“The great man is he who does not lose his child’s heart.”

The morning, besides being dreary, is cold at 37˚. Rain is expected later. When the alarm went off this morning, the house was cold so I stay snuggled under the covers reluctant to leave the warmth of my bed and the dog beside me, but I had no choice. It was time to get up, get dressed and go out to my usual Sunday breakfast. I think most people were wiser than I and chose to stay in bed as the roads were empty.

When I got home, I ran upstairs to get into my cozies then came back downstairs and turned on the tree lights. They are shining especially bright in the darkness of the day.

The week or so before Christmas is the longest stretch in time for any kid. The days move at the slowest pace imaginable, and counting down only makes it worse. Anticipation just can’t be contained. School drags on forever. Every kid knows the finale, Christmas Eve, is the longest night of the year, despite the calendar. Bedtime never comes. It is 4 o’clock, 4:12 and on and on. For the first in our lives, bedtime can’t come soon enough.

My parents had ways to amuse us. Every year was the drive to see the lights. In Saugus was the ultimate light show. The houses competed with one another for the glory of being the most decorated. My father would drive up and down the streets, and we’d be glued to the windows not wanting to miss a single house. Our heads would whip back and forth from one side of the street to the other. On each of houses the lights were all different colors. Not a tree or a bush was left undecorated. It was a spectacle in all its glory.

My favorite was always the trip to Boston. It didn’t happen every year so it was special. We’d walk by the department stores to see the windows with all their animated figures. Santa’s workshop was always the busiest window with elves hammering toys and Santa checking his list. We’d then walk through Boston Common which always seemed a fairy land to me. All the bare trees were hung with strings of lights, and they shined on the walkways. I don’t ever remember feeling cold. I just remember wanting to run to see everything and being filled with an excitement I could barely contain. I wanted to hold open my arms and take everything with me for always.

“A cold wind was blowing from the north, and it made the trees rustle like living things.”

The storm started yesterday afternoon and it was tremendous. The wind blew gusts as high as 60 MPH, stronger than Sandy had brought. I could hear the relentless, howling wind. Branches and tree trunks were blowing and bending. Rain fell all night into this morning but now has just about stopped. The sky is still gray but getting lighter. The wind is still blowing but seems calm in comparison. I watched the weather at 11 last night. The Cape was the only part of the state getting rain. The rest of the state was getting snow, in a variety of amounts. We were 10˚ warmer than Boston.

My caller ID identified two calls this morning as political. The first call, before 8, woke me up. I didn’t answer that one or the second one from the same number. Later, I still a little sleuthing and found out the number has been reported repeatedly. It is not political. It is spamming. I have a feeling they’ll be persistent. If this were a plot in a futuristic science fiction novel, I’d send a tiny shock through the phones lines to the caller who’d then cross my name off the list.

Today is normally dump day, but we will wait until tomorrow unless the rain and the wind stop. The dump on a windy day is like the Russian steppes in the middle of winter. Gracie will just have to be content with a trip to Agway where she is a welcomed customer.

The bird feeders need filling so I’ll brave the elements later and go out on the deck. I noticed the furniture covers are weighted down in the middle with rainwater. They’ll have to be emptied. In the winter, those pockets of water freeze. Sometimes I lift a huge disk of ice off the cover and toss it over the deck rail. Luckily we’re not there yet.

Without the political hoopla and the anticipation of waiting to hear the results, the day is a bit humdrum. President Clinton hasn’t called again.

 

“Celebrate the happiness that friends are always giving, make every day a holiday and celebrate just living.”

Some time during the night the thunder woke me up. It was house shaking, but I didn’t care. I just rolled over and went back to sleep. When I woke up just before 9, it was to a dark, damp morning. It had rained, and I missed it. Outside looks a bit lighter than it had so maybe a bit of sun is on the way though the prediction is for showers.

