“The schools ain’t what they used to be and never was.”

Just read the weather description for Saturday through today and say ditto. It seems it will be like this through at least tomorrow and maybe even Thursday. The sun may deign to appear on Thursday afternoon, but then again, maybe not. My deck has been swept many, many times, but you’d never believe me if you saw the debris on it today.

From the time I was a kid, June was the second best month of the year. December with Christmas beat it out, but June meant no more school and the long anticipated arrival of endless summer days. All the other months paled in comparison. We used to get out early in June, usually before the public schools did. I guess that was our prize for putting up with nuns and wearing uniforms.  I remember the last day was always a half-day used for cleaning out our desks, returning school books and getting our report cards, the ones which announced we’d been promoted. That piece of news was always on the bottom of the back underneath the subjective appraisals about behavior and work habits. The front was for grades in all our subjects, and we had many. My favorite was always silent reading. I figured I got a good grade because my lips didn’t move when I read. We also got grades for penmanship, oral reading, spelling, arithmetic, geography, music, art, religion and science which was paired with health and safety. I don’t remember being taught anything having to do with health and safety so I have no idea what they mean. The back was the fun part: is obedient, is courteous, works well with others, takes care of property, does careful work, finishes work on time and puts forth best effort. The only time you got graded was if you got a NO which I did in the first grade for does careful work and puts forth best effort. I guess a messy paper meant a cavalier approach to learning.

I remember running home on that last day freed for a couple of months from the fetters of a desk, books and a nun in a habit.

“I had lunch with a chess champion the other day. I knew he was a chess champion because it took him 20 minutes to pass the salt.”

Earlier the day was cloudy and dark then the sky was blue and the sun was shining, but the sun didn’t last long; it disappeared behind a cloud. The sun has since returned and then disappeared again and appears a bit brighter than it was, good thing too as it’s only 51°. The wind is strong, and the trunks and top branches of the pine trees are swaying and bending. My backyard is a still life in brown as there are no leaves or any color. The male goldfinch was at the feeder earlier and he appeared brilliant against the drabness of the yard.

I never did go out yesterday, but I have no choice today. I have a list of places and another list of   grocery necessities. Gracie gets to come: it’s chilly enough to leave her in the car.

My mother always made us the best school lunches. We had sandwiches with the likes of bologna or ham. On Friday, the no meat day, it was usually tuna salad. She never made peanut butter and jelly. I’m glad because nothing was uglier than a PB&J sandwich which had sat in the lunch box all morning. The jelly seeped into the bread, and the sandwich looked blue. We always had cookies and fairly often small bags of potato chips she’d hidden from us at home so we wouldn’t eat them all. I don’t ever remember getting fruit. When it was cold, we’d sometimes find a thermos filled with hot soup, chicken noodle being the favorite. Once in a while we’d find Hostess cupcakes, Twinkies or Sno-balls. That was usually right after my mother had shopped, and my father had been paid. We bought our milk every day, those small cartons which were difficult to open in exactly the right place. The milk was delivered on metal trays to our classroom just before lunch. I think I remember it being a nickel, but I’m not sure. We were allowed to chat while we ate then we’d finish lunchtime by running around on the schoolyard every day but a rainy one. My friends always envied my lunches.

“Don’t let schooling interfere with your education.”

The day is glorious. I have been outside sitting and reading the paper in the sun. Begrudgingly I came inside to write Coffee and hope for a quick inspiration so I can go back outside. Gracie has been in the yard all morning. This is her lie in the sun on the grass and take a nap sort of weather. Ah, the life of a pampered pet!

I know exactly why it is called a spring in your step, and I think it’s a metaphor having nothing to do with the verb spring. Today I feel more alive than I have. Today is warm and sunny and the sort of day which makes the heart sing. It is a hopeful day as spring always bring hope and a new beginning.

My garden is filled with shoots, and the first crocus is in bloom. It’s yellow. I can also see the knobs on the top of the hyacinth and two daffodils are tall and heavy with buds. The air smells sweet.

I used to love to walk to school on days like today. I’d shed my winter coat and mittens and wear only a sweater under my spring jacket. My friends and I always took our time walking when the weather was this beautiful as we knew we’d spend most of the day locked in and sitting at our desks. I used to look longingly out the windows and wish I were outside in the  sun. It seemed such a waste to be learning fractions when I could be running in the field with the warm sun on my face. Recess made it even nore difficult to go back into the building.

