fur, a white stole, over my dress. My date wore a white tux as did most of the other guys. The night of the prom it poured. We went in through the closest door which ended up being the kitchen, and we walked around stoves and people preparing dinner. I don't remember much about the prom itself. We danced, we ate and we socialized.
We were invited to a friend's house for after prom. I had permission to come home whenever. My friend's mother had organized a scavenger hunt with clues. We had to figure out where to go to get our next task. We were all over town, and it was great fun. After that we ate and laughed and most of us fell asleep around three. We woke up in time to see the sun rise. It was a glorious evening capped by a lovely morning.
I am addicted to The Amazing Race. Every season I am glued to the TV on Sunday nights to see where the teams are going and what they will be forced to endure. This season, for one of their tasks, they ate deep fried insects and star fish. One person got sick; others just crunched through the task. Every time I watch this program, I dream about designing an Amazing Race for my family and friends. It would be short on physical tasks. We are too old. Rowing a boat or pedaling a bike would be the most exertion though repelling down a wall might just get thrown in there. Eating disgusting things would be expected. My teams would learn traditional dances and songs and perform local customs. Their rest periods would be long enough so they could recharge. I'd be Phil, well rested and waiting on the mat to greet the teams.
The other night I went to see the girl I used to tutor leave for her senior prom. She was beautiful. I was reminded of a long time ago and mine. It was at the Chatham Bars Inn which is pretty darn ritzy now. Back then, it was one of the few places large enough for a prom. My mother made my dress. We just couldn't find one. I'm glad we didn't because my dress was absolutely beautiful. It was a lilac color with brocade at the top. On the big day, I got my hair done at the beauty parlor. It was a ritual back then. My hair had a sixties flip and room on top for a tiara. I wore a bunny fur, a white stole, over my dress. My date wore a white tux as did most of the other guys. The night of the prom it poured. We went in through the closest door which ended up being the kitchen, and we walked around stoves and people preparing dinner. I don't remember much about the prom itself. We danced, we ate and we socialized.
We were invited to a friend's house for after prom. I had permission to come home whenever. My friend's mother had organized a scavenger hunt with clues. We had to figure out where to go to get our next task. We were all over town, and it was great fun. After that we ate and laughed and most of us fell asleep around three. We woke up in time to see the sun rise. It was a glorious evening capped by a lovely morning.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
"If the whole world were put into one scale, and my mother in the other, the whole world would kick the beam."
The day is already amazing. It's sunny and warm, and the birds are singing for all they're worth. A male cardinal and a pair of Baltimore orioles were at the feeders this morning. The orioles were enjoying their grape jelly. I was enjoying their visit.
Every year I post this same entry about my mother. I figure I have thousands more memories, but these will give you a hint how neat my mother was. She was one of a kind though I suspect we all believe that about our moms.
She favored the standards and was a Sinatra, Tony Bennett and Johnny Mathis fan. A line in a conversation or on television prompted her to burst into song. She loved to do crossword puzzles. There were always books of them around the house, and I used to try and fill in some of the spaces. My mother loved crime: before, during and after. She watched every crime program and loved Law and Order. One program was a repeat we had both seen so many times I'd call her at the beginning of the first scene and say gypsy cab. She knew exactly what I meant. We always chuckled a bit at this shared memory. She watched all those TV judges because they made her laugh. Disasters too were tops on her list of must see programs. She watched just about every tornado touch down and hurricanes wreak havoc up and down the coast. We used to play games and games of Big Boggle at the kitchen table. She would hum to distract me. My mother loved Christmas and always found just the right presents. Our stockings were the stuff of legends. She'd buy a new ornament or decoration and comment every time that it was the last one she'd buy then she'd find another. She was generous. She spent weeks here when I was ill. That's what mothers do I was told. She took the whole family on a cruise through the Panama Canal. The laugh was if we'd misplaced her, check the slots. She and I played Jeopardy every night on the phone. Our last trip together was when she, my sister and I flew to Colorado as a surprise for my other sister's fiftieth birthday. We had the best time.
I thank my mother for showing me what generosity is, for the kindness of her heart, for her sense of humor, her love of fun and her joy of living. I thank my mother for all she taught me, all she gave me and for her endless love.
Happy Mother's Day!
