‘I don’t know why, but the meals we have on picnics always taste so much nicer than the ones we have indoors,’ said George.”

Although it is only a bit after 10, I have already had a busy morning in contrast to yesterday’s day of sloth. I woke up at 6:30 to the sound of raindrops, came downstairs, went to get the papers then read both of them. When I was finished, I went upstairs and  changed my bed. As I unfurled the bottom sheet, a sock flew out of the corner, the missing sock to one of the few pairs I have without holes. I never throw socks away. I always figure the shoe hides the holes. I then finished the bed, got dressed and left for my 9 o’clock library board meeting. Our biggest agenda item was choosing between plastic or wood for planting tubs and between Alberta Spruce and some other bush with a Japanese sounding name. We went wooden and the bush with a Japanese sounding name. I tried to Google the name of the bush and put into Google Odd Bush with Japanese sounding name, but George W. kept appearing. That gave me a bit of a chuckle. My next stops were the post office and the pharmacy. My last stop was voting in the town election. The big race is for selectman, three running for two spots. There were also two requests for tax overrides and a non-binding question as to whether the nuclear plant in Plymouth should be closed. People are a bit edgy that the evacuation route means driving by the plant. While I was driving all over town doing errands, the sun came out and the sky turned a light blue. It is, however, still a bit cold, only in the low 50′s. My heat came on this morning.

When I was a kid, we never went on a picnic just for the sake of a picnic. We’d eat outside sitting on the back steps which is, I suppose, a cousin to the picnic; however, I do remember stopping at rest areas and eating at picnic benches but only on long rides, usually to somewhere for vacation. We ate at the beach, but it was the water and the sand which drew us, not a picnic. My mother had a picnic basket and a red Tartan jug. She made great sandwiches, and there were usually chips and Oreos.

When I was in Ghana, we went on picnics just for the fun of a picnic. We’d bring the small charcoal burner, some hot dogs from a can or from the meat factory that used to be in Bolga, bread, chopped tomatoes and onions and probably something for dessert though I don’t remember what. I’m leaning toward the sweet donuts or the toasted coconut balls. We’d load up then ride our motorcycles a bit into the bush. Once I remember being near Tonga and another time paying guys to haul our bikes across a small pond. We’d sit on a blanket, enjoy our lunch and watch Ghana. I loved those picnics.

Here on the cape we used to have picnics on a hill overlooking the Grist Mill. We’d climb and complain about it as we carried the basket of goodies and the drinks. I remember being so glad to reach the top and hurrying to spread out the blanket so I could collapse. We’d stay for hours.

We’d bring picnics to Sunday night band concerts every week. We all took turns bringing the appetizer, the dinner or the dessert and then we’d share. Another time we had a picnic before a town meeting. Lots of people did. We all sat about the baseball field or the bleachers enjoying dinner from a basket. The meeting was with both towns about the school budget and was on the high school football field. The chairs were under a tent and I thought it had a bit of the circus about it. A group of musicians played before the meeting and the snack bar was open. That was a long time ago.

I think it’s time to bring back picnics and Tartan jugs.

“Life is more fun if you play games.”

Last night was cold, and today is chilly though the sun is warm. I envy Fern who is sprawled on the mat by the front door in the sun. Her fur is hot to the touch. Cats know how to live.

My tulips have bloomed. Their bright red is eye-catching. The hyacinths are pink and white and purple and are in the front garden where everyone can see them. My neighbor called and thanked me. She said she looks out her front window often to see how beautiful the colors in the garden are.

I only remember pansies from when I was a kid. They were the only flowers my father planted in the small garden near the front door. I loved their faces. To me they had eyes and mouths and different expressions and they all looked like they were wearing bonnets. I expected them to break out in song. Their voices I figured would be high like the voices in the old cartoons. They’d sing and bob their heads in unison.

