Mid-August, and Bearable

 What a terrific mid-August day it has been: sort-of-coolish, misty-moisty and overcast.  I observed that my Bird of Paradise plants are thriving today.  I haven't seen them look so "relaxed" all summer.  I guess this is my clue to bring them indoors until the triple digits and high-90s abate.  (Who knew??)

I went to a neighbor's for coffee this morning.  (Neighbor: 5 miles away?)  A nice gathering, which we have not done often enough during the past two years of Pandemic.  

On the tails of that, I went to a church women's Circle meeting.  I can't say that it was uplifting, at all, at all.  Too many sad and tired and trying stories.  Discussion about the aging folks in our congregation, Parkinson's, hospice, and so on.  It's difficult to try to raise the bar a bit with regards to positive conversation and interaction.  

And so, I came home to my little oasis, with happy cats and a happy German Shepherd Dog.  Happy Huz came home and we have chicken and vegetables roasting in the oven. 

THE OVEN!  Something we do not regularly use in August.  And I clipped off some rosemary from my 2022 raised garden beds, and I smell them wafting, up to the second floor here, of our rural Kansas home.  

I suppose I should take some photos of my raised garden... something that seemed folly in early Spring looks to be a success.  Ha: Right by our Jed Clampet swimming pool.  (Not cement.)  

  

Everything's Up-to-Date

Tuesday, and I am back from Kansas City.

Everything's Up to Date in Kansas City

I just love the choreography in this clip of 1955's Rogers & Hammerstein's Oklahoma.  Gene Nelson as Will Parker was terrific, and omigoodness: Charlotte Greenwood as Aunt Eller was THE BEST.  Her acting cannot be improved upon, in my opinion.

This R & H musical, Oklahoma, was based on the play Green Grow the Lilacs, written by Lynn Riggs in 1931.  Lynn Riggs was from Claremore, Oklahoma.  His play was set outside Claremore, Indian Territory, 1906.  

So was Patty Page:
Tennessee Waltz
How Much is that Doggy in the Window?

And if you were to drive through Claremore, Oklahoma this week, you could toodle down both Patty Page Boulevard, and Lynn Riggs Boulevard.

Where am I meandering?  I'm not sure.  I grew up seventeen miles from Claremore, Oklahoma. 

Ah!  I know where I am going: 
I am back from Kansas City, everything's up-to-date there, I came home to a reasonable, manageable,   temperature, I attended Masterworks Chorale rehearsal this evening, (everyone back to masking agin the Covid), and now I am enjoying the light patter of rain and thunder off in the distance.

I noticed that our Golden Campine rooster has decided to eschew moving into the chook house at sundown, and he now roosts high in out front trees.  I'm not sure how wise this is (owls??), but nature will take its course as it does here in rural Kansas. 

And that's how the last week of July looks, 2022.

Resumption: August 2022.

 Here it is, the last week of 2022's July.  I have chided myself on the lack of discipline on writing.  As have some of you, to my face.  Or to my email. 

It's been difficult to write the past few years.  As I mentioned some time ago, when I started this blog, it was sort of a note home.  News and fun.  And, somehow, the past five years have streamlined very thinly as to what might be news and fun.  I guess I should qualify that as too much news, and not nearly as much fun as I think needs be.

So, beginning in August, I will clip into the writing mode (that's sort of cycling lingo.) and commence, once again.  Discipline, discipline.  And more discipline.

In the meantime, the weather forecast says the high tomorrow is going to be raining and 76*.  I announced to That Spouse o' Mine that I am headed to Kansas City for 36-48 hours of city living.  This is a blissful vacay for someone who rusticates in rural Kansas most of her days.  Nelson Atkins, American Jazz Museum, an Ethiopian restaurant, botanical gardens, and many more options.  And I have no itinerary.  I have a swimsuit.

And as I complete this note, I hear rain.  
I smell petrichor.

This is a good re-start.

       

Our Friend Margaret

 Some years ago, I became acquainted with a fellow cyclist.  Today, I cannot recall the circumstances.  But she and I enjoyed a friendship based on conversational rides, fun and funny life stories, and our enthusiasm for cycling.  Have mercy, I cannot count the times I would hear our dog bark her one bark: "There's a friend at the gate."  

It was Margaret.  Margaret with Gail, or Karen, or Nancy, or Bill, or Toby, or Wendy, or Chris, or all the other cycling friends that counted Margaret in their posse.

I hear Margaret's voice - it's distinctive, and it is very supportive - whatever the conversation, Margaret's voice is in my mind.  She shared her grandkid stories.  Certainly, she shared her Beth stories.  She shared her career stories as an educator.  I hear her laugh, and thanks be to God, I see her smile.

Her smile.

Many have observed that Margret was a pillar of our cycling community.  She was a positive, encouraging friend to so many.  I initially titled this post My Friend Margaret.  Note that I changed it to Our Friend Margaret.  Her passing is our loss, not my loss.  

***  Margaret's natural passing was swift, and for that, perhaps we are grateful.