When I was in the 8th grade, I used to hide my lunch bag, no more lunch boxes at the sophisticated age of  thirteen, and I’d leave as if I were going home for lunch. My friend Jimmy, always a co-conspirator, came with me. We’d find a bench in the sun up the street near the town hall and eat lunch then we’d go back to school. Sometimes we were really late returning, long after the bell, and we’d tell Sister Hildergarde we were at the library or talking to some priest or other. She always nodded, and we’d take our seats. On a few really beautiful spring days we’d leave early telling some story about where we were going which Sister Hildergarde always bought. We were a clever pair, Jimmy and I, and maybe even a bit devious.

“Mathematics was hard, dull work. Geography pleased me more. For dancing I was quite enthusiastic.”

Today is winter. The dump was freezing and the wind felt Arctic. I swear the people in the car beside me were speaking Russian. If records were being kept, the fastest dump runs in history would be today’s.

Last night the wind howled and the house shook. I was glad the new palm tree was nailed in places to the deck or it would have gone flying, a bit like the cow and the rowboat in The Wizard of Oz cyclone. All I did was snuggle even more under my down comforter and go back to sleep.

Monday was the worst day of the week and the worst of all Monday’s was the one after a vacation. That would be tomorrow around here.

We all knew school was inevitable. Hating to go only made it worse so abiding it as a necessary evil made it a bit more tolerable for those for whom school was anathema. I liked school or at least I never minded going. I liked most subjects except arithmetic because it was the only one which ever gave me any trouble. I used to hide my fingers under my desk so I wouldn’t get caught using them. I was a great carrier of numbers though. It was always the smaller ones which tripped me up, never those with three digits. I remember writing the 1 over the number the way I had been taught while in my head, I’d be saying, “And carry the one.” It was almost like a prayer, something we all learned by heart. My favorite subject was reading. We had a book series which we used from year to year. The books were filled with stories and poems with questions at the end. Lots of times we’d have to read aloud. I always felt bad for the kid who had trouble with words and for whom reading aloud was torture. “Sound out the letters,” was always the nun’s directive as if that easily solved the problem. What I thought was strange was our report cards graded us on silent reading, never reading aloud so I didn’t understand why we did it. I suppose to prove we could read.

I’m sorry geography as a separate subject has disappeared from most schools. It was always a favorite of mine. Only one part, learning the exports of all the countries, was never all that important to me. I liked the pictures and mostly I liked the stories of the way people lived. The tulips and the windmills, the snow on the mountains and the goats and sheep were far more fun than bananas and coffee beans.

“Ladies and gentlemen, take my advice; Pull down your pants, and slide on the ice.”

Today is warm and sunny with a sharp blue winter sky. I woke up earlier than usual but lolled a bit until Gracie rang her bells to go outside then I came downstairs, let her out and started the coffee. When I came back inside from getting the papers and something from the car, the house had the wonderful smell of fresh coffee. I could barely wait for that first cup.

Today is chore day. I have a list; I always have a list. Yesterday I did nothing so today I expect to be industrious, but I never begrudge a day like today. I figure once it’s over I get to loll again. That’s my reward.

The winter is speeding by and hasn’t really made its impact yet. We’ve only had a few really cold days and very little snow. It is 43° right now, and the day is still, not even a brown leaf flutters from the end of a branch. This would be the January thaw most years but not this one. It’s become the typical day. Now we complain when it’s in the 30′s. We used to reserve our complaints for days in the teens or ones in single digits. I fear we New Englanders are getting spoiled and may no longer be considered hardy.

My mother and father lived in the city when they were young so we never heard stories from them about walking in several feet of snow to get to school. I don’t remember several feet either though I do remember walking on the street to get to school as the sidewalks weren’t plowed. In those days the plows usually left a thick layer of snow on the streets which sometimes turned icy in spots. Those icy sections glinted in the sun and invited us to run and slide, each trying to out-do the other in distance. Falling was not uncommon and always made us laugh. We’d almost forget we were on our way to school.

“The less routine the more life.”

This morning it poured, and the rain made such a thunderous racket on the roof and deck it woke me up. The day is now cloudy and damp, and the paper predicts it will stay this way through at least Tuesday. I guess we’re paying the price for the beauty of last week.