Every year I post this same entry about my mother. I figure I have thousands more memories, but these will give you a hint how neat my mother was. She was one of a kind though I suspect we all believe that about our moms.
She favored the standards and was a Sinatra, Tony Bennett and Johnny Mathis fan. A line in a conversation or on television prompted her to burst into song. She loved to do crossword puzzles. There were always books of them around the house, and I used to try and fill in some of the spaces. My mother loved crime: before, during and after. She watched every crime program and loved Law and Order. One program was a repeat we had both seen so many times I'd call her at the beginning of the first scene and say gypsy cab. She knew exactly what I meant. We always chuckled a bit at this shared memory. She watched all those TV judges because they made her laugh. Disasters too were tops on her list of must see programs. She watched just about every tornado touch down and hurricanes wreak havoc up and down the coast. We used to play games and games of Big Boggle at the kitchen table. She would hum to distract me. My mother loved Christmas and always found just the right presents. Our stockings were the stuff of legends. She'd buy a new ornament or decoration and comment every time that it was the last one she'd buy then she'd find another. She was generous. She spent weeks here when I was ill. That's what mothers do I was told. She took the whole family on a cruise through the Panama Canal. The laugh was if we'd misplaced her, check the slots. She and I played Jeopardy every night on the phone. Our last trip together was when she, my sister and I flew to Colorado as a surprise for my other sister's fiftieth birthday. We had the best time.
I thank my mother for showing me what generosity is, for the kindness of her heart, for her sense of humor, her love of fun and her joy of living. I thank my mother for all she taught me, all she gave me and for her endless love.
Happy Mother's Day!
Saturday, May 09, 2009
Let the Jukebox Keep On Playing: Carl Perkins
"Spring rain leaking through the roof dripping from the wasps' nest."
It's raining again. I awoke to the sounds of drops falling on the deck, and the sky is that familiar gray. It's only a shower so I'm hopeful.
Yesterday I went to see Star Trek. Yes, it's true: I have been a fan since the original series though I refuse any label. My sister, also a fan, went to see the movie near where she lives and even wore her Star Trek earrings. Afterwards, we talked and compared notes. We both agreed the movie was amazing.
One of my fondest Star Trek memories is when my sister and I dragged our mother to a couple of Star Trek conventions. We joked with her for years and called her a Trekkie. My mother, however, didn't remember much about either convention. Each was a blur to her. She only remembered going out to eat at a fancy brunch buffet after the first one. I admit the brunch was wonderful, but I can't believe she actually forgot Maria Sirtis!
Today is a lazy day. I let the working world have it for their errands. Mine can be done any day. Later, though, Gracie and I will pick up a case of food for her as she is down to one can. She loves that she is allowed into the store, and they all greet her by name. Gracie shops, and I have to take back what she finds, usually treats down far too low and far too tempting for a dog.
Yesterday my world was abuzz. All the neighbors were drawn outside by the sunshine. This morning, the street is empty, quiet. Even my animals aren't stirring. All three of them are asleep in their favorite spots. I have kept this room dark. The monitor provides the only light. I find comfort in the darkness a rain brings. I remember snuggling under covers and reading. I remember listening to the rain on the windows of my room. I remember feeling safe and warm.
Yesterday I went to see Star Trek. Yes, it's true: I have been a fan since the original series though I refuse any label. My sister, also a fan, went to see the movie near where she lives and even wore her Star Trek earrings. Afterwards, we talked and compared notes. We both agreed the movie was amazing.
One of my fondest Star Trek memories is when my sister and I dragged our mother to a couple of Star Trek conventions. We joked with her for years and called her a Trekkie. My mother, however, didn't remember much about either convention. Each was a blur to her. She only remembered going out to eat at a fancy brunch buffet after the first one. I admit the brunch was wonderful, but I can't believe she actually forgot Maria Sirtis!
Today is a lazy day. I let the working world have it for their errands. Mine can be done any day. Later, though, Gracie and I will pick up a case of food for her as she is down to one can. She loves that she is allowed into the store, and they all greet her by name. Gracie shops, and I have to take back what she finds, usually treats down far too low and far too tempting for a dog.
Yesterday my world was abuzz. All the neighbors were drawn outside by the sunshine. This morning, the street is empty, quiet. Even my animals aren't stirring. All three of them are asleep in their favorite spots. I have kept this room dark. The monitor provides the only light. I find comfort in the darkness a rain brings. I remember snuggling under covers and reading. I remember listening to the rain on the windows of my room. I remember feeling safe and warm.
