Posted tagged ‘forsythia’

“Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night.”

April 20, 2017

Sorry for the lateness of today’s musings. Last night Gracie had a bad evening which translated into a bad night for me. She fell asleep at the foot of the couch, and every time she moved I checked on her. She slept through the night. The last time I checked the clock it was 3:30. The next time it was 5:00. I spent the evening watching Netflix and reading. This morning Gracie was just fine. We went to the backyard three or four times. She was happy to be outside and went running into the yard from the gate.

We just got back from buying dog, cat, and me food. Gracie was hungry and just about snorted her dinner. I did the same with my lunch, a barbecue pork wrap. I also bought soup, beef barley and turkey noodle, and a roast beef sandwich for tonight. It was a banner shopping trip.

It poured last night. Even on this floor I could hear the rain pounding the roof. I don’t know when it stopped, but it left a gray, ugly day; however, there was a bright spot. There’s always a bright spot if you pay attention. I saw the sun. Okay, not the sun as it’s so cloudy, but the forsythia are in bloom and bright yellow flowers are everywhere. They almost make me forget the clouds.

I’m going to nap today. Gracie and I will curl up on the couch and be cozy and warm. She is already napping stretched out on the couch beside me.

Sometimes I have a craving for something salty. When I do, I always think of that Star Trek episode when Kirk visits his one-time girlfriend and her husband on some planet. The first murder victim is the red shirt. Everyone knows that on an away mission the red-shirted crewman is doomed. All the salt was sucked from his body. Come to find out, that old girlfriend was really a salt sucking monster. I can sympathize.

Every day new blossoms open in my front garden. When I get the papers, I stop to look at all that beauty. What a wonderful way to start the day.

 

“The seasons are what a symphony ought to be: four perfect movements in harmony with each other.”

April 11, 2016

The world is finally waking up from its winter’s sleep. The forsythia are starting to bloom so pockets of bright yellow are sitting along the roadside. The hyacinths have bloomed and are scattered in the gardens in a variety of colors. Mine are pink, purple and white. In the front garden I see small shoots getting taller every day. I don’t know what they are. I think maybe I just have to be patient to see what they’ll become.

In winter I abide the weather. That’s just the way it is. But as winter finishes its cycle, I get impatient for spring. I want gardens bright with flowers. I want warm days. I want color. Summer is another season I abide. When it first arrives, I am so happy to feel the warmth, to sit on the deck and to have all the windows open to the sounds of the birds and the sweet smell of the season. By August, though, the summer is too hot and humid. It is time to be inside with the air conditioner. I want cooler days. I am ready for the end of summer and the first stirrings of fall, my favorite of all the seasons. Fall never seems to last long enough. All of a sudden we have our first frost, and I am reminded it will be winter’s turn again, but now we are as far away from winter as we’ll ever be. I am so happy for the coming of spring.

The air is a bit chilly, but we have sun so I’m not going to complain. This morning it rained a bit, and I expected a cloudy, damp day. What a nice surprise to see blue skies and the sun so rare of late.

When I was a kid, this would be bicycle weather. My bike stayed in the cellar all winter and it was quite an ordeal to get it out of the cellar and up the stairs. A concrete wall was a step or two across from the cellar door. It was one side of the set of stairs. The other side was the foundation of the house. My bike couldn’t come straight out of the cellar as there wasn’t enough room because of that wall. It had to be turned in creative ways so it faced the cellar steps. I used to lift it as I was going out the cellar door so only the back tire was on the ground. I’d hold the bike as best I could and pivot on the back tire so the whole bike faced the steps. I’d then squeeze to get in front of the bike so I could pull it up the stairs by the handlebars. That was slow going, step by step. When I was finished and was finally in the backyard, I’d mount my bike, ride it across the grass then ride down the forbidden hill in pure triumph with my arms raised, a sort of Tour de France gesture. I didn’t care that I left wheel marks. I deserved that hill.

“Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.”

April 28, 2015

The day is uninviting. The flags in my front yard are flapping and whipping in the wind. In my back yard, the pine tree trunks sway and almost bend. We haven’t any sun. It rained last night and the clouds just stayed around. Bleak comes to mind except for one amazing spot in the front garden where my forsythia has bloomed in the brightest yellow. It is the most hopeful sign of the progression of the season, of the emergence of spring.

We had a very small kitchen when I was a kid. The table was sandwiched against the wall and at best five chairs could be set around it. There were six of us, but my mother never sat with us so five chairs were enough. My mother was an at the counter eater. Even much later in a kitchen with plenty of room, my mother liked the counter. I never thought it was strange.

My parents never mentioned their pets. I think maybe my mother had a dog, but that memory is fuzzy. I know my dad didn’t have any pets. His parents were not pet people. When I was five, we got our first dog, a Boxer need Duke. From then on our house always had pets, usually a dog and a cat or two at the same time. I can’t imagine a house without a pet.

I don’t know how my parents became pet people. I’m thinking it was just in their natures. They had no history of loving dogs or cats, but they surely loved theirs and mine. Every dog I had was spoiled when visiting my parents. My dad would get a bowl of ice cream for himself and one for the dog. I’d bring up treats and dog food, but each dog turned its nose up at its usual treats and would stand by the fridge patiently waiting for my mother to give it some cold cuts and cheese. She thought it was funny. For Christmas one year my mother gave my dog homemade biscuits. Maggie thought they were manna from heaven. My father never met Maggie and neither of my parents met Gracie. My dad would have been roaring laughing at Gracie and her sass. Maggie would have followed him around and sat with him in the yard. She loved her leisure. I’m sorry that Maggie and Gracie never got to be spoiled by my parents. I, however, fill the gap. In my mind, pets are meant to be spoiled as sort of a small thank you for what they give us, for the love which is immeasurable.

“Nobody knows the truffles I’ve seen.”

May 8, 2014

Yesterday while I was out doing errands, I noticed all the trees and bushes in bloom. The bright yellow of the forsythias popped and caught my eyes. I saw white blossoms on a row of trees and trees with purples and pinks. I smiled all the way home. It was just that kind of a ride.

Today is warm and lovely.

I don’t eat beans except for green beans. Refried beans look thoroughly disgusting to me. Baked beans are squishy. Lima beans have a strange, uninviting color. Kidney beans could use a change of name. I have never been a fan of beans, and this distaste for all things bean dates from my childhood. I have tried over the years to eat beans just in case but the outcome has always been the same.

When I was a kid, we only had yellow mustard so I used it on my hot dogs. I don’t eat yellow mustard any more though I am still a mustard fan. My fridge probably has five or six different mustards.

Speaking of hot dogs, ketchup on hot dogs is just wrong. Ketchup is for hamburgers and French fries. Piccalilli or relish goes perfectly with the mustard. Onions add a dimension to the dog but no onions with ketchup. It is the same for sauerkraut, cheese or any other topping. Ketchup limits the choices and the taste.

Speaking of ketchup, I just don’t see putting it on eggs. Ketchup on scrambled eggs is not a pretty picture. Nobody puts it on fried eggs or boiled eggs, just scrambled and sometimes omelets. Why is ketchup for some eggs but not for others?

I never put ketchup on onion rings, just on French fries. I never use much salt, but I do put salt on both of those. They just seem to taste better. I also like mayonnaise for my fries. That probably seems weird.

I love cheeseburgers. When I go out, I order them often as I don’t eat them much at home. Sometimes I add lettuce, onion and tomato, and when I do, mayonnaise is my condiment of choice. If I don’t, ketchup is just fine.

On my sub sandwiches, depending, of course, on the sandwich, I add pickles, onions and hot peppers. My love for hot peppers comes from the father of an elementary school mate of mine. I was at her house sometimes for lunch and her father always added hot peppers to his sandwiches. He offered them to me, and I tried them and liked them. I also like to add chopped jalapeños. Sandwiches need the kick.

