“All seasons have something to offer”

Still a bit on the chilly side, but the weatherman promised 50˚. I, however, am skeptical. Breakfast was tasty at the diner this morning: French toast with Canadian bacon, sort of an international meal says I with tongue in cheek. Gracie and I made one stop on the way home, and that should do it for the day.

On my way home I got to thinking about the seasons. Maybe it was all the flowers I saw as I passed by front gardens. I decided spring is a flamboyant old woman who wears boas and flowing scarfs and dresses. She is bright with color. Her movements are  exaggerated. She speaks quickly and her hands are always in motion. Her purple boa is around her neck like a scarf and the fluffy part waves from her breath when she speaks. Spring’s clothes are never color coordinated. That’s not her point.

Winter is an old man hunched by age. He wears a long dark coat almost to his ankles. It has large black buttons. He wears a hat, a fedora, which doesn’t cover his ears. They are perpetually cold. He keeps his hands clenched in his coat pockets hoping for a bit of warmth which doesn’t come. His fingers are stiff from the cold. Winter shuffles when he walks. He wears galoshes which are never snapped and barely stay on his feet. Winter is always sad-looking.

Summer wears orange and yellow and flip-flops. Her shirts are covered in huge flowers that look like orchids. Her face and arms are tanned. Her freckles have returned. There is a lightness to her, a reflection maybe of the warmth of the sun. She is joyful at the beauty of the day.

Fall is the season with the most difficult of all personalities. It is a bit of summer and a hint of winter. The last flashes of color are in the garden. The trees are ablaze with reds and yellows. I always think fall is giving us a warning of what is to come and is playing with us a bit. The mornings have a chill while the afternoons are warm, and, once the sun goes down, the evenings are cold. Fall dresses in muted colors and, after the summer, seems quiet, even contemplative.  Sometimes I think of fall as a long line of monks wearing brown robes with their cowls over the heads as they walk slowly and sing a Gregorian chant.

“Fate: protects fools, little children, and ships named Enterprise.”

This morning I went out to breakfast then did a couple of errands. Each week I keep track of the number of miles I travel just for the heck of it. When I turned on the car this morning, I saw I’d gone 8 miles since Sunday. I must be hibernating. There is no other explanation. I know I don’t get dressed in real clothes (by this I mean outside clothes) most days, but, instead, I wear comfy flannel pants, slippers and a sweatshirt. I shower for the sake of cleanliness and brush my teeth every day. I spent one day and a half cleaning and a few other days reading. I went to a wake, but I didn’t drive so no credit for the mileage. Throw in a few afternoon naps, and we have this week and 8 miles until today. I have now doubled my mileage.

It’s another ugly weekend with cloudy skies. A snow storm is coming tomorrow but not here. We’ll get the rain. We have been spared. North of us will get the snow, amounts not yet determined. The weather is the topic of conversation just about everywhere and is always the lead story on the news.  Even today’s Syfy lineup of movies is into weather. You have to love these titles. I figure each one gives away the whole plot. Right now I’m watching Storm. Later will come Lightning Strikes, Metal Tornado, Super Cyclone and the evening’s big movie, End of the World. I’m glad I have popcorn.

I admit it. I have been to a couple of Star Trek conventions. My sister and I even dragged our mother to both of them. We didn’t wear uniforms or alien make-up, but we were no less fans than those who did. It was fun walking around the booths and going to the different discussions. We even got to see actors from Star Trek, The Next Generation. We both are still into Star Trek, and every year I give my sister the newest Star Trek ornament from Hallmark for her birthday. We are only missing the first one which is now too expensive to buy. It’s a collector’s item, and this collector wishes she were wealthier.

I guess I’m happy the word geek didn’t arrive until after I’d grown up.

“You dirty rat…”

The weather hasn’t changed. It is a grey, dark unseasonably warm day. The paper says a high of 48˚. I guess this is the January thaw except nothing needed thawing except the tiniest blots of ice still left on corners from the plows during that ersatz snow storm.

The mouse count is higher: 6 have been relocated. The latest one got caught last night, but I left him in the trap all night. That’s the last time I’ll do that. It was a small one which was shaking when I let him go. He was so unsteady on his feet he had to stay a while in one spot. I watched until he finally moved across the street with a bit more confidence. I don’t want mice in my house, but I also do not want to be responsible for their demise. If the cats get them, that’s fine with me, but I won’t use a deadly trap.