Friday, May 08, 2009
"Horticulturally, the month of May is opening night, Homecoming, and Graduation Day all rolled into one."
My world is filled with sights and sounds and smells. I woke to sunshine and blue skies. When I went to get the papers, I had to squint from the brightness of the morning. My feeders are a flurry of activity as birds fly in and out. Some wait their turns on the branches and sing for their suppers. The sweet smell of fresh mown grass fills the air. My neighbor is watering her lawn. My other neighbor is weeding his front garden. Gracie hasn't been inside all morning. She is lying in the sun. I'm in short sleeves. My sweatshirt is put away for a bit. Today is a beautiful day.
I've already been out doing errands. The lethargy from days of rain has disappeared. The sunshine has given me a burst of energy.
Nothing was worse than being stuck inside for days at a time, especially in winter, when I was a kid. We drove my mother crazy whining as we did about having nothing to do. Games paled after playing them repeatedly. I'm still not crazy about Monopoly. Teasing one another until somebody ended up crying, usually my youngest sister, our favorite target, was one of our fallback activities. My mother always yelled. We pleaded innocence. She never believed us.
In the warmer months, rain never stopped us. We went outside anyway, usually barefooted. We'd set paper boats and leaves racing down the gutters and watch them get sucked into the sewer grate. We'd slide down grassy hills. Puddles were the most fun. We'd stomp water at each and on ourselves until we were totally soaked.
Despite the last six days, I am still a lover of rain because of those summers way back when.
I've already been out doing errands. The lethargy from days of rain has disappeared. The sunshine has given me a burst of energy.
Nothing was worse than being stuck inside for days at a time, especially in winter, when I was a kid. We drove my mother crazy whining as we did about having nothing to do. Games paled after playing them repeatedly. I'm still not crazy about Monopoly. Teasing one another until somebody ended up crying, usually my youngest sister, our favorite target, was one of our fallback activities. My mother always yelled. We pleaded innocence. She never believed us.
In the warmer months, rain never stopped us. We went outside anyway, usually barefooted. We'd set paper boats and leaves racing down the gutters and watch them get sucked into the sewer grate. We'd slide down grassy hills. Puddles were the most fun. We'd stomp water at each and on ourselves until we were totally soaked.
Despite the last six days, I am still a lover of rain because of those summers way back when.
Thursday, May 07, 2009
“I'm not going to buy my kids an encyclopedia. Let them walk to school like I did.”
Dear Diary,
Today is day six of the storm. My husband was right about my getting sea legs. I am no longer sick and can wander the boat without needing to run for the side. The problem now is the stench. Those animals are disgusting. We are smack dab in the middle of an ever rising sea so they don't get new bedding. How Noah can stand it amazes me. I gag every time the wind is in my direction. I am having trouble sleeping at night because of the noises from the nocturnals. During the day, no naps either as the rest of the beasts are bellowing, roaring, growling, lowing, droning or tweeting. I count off the days on the wall beside my hammock. Noah will owe me for this one.
An exaggeration? No it isn't. Today is day six of rain. Yesterday the sun came out for a while, and I ran to the deck for a bit of light hoping to replenish my spirit. I refilled the bird feeders and sat for a while watching Gracie. We did go the dump, and she was thrilled. My antique store was closed, and she was thrilled again.
Outside one classroom of my grammar school was a driveway which led to the back lot. On the other side of the driveway were houses separated from the school by a fence. The back door of the school led to that driveway. We seldom used that door as the nuns herded us in and out the front door. Once in a while, we'd escape from the pack and go out that back door. It was always shaded and dark on that side of the school. Branches overhung the road. I use to wonder how those people stood all the noise before and after school and during recess.
We had a million subjects in grammar school including the standard English, history and arithmetic. We also had reading and geography, penmanship and religion, spelling, art, music and science. Our reading books were the same series from grade to grade. The stories just got a little more complicated and the words got bigger. We were graded on oral and silent reading. I guess if your lips moved you didn't get a good grade in silent reading.
