Posted tagged ‘bright sun’

“But what minutes! Count them by sensation, and not by calendars, and each moment is a day.”

October 5, 2017

The sun is bright, the sky is an amazing blue, and the breeze is ever so slight, all combining to make for a perfectly lovely day, summer’s return engagement for this week anyway.

When I was a kid, this was the golden season when all the leaves turned yellow. I know there must have been other colors, but it is the yellow I remember the most, the yellow I can still see in my mind’s eye. Fallen leaves covered the sidewalks, and most times I’d  kick them into the air as I walked to school. As the leaves dried, they made a crunching sound and broke apart when we walked on them. The wind took the pieces. I remember October as a warm month when a sweater or a light jacket was enough.

My only bad memory of October was having to go inside earlier and earlier as the days got shorter and shorter. I sort of felt cheater.

I have been lazy. I read most of yesterday and finished the book I got on Tuesday from the library. My to do list didn’t shrink. My halloween decorations are still in the cellar. The bird feeders are now really low on seed. I just have to get motivated.

I’m get to binge on sports today. The Sox open their series with the Astros at 4 and the Pats play against the Buccaneers at 8:20.

My dad would have loved to have seen the success of the Patriots. His allegiance switched from the Giants when the Pats came into being. He was always a home team fan. He loved football and hockey the most. He was only a so so fan of baseball and didn’t enjoy basketball at all. He and I had opposite favorites, but I do watch the Pats but never the Bruins.

Time is passing so very quickly. September was gone in heartbeat. If I were still a kid, I’d love such a quick passage, but now I want time to go slowly so I can savor every minute.

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“If one mouse is a spark…then ten thousand are a conflagration.”

May 19, 2017

I should be outside singing Oh What a Beautiful Morning. I see the scene somewhat like the opening of The Sound of Music: me singing about the morning as I walk and twirl down the street.

The sun is bright, almost shiny. The sky is breathtakingly blue. There is a strong breeze keeping the morning cool and the heat at bay. The high today will be 78˚, quite warm for May on Cape Cod. The low will be a seasonal 52˚.

When I brought Gracie to the yard, it was 7:15, and the morning was alive with sound. The birds were singing all around me. I heard the lawn mower cutting grass in the backyard next door. The air was sweet with the aroma of that cut grass. The dog across the street was barking. Gracie stopped to listen then continued to the backyard. I could hear her walking on the top layer of dead leaves. She finished then ran to the steps and up onto the deck. She used the dog door to come into the house then waited for her treat. She has new biscuits: a combo of peanut butter and carob. She loves her biscuits.

My house got cleaned yesterday, and my furnace and air conditioning unit were also cleaned. The guy who cleaned my furnace said there was a lot of mice poop. That’s it, the end! I’ve had enough of those wee varmints so I called an exterminator who will come next week. Of all things, the events in Watership Down did pop into my head.

I have an empty dance card for the next few days though I do have one errand today. It will be a quick out and back. I’m in the mood for a lazy day. I think it’s the sun’s fault.

“Know the rules well, so you can break them effectively.”

February 22, 2016

I saw them this morning right beside the front steps. My snowdrops, the first real stirrings of spring, have bloomed. Those tiny white flowers have endured snow, below zero temperatures and freezing rain. They are my heroes of spring flowers. They bring hope and joy. Seeing them made me almost giddy. Today is a good day.

The sun is bright but the chilly breeze makes it sweatshirt cold. I have a few stops including the hardware store, not often on my list, and Agway for cat food and litter, two boring places for shopping. I just can’t get excited about nails or screws or wire. As for Agway, they have flowers come spring which redeem the other parts of the store, the boring parts.

I always used to wonder what was under the headpieces the nuns wore. I thought nuns were bald until once I saw a tiny bit of hair from under a coif. I never understood why their outfits were called habits and why most of their habits were black and white, even their thick stockings were black. When my aunt the nun didn’t have to wear a habit any more, she dressed in normal clothes. She also had the worst taste in clothing. I suspect it was because of decades of wearing her habit and not having to choose what to wear or how to accessorize.

Nuns in habits were a bit scary looking when I was young. Most weren’t mean but the habits made them look as if they had the ability to be. A glaring, burning look was all a nun needed for discipline. It wasn’t until I was in the eighth grade that I heard one yell. She was Sister Hildegarde, a legend among us. Even now we all still remember Sister Hildegarde and each of us has a favorite story. I liked her because she was oblivious. I left school during the day, but I always asked permission. She always gave it and never once asked a question about where I was going. I’d just tell her I had to leave but I’d be back. I’d wander around the square, go to the library or have a picnic near the benches at the town hall. I’d mosey back to school after an hour or more of freedom. She’d nod at me to acknowledge my return when I came in and sat down. Usually my friend Jimmy was with me. He took the same delight I did in skirting the line. Nobody else ever came with us. I don’t think they had the same sense of adventure we did or maybe they were just a bit scared. We did it for the fun of it.