The countdown to my trip has officially begun. I will be winging my way to Ghana one week from today. The pre-flight list has been activated. Today I will get to cross off two of the items. I know Zoey likes to follow my progress across the world so here are my flight numbers:

Boston to New York, August 25th: Delta Flight 1091 leaving at 5:55pm and arriving at Kennedy at 7:35.   New York to Accra: Delta Flight 26 leaving at 8:30 and arriving at Kotoka at 11:30 am on Sunday, August 26th. There is a four-hour difference between here and Ghana so the flight is close to 11 hours long. My return trip begins on September 17th: Delta 27 leaving Accra at 10:10pm and arriving at Kennedy at 5:05 am. A few cups of coffee and a newspaper later, Delta flight 867 leaves at 8:20am and will wing its way to Logan Airport where I’ll land at 9:44. I’ll grab my bags and then wait for the bus to take me to the Cape, arrival time unknown as I have yet to buy my bus ticket or check the schedule.

My birthday was a wonder. First, my friends and I waited for nearly an hour for the trip that wasn’t. The lobster cruise had been cancelled, and the call announcing that had been made after we’d left so we didn’t know. Neither did the other people waiting. My friend called and was told the news while someone else checked her home phone and found the call had been made at 3:10: boarding was at 3:30 so we all missed the call. We left the marina and tried to figure an alternative. On our summer to do list is the Lighthouse Inn for drinks so we headed to West Dennis. My friends had never been there, but right away they loved the outside tables right on the water. It was so breezy all of the table umbrellas were spinning, and the beach grass was swaying almost to the ground. We ordered drinks and appetizers and watched some people learn to drive their jet skis. Most got the hang of it but one woman was going in circles. The ocean was rough with small white caps, and they were moving her and she let them. She looked afraid to give the jet ski gas. She finally did and went forward a bit then must have panicked as she stopped and went in circles again. She amused us by doing that several times. Finally we lost interest and ordered another round then ordered dinner which was delicious. Our alternative to the boat had been wonderful, and we decided that the boat ride would have been quite choppy given the wind and the size of the waves so we were content on land watching the ocean, the gulls and the woman go in circles.

After dinner we left and went to my friends’ house. They brought out a cake and sang Happy Birthday. I blew out the candles and opened my gift, a calendar filled with pictures of our visit to Fenway Park. To end the evening we played Phase 10, our favorite card game, and I lost. It was the only loss of the night!

“When I was a kid, if a guy got killed in a western movie I always wondered who got his horse”

Indeed, I am quite late today because I picked up my new car. Yup, my new car, which is very much out of character for me. Generally I buy used cars and keep them around 10 years then trade the old one for another used one. This time I traded my 2010 which had been a used car for a 2012 and the cost, besides the sales tax and the registration, was the year of payments I had already made. I’m talking brand new car here, another red Camry. The ding from hitting the mailbox is now a faint memory and Gracie gets to dog fur the whole back seat again despite the cover. I have to program my radio stations and the bluetooth then I’m set. I’m thinking balloons and confetti!!

My flight from Washington to Accra has been cancelled. All of the flights from Washington to Accra have been cancelled as United eliminated the route as not financially worthwhile. They offered my agent a variety of alternate possibilities all of which had at least one stop. He refused all of them then went looking and booked me on Delta out of JFK. The difference is there is no first class on Delta so I’m going business elite (I think). The trip will be 24 days instead of 28 but that’s no big deal. I’m going coach from Boston to NY but first on the way back so he is trying to get first class both ways.

The day is beautiful and predictions are the weekend will be as well. It won’t be as warm here as in Boston but it will be in the 60′s so I’m not going to complain. I’ve already put away my shoes and am wearing sandals so I am acknowledging the cold weather is gone for good!

This afternoon I’m going to see The Avengers: yup, a matinee! I promise not to throw a single Ju-ju Bead at anyone in front of me though it might be hard to resist. Years of Saturday matinees have given me a good arm and a sharp eye. Too bad they are talents wasting away!

 

“I went to the museum where they had all the heads and arms from the statues that are in all the other museums.”

