SNOW! Now you see it--Now you don't --Now you see it !

I woke around 2 AM  and looked out the back window  to the yard that has been snow covered for so many weeks.  Much to my delight I could see the bare earth and the  bushes and trees that I had planted last Spring. 

  I started  thinking that  maybe I would find early bulbs pushing their bold green tips into the light  or muscari peeking  up or Lenten roses  in their shy blooming.  I turned over and went back to sleep smiling. 
 Then 4 hours later  I woke in the cold light of dawn and looked out--hard to believe and harder to accept-- the ground was again  covered in white and the snow was still falling.

So  now  my dreams of rising with the Spring and actually getting my car that has been abandoned in my driveway since December to start again are being severely tested. 
I still hope that on the great Saint's Day  I will  be able to get to see  Aunt  Anna and celebrate with her.  The Irish flag did not go out today because of the snow storm.  But I am back online and the problem of access to the internet seems to have resolved itself after  I shut the FIOS connection off and on. SO I can blog again.

This has  been a long, frigid, and snowy winter in the Bucket.  How have  you gotten through it?

Narragansett Race Track

In the old way of  talking--my father  "followed the horses."  In the 50s that was  easy to do in Pawtucket--he had  two good options  Narragansett Race Track and Lincoln Downs.  Both are gone now-- he also had his pick of bookies. One ran a small store on Prospect Street and often my father would write down his picks and  give them to me to give to the store keeper. 
 Of course,  Building 19 has  taken over the space that was the  Narragansett. Whenever I go  there I am flooded with memories of going there with my father. He was a compulsive gambler and had little control in that area of his life.  He taught me to read  the racing form when I was a toddler, and we often discussed the horses that were running and  he would let me pick.  
He was superstitious--what gambler isn't?-- so if I insisted on some horse because I liked the name,  he  would usually bet on my hunch.
Recently I have been thinking about the life lessons that my father taught and have written a few poems about those.  Three have been published as  part of the Origami Poetry  Project.  I will include them here.
 I will try to attach their tiny chapbook to this  post. Hope I can do it.  If not look on line  for Origami Poetry and my chapbook is titled "The Long Count."

Roger Angell and getting old in the Bucket

No, Roger is not aging in Pawtucket;  he is aging on the streets of New York according to a recent essay "This Old Man" in The New Yorker(Feb17&24) This chatty  personal ramble does what is  done hardly at all about aging --it tells the truth.
Aging is agreat surprise he says, and that is my main expereince of it also.  Of course, we all know that everyone gets old,  but I did not guess how it  would swoop down on me right on schedule and change every aspect of my  life.  I thought that after I retired from teaching, I would be just as  I was before, enrgetic and busy, but  not working for others--about  my own business.  Roger knows otherwise, and  lists the losses in friends and  loved ones-- even  favorite doggy companions--gone.
What is not gone yet is this winter.  I envy those who have made it down to Fort Myers to watch the Red Sox spring training. This frigid month I am making daily resolves to become a more regular  attendee of the Pawtucket Red Sox games at McCoy stadium.  It is one of the prime assets of the bucket, and   every time I go to a game  I have a great time.  Last year there was no one who wanted to go with me.  I need to cast my net wider, and see if I can interest some younger  friends.  Maybe do a little baby-sitting and plant the seed of  baseball mania early in a few little hearts.

HOUSEBOUND IN THE BUCKET

On  12 December 2013 I somehow managed to tear my Achilles tendon as I stepped  from the parking lot to the curb  on my way to --wait for it-- therapy.  I managed to crawl back to my car and with flashers on I drove home somehow.  My husband had to help me up the steps to the house.  And that was the last time that I went  up or down those steps.  I have been house bound through this cold and snowy winter.
I have finally gotten the  good and welcome  attention of the VNA and they have sent a wonderful physical therapist with an ultra sound machine  to help me heal.
My body is getting a little better, but  my spirit is a bit crushed . I  have not seen my  aunt since this happened and that leaves me feeling pretty low.
It is hard to stay  in the same small house and even in the same chair all day every day. Yesterday two old friends came by with  two great  pizzas from Casserta's and a six pack of Narragansett beer.  What a treat for me and my husband.  We began  watching the Olympics and Basketball games in earnest. Sometime during a lull in the Syracuse game, my friend mentioned that I had not blogged  in a while.  They  thought I would be blogging every day with so much  time  on my hands.  But I must confess I  did not want to blog in a negative  mood and  I wanted the Pawtucket Bucket blog especially to be a  positive take on the possibilities in this old but  surprisingly various and vibrant community. 
But the events of my own aging complicated  by the demands of caregiving have caught  up with me.
Today I managed to go outside  and made it  up and down the  first step with  the encouragement of the therapist.  The cold and  ice have delayed my  ability to go out--the ground is still icy and snow covered.  
Maybe I will try to use the blog for a few reviews of books I have read  during this long retreat and the TV shows I have watched. I know many people are  having an even tougher winter.  Oil deliveries are too many and too costly--but at least we can  still pay the bills.  We do still have many blessings and things to be glad about. I will try to focus on the positives. 
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