While I was waiting for my coffee to finish brewing, I went to the window to watch the birds. What did I see? A spawn of Satan was dangling on my new suet feeder gnawing on the wooden top trying to get at the suet. I ran outside to scare the beast and was amazed at how wood he’d already eaten away. I got my cayenne pepper and smeared it all over the gnawed sides and the top. The big birds love that feeder because it has a long bottom which allows them to rest their tails on it while they eat. A flicker was there just now when I got another cup of coffee. The rain hasn’t washed away the pepper-I can still see it. I hope that keeps the spawns away.

The rodents have a vendetta against me. Somewhere, in rodent headquarters, my picture or a reasonable facsimile, is on the wall. The beasts meet periodically to figure ways to drive me crazy. The huge, fat spawn which can barely jump from limb to limb is probably the leader. He riles the troops. The mice find the smallest holes and get inside. The spawns mock me by eating not only the seeds but also the feeders.

I’m beginning to think I’m losing it here. It is Gaslight reinvented. The mice and spawns are out to drive me crazy. I’m just so glad the 6 ft fence keeps out the raccoons and the skunks. That would be too great a coalition even for me.

“It ain’t the heat; it’s the humility.”

Mother Nature is running amok. It is far too hot for July. The Cape will reach 88˚ while Boston may break the record and reach 100˚. It’s a bit like winter, not from the temperature but from the amount of time I spend inside the house. I am so comfortable here that I dread going out into the heat. Tomorrow, happily, should be the last of this weather, and cooler days will follow and maybe even some rain: thunder showers would be nice.

I don’t remember when heat became an issue for me. When I was a kid, every day seemed the same, a day for playing outside regardless of the temperature though I could definitely tell which days were hotter because I got grubbier: the dirt and the sweat tended to mingle. When I was a teenager, I never went out much during the day. That was when the nights were more appealing. That was when my friends got their licenses, and that was when we’d drive around at night with no destinations in mind. We’d chip in our quarters to get a buck’s worth of gas to get us through the evening. Sometimes we’d stop at Carroll’s Hamburgers where all the parking spots were filled, and teenagers milled around or sat on the hoods of their cars. Other times we just slowly drove through the lot to check out the action. Some nights, after we’d had drill team practice, we’d stop at the diner to have desserts. We’d usually walk from the field uptown to O’Grady’s then we’d walk home, leaving in all different directions. I don’t remember those nights being hot either.

At some time, I don’t know exactly when, an intolerance for extremes sneaked in and became part of me. I don’t like the really cold days of winter, and I hate feeling hot and sweaty and strangled by the humidity in summer. The thermostat has been getting higher and higher on winter days, and the central air has been blowing more and more each summer. I remember seeing old ladies wearing sweaters on a balmy summer night, and I was mystified. My mother used to keep her house so hot in winter we’d wear t-shirts and complain. My neighbors find 78˚a comfortable AC temperature and I snorted quietly when they told me, but I can see it coming. The older I get the less I seem to adjust. I’ll have to keep the afghan close for winter and put on socks in the summer when the AC is blasting. My feet get really cold.

” I love the rain. I want the feeling of it on my face.”

The weather is the same as it’s been. The paper calls today partly cloudy. I always think of that forecast as a half-full or half-empty sort of weather observation. Why can’t it be partly sunny? For tomorrow, the first day of summer, Mother Nature is doing herself proud. She’s bringing on the sun and the heat, maybe even into the 80′s. Finally I get to shed this sweatshirt!

I have the Weather Channel app on this computer. It is set to give me the weather in South Dennis and in Accra. If I were in Accra, I’d be writing about the weather being the same every day: highs in the low-80′s, lows in the mid-70′s and the possibility (60%) of thunder showers every day. It is, after all, the rainy season. I loved the rainy season and the fierce thunder storms which came after winds strong enough to blow furniture over and whip trees. Where I lived was savannah grassland. Most of the year it is brown and dead, but when the rains come, the grass is green and tall. Millet grows in all the fields, and the market stalls are filled with fresh produce. That is why I have chosen to go back to Ghana and Bolgatanga in August again this year. The rains will still come every day. Some will be drenching while others will be misty and cooling. We always went about our business  in the rain. We never had umbrellas. I don’t even remember seeing any. We knew when the rain stopped the sun would return and dry us, but I remember well the feeling of being wet and cool while walking in the rain.

When I was a kid, nothing was better than a summer rain. We’d run and play and get soaked doing it.  We’d kick water at each other from the rivers roaring through the gutters on the street. I remember my hair soaken wet and plastered to my head. I remember my arms stretched out to the sides as I stood in the rain, and I remember laughing from sheer joy.