We’ll still in the damp, chilly day mode. It’s in the low 50′s and nothing outside my window looks inviting. Earlier, Gracie was frantically barking so I went outside to check. There it was, the rabbit, just sitting where Gracie could see it. That beast has been hanging around my yard for days and driving Gracie crazy. The dog keeps trying to jump the 6 foot fence, but she’s older now and far more muscular so when her paws reach the top of the fence, she can’t pull herself over any more. For that I’m thankful. As for the rabbit, I’m thinking a traditional paella.

I remember car rides with my family. My brother and I each had a back window, his behind my father, mine behind my mother, our sister Sheila was stuck between us, and Moe was in the front with my parents. Poor Sheila had to rest her feet on the big lump in the middle of the backseat floor. The car was always hot in the summer even with all the windows open. Back then, we never had sleek highways, but that was just fine with us. The roads my father took had stuff to look at. I remember seeing red barns and cows in the fields, and I’d yell and point so no one would miss them. The horses we’d see always seemed to have their heads down munching on grass. Once in a while we’d see a deer, and that was the most exciting of all. Usually the car was filled with suitcases and boxes of food as we headed to Maine for the week. We always went to Maine because my father’s friend had a cabin, and we could vacation cheaply. When I was young, I liked it there, but as I got older, I found it boring. By the time I was fourteen, I was begging my parents to leave me at home with friends. They never did.

My dad invented the staycation though he never received due credit. When I was young and money was especially tight, my father and mother planned something for us to do almost every day of my dad’s two-week vacation. We visited museums, went to the lake, the beach, zoos and into Boston to walk the Freedom Trail and ride on the swan boats. Once I remember going to Lexington and Concord. Those were my favorite vacations of all, and from them, I received the most wonderful gifts which have stayed with me all my life. I love museums and visit them everywhere I go. I can’t pass up a historical site and lots of times I stop the car to read the plaques on the rocks along the sides of the road.

On my first weekend in Accra, during training when we were in Koforidua, I went to the National Museum of Ghana. It seemed like the best place to start to learn about my new country.

“There is no friend as loyal as a book.”

Oh, spring, where have you gone? Last night was winter, and today is only 52°. The sun is warm through the doors and windows but not enough to make being outside on the deck inviting. I got cold when I was filling the bird feeders this morning. Even the house feels chilly. The heat turned itself on early this morning which meant it was lower than 62° in here. No wonder I slept in under the warmth of my down comforter.

This is a new week, and I have high hopes it will be a good week. It’s my Pollyanna moment.

When I was in high school, I took four years of Latin. I have no idea why, but I actually liked it. The Aeneid, my fourth year text, was my favorite. I still remember the first line, ” Arma virumque cano.” I sing of arms and of a man. I think the story appealed to me because I loved all the tall tales, stories of people like Paul Bunyan, Johnny Appleseed and Pecos Bill. I can still see in my mind’s eye the illustration of Pecos Bill riding that cyclone. In my library those tall tale books were on a short shelf to the left of the door. I used to sit on the carpet and look through them and read a few tales before I’d choose the books to take home. I think I read all of the books from that section.

I never read any of the science books in my library. They were in the shelves in front of the windows. I did read some of the biographies of scientists like Madame Curie, but the actual science itself never interested me. I loved mysteries and historical fiction, though, when I was little, I didn’t know that’s you called it. My favorite of all was Johnny Tremain. It took place in Boston so the novel felt personal for me, and I could actually visit the houses of characters like Paul Revere. It made the story real to me. I remember the horror I felt when Johnny spilled hot silver on his hand.

That book led me to read more stories about the Revolutionary War. I think that’s what books are meant to do. They take you to one place which leads to another and another and on and on. It’s like a family tree filled with the names of books on branch after branch.

“Travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living.”

The day is cloudy and damp. It must have rained a bit during the night as the ground is wet, and there are now Gracie paw prints all the way down my floor from door to den. Usually my cleaning compulsion kicks in, but I’d be cleaning over and over, each time she comes in, so I’ll be patient and live with the muddy prints.

