Posted tagged ‘cold morning’

“To find perfectly ripe fruit, catch it.”

September 2, 2017

Last night I needed an afghan, and this morning is chilly again, but hot weather is coming back next week. Rain is due late tonight into tomorrow, but Sunday will be lovely. Monday will be traveling home day for the tourists. I’ll be happy to wave goodbye and have the roads back, especially on rainy days.

I have a thoroughly empty dance card this weekend. I toyed with inviting friends for dinner and a movie but decided just to hang around and do whatever. I have to go to the dump sometime this weekend because of the full trash bag sitting on the kitchen floor. I dare not put it outside on the deck. Critters attacked a bag the last time I put one out, and it was gross cleaning up all that garbage and trash, especially the coffee grounds.

When I was a kid, I used to spit out the apple skin. My mother would sometimes peel it for me, but not all the time so I’d spit. Oranges needed to be cold. Bananas couldn’t have black spots or be green. Peaches had fur so I never ate peaches. I liked pears even with the skin. I ate strawberries but only in strawberry shortcake. I liked the biscuits my mother made for the shortcake, and I loved the whipped cream. Lemons were only good for lemonade, but my mother preferred a short cut, frozen lemonade. At Thanksgiving we had date-nut bread and tangerines. My mother kept boxes of raisins as a snack for us, but I preferred cookies for snacks. Coconuts and pineapples seemed exotic for me though I probably didn’t know that word back then, but I do remember thinking they belonged on a tropical island, someplace like Hawaii. There were other fruits available but we didn’t eat them.

Every day in Ghana, I had a fruit salad of sorts for lunch. It had cut up pineapple, oranges, bananas and sometimes mangoes. That was the perfect lunch for the heat of the day. The fruits came from Southern Ghana. They didn’t grow where I lived, in the savannah grass land, only the pawpaw did. I could buy whole coconuts but I never did. From small girls who carried a display box of sorts on their heads I bought toasted coconuts balls, brown and sweet. I could buy oranges from aunties selling them along side the road. They would cut off the top and peel a bit around the cut with a single edge razor blade so I could get at the juice. Oranges didn’t have to be cold any more.

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“Our pets are our family.”

May 11, 2017

Yesterday in the early morning, Gracie and I went to get the papers in the front of the house. I saw a feather on the road and picked it up. It was huge and I knew it belonged to a wild turkey. All of a sudden the gobbling started. The turkeys were on the next street. I could see them from the deck. They were strutting as they walked up the street.

Gracie woke me up at 3. I could hear her panting, a sign she needs to go out. I put on my sweatshirt and my slippers and out we went to the backyard. It was even too early for the birds. Luckily Gracie was quick, and I was back to bed in no time only to awakened again at 6. I put on my sweatshirt and my slippers and out we went to the backyard. This time I could hear the morning songs of the birds. We were back inside quickly, and I surprised myself by falling asleep until 8:30. Gracie slept a bit longer.

During the summer of the Watergate hearings, I stayed glued to the television. I was fascinated. I heard the revelation the president taped everything and the reaction of the committee. I loved Sam Ervin, his sense of humor, his outrage and his dogged hunt for the truth. I remember Howard Baker, a republican, sitting beside Ervin asking, “What did the President know, and when did he know it?” It was a bipartisan committee dedicated to finding the truth. That is no longer possible.

My lawn was mowed for the first time this season yesterday. The air was filled with the sweet aroma of the newly mowed grass. The problem, though, is now you can see the connect the dots game on my lawn. During the early springtime, I took Gracie to the front yard to pee. Now you can see all the dead lawn dots. Sebastian, my neighbor and landscaper, and I spoke this morning. He is going to reseed those spots. He is not happy with my lawn or my front garden. He is going to mulch the garden. The beauty of my grass and yard is a matter of pride for him and me too.

 

It is still sweatshirt weather during the day and blanket weather at night. My heat goes on for just a bit every morning. The house was cold at 3 when Gracie and I went outside. I was glad to get back under the covers.

We have a couple of errands to do today. Both Gracie and Maddie are out of treats and Maddie keeps making her displeasure known. Gracie, though, is willing to take substitutes. She munched a piece of scali bread with butter and ate a bit of cheese then lowered herself to eat a dog biscuit. Both of them are now sleeping. I am blessed.

