Posted tagged ‘late’

“Home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit ever answered to, in the strongest conjuration.”

August 2, 2015

I know it is late for me, so late that I almost thought of taking a mini-vacation, but here I am. Earlier I was out on the deck sitting in the shade of the umbrella. The day is another hot one. Gracie, despite lying in the shade, was panting. She wanted in so we both came inside to the AC. She is now comfy and asleep in her crate.

We’re going to the dump later. That’s the only entry on my dance card.

There is something so strongly compelling about going home. When I go back to my old home town, as I still call it after all these years, I take familiar routes, the ones I used to walk. From St. Pat’s to the project there are many changes. Some of the older houses are gone. The railroad tracks too are gone but there is a wide path where they once were. I am sometimes tempted to park my car and follow the path to see if it looks the same. There was a stream where we stopped for water. I wonder if it is still there. The playground where I spent so many summer days disappeared. Where it was is all overgrown now. My house and street look exactly the same except the bushes on the side of my old house are really tall. I don’t know if there is a limit as to how tall they will get. The tops look a bit spindly to me. I always have the urge to get out of the car and walk into the backyard just to peek to see if the in-ground garbage pail is still there, but I figure it would look a bit odd to the current occupants. I wonder what color the walls are now. In my day the living room was green. I suspect the house will look quite small inside to me now. I know the kitchen seemed small even then. Kid’s voices still fill the air on a nice day.

In Bolga, on my trip back after forty years, the first place I went was to my old school grounds to find my house. It was quite easy to find. It needed paint and the back courtyard could not be seen because the current occupants had added to the fence tops to block the view. I wondered about the four doors around the courtyard. I wondered what color they are. Coincidentally they were green when I lived there.

Home is a fluid place. It is both where you live now and all the places you’ve lived before.


“I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired.”

November 21, 2010

Sorry about the timing. I know late doesn’t quite cover it, but actually, I woke up early, used my walker to get to the kitchen to make coffee then the pain hit, and I altered my plans. I came back to the den, took a pain pill and went back to sleep. Gracie and Fern joined me. Two hours later I woke up and performed, for my own benefit, the opening dance sequence from West Side Story, finger clicks and all. Right now I’m working on I Feel Pretty (in my sweatshirt and slippers).

I do feel better each day, but postings will be a bit erratic depending upon how long it takes my body to adjust to being upright each morning. I miss my sisters dearly. They made me laugh a lot and we reminisced about growing up together. We also played a few games. They decided they liked me best in a pill induced fog when it came to word games.

My hard drive died the week before I had surgery, but I replaced right away. Luckily I lost only my bookmarks and address book. All my music and pictures are safe on an external back-up drive but have to be reloaded over the next few days so I have a task to keep myself busy. Yesterday my laptop stopped recharging its battery. I don’t know what’s wrong, but it can sit for a while.

My mother was always the best remedy when I was sick. She’d bring me pudding or ice cream or whatever she thought would make me feel better. I’d lie in bed and color or read, and she’d check on me, tuck in my covers and kiss my forehead to check for fever. She made me feel special. Having my two sisters here was almost like having two mothers; however, they did forget to check my forehead for fever. I guess I’ll just have to overlook it.