The front of our report cards had our academic grades. On the backs were what were called Personality Records. We were judged on obedience, courtesy, working well with others, taking care of property and the old stand-bys: does careful work, finishes work on time and puts forth best effort. I swear every kid heard from parents at some time or another that the grade wasn't as important as the effort. Always try your best, and we'll be happy was what we all heard. I, for one, never really really wanted to test that. I was skeptical. In grades one and two, we were satisfactory, unsatisfactory or improved. In the first grade I got a no on best effort third quarter even though all my grades were satisfactory. I never understood that one, but I still got the you need to try your best lecture anyway. Next quarter I was improved.
Today is day six of the storm. My husband was right about my getting sea legs. I am no longer sick and can wander the boat without needing to run for the side. The problem now is the stench. Those animals are disgusting. We are smack dab in the middle of an ever rising sea so they don't get new bedding. How Noah can stand it amazes me. I gag every time the wind is in my direction. I am having trouble sleeping at night because of the noises from the nocturnals. During the day, no naps either as the rest of the beasts are bellowing, roaring, growling, lowing, droning or tweeting. I count off the days on the wall beside my hammock. Noah will owe me for this one.
An exaggeration? No it isn't. Today is day six of rain. Yesterday the sun came out for a while, and I ran to the deck for a bit of light hoping to replenish my spirit. I refilled the bird feeders and sat for a while watching Gracie. We did go the dump, and she was thrilled. My antique store was closed, and she was thrilled again.
Outside one classroom of my grammar school was a driveway which led to the back lot. On the other side of the driveway were houses separated from the school by a fence. The back door of the school led to that driveway. We seldom used that door as the nuns herded us in and out the front door. Once in a while, we'd escape from the pack and go out that back door. It was always shaded and dark on that side of the school. Branches overhung the road. I use to wonder how those people stood all the noise before and after school and during recess.
We had a million subjects in grammar school including the standard English, history and arithmetic. We also had reading and geography, penmanship and religion, spelling, art, music and science. Our reading books were the same series from grade to grade. The stories just got a little more complicated and the words got bigger. We were graded on oral and silent reading. I guess if your lips moved you didn't get a good grade in silent reading.
The front of our report cards had our academic grades. On the backs were what were called Personality Records. We were judged on obedience, courtesy, working well with others, taking care of property and the old stand-bys: does careful work, finishes work on time and puts forth best effort. I swear every kid heard from parents at some time or another that the grade wasn't as important as the effort. Always try your best, and we'll be happy was what we all heard. I, for one, never really really wanted to test that. I was skeptical. In grades one and two, we were satisfactory, unsatisfactory or improved. In the first grade I got a no on best effort third quarter even though all my grades were satisfactory. I never understood that one, but I still got the you need to try your best lecture anyway. Next quarter I was improved.
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
Please Come to Boston: David Allen Coe
"And this is good old Boston, The home of the bean and the cod, Where the Lowells talk to the Cabots, And the Cabots talk only to God."
The weather hasn't changed since Saturday. If you stand still too long outside, vines grow up your legs then cover you completely. I thought my neighbors had landscaped their yard, but now I'm suspicious of the two new bushes. I'm beginning to think I'm a character in the first chapter of a science fiction novel about the weather gone amok and mankind again facing oblivion.
Today my dance card is pretty empty. Gracie and I are going to the dump. She loves it. I don't. After that I'm going to an antique store I like to visit periodically. I love it. Gracie doesn't. She has to wait in the car. I'm not at all sympathetic.
I remember I was in the seventh grade the first time I went to Boston with my friends, without an adult. We took the bus to Sullivan Square then the subway into the city. We roamed all over looking at historic sites and wandering through the stalls at Haymarket. It was the beginning of my love affair with Boston.
In the North End, I saw rabbits hanging in the butcher shops. In Chinatown, it was ducks hanging in the windows. They were my first introduction to the different foods people eat. They were the beginnings of my adventures in eating all the foods I encounter in my travels. I have eaten rabbit and reindeer and Icelandic game. In African I had goat and bush meat and have no idea what else. Throughout South America I don't know what some of the stuff was I ate. I just pointed and ordered. It tasted good. That's all I remember.
