This has nothing to do with the serious nature of battle in parts east/southeast: Middle East.
This has to do with that blasting heat on the other side of our door. Here I am, a mentally and physically tired, pathetic, and bored-STIFF person who is hating, HATING the weather outdoors.
HATING.
BORED.
CABIN FEVER. In the wrong, oh, so wrong, season. Winter cabin fever, please come, come to me!
I get up before dawn. I sip a cup of coffee. (read: teacup, because a big ol' mug of coffee gets cool before one hits the bottom, so why? A teacup of coffee is hot to the last sip.) I venture outside to the best part of my day: Sun is not up, but dawn's early light is. Sun will arrive in one hour...
I run with the dogs. I water every little plant that has been planted. I plant myself in the kiddie pool that I purchased as a joke for that Spouse o' Mine, but now we realize how much we enjoy that kiddie pool. ((My life is so rich. Yes. So, so rich.)
And then I come indoors.
104º
I have not gone back outside. I've sent that Spouse o' Mine out, and the College Boy out, but I have stayed indoors.
I make a lousy shut-in. I am bored. Tired of the TV, the radio, the internet. I have read. (I Am a Cat by Soseki Natsume) I have listened to John Rutter compositions on Spotify. (Thank you, College Boy, for Spotify.) I have quilted, made gazpacho, painted my toenails, and played my cello till I am convinced I will never be Yo Yo Ma.
Battle Fatigue.
Come, Dear Winter, Be Our Guest.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Thursday, June 28, 2012
The Heat is On
Yesterday was a busy day of outdoor things, starting with the sun-up Dog Jaunt, followed by such things as watering everything in sight, tending to the vegetables (Uh-oh! Uh-oh! The vegetables are building up on our kitchen counters!), working with our vet to do annual rabies and what-have-you. I must interject here to say, as sad as it was to say goodbye to horses last summer, and as much as I miss the horses, I was pretty happy not to be doing horse vetting in the 104º temperature in the late afternoon. Inbetween outdoor tasks I would hop into our silly little kiddie pool - which is sandwiched between one outbuilding and two parked cars, so that all the tough outdoorsy farmers and ranchers can't see me lolling around in it like a depressed water buffalo. I wore running shorts and a t-shirt all day and hopped in and out of the pool all day. I lead a really, REALLY glamorous life.
At 5:30 pm we were still doing vet tasks, and that Spouse o' Mine came home from work. I was dripping with sweat (which for me is about the worst sensation in the world), having just spent WAYyyy too much time wrestling with a 120-lb Bloodhound who did not want to have a couple of shots and some stuff sprayed up his nose. (The vet and I tried every trick in the book, but Beau refused to participate in an orderly fashion.) And that Spouse announced, "We have no water."
"WHAT??!!!!"
He walked indoors and returned shortly to report, "We have no electric." (There's a thing about Aussies, or maybe just Aussie Armstrongs, that they remove parts of words in some cases, and add extra parts to other words, in some cases. Aluminum. Aluminium?? I have given up trying to correct this linguistic practice.)
Omygoodness. NO ELECTRIC? No electricity? No air conditioning, in other words?!
As soon as the vet backed out of our drive, I headed over to the kiddie pool for another soak. This time, at 104º in the early evening, bathwater. Ugh.
I went indoors. No electric.
"Let's go to a hotel!" I exclaimed. I was not in the mood to rough it all night long in a hot house without air conditioning, or at least a fan set in the window. I might have to sleep in the kiddie pool, I thought.
Well. I lay on the sofa, motionless, for quite some time, watching the thermostat climb up and up, allthewhile, the sun going down and downer.
"I'm melting, MELTING!"the Wicked Witch of the West I thought to myself.
At dusk I returned outdoors to finish up whatever ends needed meeting: ducks in their house, all cats in for the night (fox season!), and dogs fed and re-watered.
Coming back to the house: oh, glory be! A light! A light!
We had electric.
I wouldn't have to sleep in the kiddie pool.
A miracle!! We'd been saved!
At 5:30 pm we were still doing vet tasks, and that Spouse o' Mine came home from work. I was dripping with sweat (which for me is about the worst sensation in the world), having just spent WAYyyy too much time wrestling with a 120-lb Bloodhound who did not want to have a couple of shots and some stuff sprayed up his nose. (The vet and I tried every trick in the book, but Beau refused to participate in an orderly fashion.) And that Spouse announced, "We have no water."
"WHAT??!!!!"
He walked indoors and returned shortly to report, "We have no electric." (There's a thing about Aussies, or maybe just Aussie Armstrongs, that they remove parts of words in some cases, and add extra parts to other words, in some cases. Aluminum. Aluminium?? I have given up trying to correct this linguistic practice.)
Omygoodness. NO ELECTRIC? No electricity? No air conditioning, in other words?!