When we were really little, my dad would lie on the floor and raise his legs just a bit. We’d get on his feet, stomach first. He’d then raise his legs all the way and up we’d go as high as his legs would take us. He’d hold our hands and spin us using his feet.  We’d laugh the whole time. The worse part was we had to take turns. Even this ride had a line.

I loved it when the whole family would jump into the car for a Sunday ride. My dad would pick back roads, and we’d see farms and cows and sometimes horses. My brother and I each had a window. On warm days I’d open the window, and stick out my hand so the wind could blow it.

When I was growing up, my parents did all sorts of stuff with us. I doubt they knew how important all of it would become, how it would become part of who we are now. They gave us a love for museums, the fun of taking a ride with no destination, and the best of all, playing games together at the kitchen table. Tonight my friends and I will play Phase 10 and Sorry, a game I’ve been playing since I was six.

“Sunday is the core of our civilization, dedicated to thought and reverence.”

The day has potential. The sun is working its way from behind the clouds so every now and then I see light which gives me a bit of hope. A patch of blue also appears then disappears so I’m thinking maybe a nice afternoon might be the order of the day. I think a lovely Sunday afternoon is the best of all. During the week most people work so lovely goes to waste, and Saturday is generally chore and errand day so though we may get out into the sun we don’t get to enjoy it. It’s just the backdrop. Sunday, by tradition, is the quiet day, a day with no ambitions, a day to be enjoyed.

Tomorrow is a holiday, Patriot’s Day, when we commemorate the Battles of Lexington and Concord. Paul Revere and William Dawes will make their way on horseback to warn everyone the British are coming. This time around, though, state troopers will escort the riders. There is also a reenactment of the Battle on Lexington Green which begins around 5:30 and later, at 9, is one at the Old North Bridge in Concord. Tomorrow is also the marathon. This is the first year in a long time I haven’t worked it, but my back prevents it; instead, I’ll watch the Red Sox. Their game begins at 11 because of the marathon.

This is April vacation week for kids. When I worked, I always went to Europe for the week, to one country or city. They were adult trips: no backpacks or hostels or sleeping on night busses. Usually we rented a car and travelled all over. Portugal is still my favorite trip, but I did love Belgium and the Netherlands. The scariest ride was in the fog through the Black Forest. I couldn’t see the road more than a few feet ahead of the car, and I’d have been doomed if not for the white line. The prettiest rides were through the Ardennes and in the Netherlands with its windmills. My parents were my fellow travelers, and they were great fun. My dad and I played cards every night after dinner while my mother worked on her crossword puzzles. They were amiable travelers and didn’t really care which road we took. All of if was new to us. They never balked at any restaurant and were willing to try new foods. I drove and my mother was the navigator. My father thought he was, but he butchered every language so my mother would repeat the city where we were going, and it never ever sounded even close to what my father had said. He never caught on.

“It is spring again. The earth is like a child that knows poems by heart.”

Spawns of Satan is already taken so I don’t know what to call the bird that pecks the side of my house and wakes me up. It has found the most inaccessible spot for me to get at it to shoo it away. I’m thinking a hose with the water at its strongest will reach the spot and scare away the bird. I wouldn’t dare try a stone because I’d probably break a window though it isn’t really all that close to the bird’s spot. It’s not a woodpecker, but I think it’s a nuthatch. Whatever it is doesn’t matter. That bird is going down!

It is still a damp day though the rain has stopped. The temperature is supposed to be in the 40′s and by mid-week close to 60˚. I think the sun would help if it would only come out of hiding.

I have to venture onto the deck later to fill the feeders. I watch the birds from the window while I wait for my coffee and have noticed how bright and beautiful the male gold finches are. Today I also had two house finches and a flicker. My stalwart chickadees have returned though they are fewer than usual.