I meander through the different neighborhoods. Every few years I still do the North End, Paul Revere's house and the Old North Church. I love the museums and am a member of the MFA. It was the Egyptian room with its sarcophagi that hooked me when I was young. It's still one of the rooms I visit, but the sarcophagi aren't anywhere as tall as I remember. My dad took my brother and me to the old Boston Garden for the Roy Rogers' Rodeo. We were in the front row. I was excited to see Roy, one of my heroes. He was so close as he rode by on Trigger I could have touched him. One of our school field trips was to the Museum of Science. We had a list of questions and had to search all over until we found the answers. Being kids, we figured our way around that and divided the questions. Later we met up and shared the answers. That gave me a chance to see all my favorite parts of the museum. The human body exhibit and the live owl show were the ones I remember the most.
Boston is still my favorite city, a choice fueled by all these memories and adventures.
Today my dance card is pretty empty. Gracie and I are going to the dump. She loves it. I don't. After that I'm going to an antique store I like to visit periodically. I love it. Gracie doesn't. She has to wait in the car. I'm not at all sympathetic.
I remember I was in the seventh grade the first time I went to Boston with my friends, without an adult. We took the bus to Sullivan Square then the subway into the city. We roamed all over looking at historic sites and wandering through the stalls at Haymarket. It was the beginning of my love affair with Boston.
In the North End, I saw rabbits hanging in the butcher shops. In Chinatown, it was ducks hanging in the windows. They were my first introduction to the different foods people eat. They were the beginnings of my adventures in eating all the foods I encounter in my travels. I have eaten rabbit and reindeer and Icelandic game. In African I had goat and bush meat and have no idea what else. Throughout South America I don't know what some of the stuff was I ate. I just pointed and ordered. It tasted good. That's all I remember.
I meander through the different neighborhoods. Every few years I still do the North End, Paul Revere's house and the Old North Church. I love the museums and am a member of the MFA. It was the Egyptian room with its sarcophagi that hooked me when I was young. It's still one of the rooms I visit, but the sarcophagi aren't anywhere as tall as I remember. My dad took my brother and me to the old Boston Garden for the Roy Rogers' Rodeo. We were in the front row. I was excited to see Roy, one of my heroes. He was so close as he rode by on Trigger I could have touched him. One of our school field trips was to the Museum of Science. We had a list of questions and had to search all over until we found the answers. Being kids, we figured our way around that and divided the questions. Later we met up and shared the answers. That gave me a chance to see all my favorite parts of the museum. The human body exhibit and the live owl show were the ones I remember the most.
Boston is still my favorite city, a choice fueled by all these memories and adventures.
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
Child of Mine: Bill Staines
"In childhood, we press our nose to the pane, looking out. In memories of childhood, we press our nose to the pane, looking in."
Sorry about the lateness of the posting, but I was up until after one watching baseball so I slept in this morning. It is rainy day four which is probably another reason I slumbered so deeply, no incentive to be up, out and about. I do have a list which will get me out of the house later.
My nephew has an almost three year old son, and my sister is enamored by her grandson. She is amazed at his vocabulary and what he knows and can do. Yesterday he told her everything was perfect. He knows the difference between real and pretend. He can turn on the TV and DVD player, load the movie and then watch his favorites. His day to day world is filled technology which he takes for granted. He is building his memories now. I hope he will have the same affection for his as I do for mine.
My childhood is so vivid I describe it to you all the time. TV was amazing even in black and white. Heroes always won. They never shot to kill, just disarm. I don't think I ever saw blood on TV in those early days. I knew a black hat meant a bad guy because good guys always wore white, and in every fight, their hats stayed on their heads through all those punches and falls. TV watching was restricted to late weekday afternoons mostly because early television didn't broadcast much during the day. Saturday mornings came later. I was always in the house in time for Superman and The Mickey Mouse Club. Before then I was outside playing and getting rid of all that pent up energy sitting at a desk caused.
None of our toys moved unless we moved them. Battery toys were in the future. My brother made motor sounds when he moved his cars. My doll did say mommy when you tipped it but only then. It looked like a baby and had no anatomical features. I had a doll house, and I named every member of the family, rearranged the furniture and made up adventures for them. I even used different voices for the different family members. My brother had a fort, a Rin Tin Tin sort of fort, and he moved his men and horses and fought Indians. His imagination drove the story.
I suspect each generation thinks their growing up was the best of all. My mother recounted stories of her childhood, and her voice was always filled with affection for those memories. You know how I feel about mine. I think Ryder will be telling his children about the good old days, his time, his good old days. His kids will think their father was the luckiest of all to grow up in the best of times.