As soon as the vet backed out of our drive, I headed over to the kiddie pool for another soak. This time, at 104º in the early evening, bathwater. Ugh.
I went indoors. No electric.
"Let's go to a hotel!" I exclaimed. I was not in the mood to rough it all night long in a hot house without air conditioning, or at least a fan set in the window. I might have to sleep in the kiddie pool, I thought.
Well. I lay on the sofa, motionless, for quite some time, watching the thermostat climb up and up, allthewhile, the sun going down and downer.
"I'm melting, MELTING!"
At dusk I returned outdoors to finish up whatever ends needed meeting: ducks in their house, all cats in for the night (fox season!), and dogs fed and re-watered.
Coming back to the house: oh, glory be! A light! A light!
We had electric.
I wouldn't have to sleep in the kiddie pool.
A miracle!! We'd been saved!
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Our Sister
I was talking on the phone this morning to my youngest older brother.
"Our sister would have been 60 years old today," I remarked.
"I thought of that a couple of days ago," he replied. "If she were here, how much grief her brothers would be giving her. As it is, I'll just have to do it in my head." I smiled on the other end on the line.
A few years ago I wrote the following about my sister. It still holds.
"To the outside world we all grow old. But not to brothers and sisters. We know each other as we always were. We know each other's hearts. We share private family jokes. We remember family feuds and secrets, family griefs and joys. We live outside the touch of time." ~Clara Ortega
Isn't that true? To hear us kids (!) when we get together would confirm this in the best and worst examples. We're all upwards of fifty or so. (I'm on the lower end of that "or so".) Our holidays are filled with laughter and fun, a comfortable nest away from which we never seem to fly too far. When I see my parents with their sisters and brothers-in-law, it is like peeking through a keyhole, into a comfy room "outside the touch of time". It's a tremendous gift, family. Brothers and sisters.
My sister was eight years older than me. She moved away to college, and then it was years before we got reacquainted. Or acquainted in life beyond sharing a childhood bedroom, with her teen mags and makeup, and my Barbie dolls and stuffed animals.
We shared an apartment one summer in college, and that was tremendous fun! We shared clothes, talked incessantly, argued some, and laughed at every opportunity. She was the only person I knew who could sing every song I could, knew every lyric I did. She was finishing her Master's, and one class required her to read an exorbitant number of children's books that summer. We struck a deal that after dinner she would clean up, if I would read to her, just to give her eyes and mind a break. Through the Looking Glass, Go Ask Alice, Where the Wild Things Are...we covered a lot of literary ground that summer that we would revisit in our parenting years. We played flute duets. She began dating her then-boyfriend and subsequent husband that summer. It was a summer of camping, family get-togethers with brothers, and just plain fun. As so much of what we did was...simple fun! She and I met our first niece, of soon-to-be many nieces and nephews, that year. And this year, my brothers and I will welcome that little baby's baby: our first grand-niece or nephew.
(2012 NOTE: This summer, we welcome two more grand-nieces into the family melee.)
And so the Circle of Life continues.
I knew far earlier than upon my sister's passing how much I relied on her. Just to be my sister. Just to call and chat, laugh, ask a silly question. She always got it right.
B. Alpert wrote of sisters:
"She is your mirror, shining back at you with a world of possibilities. She is your witness, who sees you at your worst and best, and loves you anyway. She is your partner in crime, your midnight companion, someone who knows when you are smiling, even in the dark. She is your teacher, your defense attorney, your personal press agent, even your shrink. Some days, she's the reason you wish you were an only child."
There's a lot to that. There's something really special about having a sister.
"Our sister would have been 60 years old today," I remarked.
"I thought of that a couple of days ago," he replied. "If she were here, how much grief her brothers would be giving her. As it is, I'll just have to do it in my head." I smiled on the other end on the line.
A few years ago I wrote the following about my sister. It still holds.
"To the outside world we all grow old. But not to brothers and sisters. We know each other as we always were. We know each other's hearts. We share private family jokes. We remember family feuds and secrets, family griefs and joys. We live outside the touch of time." ~Clara Ortega
Isn't that true? To hear us kids (!) when we get together would confirm this in the best and worst examples. We're all upwards of fifty or so. (I'm on the lower end of that "or so".) Our holidays are filled with laughter and fun, a comfortable nest away from which we never seem to fly too far. When I see my parents with their sisters and brothers-in-law, it is like peeking through a keyhole, into a comfy room "outside the touch of time". It's a tremendous gift, family. Brothers and sisters.
My sister was eight years older than me. She moved away to college, and then it was years before we got reacquainted. Or acquainted in life beyond sharing a childhood bedroom, with her teen mags and makeup, and my Barbie dolls and stuffed animals.