The mornings are alive with the songs of birds. I woke up at one point and couldn’t see the clock but knew it must be close to dawn as I could hear birds welcoming the day. That is one of the best parts of spring: that the days are again filled with sound. Winter tends to blunt them. We all stay warm and secluded in our houses. The decks and yards are empty. We go from the house to the car to the store to the car and then home. Warm spring days, though, call to us to come outside. The sun is inviting. The world is alive again. It’s as if we’re shedding our winter coats and, like bears, leaving our caves. The long hibernation is finally over.

“Easter tells us that life is to be interpreted not simply in terms of things but in terms of ideals.”

The sun is shining on this Easter morning. The air is still, and the day is getting warmer. No winter coats will cover pastel Easter dresses. I can hear birds singing even though the windows are closed. Yesterday I saw a few buds on one of my bushes. The buds are tiny and closed tightly, but they are another sign that spring is gaining hold.

The alarm rang at 6:15 this morning, and I turned it off and went back to sleep for an hour. I had set it early so I could sneak down my friends’ house and decorate the tree which hangs over their deck: it’s an annual Easter surprise. Though if it’s annual, is it really a surprise? Anyway, when I realized how late it was, I was afraid they’d be awake, but Gracie and I went anyway. The car was covered in frost so I scrapped the windows and off we went. At their house, all the shades were down so they were still abed. I went on the deck and started decorating. One of the giant decorated paper lanterns fell over the deck rail. That meant walking off the deck then all around the outside of the deck and through the underbrush to retrieve it. That was an adventure. The leaves and branches were soaked and sucked up one of my slippers. I had to yank it out of the muck. I found a bird feeder covered in wet leaves and put it on the deck rail. I also saw a mango. I’m still perplexed a bit about the mango, strange spot for one. While I was mucking about, the door opened and out came Darci, their dog. Whoever let her out never looked so I wasn’t caught. I walked back to the deck, petted Darci for a while, hung the lantern then sneaked away. I just got a call thanking me for the surprise and telling me how lovely the tree looks.

I remember so well Easter Sunday mass when I was young. The church was always beautiful and filled with light. The sun shined through the stained glass windows. The dark purple of lent had been replaced by white and all the statues were uncovered. Flowers decorated the floor in front of and all around the altar. I remember the lilies because they were the tallest. The church was always crowded. Women wore hats, fancy hats with veils, small see through veils that went down as far as their eyes. The men wore suits and carried their hats into the church. Little girls wore dresses in pinks and blues and all the different shades of pastel. They wore short white gloves and round hats with ribbons. Their shoes were patent leather, both black and white, and were worn with fancy white socks with lace around the edges. Some boys wore suits, ones with jackets checkered in the front. Others wore white shirts and ties and new pants with deep creases. The shoes were always new and always with laces. The choir sang at Easter. If I had known the word back then, I would have said it was majestic, mass on Easter Sunday.

Happy Easter!

“Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you’ve imagined.”

The clouds still blanketed the sky when I woke up, but I am passed caring. The dull, dark days have been the norm for months or even years: I’ve lost count. The sun appears periodically during a piece of the day, and I get so excited by the sight of if I think we should all dance in the streets wearing brightly colored clothes and flowers in our hair to commemorate the occasion. Then the sun disappears and toys with us no more. Today has just become one of those days. The sun has broken through the clouds, and the sky is turning blue. It’s cold, but it’s sunny. I’m okay with that.

Happy spring! We celebrated yesterday with our annual ceremony: sunrise at the beach, a few songs and then breakfast. Yesterday, though, was a bit different. It was so cold Clare, Tony and I sat in the car and waited. When the sun rose above the water, we ran out for pictures and sang Morning has Broken at a quick pace then ran back into the car to sing Rockin’ Robin. Usually we find a shell to remember the day, but this year we didn’t. The sand was hard and the wind was whipping so much none of us wanted to brave the elements to go down by the water. We watched the sun for a bit then left the beach and went to a new spot for us for breakfast called Good Friends. It is a small place with a paneled pine wall on one side, very old Cape Cod interior decorating still found in some rental cottages. My breakfast was delicious. When I got home, I went back to bed.

