Posted tagged ‘deluge’

“Politics is like football; if you see daylight, go through the hole.”

September 7, 2017

Yesterday we were deluged with rain. The storm started with thunder; a couple of claps were right over my house. Luckily neither Maddie nor Gracie noticed. They were concentrating on the treats I was giving the two of them. The lightning was next, small bolts which quickly came and went. I had to go to Hyannis for a doctor’s appointment. As I entered the highway, the skies opened and the rain was so heavy I could barely see out the windshield. Every car slowed to around 20, and a few put on hazard lights so they’d be more easily seen through the sheets of rain. It was like that all the way. When I arrived at the office, the rain suddenly stopped. After I finished my appointment and got to my car, the rain started again as heavily as before. I slowly drove home. The sides of the road were filled with water, and cars sent the water cascading to the left or to the right. The low spots on the side roads were filled with water. One was so deep it slowed my car. I was relieved when I got home even though it was still pouring. I got soaked in the short run from my car to the house, but being home was worth it..

It got so dark yesterday in the early afternoon my outside lights were triggered. The rain pounded my doors and windows. Gracie backed away from the door. She didn’t go out until there was a brief respite from the storm, in the early evening. Not long after, the rain started again. We got over 2 inches of rain.

Today is damp and overcast. The air is cool. I have the doors and windows opened. I like feeling the chill instead of the humidity of the last two days.

The eye wall of Irma is one of the scariest things I’ve ever seen. It is a monster destroying everything in its wake. I’d be on the road in a heartbeat with Gracie and Maddie, but the cape, like the Keys, has only one road to get us out of the way of danger, one road to the bridge. On Sundays, the traffic back-up leaving the cape after a summer weekend goes for miles and it takes hours to get to the Sagamore Bridge. Just imagine all of us who live here trying to leave at the same time.

Football starts tonight. The Patriots open at home where they’ll raise the new banner to  celebrate last season’s Super Bowl win. Luckily the Sox aren’t playing tonight so my allegiances won’t be torn. Go Pats!

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“There is no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather.”

June 5, 2017

Last night was a long one. It rained the whole night. Gracie and I went out at about ten. I got a bit wet and so did she. I was still wide awake an hour or so later so I watched a Hallmark movie. Yes, it had a happy ending despite arson, theft and a murder. At one, after the movie, I roused Gracie to take her out again. She got to the door and backed away, but I was insistent. I should have paid more attention. It was a deluge, but she needed out for the night so I pushed her out the front door with me unhappily behind her. Though I ran as quickly into the house as I could, I got soaked anyway and so did she.

This morning at about eight, Gracie was restless, and she woke me up. We went outside. It was wet but not rainy. It was cold. We came back inside and I went back to bed, or back to couch to be more specific. I snuggled under the covers and the cozy warmth lulled me to sleep. Gracie joined me. I woke up at ten. Gracie was still asleep so I rousted her to get her outside. I led her to the yard then ran inside the house and made coffee. I read the papers and had two cups of coffee. It was a leisurely morning.

Rain is expected again today so the sky is mighty dark. What a surprise! I have some errands, and it is chilly enough for Gracie to come.

When I was a kid, rainy days always seemed different than other days. My classroom seemed quieter. The rustle of papers sounded loud. The rain on the windows caught my attention as the drops slid down the glass and disappeared. The day seemed longer. Lunch was inside, but we didn’t really care. The rain seemed to drain our energy.

In Ghana, I loved the rain. After the dry season ended, every rainstorm was a bit of a miracle. The brown turned green. The dust became soil. Trees sprouted leaves. The fallow fields came alive with the tiny shoots of corn and millet. Rivers sometimes overflowed their banks. I always felt the rain and never minded getting wet.

“Venture out at dawn, when the world is bathed in golden-ruby light and is quiet and forgiving.”

May 12, 2017

Today is a damp, chilly day. It must have rained a bit overnight as the streets were wet. The Globe reported this morning that all parts of the state are no longer in drought -condition, not a surprise given the amount of rain we’ve had. A nor’easter is due on Sunday which will bring a deluge. The sun is only a periodic visitor.

In my memory drawers, May is always a warm month. I remember riding my bike to school. I remember wearing only a light jacket. I rode under trees filled with blossoms and on petals fallen to the sidewalk. My bike flew. Spring and a bike ride brought such joy.

I have been getting up far earlier than usual, earlier than my paper delivery. I bring Gracie to the backyard and wait for her on the deck. I take in the morning while I wait. The air smells fresh, sweet. The only sounds are birds’ songs. I am glad for my sweatshirt in the early morning chill.

Gracie gets a treat when we come inside. I get coffee. I watch the news and listen for the drop of the newspapers. First is the thud from my neighbor’s paper hitting the driveway and a few seconds later my papers are delivered. They never sit long outside. My morning always starts with the papers and coffee.

I toasted an English muffin this morning and shared it with Gracie. What she didn’t know was I had hidden two of her pills in the nooks and crannies of the muffin. She scarfed the pieces down in record time. Gracie loves anything with butter and so do I.

I saw a cardinal through my window. Its red feathers stood out against the bare branches of the oak tree right by the deck making him easy to see. I need to fill the feeders. I hate that the cardinal was disappointed.

I turned off my heat, but the house got so cold last night I turned the heat back on this morning. It is still cranking hot air. I’m comfortable and warm.

 

“Adventure is worthwhile.”

