Here in Massachusetts it’s been a dry summer with very little rain. The most we have had in many weeks is a few bursts of heavy downpours lasting a minute or so, measuring barely an eighth of an inch. For some reason, the lack of rain made me remember the fun all of us girls in the neighborhood had after a summer rain storm.
Light summer rain shower,
Refreshing the warm day.
Rivulets flowing along the street,
Carrying the dirt for little girls’ play.
Young legs with feet bare,
Splashing in rain pools.
Kicking up mud and dirt,
Merriment has no rules.
The clouds reveal the sun’s rays,
Perfect heat forms for some baking.
Little hands grab a mound of mud,
Time for decorative dessert making.
Roll and flatten the brown cookies,
Form the cake in perfect rounds.
Top with crushed sparkling rocks,
Earthen delights not adding pounds.
Positioned just right for perfect cooking,
The sun full strength bakes the delights.
Patience grows thing while waiting,
Time for good old fashioned mud fights.
Handfuls of dirt, mud and water,
Flying furiously to hit one another.
Laughing and squealing with each hit,
Having so much fun with each other.
Entire body smothered in mud,
Not a clean spot can be seen.
Mother will frown and shake her head,
How am I ever going to get you clean?
Change in my pockets
I have none.
Bills in my pockets
I have none
Paperclips in my pockets
I have none.
Keys in my pockets
I have none.
Notes in my pockets
I have none.
Pens in my pockets
I have none.
Lint in my pockets
I may have some.
“A car isn’t a classic just because it’s old, a car has to tell us something of the time.” – James May
Early one morning, I sat down and turned on the TV while eating breakfast. I began to “flip” through the channels and one program caught my eye. I don’t remember the name of the show, but it was about restoring classic cars. The classic they were bringing back to life was a bright orange 1968 Chevy Malibu. The car reminded me of my Mom, who bought a 1970 Chevy Malibu, yellow with a black top. It was her first car that had automatic transmission and air conditioning. She was so nervous about driving the new Malibu home (six miles), that she had me, a teenager, drive it. Such trust! I thought it was super-cool to drive that car. The one thing I remember about it is that the brakes wouldn’t work if you went through a good-sized puddle; and, you would have to sit for a while by the side of the road or in a parking lot until they dried out.
I have so many nice memories of classic cars. One of my cousins bought a used, bright yellow Chevy Camaro with a black top, probably circa 1967 or 1968. It was a great car for us teens to drive “cruising the drag”. A favorite “drag” was Wollaston Boulevard that ran along the beach for about two miles. Up and down for hours we would go.
During a date in the 1970’s, I was asked if I wanted to drive his 1970 Oldsmobile 442. Ah, YEAH. It had a V8 engine and four speed on the floor manual transmission. What power that car had. It just took off and screamed down the highway. What a thrill!
Another date, different guy. We were driving around one afternoon when he spotted a used MG. Yep, he decided to test drive it. Was that a fun little car, too small for my taste, and definitely too small for his 6 foot frame, but it was a good time taking it for a spin.
Then there was the boyfriend with the 1971 Plymouth Duster 340. He factory ordered that car. It was dark grey with black stripes down both sides, with “340” at the ends, and dark grey interior. He loved that car so. What do I remember most? That we couldn’t eat in the car. Ah, what memories we choose to keep.
There were some fantastic cars “back in the day”: the Chevy Chevelle SS, Pontiac Trans Am, Z28 Chevy Camaro, Triumphs, Dodge Challengers, the Corvette, Ford Mustangs, even the little Chevy Nova with its peppy spunk.
I’m sure I have left off someone’s favorite car. Today, whenever I see one of the classics, I smile and think of all the great fun we had. I sure wouldn’t mind driving some of them again!
“Life is too short to drive boring cars.” – Anonymous
It’s been a while since I have posted. For many of us life was upended with the virus epidemic, job losses, losses beyond what we could ever have imagined. As life ever so slowly edges back to some sort of normalcy (what will that look like), we may begin to engage in things that gave us joy. This is a poem about a unique place that a father created for his daughter who died long before her time. The photograph is from this place and was created by this father. I call it the “Mystical Being”.
There is a place like no other,
Its space exudes serenity and peace.
Created from love for a daughter,
Too young her life did cease.
Acres of gardens and brilliant flowers,
Assorted sculptures crafted by hand.
Baubles and bubbles fill the air,
Placed here and there unplanned.
One being stands quietly seeing,
Is it human or sent from above?
Man or woman hard to tell,
Certainly it watches all in love.
Gold tipped leaves and braided hair,
Stream from pale chiseled features.
Eyes of deep blue pools of ocean,
Is it one of world's great teachers?
Stand and stare in amazement,
Want to know what lies behind
Those beautiful blue mystical eyes,
Wanting to ask what is in its mind.
February is “American Heart Month”, which began in 1963 to encourage us to take care of our hearts through a healthier diet and exercise. Heart disease is the number one cause of death, followed by cancer.
February 7th is national “Wear Red for Women Day”. As they have for the past 16 years, the American Heart Association has promoted awareness of cardiovascular disease and stroke; and, continues to encourage women to take steps to lower their heart disease risk.
I read tonight that today was “National Squirrel Day”. I wonder who keeps track of all these special days. Actually, it’s kind of fun to celebrate “out of the norm” special days. I wish I had known a bit earlier about today, I could have added to the celebration by tossing some shelled peanuts around the yard. A few years back, this little squirrel was lucky enough to snap up one of the peanuts on a very cold and snowy day.