My back is troublesome, wincing, yelping troublesome. Luckily I had my yearly physical yesterday, and the doctor gave me some pills to alleviate the pain, and he wants my back x-rayed. I’ll do that tomorrow. I’ve already taken this morning’s pills, and now I’m ready to dance. I will, of course, be wearing my brightly colored clothes.

When I was little, I had a million dreams. None of them had to do with money or being rich. They were dreams of adventure and daring and seeing the world. I’ve been lucky and have lived many of those dreams. This morning, while I was waiting for the monkey poop coffee to drip, I watched the birds through the window and thought about dreams, my now dreams. Amazingly they haven’t really changed much though money has crept in as a part of those dreams. I want to go to Botswana on a safari and see the Okavango Delta, and I want one more trip to Ghana. Both of those are expensive so I got to thinking about an austerity campaign to save money. I like my creature comforts, but I figure giving up a few is a small sacrifice to fulfill some dreams.

“Love the animals: God has given them the rudiments of thought and joy untroubled.”

Yesterday was a delight. Though it was a bit chilly, the sun shined all day. I left my self-imposed hibernation and went outside to do some yard work and Gracie came with me. When I’d finished, I stood on the deck for a while and watched Gracie try to figure out how to carry a slightly deflated basketball in her mouth. She managed and ran around the yard in triumph. I did a laundry, changed my bed and the cat litter, filled the feeders and went on an errand. It was an industrious day all brought about because of the sun. It was like I had my battery recharged. Today is cloudy.

The mouse trap sat in the cellar for over a week, and I only caught two. It is now on the kitchen floor, and I haven’t caught any. Once there were mice. I cleaned out a kitchen drawer and found cloth and cardboard had been gnawed into small pieces, and the mice had left their familiar droppings. I threw stuff away, put most in the dishwasher and hand-washed other stuff. When I took out the drawer, I found piles of chewed paper and more droppings underneath it. With a vengeance, I scrubbed the drawer and under the drawer, and now that everything is clean, I keep checking both drawers, but there are no more tell-tale signs of current mice in residence. I’ll leave the trap for a few more days, but I’m guessing it was Maddie who rid this floor of rodents.

I never saw wild life when I was a kid. I don’t even remember seeing a skunk. I saw lots of fireflies, grasshoppers, tadpoles, frogs and a few snakes, but that was it. The only wildlife I saw was in the zoo. It never occurred to me I was missing anything. I got to see the cows at the farm and the horse in the pasture not far from my house, and that was enough. Here on the Cape I have seen   coyotes, foxes, deer, possums, raccoons and skunks. The latest are the wild turkeys. They are numerous and don’t mind strolling down the street as if in a parade. I love it when I see any of these animals. It means the Cape still has space for both of us.

“It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade.”

Earliest I sloshed my way to the mailbox and then to the driveway to get the papers. My road is slush covered. Tire marks show the route of my paper delivery, and when I got inside, I could see my footprints. It is lightly snowing, slanted and from the northeast, but I can also hear drips on the deck from the roof. The weather for today is rainy and cold with temperatures in the 30′s. I just hope it stays above freezing. The wind was with us all night but has since pretty much disappeared. On the early news was a house which had fallen into the ocean. I suspect it won’t be the last as the rain pits and wears away the dunes. This is just ugly. The only bright spot is I have heat and electricity.

I stood at the back door while the coffee perked. The storm is a bit mesmerizing with the snow coming across rather than down. The railing on the deck outside the door has an inch or more of what used to be snow and is now slush. That slush is the color of cement and Gracie’s paw prints look permanent as if she walked across the new part of a sidewalk. Lots of birds are hovering around the feeder, the squirrel buster feeder. I filled it the other day so there is plenty of seed. All of the birds are gold finches still clad in their dull winter feathers.

March is a difficult month. It doesn’t know whether it wants to be the first spring month or the last month of winter. Easter is at the end of the month so March best make up its mind. Light dresses and pastels don’t work as well with winter coats.