“Think in the morning. Act in the noon. Eat in the evening. Sleep in the night.”

Having one bug wasn’t enough apparently. First came the cleaning bug and now I have the early bug. Most nights I am awake until well after 12, closer to 1 or 2 usually, then I sleep 8 hours. I found out that’s how much sleep I need after I tossed away the alarm clock; consequently, I sleep late some mornings: late, of course, being relative. Last night I went to bed early, around midnight. This morning I woke up at 5. That’s right. I woke up when it was still dark. I tried to go back to sleep but couldn’t so I got up and came downstairs for my morning coffee. Around 6 AM, adding a bit of emphasis with the AM, I went to the driveway to get the papers. It was a bit chilly out, but the birds were singing so I hung around a while. When I came back inside, I started my usual morning routine but far too early. This better be a one day event!

The local paper has police news called The Log, usually with a mug shot or two. I couldn’t believe the one I read this morning. A woman was arrested for speeding away from an attempted traffic stop. She reached 70 on the local roads before the police stopped her. She had her one year old in the car. The police smelled alcohol on her so she was given a sobriety test and failed. In addition to the speeding charge, she was then also arrested for driving under the influence, child endangerment, negligent operation of a motor vehicle and a marked lanes violation. At the police station, arrangements were made for her friend to pick up the one year old. The friend arrived holding her own young child. The police smelled alcohol on her breath. She also failed the sobriety test and was arrested for operating under the influence, child endangerment and driving with a suspended license.

I couldn’t believe it. Just go drunk to the police station, no big deal, and bring your child. People like these two walk the Earth among us. Keep that in mind and be careful.

I seldom have a diatribe. I admit every now and then I groan or complain and even whine a little. I hope you’ll chalk up today’s to my being awake far too early.

It’s going to be cold and might even rain today. I watched the eye-opener news and weather at 5:30 and heard the weatherlady say it will hit the mid-70′s next week. I figure for my first day of spring festival I won’t have to dress like Nanook of the North.

“Dusting is a good example of the futility of trying to put things right. As soon as you dust, the fact of your next dusting has already been established.”

On the ground this morning was a dusting of snow. I even hesitate to use dusting to describe that snow, but I don’t know a smaller word for the amount on the ground. When I went to get the papers, the air reminded me of early spring when the mornings are chilly but hint of a warmer day. It is only 39° now but it is supposed to be in the mid-40′s later. I know this is only February, and I know spring is a long way off, but I can’t help but think of spring on a day like today.

More and more shoots are above the ground in my front garden. A seed catalogue comes every day, and I look through it trying to decide what flowers to add to my garden this year. I have a side garden now which runs along the driveway and needs filling. I have a feeling the garden store staff will applaud every time they see me coming. There might even be balloons!

Today is in-house chore day with washing to do, plants to water, my bed to change and a few places which need polishing. The book-case is so disgusting I could write a novel in all the dust. I’d need a clever title or I could just steal Butler’s title The Way of All Flesh.

Somehow or other all of my doctor’s appointments seem to come in the spring. I figure there is some weird connection between them and the rebirth of the Earth.

For years, I made special dinners and invited friends. I usually made something I hadn’t ever made before because I enjoyed hunting through cookbooks, imagining how the foods would fit together and then preparing the dishes. Lately I’ve been saving recipes and thinking about cooking again. I also just bought a new cupcake pan and want to give it a try. I’ve always been a cake person, but I’m willing to branch out to make a few of cake’s smaller relatives.

Well, the dust is calling me and I need to get the wash going. Today is just going to be one of those days. I’ll hate it, but at the end, even all that cleaning will give me a sense of accomplishment.

“The snow doesn’t give a soft white damn whom it touches.”

“In the lane, snow is glistening,” describes the view outside my window. The snowfall is heavy, and there must be a few of inches or more already on the ground. The weather report won’t pin down the total amount but throws around words like considerable and steady all day. I was going to go to the store but changed my mind. I’ll just stay inside. The postman’s truck has already been by, and I watched his rear wheels spin a bit before he moved on to the next mailbox. I keep looking out the window and have to admit the snow is really pretty right now.

This is our first snow storm and it has been long in coming. Much as I’d like to complain, I can’t. The winter has been kind to us so I’ll hold my complaints until the next storm then I’ll let loose and do lots of muttering.