I am running late as I had a couple of early morning errands. I have more to do but figured I’d finish Coffee before I go back out and about.

Today, when I turned the calendar to October, I was taken a bit aback to realize how quickly the year is passing. It’s that age thing-the older we get, the shorter each year seems. I remember being young and waiting endlessly for the week to end. I was stuck in school for what seemed like eons as it always felt as if Friday took forever to come. The first of October meant counting the days until Halloween, a whole month of days. We had Columbus day off in the middle to give us a bit of a break, but that didn’t change how long the month stretched in front of us.

There was a routine to every day back then, maybe the first inkling to what lay before us as adults. We got up every weekday, ate breakfast, got dressed, grabbed our schoolbags and walked to school. School started at the ringing of a bell, a hand bell rung outside the school door by one of the nuns. The same classes followed each other every day except once a week when music and art changed the routine. Lunch was eaten at the ringing of the bell and finished at the ringing of the same bell. At the end of the day, we watched the slow movement of the clock’s hands and listened for the bell to send us home. We played a bit, did homework, ate dinner, watched TV and went to bed.

The weekends, though open and free, had a routine of their own. Saturday started with cartoons and cereal in front of the TV and then the rest of the day was ours until bath time. I remember my brother and I took our own baths while my sisters shared one. They always cried when my mother combed the snarls out of their hair after the shampooing. It was as much a part of the routine as the shampooing. We’d stay up a bit later then be sent off to bed. We’d whine about the unfairness of it all as we went up the stairs.

We’d get up, put on our Sunday clothes and then go off to church grumbling the whole way as church as never a favorite of ours. We’d endure the mass, get home and change as quickly as possible then play a bit until dinner. Sunday dinner was always my favorite. It was the special meal of the week when we often had a roast, something my parents could ill afford more than once a week. Sometimes we’d go visit my grandparents while other Sundays we could do whatever we wanted. Besides church, the only other drawback to Sunday was we were forced to go to bed early to be ready for school the next day.

When Monday morning came, so did the routine of being a kid.

“A heart that loves is always young.”

It is a sunny but windy Valentine’s Day with the weather already in the 40′s. It sounds like a good day to take a ride. This winter Gracie and I have only made short forays to do errands because of the cold so a warm day is an invitation to go about and explore. She’s outside now burying a new bone.

I remember being eight or nine on Valentine’s Day, a day so special I’d be jumping out of bed eager to get to school. I’d bolt down my breakfast and start off for school carefully carry my treasured valentine box all the way. We made our boxes in school during art a day or two before Valentine’s Day. My box started its life as a shoe box, but all the decorations have made it a work of art. Paper frills are around the edges. Red crepe decorates the sides and red construction paper is on the top around the mail slot. Last night was spent at the kitchen table writing out my valentines and picking and choosing the lucky recipients. The valentines aren’t fancy but they are fun and colorful. I wrote my name so big it didn’t fit on the first few valentines, but I did much better with the rest. On the front of the envelope I wrote my friends’ names. I didn’t want to forget anyone. In my school bag my mother put the cookies, my contribution to the party.

Lessons on Valentine’s day lasted an entire week, or at least it seemed that way. All of us were excited and barely able to stay in our seats. After lunch was one lesson then time to put the books away. It was party time. The nun had us bring out our boxes and we had to go one row at a time to put valentines in our friends’ boxes. I remember sitting there hoping someone would drop an envelope in my box. I was never disappointed. After all of the rows had finished, it was time for cookies and candy and opening our valentines. Lots of munching and lots of giggling finished out the day.

We’d walk home talking about day. When I got home and out of my school clothes, it was time to look over my valentines again and again.

Happy Valentine’s Day

May your valentine boxes overflow!

“I read Shakespeare and the Bible, and I can shoot dice. That’s what I call a liberal education.”

The shoots in the front garden are even higher now. Every time I come home I give them a quick look. They are my reminders that springtime is getting closer, and as the morning is only 32°, those reminders bring hope and thoughts of warmer days and gardens filled with flowers.