My nephew has an almost three year old son, and my sister is enamored by her grandson. She is amazed at his vocabulary and what he knows and can do. Yesterday he told her everything was perfect. He knows the difference between real and pretend. He can turn on the TV and DVD player, load the movie and then watch his favorites. His day to day world is filled technology which he takes for granted. He is building his memories now. I hope he will have the same affection for his as I do for mine.
My childhood is so vivid I describe it to you all the time. TV was amazing even in black and white. Heroes always won. They never shot to kill, just disarm. I don't think I ever saw blood on TV in those early days. I knew a black hat meant a bad guy because good guys always wore white, and in every fight, their hats stayed on their heads through all those punches and falls. TV watching was restricted to late weekday afternoons mostly because early television didn't broadcast much during the day. Saturday mornings came later. I was always in the house in time for Superman and The Mickey Mouse Club. Before then I was outside playing and getting rid of all that pent up energy sitting at a desk caused.
None of our toys moved unless we moved them. Battery toys were in the future. My brother made motor sounds when he moved his cars. My doll did say mommy when you tipped it but only then. It looked like a baby and had no anatomical features. I had a doll house, and I named every member of the family, rearranged the furniture and made up adventures for them. I even used different voices for the different family members. My brother had a fort, a Rin Tin Tin sort of fort, and he moved his men and horses and fought Indians. His imagination drove the story.
I suspect each generation thinks their growing up was the best of all. My mother recounted stories of her childhood, and her voice was always filled with affection for those memories. You know how I feel about mine. I think Ryder will be telling his children about the good old days, his time, his good old days. His kids will think their father was the luckiest of all to grow up in the best of times.
Monday, May 04, 2009
“TV gives everyone an image, but radio gives birth to a million images in a million brains.”
Where is the sun? It disappeared a while back and has yet to return. I heard rumors it went south. I'm sort of hoping it may reappear in a few days. I'm getting moldy around the feet!
Gracie sits on the top step of the deck, her only vantage spot to view the outside world beyond the fence. When she sees a cat or another dog, she whines and runs hoping to find a weak spot, a jumpable spot. So far, she has been stuck in the yard.
The other night I was scrounging through the fridge and cabinets to find something for dinner then it struck me. I had wonderfully sharp cheddar cheese and tasty scali bread in the larder. I made a grilled cheese sandwich, and it was delicious. The cheese melted perfectly and the bread browned all over. I admit I did butter the outside of each slice, but I can't imagine a grilled cheese sandwich which doesn't begin with buttered bread. That was how my mother always made hers, and my taste buds expect it. Grilled cheese is on my list of comfort foods.
I read an interesting op ed piece in the paper today. It was about the demise of radio and was, ironically, in a paper on its last legs. Both are victims of technology. I can't begin to imagine a morning without the paper or a ride in the car without the radio. They have been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. Getting a radio was a rite of passage when I was a kid. I still remember my first one, the brown leather cased radio with the holes. I've mentioned it before. It was one of my all time best Christmas presents. I had my favorite radio stations, and I had my favorite disc jockeys. The stations all played the same music, rock and roll. It was the personalities of the DJ's which drew us. Arnie "Woo Woo" Ginsberg was a favorite in these parts on WMEX. I remember Adventure Car Hop was his sponsor, and they served the Ginsberger. I always wanted to taste one. Gradually many of my favorite stations stopped playing music. They became talk radio, and I stopped listening to them.
The article mentioned few kids own radios today, and that younger generations don't think of them as components in their day to day lives. I grew up with radio, and I still listen today. For music, I listen to the oldies, and several oldies stations are on my car radio. Add a DJ with some personality and I'd be transported back into time. I listen to folk radio, to WUMB. When I want talk, I switch to NPR. I don't do the conservatives.
I am sorry that radio is struggling. It is my companion on long car rides. I hunt for local stations and find the most amazing programs. They make me feel a little bit at home.
Gracie sits on the top step of the deck, her only vantage spot to view the outside world beyond the fence. When she sees a cat or another dog, she whines and runs hoping to find a weak spot, a jumpable spot. So far, she has been stuck in the yard.