Gracie went out a few minutes ago but not into the yard. I hope the snow caused the quick trip and she didn’t decide to do her business on the deck. I tried to watch but she was in a blind spot, and I’m not about to go out and check. The stairs are steep on both sides of the deck so maybe she was a bit afraid of sliding. When Skip comes to shovel and plow, I always have him do the stairs. I also use pet friendly de-icer on the stairs so they’ll dry faster.

Even the oak trees look lovely with their branches covered in snow. The world is quiet. No one ventures onto the roads. It’s too early for the sounds of snow blowers and shovels. I saw only one bird at the feeder, a flicker, so I’m guessing my regular visitors must be huddled somewhere away from the storm. The spawns of Satan are missing. Their nests are high up in the pine trees where I figure they’re lying together to keep warm and watching the snow much the same as I’m doing.

I’ll stay cozy and warm and watch from the window. This is really winter, and I’m not a willing participant.

“I did not have three thousand pairs of shoes, I had one thousand and sixty.”

This morning the frost was on the pumpkin, the lawn and the windshield. The tips of the grass glistened in the sun and cracked underfoot when I went to the driveway for the papers. Before I left for breakfast, I had to get the scraper from the trunk and scrape the windshield. It was the first frost of the season. I could see my breath in the morning light.

The day warmed quickly, and by the time I’d finished breakfast, it was already in the 40′s. Now it is 51° and feels almost balmy. Everything is relative.

The sun looks different in the fall and winter. From here in the den, I can see it shining through the oak tree just as it shined all summer, but it looks cold, almost wan. It provides only light now and even its light lasts just a short part of the day. I try and keep the darkness at bay. On the deck is a small fir topiary which stays lit all night. In three different parts of the yard, white lights are lit from six to midnight. They give a bit of comfort and shine through even the darkest of nights and are my reminder that winter is but one of the seasons.

I’m wearing my warm slippers, part of my cold weather uniform. Nothing is worse than cold feet. Cold hands are easier to get warm, but cold feet seem to chill the whole body. My socks have come out of storage as have my winter shoes. My sister and I were talking last night. She asked what I wanted for Christmas. I said I had no idea. She asked if I needed shoes. I said I had my winter shoes, still good for five or more years, and my summer sandals, also good for a few more years so I was covered for shoes. I thought about it later and chuckled a bit. My life is two pairs of shoes, and they are more than sufficient.

“The trouble with the rat race is that even if you win, you’re still a rat.”

The morning was damp and cold, a left over from yesterday’s build the ark weather. The rain was so heavy it pounded the roof, windows and the deck. Gracie went out in the morning then stayed inside most of the day but had no choice but to go out again at 4:30, but she was back inside in a flash as it was still raining. The rain finally stopped in the early evening and Gracie stayed out a while to make up for lost time. Rain is predicted for today as well, but the sun did poke out once or twice a bit earlier so maybe the day will improve. I always have hope.

We’re going for a ride today on the back roads. I need to get out for a while, and Gracie is always a willing passenger. Maybe I’ll ride all the way to the French bakery, but that will depend on the traffic. There are fewer tourists on the roads as some schools are starting either this week or next. I can’t believe the summer is passing so quickly.

When I was a little kid, time had no meaning. Significant events like my birthday, Christmas and Easter, because of the bunny, were countdown events but not much else was important enough to be noted. I liked school so I didn’t count the days until summer vacation.

All school year every week day was like all the other week days. We got up, had breakfast, got washed and dressed then walked to school, learned a bit, ate lunch, had recess, learned a bit more then walked home. We got out of our school clothes into our play clothes, took advantage of whatever time we had to play, went back in, did homework, ate dinner, watched a little TV, went to bed, slept all night then woke up the next morning to do it all over again. It was sort of a kids’ rat race.

When I worked, every week day was the same. Get up, stumble to the coffee maker, have a couple of cups while reading the papers, get dressed, go to work, teach a few classes, eat lunch, teach a few more classes then go home and get out of my school clothes. If I had an errand, I did it in the afternoon on the way home from school. I’d then get home, correct papers, eat dinner, shower, watch a little TV and go to bed only to get up the next morning to do it all over again. I was part of the adult rat race.

I keep a calendar to remind me of invitations or appointments. Without it, most would slip my mind because I don’t dwell on time any more. I go to bed when I please. Sometimes Gracie wakes me up but most times I just wake up, stumble down for my coffee and spend a long time reading both papers. Nothing is hurried. I am now and forever a former member of the rat race.