Out my window there isn’t one color that isn’t some shade of gray.
There’s a strong wind blowing and the black crows are trying to land in the tree tops.
Everything is in motion, swaying but deeply rooted in the earth.
Two black crows have landed high up in a fir tree, while others fly by being pushed hither and fro.
To Tracy and Kelly, as we are just days away from the longest day of the year… summer solstice 2025
Today, it’s getting out of bed and making lemon bars, and coleslaw, to celebrate Jack and Nori. Jesse has the ribs cooking at home and Nori’s, making baked beans and blackberry cobbler.
For the occasion, I thought of putting a mask on my face and plucking my chin hairs, but I’m not sure I even have time for that and besides, nobody gets that close to me anyway to see whether I have chin hairs or large pores or wrinkles. But, I will, for certain brush my teeth and my hair.
We’re expecting rain on Friday and Saturday. And so the temperatures have been dropping into the low seventies and the fifties at night, so what to wear has me in a conundrum. I know for sure I will wear my acrylic oyster barrette in my hair and take a long-sleeved sweatshirt to Jack’s house.
I suppose I can do laundry while I make the lemon bars and the coleslaw. I could maybe do some reading or do some scrolling. It’s more likely that I will do the latter.
If I’m driving, I should get my car washed because it’s covered in sap from the maple trees and dust from the road construction. The combination creates a sparkly but dull finish, that makes my car look as though it has sat in the barn for decades. Only the bird poop on the hood, falling from up high in the maple trees, gives it away as a car that lives on the street.
Maybe Ancel will drive instead. Either way, I will dread Highways 26 and 217. I will silently wish that Jack still lived on 25th and Ainsworth. But laughing and loving will make me forget that we have to return home on these dreaded highways.
Sitting here on the bed is not getting the food prepped. But sitting here on the bed pretending that I’m talking to you girls face to face makes me stay here a minute or two longer.
Tomorrow I’ll be going to Pho Van for #52, Bun, with chewy, sticky pork skewers and crispy rolls filled with vegetables and undisclosed proteins on noodles flavored with fish sauce.
Saturday, I’ll go meet with a bunch of women and play, I think it’s called, Cards Against Humanity. I haven’t decided what to make yet for me and others to eat.
And while all of these pleasures go on, I’m torn at heart and of mind and my hair turns ever more white around my face, wetted by my tears, as WW3 is being played out on neighboring continents.
I will breathe. I will breathe out prayers into the universe that this madness will end. But as David Byrne has written in his song, Burning Down the House”… “Same as it ever was. Same as it ever was.”
My joy is in knowing you and loving you and knowing that I am loved in return. I hope you’re safe, healthy, and at peace.
The day has started so cold. It’s in the 40s, but promises to be in the 70s by day’s end. Satisfying weather for a spring day, I think.
But for now, mid-morning, I’m still in the bed with the blankets pulled up to my hips to keep my legs warm and so as not to disturb the cat lying between my feet.
I awoke to gray skies, but slowly the light has brightened the clouds making me aware of my hunger.
It’s pancakes with eggs, sweetened with maple syrup, I’m thinking. A steaming cup of black coffee. The thought of breakfast, if nothing else, will get me out of my bed, however lazy I feel on this first Sunday in June.
A most glorious day.
Blue skies with magnificent white clouds floating by,
Sometimes obscuring the sun, leaving a chill in the air.
Sunlight illuminates every color of green. Overwhelmingly green.
Every flower blossom exudes fragrance on the air,
Passing by just to give a whiff, of pleasure.
The mottled ground, shadows of quivering leaves.
The Bush Tits flitting, where else? In the bushes.
I’m mesmerized. I cannot move from this chair.
What if I miss a moment?
I miss winter already.
I miss the dark and brooding skies,
As I look up through bare branches hanging overhead.
I miss the mist and the cold wind against my face,
And pulling my coat and my scarf a bit closer around me,
And my hat tightly down over my ears.
I miss the hard, hard rain,
Soaking through my pant legs and my boots.
Although it’s barely spring,
I miss the long nights of storms blowing through from the east,
Rattling both shutters and awakening my fears.
I miss finding comfort in piles of quilts and wool.
Even the soft light of spring seems too harsh, too bright.
I’m not ready. I’m not prepared for what is exposed in this light that comes even through clouds.
Though there are a million other beautiful things about spring,
I miss winter already.
August 6th approaches.
It’s heavy and hot.
It’s midpoint summer in our hemisphere.
Ever so slowly we tip…
We tip away from the sun.
For less daylight.
As daytime heat soars,
The night air cools.
Still time to swim and eat outdoors.
Fish & Chips in a Rain Storm.
This inevitably happens with Yum Yum and me. There was a march of heavy rain storms today with a few cloud breaks. Yum Yum and I dressed in our raincoats and went out to walk, of necessity.
After half a block, the clouds opened and drenched us while Yum took her time carefully, sniffing out a perfect spot to relieve herself. By the time we were back in the house, we were sopping wet.
I had decided to fry some cod for an early dinner. I prepped the fish and decided to make a beer batter. These days,opening cans or bottles is best left to Han or Nori, but the fish I wanted wouldn’t wait.
I held the bottle of IPA in my right hand, as tightly as I could, while I tried to pry off the cap with my left. The cap popped off surprisingly. I could easily predict what happened next…. my hand holding the beer, uncontrollably lurched to the right spilling the beer onto the counter, into the tray holding the toaster and coffee pot, then spreading a river onto the floor.
Fortunately, there was just enough beer to make the batter… but that’s not all. While reaching for a large bottle of oil in which to fry the fish, I misjudged the height in which to clear other objects in front of the bottle. It squarely hit the pour over cone, holding this mornings coffee grounds. Not quite dry, the grounds spilled out onto the counter, then bounced down onto the floor, spreading grounds here and there and everywhere.
By this time, I felt hot and sweaty and had lost my appetite for the fish. I cooked it anyway, but it held little charm. I ate a few pieces and now only want to clear the dishes and go to bed. Maybe that’s the safest place for me.
To wish I could fold like this as autumn approaches.
We will find piles of blankets and quilts.
Soft, wool socks and hand made sweaters.
Roaring fires in stoves and fireplaces.
The joys and comfort of summer’s labors.
We had a thunderstorm last night with pouring and pounding rain, bright white flashes of lightning and booming, rolling thunder and wind blowing the trees sideways. It blew by. It lasted for just under 20 minutes.
I counted the first burst of sound and flash of light that woke me from an uneasy sleep, just like Mom had taught me to do. “One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand.” It was right over head as it headed west. I quit counting at seventeen one thousand… it was traveling across the midnight sky.
Then just as suddenly as it began, all was quiet again. The trees stood still and the undisturbed darkness returned. The smell of wet pavement blew in my open window as the drops of rain fell on the warm streets.
When I woke this morning, we’re back to the heat with bright sunshine. The sky is light blue with high fluffy clouds thousands and thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of feet in the air.
The light is a soft, muted golden yellow. Even the air itself, as if it were visible, shimmers. I think because of the slow and gradual transitioning to autumn, and the extreme heat we’ve suffered, the leaves are starting to turn on the trees and fall to the ground.
What a sight to see and remember in this late August time.
It’s a hot start to July.
The garden is heavy.
The day lily’s bow towards the porch and face up to the sun.
The climbing roses pull-down the trellises.
Those roses that climb the lilac, have bent the branches to block the door.
A million apples pull and arch the columnar,
And the espalier reaches for the ground.
While the jasmine, heavy and fragrant, lies upon the grass.
eyeamdust 