The other night I was scrounging through the fridge and cabinets to find something for dinner then it struck me. I had wonderfully sharp cheddar cheese and tasty scali bread in the larder. I made a grilled cheese sandwich, and it was delicious. The cheese melted perfectly and the bread browned all over. I admit I did butter the outside of each slice, but I can't imagine a grilled cheese sandwich which doesn't begin with buttered bread. That was how my mother always made hers, and my taste buds expect it. Grilled cheese is on my list of comfort foods.
I read an interesting op ed piece in the paper today. It was about the demise of radio and was, ironically, in a paper on its last legs. Both are victims of technology. I can't begin to imagine a morning without the paper or a ride in the car without the radio. They have been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. Getting a radio was a rite of passage when I was a kid. I still remember my first one, the brown leather cased radio with the holes. I've mentioned it before. It was one of my all time best Christmas presents. I had my favorite radio stations, and I had my favorite disc jockeys. The stations all played the same music, rock and roll. It was the personalities of the DJ's which drew us. Arnie "Woo Woo" Ginsberg was a favorite in these parts on WMEX. I remember Adventure Car Hop was his sponsor, and they served the Ginsberger. I always wanted to taste one. Gradually many of my favorite stations stopped playing music. They became talk radio, and I stopped listening to them.
The article mentioned few kids own radios today, and that younger generations don't think of them as components in their day to day lives. I grew up with radio, and I still listen today. For music, I listen to the oldies, and several oldies stations are on my car radio. Add a DJ with some personality and I'd be transported back into time. I listen to folk radio, to WUMB. When I want talk, I switch to NPR. I don't do the conservatives.
I am sorry that radio is struggling. It is my companion on long car rides. I hunt for local stations and find the most amazing programs. They make me feel a little bit at home.
Sunday, May 03, 2009
“Sunday clears away the rust of the whole week.”
Three newspapers and breakfast at the diner make Sunday mornings my favorites, and if I could move to the deck for my coffee, this would be heaven on Earth. The rain has stopped, but the day is chilly and cloudy, even a bit bleak. Flowers are the only bright spots. I have no list for today.
Nothing used to be open here on Sundays except maybe a small corner store where the owner worked the register. If you needed anything like a cup of sugar or an egg, you hoped your neighbor had extra. Restaurants were the only exception. Uptown, the square was deserted except for the Spa where people flocked after late mass for a lime Rickey or a sandwich. The day was always relaxed. Nobody mowed lawns or did errands or chores.
With all the stores closed, Sunday was special. It was family day. We either visited my grandparents or hung around the house. During the summer, we'd go to the beach all day. It was, as I've often mentioned, family dinner day, a far more elaborate meal than on any other day of the week. It was the only day I remember we ever had roast beef, an extravagance for our family. Every Sunday dinner had mashed potatoes. I always made a well in mine for the gravy.
Sunday morning was dress up for church. It was the only day, except for holidays, I ever had to wear dresses and fancy shoes. I even wore a hat, usually one with flowers on the brim.
Now, no day is special. Every day is like the day before, except on the weekends when people get to sleep later. If I had my way, I'd go back to those Sundays of my youth. They were the best way to start the week.
Nothing used to be open here on Sundays except maybe a small corner store where the owner worked the register. If you needed anything like a cup of sugar or an egg, you hoped your neighbor had extra. Restaurants were the only exception. Uptown, the square was deserted except for the Spa where people flocked after late mass for a lime Rickey or a sandwich. The day was always relaxed. Nobody mowed lawns or did errands or chores.
With all the stores closed, Sunday was special. It was family day. We either visited my grandparents or hung around the house. During the summer, we'd go to the beach all day. It was, as I've often mentioned, family dinner day, a far more elaborate meal than on any other day of the week. It was the only day I remember we ever had roast beef, an extravagance for our family. Every Sunday dinner had mashed potatoes. I always made a well in mine for the gravy.
Sunday morning was dress up for church. It was the only day, except for holidays, I ever had to wear dresses and fancy shoes. I even wore a hat, usually one with flowers on the brim.
Now, no day is special. Every day is like the day before, except on the weekends when people get to sleep later. If I had my way, I'd go back to those Sundays of my youth. They were the best way to start the week.
Saturday, May 02, 2009
"A book is a garden, an orchard, a storehouse, a party, a company by the way, a counsellor, a multitude of counsellors."
I have my list of errands for today in no particular order on the sticky. Gracie and I will hit the road a bit later.