“I couldn’t shed the cold; it clung to every bit of me.”

January 31, 2017

I walked out of the house to get the papers and was totally taken aback at how cold it was. It was sunny then but the sun was just a backdrop providing some light but no heat. Since then the sun has been replaced by whitish clouds. Snow will be coming later but only an inch or two. I’m staying home today where I’ll be warm and comfortable.

When I was a kid, winter usually meant staying inside after school. I’d do my homework and then watch TV. The only exercise I had was walking to and from school. We, the four of us, must have driven my mother crazy. My brother and I would tease our younger sisters. He and I would sit on the couch on each side of one sister and point at her. That drove her crazy and she’d yell to my mother about us. We’d yell back and say we weren’t even touching her, but my mother knew. She’d tell us to stop.

I didn’t my bike out much in the winter. Mostly I walked everywhere. Some Saturdays I’d ride with my father when he did his errands. My favorite stop was at the Chinaman’s as everyone in town called it. The shop was where my dad left his white shirts each week to be cleaned. Behind the counter on shelves were bundles of cleaned shirts wrapped in brown paper tied with string. The laundry was always steamy from the big ironing machine by the window. I used to watch the Chinaman iron.

On Sunday, if I was up and dressed early enough I could ride with my father to church. He was an usher at the eight o’clock mass. He’d give me a dime to put in the basket. I always sat in a pew where he collected the money. The ushers never sat. They just stood in the back entryway and talked in whispers until it was time for the money offerings.

One of the best parts of being retired is staying home on the coldest of days, a day like to day.

“Hope Smiles from the threshold of the year to come, Whispering ‘it will be happier’…”

December 31, 2016

Today is a bit gloomy. I suppose it is a perfect day to end the year, almost a lament of the passing of time, not cheery and sunny, but gloomy and dark. It was cold this morning but the day will be warmer, in the mid 40’s, but I don’t mind one or the other as I have no plans to go anywhere. Warm inside is fine for me.

When I go out to eat, I often order a cheeseburger. If I can, I add bacon. That has been my favorite burger as long as I can remember. When I was in high school, I’d go to the A&W drive up restaurant and order my bacon cheeseburger. It was always scrumptious, loaded with cheese and covered with slices of well-cooked bacon. I mourned when the A&W in West Yarmouth closed. Gone was the burger and gone was the last restaurant with car service.

I am sorry to see only a few remnants of my childhood. Most drive-ins have been sold for the land, Woolworth’s and Grants are no longer the stores in the square, the ice cream man and his bell are just memories, the Saturday matinee is long gone as are Friday night dates at the bowling alley, candlepin bowling, small balls, three to a frame. We’d usually bowl three games, and we were terrible. I was the queen of gutter balls.

My town didn’t have a McDonald’s or a Burger King. It had a Carroll’s with its 15¢ hamburgers and 12¢ fries. Carroll’s was built where there used to be a train ride for little kids and where Papa Gino’s is today. It is at the far end of a parking lot which has the China Moon and Hago Harrington’s miniature golf course bordering it, both of which have been around as long as I can remember. Until recently the China Moon looked exactly the same inside as it always had with its vinyl booths and Chinese lantern lights. It is now undergoing renovation which I find sad. I loved that it hadn’t changed in all these years. It had a personality, probably gone now.

I have no idea what this new year will bring. My only hope is it will be a better year than last.

Happy New Year!!

“Our pets are our family.”

September 12, 2016

The den is my refuge from the summer heat. The windows face north and west so no sun hits the room until late afternoon. Until then, the room stays relatively cool. Today, though, the room was cold. It needed a bit of the sun. I had left the windows open, and the cold night air had lingered. My arms were cold so I put on my sweatshirt. I love needing a sweatshirt.

I have no obligations today, no chores and no lists. For the sake of hygiene, I will take a shower. I might even change my bed, but that may be going a bit overboard.