I went out for breakfast as I always do on Sundays. The place was unusually crowded, but we found a booth and chatted our way through eggs and bacon. While we were there, a former student came up to say hello. I didn’t recognize him until he said his name then it all flashed back. He was a kid in my office all the time, mostly for disrupting classes. I remember he once offered a  suggestion during one of our discussions after he’d been tossed from class. He figured if I let him cut class, he wouldn’t be in class to disrupt it. As logical as his argument was, I had to explain that class cuts were also problems requiring consequences. He was caught either way: coming or going. We got to know each other that year, and I came to like him. One on one he was personable and funny. In class he was a horror.

It’s been a long while since I’ve seen him. He is now a man in his mid 20′s who told me he is taking classes at the local community college. I told him how proud I was for him. He beamed.

I never saw a class disrupted when I was in school. In elementary school whispering or note passing were the worst offenses, and most times the nun just called the name of the offending whisperer and the whispering stopped. She’d take the note being passed or asked that it be read aloud. That was the worst. We never had detention as a consequence, but we had sentences. Writing “I will not whisper” a 100 times might be the punishment for multiple infractions. I never got that far. I knew better. I was also really good at not getting caught.

“He’s a gentleman: look at his boots.”

Most times I am a quick study and learn easily. Yesterday I overdid and last night I woke up every hour or so in pain, and it’s still here this morning. I guess I keep trying to find the line between okay and ridiculous. Obviously I went over that line yesterday. I do have an addendum about yesterday and locked doors. My plowman was here when I left for an appointment. I told him the de-ice stuff for the steps was inside the house by the door as was his check. He was fine with that and I left. When I got home, I was locked out again. My plowman had noticed my storm door was ajar and he’s a good guy so he closed it. I called my friend Tony and told him he’d need a step ladder. I’m thinking of putting a stepladder permanently against the back porch. In the summer I’ll put plants on it so people will think it a gardening design. How pretty to see the morning glory vines climbing the ladder.

Today is a white day. The sky is white. The trees have a layer of white from the wet snow, and the ground is covered. The sun came out yesterday and melted some of the snow. Last night it froze. Ruts of ice are on the sides of the road and on the pathways. Going out makes for a strange sort of dance of stepping in one place then moving to the side then across and back all with tiny steps which remind me of the Mikado.

I seldom stayed home from school. We, my brother and sisters and I, were all pretty much a healthy bunch. We walked to school on the coldest or the wettest or the snowiest day of the year. It didn’t matter.

This time of year presented to every kid the greatest of all challenges: putting on and taking off boots. Back then they were rubber and they went over our shoes. In the morning, at home, my mother would hold the boots while we pushed and pushed until our shoes were all the way inside then she’d tuck our snow pants into the top of the boot. When we got to school, we’d sit on the floor to pull off our boots. Usually our shoes came with them, but that was just fine. We’d pull out our shoes, put them on and go into the classroom. All of that was the easy part. It was getting dressed to go home which presented the biggest challenge. If the boots were wet, the shoes just wouldn’t go inside all the way, and the bottom part of the boot would flop around. Pushing the shoes in with my hands sometimes worked, sometimes didn’t. Lots of days I’d walk home in my shoes, the boots in my school bag. My mother was never happy when I came home with wet shoes, wet socks and cold feet. Neither was I.

“Hearing nuns’ confessions is like being stoned to death with popcorn.”

Last night I opened my bedroom window so I could fall asleep to the sound of the rain. I heard the wind and I heard the raindrops tapping on the overhang near my window. It was a lovely way to drift off to dreamland.

The day has yet to make up its mind. Should I be sunny or cloudy?

Yesterday I put the storm door on the front. While I was retrieving it from the cellar, I happened upon a dead mouse. By the looks of it, the mouse had met its heavenly reward a while back. I’m figuring Maddie was the mighty hunter. Fern is the queen who sleeps on a couch pillow.

I used to moan and groan when my mother woke me up for school. Nothing is worse than being torn from a warm bed, forced to eat lumpy oatmeal and made to walk to school in all weather. A kid’s lot is a tough one.

Nobody does well sitting in the same place most of the day, especially if it’s a confining desk, but the nuns kept us in line, mostly from fear of both them and our parents. I don’t ever remember a kid acting up in class. Whispering was the extent of our misbehavior, and you had to do that just right or risk wrath. You ducked your head behind the person in front of you and used a mixture of whispers and hand signals to get your message across while at the same time keeping an eye on the nun in front. Short messages had the best chances of success.

If you got away with it, talking in class was a deed worthy of song, one to be remembered in the annals of time and to be reenacted over and over during recess.