October 10, 2016

This morning came at 4 o’clock, but I did go to bed at 8 so the early day wasn’t surprising. Right now I’m catching up with the debate by watching MSNBC. I despair.

Yesterday it rained all day and last night the rain fell in a deluge. It was the wettest day in the entire year. The wind blew so hard I could hear it howling. Gracie wouldn’t go out before bed. She took one look and backed away from the door. Smart dog!

I will try and empty my luggage today. I might even do a wash. I did exert myself and go shopping yesterday for animal and people food. We will all eat well for the next few days. I figure one of the best parts of a trip is not having to do anything but enjoy the travel. My room is cleaned. I eat at restaurants. My clothes get washed.

In Ghana time is relative. The Ghanaians distinguish between African time and European time. If Grace, one of my former students, said she’d be at our hotel at 10. We figured if she was there by 11, she’d be early. I’m coming is a favorite Ghanaian comment. It just means that at some time the expected visitor will arrive. The only exception is at a red light. The time between the light turning green and the first horn is about a second or two.

I am glad for the cool days here at home. I spent my entire time in Ghana sweaty. Beads of sweat rolled down my cheeks, and the back of my head was always soaked. Needing a sweatshirt in the cold, early morning is a joy. I probably won’t think the same when the temperature drops to below freezing.

Ghana is not known for its coffee. It is always instant with either evaporated milk or milk powder. I am now on my third cup of real coffee. Maybe I won’t need a nap today.

“It’s still magic even if you know how it’s done.”

July 8, 2014

The breeze is just about gone, pushed aside by the humidity. We will be in the 80’s today while Boston will suffer in the low 90’s. Sitting on the deck under the umbrella surrounded by trees seems a perfect spot to spend the day. After my errand, that’s where I’ll plunk myself with a book and music to sweeten the day.

Both my sisters had extreme weather yesterday. In Colorado there was rain, wind and hail. My sister said the sky got so dark they knew the hail was coming followed by the rain, a deluge. My other sister who lives outside of Boston got tremendous thunder and lightning. She was outside watching when a bolt hit close, and she realized how silly it was to be out there, but lightning is so amazing it seems to draw us to watch. I remember the same realization hitting me when I was in Ghana. It was the start of the rainy season when thunder and lightning herald tremendous rain storms. I was outside in the front of my house on the porch under a roof covered in tin. Lightning struck the ground in front of me, and I decided I best get inside before the roof attracts a bolt of lightning. I had to be happy with a window view.

Deluge was one of my mother’s weather words. It didn’t rain cats and dogs. It was a deluge. Spitting rain was another, and I always knew what she meant. It was too cold to snow she’d tell us, and I believed her never having given thought to the Arctic filled with snow and fatally low temperatures. I was an adult before I realized snow could come regardless of the temperature.

My mother used to play a game with us called Jack and Jill. She would attach a band of paper on one finger of each hand, the same finger on both hands, and place only those fingers on the edge of the table. She would say, “Go away, Jack,” and raise her hand in the air then bring it back down and put the finger on the table again. Jack, the band of paper, was always gone. She’d do the same with her other hand and finger. This time it was Jill who disappeared. We would look under the table on the floor, behind my mother on the floor and on her lap. We never found Jack or Jill. My mother would then say, “Come back, Jack,” and raise her hand again. Jack always came back. She’d do the same with the other finger and Jill would come back. I was aways in awe of my mother and her magic trick. I’d ask her to teach me, and she’d say when I was older, but she didn’t need to teach me. She knew when I was older I’d figure it out for myself and I did. In my mind’s eye I can see my mother with her fingers on the table and my brother and me watching and hoping to catch Jack and Jill. Never finding them made me love that trick even more. My mother was magical.

“It never gets easier, missing you. And sometimes I wonder if it ever will.”

July 28, 2013

Last night it rained, not a lot as under the umbrellas is dry. I sat outside to read my first paper. Pandora was set to 60’s rock, the coffee was perfect and the newspaper wasn’t filled with dire events. I call that a great morning.

In the musical Camelot, King Arthur describes Camelot and says, “The rain may never fall till after sundown.” I always thought that a good idea.

I still have bits of the old Sunday in my head. It was a day to recharge for the week. We went to church, came home, got changed, and hung around until after Sunday dinner. Even then we didn’t go far. Sunday seemed to bring a quiet as if it were built in to the day. Even my neighborhood with a million kids was quiet. That’s a piece that hasn’t disappeared. I don’t hear anyone. I hear a bird or two but no people’s’ voices. Not a car has gone up my street. I know if I leave my neighborhood the stores will be open, and cars will have filled parking lots and lines of cars will sit barely moving on the roads, but for now, I’ll stay here and let it be my Sunday.

Each generation gives something to the next. Most times they probably don’t realize it. From my mother we have these wonderful sayings, and we use them all the time with each other. “It’s too cold to snow,” my mother always said. Mostly she was wrong. When it rained, it was a deluge, and my sister told me that the other day. Snow in spring is poor man’s fertilizer, and my father always noted it and so do I. My parents gave us big things, but we use the small ones the most, the every day observations of life. My mother learned them from her mother and passed them along to us without knowing we’d hold on to them so closely. They are precious and very time we use one, we bring my mother or father back with us for a little while.

No one ever told us how difficult it is and how long that feeling lasts when you lose your parents. I suppose we wouldn’t have believed them if they had.