We shared an apartment one summer in college, and that was tremendous fun! We shared clothes, talked incessantly, argued some, and laughed at every opportunity. She was the only person I knew who could sing every song I could, knew every lyric I did. She was finishing her Master's, and one class required her to read an exorbitant number of children's books that summer. We struck a deal that after dinner she would clean up, if I would read to her, just to give her eyes and mind a break. Through the Looking Glass, Go Ask Alice, Where the Wild Things Are...we covered a lot of literary ground that summer that we would revisit in our parenting years. We played flute duets. She began dating her then-boyfriend and subsequent husband that summer. It was a summer of camping, family get-togethers with brothers, and just plain fun. As so much of what we did was...simple fun! She and I met our first niece, of soon-to-be many nieces and nephews, that year. And this year, my brothers and I will welcome that little baby's baby: our first grand-niece or nephew.
(2012 NOTE: This summer, we welcome two more grand-nieces into the family melee.)
And so the Circle of Life continues.
I knew far earlier than upon my sister's passing how much I relied on her. Just to be my sister. Just to call and chat, laugh, ask a silly question. She always got it right.
B. Alpert wrote of sisters:
"She is your mirror, shining back at you with a world of possibilities. She is your witness, who sees you at your worst and best, and loves you anyway. She is your partner in crime, your midnight companion, someone who knows when you are smiling, even in the dark. She is your teacher, your defense attorney, your personal press agent, even your shrink. Some days, she's the reason you wish you were an only child."
There's a lot to that. There's something really special about having a sister.
Monday, June 25, 2012
June Garden
God Almighty first planted a garden.
And indeed, it is the purest of human pleasures.
~ Francis Bacon
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Wedding Watch: Four Weeks
Daughter Claire is getting married in four weeks. I startled myself last week, almost like a Moro Reflex, when I realized that I could actually begin counting down to her Big Day. Since her engagement in January, I have mentally tripped over details and minutiae, but I haven't put a schedule or timeline on things.
I guess I can start dithering in earnest.
Thinking so, I announced to that Spouse o' mine and the College Boy that they need to unearth their black suits and black dress shoes to be cleaned in time for the wedding. It's a good thing we are starting this process at Four Weeks. That Spouse o' Mine came up with his suit jacket, but no dress pants. He found his black dress shoes in the back of his closet. The College Boy says he could have sworn he brought his black suit home from college two years ago. And he thinks he left his black dress shoes in Washington. He and his father headed in to town this afternoon and purchased a new pair for him. He can now be dressed up in rural Kansas and on the West Coast.
Daughter Gillian, Maid of Honor, is in central China, where she will be until the week before the wedding. Her facet of organization, though, seems to be glimmering in the box she has left upstairs, packed and ready for me to take to Colorado, where we shall meet before the wedding. Gillian is a list maker and always seems to have it together. Not that the guys in the family don't, but...
Oh, well. You get the idea.
The week before the wedding, Bride-to-Be Claire will fly from the East Coast, and her Maid of Honor will fly from the West Coast, (or, China), both arriving in Denver within 30 minutes of each other. THAT'S organization. On the same day, I will be driving from rural Kansas, through Denver, and will plan to pick the two of them up at the Denver airport on my way to points west. And THAT will be an amazing feat. I will be bringing the wedding dress, the Maid of Honor things, the reception details, and perhaps a lot, lot more.
Ah! Four weeks!
I guess I can start dithering in earnest.
Thinking so, I announced to that Spouse o' mine and the College Boy that they need to unearth their black suits and black dress shoes to be cleaned in time for the wedding. It's a good thing we are starting this process at Four Weeks. That Spouse o' Mine came up with his suit jacket, but no dress pants. He found his black dress shoes in the back of his closet. The College Boy says he could have sworn he brought his black suit home from college two years ago. And he thinks he left his black dress shoes in Washington. He and his father headed in to town this afternoon and purchased a new pair for him. He can now be dressed up in rural Kansas and on the West Coast.
Daughter Gillian, Maid of Honor, is in central China, where she will be until the week before the wedding. Her facet of organization, though, seems to be glimmering in the box she has left upstairs, packed and ready for me to take to Colorado, where we shall meet before the wedding. Gillian is a list maker and always seems to have it together. Not that the guys in the family don't, but...
Oh, well. You get the idea.
The week before the wedding, Bride-to-Be Claire will fly from the East Coast, and her Maid of Honor will fly from the West Coast, (or, China), both arriving in Denver within 30 minutes of each other. THAT'S organization. On the same day, I will be driving from rural Kansas, through Denver, and will plan to pick the two of them up at the Denver airport on my way to points west. And THAT will be an amazing feat. I will be bringing the wedding dress, the Maid of Honor things, the reception details, and perhaps a lot, lot more.
Ah! Four weeks!
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