“There is no season such delight can bring, As summer, autumn, winter, and the spring.”

January 30, 2016

 

A day in winter with bright sun, no wind and temperatures hovering around 40˚is a beautiful day. Miss Gracie is further proof. She is my barometer: the longer she stays out, the nicer the day. She hasn’t barked or checked in with me for a long time so I’ll take a peek just to make sure everything is okay. It is.

Saturday was the busiest day of the week when I was a kid. My father always went uptown to leave and pick up his white shirts at the Chinaman’s and get a trim at the barber’s. I never thought about the word Chinaman back then. It was just a place to me, a dry cleaner’s, owned and run by a man from China, a Chinaman. I think everyone in town called it the Chinaman’s and nobody meant anything by it. It was purely a description.

Al the Saturday activities were seasonal. In winter I went to the matinee or ice skated at the town rink, a fenced in area built at the start of every winter and taken down when the warmth of spring got too much for the ice. It was the only season my father and all the other fathers in the neighborhood were not outside working in the yards, but come spring  there they were. Saturday was yard day.

My father was never really exact at some things. When he fertilized his lawn, he threw out the fertilizer by hand instead of evenly distributing it with a spreader. When the grass grew, I could always see the pattern of my father’s tosses by the condition of the grass. As soon as the lawn got taller, the whole neighborhood was filled with clipping sound of hand mowers. Every spring my father planted his flowers in the front garden though calling it a garden elevates it as the space was a small one between bushes across the front of the house.

In summer, my father continued to mow the grass every week. He also watered the grass from a sprinkler connected to the hose. My sisters used to love to run through the sprinkler, but my father was never a fan. He said it ruined his grass. He did have nice grass.

Fall was time to rake the leaves, a communal activity in my neighborhood every Saturday. After being gathered, the newly raked leaves were piled by the curb on the side of the street. Tradition dictated that the piles be burned. I watched as closely as my father would let me. I can still picture the flame coming from the middle of the pile and the smoke rising above it. I remember the smell of those burning leaves, one of my favorite smells.

Last year I burned a few leaves just for the memories. The smell, the aroma, was so familiar I could have been ten again and standing with my father.

 

“Life’s a beach. Just roll with it.”

May 17, 2015

Today is a glorious day. The sun is bright, the sky so blue it looks painted and the air warm and smelling of the ocean. It is a day to be outside to feel the sun on my face, to get drowsy in the warmth and maybe fall asleep.

The Sundays of my childhood were quiet days. First we had to go to church. Sometimes we’d go with my dad while other times we’d walk, my brother and I. In the summer the early masses were crowded so people could have the whole day. Those were my favorite masses. Often there were no open seats in the pews so we had to stand in the back and even outside on the steps where I was so far away from the altar at the front of the church I never heard any part of the mass. I’d get tired and sit on the steps. The adults standing in the back used to crane their necks to see what was going inside. I was never that curious.

Most Sundays were family days. In the summer that often meant the beach for the whole day. We never tired of the beach and the ocean no matter how often we went. My favorite ocean time was low tide when there would be pools of warm water. We’d check out the starfish and toss empty crab shells at each other. We’d try to catch the small darting fish we called minnows even though they weren’t. We’d take our pails and walk along the water’s edge looking for shells, but not just random shells, we were picky. We’d pass by the clam shells and look for spirals with different colors inside and out. It was rare to find a complete spiral. Often one side was missing or chipped. We’d nearly fill our pails, wash out the sand in the water then put the pail near the blanket so we could bring home all our treasures. Mine usually went on my bureau for a while.

Eating at the beach was mostly when we were hungry. We had our choice of sandwiches, usually cold cuts but  sometimes egg salad. There were always chips to go with the sandwiches and my mother always packed a bag of Oreos, the easiest of all desserts.

My dad would make sure our feet were cleaned so we wouldn’t bring sand into his car. He’d open the car door, we’d sit and he’d dunk our feet into a pail of water then we’d scramble our way to our seats without touching the parking lot sand. I think it a bit ironic that we ended up living on the Cape where sand is almost part of the car floor.

I remember falling into an exhaustive sleep after a day in the sun and water. Sometimes, when my head was on the pillow, warm water would drain from my ears. It was a strange sensation.