I know they’ll be snow and frost and windshield scraping. I have lived in New England all of my life and haven’t thought about moving anywhere else. Winter is the price we pay for spring and fall, especially fall. All I ask is a sunny day, a winter’s sunny day is fine with me. I know the winter sun is sharper and colder, but sun is sun, and it makes me glad.

“I didn’t know that the world could be so mind-blowingly beautiful.”

The sky is so blue it defies description. The sun is shining brightly, but it’s not enough. The day is still cold. A breeze, maybe even enough to be called a wind, is keeping the warmth at bay. Spring is always late to Cape Cod, and I know that wind which seems to blow most days is to blame.

My garden has more buds and even has some flowers, but the pile of snow by the driveway has only melted a little. I think it’s winter’s way of reminding us that it still holds sway. Last night we had a snow shower.

The garden centers are still empty.

Today Gracie has a well dog visit at the vets. Next week I have my annual physical. I have a feeling Gracie will do better than I. She eats better food, has more exercise and stays away from sweets. She gets checked for heart worm. I get checked for cholesterol. I’d rather be checked for heart worm. I stand a better chance of a low number.

I always watch The Amazing Race. I love to see the countries they visit. On this race they have already been to Bora Bora and are now in New Zealand, two strikingly beautiful countries. I’ve watched the program so many years I know what the teams can expect though I don’t know the specific tasks. I know swimming is probably involved as is driving a car with a shift. Heights too often come into play. If I know that, why don’t all the teams? On most races there is at least one team member who can’t swim or is afraid of heights or doesn’t know how to drive a shift. On this race, a team of brothers didn’t know how to swim. One of the first tasks was, of course, in the water. They were eliminated that week. Last night driving was involved: one member of a team had only a couple of lessons driving a shift. Her car stalled and you could hear her grinding the gears, but she did finally manage the task after several tries. I’m too old for The Amazing Race. It is a younger person’s race and most of the older couples are eliminated fairly early, but I do have a job in mind. I want to be that person who goes from country to country setting up the tasks and planning each leg. I was born for that job!

“Come, gentle Spring! Ethereal Mildness! Come.”

Today I woke up nearer afternoon than morning. It had been a late night. I watched the Oscars at my friends’ house then came home, checked e-mail and watched a little TV. Before I realized it, the time had slipped away and it was after 3.

Yesterday it poured all day, but last night, as I was going home, the rain had turned to heavy snow and it was slushy and slippery, but right now the day is lovely with blue skies, lots of sun and a bit of warmth. I have feeders to fill, dog food to buy and laundry to do. That’s my agenda for the day. I hope I can manage.

I can see the white flowers of the drooping snowdrops in my garden. They don’t mind snow or cold. They are spring’s first miracle. Other green shoots are just appearing through the soil, but in one part of the front garden, the dafs have grown high. Perhaps yellow buds will be next.

Winter is beginning to weight me down. I am tired of cold and snow. I don’t remember ever before being so anxious for spring. Usually I just hibernate with good books, and I’m fine with that and patient with the weather. Maybe all the rain we’ve had, those days without heat or the heavy snowstorms have pushed me to ache for spring. I want one day when the deck is the perfect spot to be.

I don’t like vacations centered on the beach, even when I’m sick of winter. I want to see things, to eat new food and to hear a language not my own. I like old places, even ancient places. The fun of a new city is wandering and getting lost and finding wonders on the way. Sometimes I take all rights or all lefts. I like to sit in the sun at a table at a sidewalk cafe and drink coffee and watch the world go by. When I shop, I look for the unusual. I take a lot of pictures. I am partial to doors and windows. I always think of the generations of people who looked through those same windows and I wonder what they saw. I walk so much I am exhausted and always fall asleep early.

Today I’ll have no adventures, but I do have some sun and some warmth. I guess that will have to do.