Ghana was where I became an adventurous eater. It was where I first ate Indian food and Middle Eastern dishes like hummus, falafel and tabbouleh. I saw and ate okra for the first time. The slime in the soup was a bit much, but I got over that. Bush rat and goat were tasty.

I learned in Ghana to ask very few questions about what I was eating. It was better that way.

“we’re all golden sunflowers inside.”

June 17, 2013

This morning I woke up early and had that strange burst of energy I get some mornings. I made my bed, put on a load of wash, took a shower and read both papers, all before 8 o’clock. I think that’s a new record for me.

When I was walking back from the drive-way with my paper, I noticed a catbird carrying a long, brown what looked like a frond from a daffodil in its mouth. He dropped it when I walked near and the frond caught on the top of the fence. I moved the frond to the grass. When I looked later, it was gone, and while I was standing at the door, the catbird flew by with another piece of brown grass in its beak. I watched to see where the bird was going. The nest is being built in my forsythia bush in the front garden. The bush is tall and thick and perfect for a nest. The bush needs trimming so I’ll have to catch my landscaper and have him leave it be for a while. I can live with a shaggy forsythia.

My Sunday breakfast is now my Monday breakfast. With the summer crowd, my place has a line out the door and down the parking lot on Sunday mornings but not on Mondays. This morning, after the hectic start to my day, I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast with my friend, and it was a wonderful way to slow down to enjoy the day, a delightful day with blue skies and temperatures in the 70’s.

I have only one errand to do and a couple of chores. I’ll get to them later. There’s no hurry. I have the whole day!

I love sitting here in the coolness of my den. The only sounds I hear are the birds. They sing in stereo all around my house. The cats and the dog are napping and for once, Gracie isn’t snoring. Content is how I feel.

“Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.”

April 18, 2013

Today is a sunny but chilly day. The forsythia in my yard has blossomed and is the most beautiful yellow. It is the sun come to ground for just a little bit. The sky is as blue as it can ever be, and not a cloud can be seen, not even the smallest. Gracie has been in the yard all morning playing with her partially deflated basketball. She carries it in her mouth and runs around the yard. When she gets tired, she lies in the sun on the deck then comes in for a drink from her porcelain water bowl and then goes back outside. A dog never wastes a beautiful day. A chipmunk is my newest nemesis. It is small enough not to trip the feeder which thwarts the spawns. I look out the window, and when I see the chipmunk sitting on the feeder and munching, I run out and scare it. This morning it didn’t hear me, and I got close enough to touch it had I wanted to, but then it saw me and ran across the rail. I chased it just to scare it, and I did. I had to clean the rail afterwards.

Yesterday I treated myself to lunch. I had a panini with bacon, cheddar, avocado, lettuce and horseradish. It was delicious. I sat and ate my lunch at a table by the window and watched the traffic, cars and people, go by. I bought Gracie a treat at the dog store and then went home, satisfied I hadn’t wasted a beautiful day.

My cats sleep in the sun. They whack each other for position then settle in where the sun shines the brightest. Fern usually gets the better spot, and she stretches out her body so that all of it will feel the warmth. She starts at the front door then moves to the back in the early afternoon. Gracie is a bit afraid of Fern who takes full advantage of that fear. When Fern is by the back door, Gracie won’t come in her dog door. She bangs it to let me know she wants in and wants a bit of protection. I save her. Fern has never hurt Gracie. She just intimidates. Her favorite game is keep Gracie off the bed. Fern runs from side to side so Gracie won’t jump on the bed. I save Gracie. Fern washes Gracie often especially while all of us are on the bed. Poor Gracie sits wide-eyed wondering what might happen. Nothing ever does. Fern likes Gracie, but she also likes being the top dog, so to speak. Pets are interesting and funny and loving.