Books so far and the wonderful taste of orange juice

Unfortunately, I've not finished any books this week. Several factors have conspired to keep me from reading. First, I had to spend an evening at school trying to convince 8th graders and their parents to choose my "house" at the high school. Second, I spent two evenings watching Lost, mostly old but one new episode. Finally, I found myself succumbing to the nasty illness Geof had spent two days in bed with and so spent Saturday in bed myself fighting achiness and intense headache. I'm much better today and might be able to read a bit more of 1776. We'll see.

When I was little, and sick, I never stayed in bed. Instead I would lie on the pull-out couch in the sunporch and draw. Usually I would have nothing at all to eat or drink, but occasionally, orange juice was the only palatable thing. Yesterday, alternating between chills and fever, I could not get myself out of bed, but for much of the day the only thing I wanted was orange juice. And then one dry frozen waffle. And then some ice-cream. Okay. Perhaps I've overestimated the power of orange juice, but nevertheless, I credit it for unparching my throat, rehydrating my wizened body and awakening my appetite, even if only slightly.

And I'll have to look for sweater buttons next weekend.

Aunt Ethel's Sweater, Mary Poppins and the Gold Fish Scale Purse

Tonight I find myself dressed in my favorite winter wear as a child: stretchy long underwear-type pants, a long underwear top and ski socks. Because I'm a grown up and my sensible self knows the thermostat should not be set above 66, I have added a big Irish knit sweater, one my great aunt Ethel ("Aunt") knit for my mother when I was eight or nine, and which I took over during my college years. Aunt was funny, a wonderful pianist and knitter, and the woman who patiently allowed me to throw up on her kitchen carpet during Easter vacation when I was seven and my parents were running errands, and then helped me to the bathroom.

Slightly pilly and missing two buttons, this sweater has survived various moves, formula stains, the 'late 80's and early '90's when I insisted on wearing it three seasons a year as my all-purpose outerwear, and most recently charcoal, chimney flue dirt and my dog's antiobiotic residue. It is a beautiful sweater, probably my most important piece of clothing ever. I should replace the missing buttons.

My Mary Poppins spoon (circa 1964) sits on a shelf in my dining room where I can always see it. The one time I lost sight of it, she (of course it's a she) disappeared for 15 years until I finally found it at my parents' house, in, of all places, a silverware drawer. Since then, I've kept her in plain sight in case I need her. My mother ordered her for me when I was four with cereal box tops I think because I used to sing all the songs from the movie, loudly and badly, on my swing set. Plus Dick VanDyke always reminded me of my father.

When I was in college, my grandmother, Aunt Ethel's sister, started giving me my "inheritance" while she was still alive. I acquired salt cellars, a pair of little opal earrings, a mother-of-pearl manicure set, a tiny clasp for attaching my bra and slip straps together so as not to embarrass myself with visible straps and my favorite, a little gold purse, like a change purse, covered in what looks like gold, hexagonal fish scales. It is surprisingly cold and heavy. Inside is salmon-colored cloth and a tiny oval metal box. Inside the box is an even tinier plastic key. I picture Gram getting the little plastic key at an arcade and storing it carefully inside the gold purse that is not even as big as a deck of cards.

In lieu of a cheesy conclusion, I will end by resolving to look for replacement sweater buttons this weekend.

Backyard Rink

Mmmm . . . skating . . . it's exercise AND fun. As a kid, I spent more time skating in my backyard rink than doing anything else. At least this is how I choose to remember my childhood in snowy Rochester, New York. I probably spent at least as much time fighting with my sister and reading (both non-seasonal activities).

I had an invisible friend, Clare, who would skate with me, and I particularly remember convincing a neighbor (pretty easily, I might add--more a reflection of the age of the neighbor rather than of my talent) that I was training for the 1972 Olympics. I have no idea why I needed an invisible friend to skate with, especially since I reveled in skating alone, the entire rink (such as it was) to myself. Nevertheless, I had Clare and I guess she became my audience.

It was about this time that I wrote a poem that received much acclaim in my 5th grade classroom. Go figure. It is, as I remember it, as follows:

The sun peeks through a sky of gray
a sliver sending rays
to unlock us from a world of gloom
and make it a happier day.

I probably called it "Untitled." Oy.

Today Geof and I went skating for the first time (in my estimation) in ten years. For about 45 minutes we skated on the pond in our little Central Park, down the street from our house. It was amazingly fun, particularly when we spun each other around corners trying to keep holding hands. Clare was not with us.