I woke up to the sound of rain, but it has since stopped. The sun appears anxious to break through the clouds. I'm all for it.
Reading became a passion when I was a little kid. I read all of the classics. Little Women was a book I loved from the first page to the last. Jo was my favorite of the sisters, and I followed her into Little Men and Jo's Boys. Robert Louis Stevenson and I became kindred spirits, and I still think Treasure Island is the most amazing book. How can you not love a book with pirates, mutiny and buried treasure? X marks the spot. Long John Silver with his wooden leg and a parrot on his shoulder is the consummate pirate. I was Jim Hawkins and nearly cried when I found out about Long John and his treachery. Even using the word treachery brings me back into those pages. Black Beauty made me cry. I suspect it still would. I read Journey to the Center of the Earth and Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea and was smitten with Jules Vern who awoke in me a love for science fiction. I still read it today. The Wind in the Willows tops my list of favorite books from back then. Toad was unbelievable and completely without self-control. I learned about friendship from Mole and Ratty and thought how neat the characters were named for who they are. Swiss Family Robinson made me want to be shipwrecked, but Robinson Crusoe didn't.
I could go on and on talking about favorite book after book, but I'll not bore you with any more of my huge list. I will say I was astonished when I did some research and found out that all of these books dated from 1719 to 1908.
I woke up to the sound of rain, but it has since stopped. The sun appears anxious to break through the clouds. I'm all for it.
Reading became a passion when I was a little kid. I read all of the classics. Little Women was a book I loved from the first page to the last. Jo was my favorite of the sisters, and I followed her into Little Men and Jo's Boys. Robert Louis Stevenson and I became kindred spirits, and I still think Treasure Island is the most amazing book. How can you not love a book with pirates, mutiny and buried treasure? X marks the spot. Long John Silver with his wooden leg and a parrot on his shoulder is the consummate pirate. I was Jim Hawkins and nearly cried when I found out about Long John and his treachery. Even using the word treachery brings me back into those pages. Black Beauty made me cry. I suspect it still would. I read Journey to the Center of the Earth and Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea and was smitten with Jules Vern who awoke in me a love for science fiction. I still read it today. The Wind in the Willows tops my list of favorite books from back then. Toad was unbelievable and completely without self-control. I learned about friendship from Mole and Ratty and thought how neat the characters were named for who they are. Swiss Family Robinson made me want to be shipwrecked, but Robinson Crusoe didn't.
I could go on and on talking about favorite book after book, but I'll not bore you with any more of my huge list. I will say I was astonished when I did some research and found out that all of these books dated from 1719 to 1908.
Friday, May 01, 2009
"You are as welcome as the flowers in May."
It's a cloudy, probably going to rain May Day. The May pole and my white frilly dress will just have to go back into storage until next year. One of my strange May Day memories is of watching news coverage of Moscow and its May Day parade. Soviet troops and weapons were trotted out on display. Missiles were hauled on trucks and crowds cheered. That was much less festive than a basket of flowers and ribbons on a pole.
I saw my first Baltimore oriole at the feeder the other day. I just happened to look out the window as it was munching on pieces of an orange. It is a beautiful, striking bird. As for my other birds, I check out the robin's nest every day, but she hasn't yet taken up residence. A cardinal pair drops by and the goldfinches are here every day. Houses finches have been coming as well. I can't wait to sit on the deck in the warmth of the sun and watch the birds.
This will be a short post today as I have to go to the library and stuff envelopes for our annual fund raiser. We are a small library, and as I am on the board, I get all these wonderful tasks which volunteers in the larger libraries do. The group, though, is companionable, and the work goes quickly and pleasantly.
The day is darker, and the rain has started.
I saw my first Baltimore oriole at the feeder the other day. I just happened to look out the window as it was munching on pieces of an orange. It is a beautiful, striking bird. As for my other birds, I check out the robin's nest every day, but she hasn't yet taken up residence. A cardinal pair drops by and the goldfinches are here every day. Houses finches have been coming as well. I can't wait to sit on the deck in the warmth of the sun and watch the birds.
This will be a short post today as I have to go to the library and stuff envelopes for our annual fund raiser. We are a small library, and as I am on the board, I get all these wonderful tasks which volunteers in the larger libraries do. The group, though, is companionable, and the work goes quickly and pleasantly.
The day is darker, and the rain has started.
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