Once in a while I think about how much fun my life has been. I think it all comes from being a dreamer. When I was a kid, I dreamed about all those places in my geography book, and I promised myself I’d visit them some day. My Dad had been to Europe but that was compliments of Uncle Sam and WWII, and his memories centered around the pubs near his hospital in England. My neighbors went to Martha’s Vineyard every year for the whole summer, and I thought that was so exotic, to stay on an island. Marty Barrett, my elementary school classmate, went to England every few years to visit his grandparents, and I envied him, but I knew, without question, my time would come.

My first airplane ride was when I was a freshman in college, and I flew from Boston to Hyannis, an Easter gift from my parents. The plane was a small prop, and I could see landmarks from the window. My eyes followed the highway as we flew close to the land but over the ocean. I watched waves crash against the beach sand and saw the canal as we crossed to the cape. Before we landed, the plane circled a bit and I saw the parking lots in Hyannis and recognized the stores. When I landed, my dad was waiting for me and right away wanted to know how I liked the flight. I think I gushed, and I am not a gusher by any stretch of the imagination. The trip was almost magical for me. I was hooked, and I knew it. That was the beginning.

“As I grew up, I knew that as a building (Fenway Park) was on the level of Mount Olympus, the Pyramid at Giza, the nation’s capitol, the czar’s Winter Palace, and the Louvre — except, of course, that is better than all those inconsequential places.”

My friends and I had the best day yesterday at Fenway Park. It was filled with people wandering all over taking pictures, touching revered parts of the park and watching current Sox on the field and in the bull pen. All of us patiently waited in lines to see parts of Fenway usually off-limits, and most everyone wore something which proclaimed their allegiance to our home team. We touched the manually operated scoreboard on the green monster, watched Dice-K throwing and Bard and Buckholtz warming up. We saw Bobby Valentine, the new manager. All three of us sat on the little bench in the Sox dugout where Tito used to spend most games and went up in the elevator with Wally who was only to glad to have his picture taken. We found my brick in the Bill Monbouquette section by Gate B and sat in the pavilion seats with the best views of the park. We also sat for a while in the press box once filled with typewriters but now loaded with USB ports. This afternoon we will be glued to the TV to watch all the 100th birthday festivities starting with an entire park toast to Fenway, a toast hoping to make the Guinness Book of World Records. 100 years ago John Francis “Honey Fitz”  Fitzgerald, JFK’s grandfather, threw out the first pitch and the NY Highlanders lost. We’re hoping the final score will reflect that historic game.

I went out earlier as Gracie was barking, and I wanted to find out why. She was trying to jump the 6 foot fence around the yard to get at the loose dog on the other side. Twice she got her front paws on the top but couldn’t pull the rest of her over. I went down, grabbed her collar and brought her in the house. Her exertions were exhausting and Gracie is taking her morning nap.

Today is sunny but chilly, a typical spring day on Cape Cod. When we drove to Boston yesterday, the closer we got to the city, the fuller the trees were and some were already leafy. Cherry trees were in blossom. Our trees have small buds.

Gracie gets a trip to the dump today.

“St. Patrick’s Day is an enchanted time – a day to begin transforming winter’s dreams into summer’s magic.”

Yesterday it was in the darkness of early morning when I woke while today it was 10:30. I am as fickled as the weather. My friend Clare came by with a few St. Patrick’s day gifts and rang the bell. Gracie barked, and I woke up then tried to figure out the what day it is. I got it on the first try.

If St. Patrick’s Day was on a school day, we got it off as a holiday. After all, I went to St. Patrick’s Grammar School, and we had to honor the school’s patron saint or at least that’s what the nuns told us, but the significance of the day was always lost on us as we had no idea how to honor a patron saint, but we knew how to enjoy a day off from school. March was always the most dismal of school months with only this one day off unless Easter came early and we got Good Friday. We did thank St. Patrick but not for the reasons the nuns expected.