Yesterday was sit on the couch and watch sports day. First were the Red Sox who beat Toronto to go up 2 games. David Ortiz hit another crucial home run. I clapped and cheered. It’s a good think I have no neighbors. The Patriots were without Brady and were not favored to win. They did win 23-21, a squeaker. It was a good day for Boston sports.

I saw vultures in Ghana. They were big, and they were ugly birds. They used to walk around the open courtyard of the family compound. Nobody seemed to care so I didn’t. Once there were two of them. Toddlers walked around them and were totally unafraid. If I had gone near those toddlers, they would have screamed. They would have been totally afraid of my white skin. It gave me pause.

My pets are old. Fern and Maddie are almost 18, and Gracie is almost 12. They sleep a lot. The cats sleep the most as cats are wont to do. Gracie is the most active. She goes out her dog door, does her business then runs around the yard. She comes back with spit on her muzzle from opening her mouth when she runs. That sounds gross, but it isn’t or maybe it isn’t because Gracie is my dog. Boxers drool when food is around. Gracie makes bubbles. That takes talent.

“The point of modernity is to live a life without illusions while not becoming disillusioned”

June 13, 2016

My house is quite cold. The temperature last night went down to the 50’s, and the house still holds that cold. The open windows didn’t help. If this were summer, I probably would love the chill. Right now I’ve put on a sweatshirt.

Coffee is always a place where you can express yourself anyway you choose. I don’t censor even if I disagree. The horrific killings in Orlando were the topic yesterday in the comments. I did not agree with many of the views opined. I think all of you who read Coffee know where I stand on most issues. I think I have screamed liberal with my comments and views. I advocate gun control though that hasn’t previously been a topic. The Second Amendment is the defense for gun advocates. I point out to them that the amendment is in reference to militias, not individuals, “A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.”

In college, senior year, I picketed at the wholesale vegetable and fruit market every Friday in support of César Chávez and the United Farm Workers. My father, who voted twice for Richard Nixon, was appalled. I just ignored him. He and I had been butting heads for years about politics. We never agreed. Finally after one heated argument during the Reagan administration, we decided never to discuss politics again, and we didn’t. Peace reigned.

Gracie is having surgery tomorrow and has to be at the vet’s office at 10. She has a lump on her gum which needs to be removed. The vet has checked it in the past and said it would need to be removed if it got bigger. It did. I’m not going to post tomorrow. I’ll be on edge waiting for news of the surgery. I worry about my Gracie girl.

“A critic once characterized baseball as six minutes of action crammed into two-and-one-half hours. “

March 12, 2015

The morning is downright cold. I’m thinking winter is trying to hold on, trying to keep spring away, but it’s too late. The temperature no longer matters. I have dismissed winter. I haven’t quite welcomed spring, but I figure we’re in the shoulder season betwixt and between and winter is losing ground, literally and figuratively. A snow storm isn’t an impossibility as we sometimes have one in March and even in April but they are the swan songs. This morning, after getting the papers, I saw a green shoot in my front garden. It survived the snow. I figure I have too.

The Boston Globe reported that the Red Sox are trying to entice young kids to the ballpark. It seems kids think the game is boring to watch, and they’d prefer their baseball as a video game. I get that. The games are long, especially Sox games. Other sports seem to have constant, or almost constant, action. The best played baseball games have low scores with nothing much going on. The fun games are usually when balls are hit out of the park and the score is high. When I watch at home, there is always plenty of time for bathroom breaks or a trip to the kitchen for snacks. I seldom miss any action. I wouldn’t dare do that during a Pats’ game. Nope, I wait for the commercial. There are new rules this year to speed up the game. My favorite new rule is pitchers no longer have to throw those silly way outside the strike zone balls on intentional walks. The manager can simply signal the umpire. The one I expect to cause the most problems is hitters must keep at least one foot inside the batter’s box at all times. David Ortiz comes to mind. He steps out of the box, leans his bat between his legs, spits on his gloves and then pounds his hands together after just about every pitch. I always think it’s a bit gross, but baseball players have rituals and superstitions which must, in their minds, be honored. Stepping out of the batter’s box to spit on gloves to David is essential.

I’m thinking a cattle prod might be more helpful. Give the players a couple of warnings then the next time they run afoul of the rules bring out the cattle prod. A zap or two should work.