If you lived in and close to Boston, you also got today off from school but not for St. Patrick’s Day. Today is Evacuation Day. It is the day the British evacuated the city of Boston during the Revolutionary War. It used to be an official holiday for all schools and state workers but it was eliminated last year and now is celebrated in name only.

When I was in high school and a member of St. Patrick’s Shamrock drill team, we marched in the parade. It was the worst of all parades in which to march. Sometimes it was freezing cold. Every time, some drunk would join us for a bit of the march with a glass of beer in his hand he was more than happy to share with us. I remember the crowds along the street were loud and always cheered us for our name and for the shamrocks on our uniforms.

When I was in college, going to the St. Patrick’s day parade in South Boston was a big deal. It was a day to celebrate by wearing green and drinking a significant amount of alcohol. I remember several toasts to me by people I didn’t know that we’d met in the bars. Kathleen Ryan is as Irish a name as can be.

My mother always made corned beef and cabbage today. She was a great cook, but I do remember one year she cooked it a bit too long, and my father was mystified when he couldn’t find the potatoes. They had dissolved in the pan. He was more than disappointed.

I have no plans for today though I’m thinking I might go out for corned beef and cabbage. I can’t imagine St. Patrick’s  Day without it.

” Man is a gaming animal. He must always be trying to get the better in something or other.”

The day is cloudy but bright. It looks as if the sun will be making an appearance sometime later. It is 41°, cooler than the last few days but seasonal for March. The wind blew all day and all night. I was lucky my deck glass table top didn’t break because the wind toppled the umbrella which then took the table along with it. I didn’t expect that to happen as the umbrella is through a hole in the center of the table so the wind was a mighty wind. Today is calm; nothing is moving.

 The Globe mentioned that Rex Trailer of Boomtown fame, a local program we all grew up watching and can probably still sing the theme to, has been designated the state’s official cowboy. At first I thought it a bit strange that this state would have a cowboy, a state fisherman maybe, but not a cowboy then I gave it some thought. Every Saturday morning Rex Trailer did it all: rode his horse Goldrush, played the guitar and sang cowboy songs, did the best rope tricks and once, in 1961, rode a covered wagon from Greenfield to Boston, a distance of 94 miles, to raise awareness about children with disabilities. He made us all want to be cowboys. I would have given anything to be on Boomtown, maybe even be made sheriff for the day. 

I grew up with television. I doubt there were many days in my life when I didn’t watch something. The Mickey Mouse Club was a program I never missed when I was a kid. As I grew older, my interests changed, and I watched shows like Dark Shadows and Bandstand and so many more. It wasn’t until Ghana that I had to do without TV. There wasn’t a single set in my town. Reception never got that far north. We learned to entertain ourselves.

 Bill and Peg, my friends and next door neighbors, were also PC volunteers. Most nights we got together, listened to music and played a game. One game was the alphabet game. The letters went down the page in a line in order from A to Z then we’d find a sentence and put one letter of each word next to the alphabet letter. If you had A with a B next to it, you’d have to find a well-known name with those initials like Aaron Burr and then you did the same for all the letters. One of my fondest memories of this game is Bill’s choices. It was often a name neither one of us, Peg and I, had ever heard before. Bill always said the guy was a football player. We voted against him every time.

My mother had sent me a Password game. We played it so much we had just about memorized every card. Unsuspecting company would play against us. We never lost. Despite the absurdity of our clues, we always guessed the right word.

The red ball attached by an elastic to a paddle was our favorite. We’d go into the back courtyard and challenge each other. Our eye hand coordination was really bad at first then we got spectacular. I can’t imagine what our neighbor thought when he heard us from the yard counting in unison: one, two and sometimes all the way up to over 200. When the elastic broke, it broke our hearts.

Games are still a huge part of my life. My friends and I always play a game when we’re together. Phase 10 and Sorry are our current favorites. We keep track of the winners of each game, and we always make fun of the loser. I won’t quote any of the responses the loser usually gives. This blog is Rated G.