Summer Fun -- or Not.

Well, I was going to take the kids to the laser show at Coney. Had everything set up except buying the ticket and finalizing what vehicle. Wasn't going to take my loud easy bake oven if I didn't have to.

The show was/is this weekend only. July 8 thru 11.  
Then the weather forecast changed.
From a pleasant (hot and humid ) summer weekend to a rainy stormy one.
Well, this event was being held outdoors. The webpage even said bring a tent if you were worried about rain. Said the rain would enhance the lasers, and I could see that. If it was a nice gentle rain.
Didn't think lightning would enhance very much. And the kids are iffy about storms, especially out of their home territory.
Plus my own problems with driving in darkness, in wetness, and in lightning.
So, I cancelled. Didn't buy the tickets, didn't finalize borrowing a car.
I said, when I told them, that it probably wouldn't storm if we didn't go, but it probably would of we went. I didn't want to take a chance with them along. The weather report for both Saturday and Sunday was late evening (about sundown) storms, possibly severe..
Yeah it didn't rain much (here) on Saturday night.
We must wait and see about Sunday night.
Anybody want to place a bet with me about rain then?

Descent of Summer

 It's been a strange day today.

I woke up, fully rested and restless, at 6 am. That's usually the time of deepest sleep for me. Washed dishes, changed garbage bags, carried garbage out, pulled some weeds in flower beds. Then I sat on my porch for a while, watching and listening to the birds and bugs (and the cars and children across the street at the day care) and breathing in the lightening scent of the new day. Smells like good clean growth.

I seem to have something in my eyes, although I've rinsed and washed and flushed it out. Time for the allergy pills, I guess. Kind of tired of my eyes crying without the essential me involved in the act!

Did take a couple-hour nap about noon to two, then here I am, headache, yawns, crying eyes and all. Watching tv, working puzzles, reading, and writing, among other things. 

The big H is back. On the weather maps, that is. The big H for heat, humidity, and headache. Ha Ha. 

In other words: Summertime. "Roll out the barrel" and all that fun stuff.  Commercials for Memorial Day "buy a bed" sales. Couches and recliners will be next. Maybe cars, but they may wait until Flag Day or the 4th of July for that. 

It does bother me that most of our patriotic observances are devoted commercially to selling the big ticket personal items. I've written about that before, and most likely will again. 

The air conditioner is on, and running constantly. It's not set that low. 

Last week we were having frost advisories. 

Summer has descended upon us, like a plague of --

CICADAS. 

Because, yes, that's happening, too.

Welcome to my weather.

Sending Information

 Does any business or agency still do this? Do they know, understand, comprehend what "sending" means? 

Can I trust info from those who don't even know what they are saying?

While I prefer paperwork that I can spread out and look at, I'm not opposed to email being "sent." After all, that type of info can be printed off , if needed, or copied down. 

One does not send a phone call.

That is not sending.

The card you originally sent me in the mail said that you would send me more information.

And you called me.

(I did not answer. You left a voice mail for me to call you back. "NO.")

***********

There are many people who do not want and cannot handle phone calls to do business. The deaf, for instance. Those who suffer from dyscalculia need to go over numbers, and over numbers, and over the numbers again to be sure of understanding them. (Maybe.)

There are those who simply learn better from the written word.

There are those who forget facts unless they have seen or heard them several times in several ways.

In my opinion, if you call you are trying to put something over someone.

Pressure sales.

Fool the 'customer'.

Scam.

If you want my business, do not say you will send information and then demand to do business over the phone. 

I don't.

I won't. 

May Flowers.

 I have been planting.

First I had to weed and turn over dirt and add to it, before I could plant, and then I started small. A few of these here, a couple of those there. The first flowers were gifts. Then I bought some. And after I had thoroughly disturbed and roiled the dirt, I tossed in some seeds that I've had in a drawer.

Monday, after a family meal with two sisters and a cousin, I bought way way too many more flowers. The colors were so bright and cheerful. I couldn't resist. I bought enough to share, and some intentionally to share. Spread fresh dirt over it all.

After Monday, of course life got thoroughly in the way. Rain, and then my arthritic knee started jabbing me if I moved. It's not nice having to hobble around my one room on my stick, but at least I didn't have to resort to the more bulky and awkward walker. 

Finally the rain stopped. Leftover April showers, I suppose, since Nature doesn't go by man's calendar. 

Even better, the sun came out.

Today I went out  and planted most of my huge haul of pretties. Those lovely reds, the lemon yellows, blushing orange. pretty pastels, all jumbled up into eye-catching glory.

If I do say so myself. Haha.

I have ten plants left to go into the ground, and that's going to be tough. I havem't quite figured how to do them yet. The ones I planted today I planted in a raised bed. These others have to go in the ground,

Getting to the ground with my complaining knee may be a problem. Or maybe just getting up will be that problem. None of my knee braces are helpful for this issue.

I do, however, have friends, and one is going to loan me some long handled tools to at least do the digging with. And if I dig deep enough, I can drop the plants and bend over to place them, instead of get right down there.

BONUS: The landlord really, really liked what I have done.

Waiting for Rain

I hear two frogs speaking to one another, one with a deep somber bass, the other a flippity alto.
I think they are flirting.

I hear Leaves whispering and quiet jingling that tells me of a breeze; a breath.
I hear buzzing or humming and I cannot tell if it is the vapor lights thrumming, or a preview of the expected cicadas.
I hear voices from other porches and sidewalks.
Sounds are low tonight, and very near.

I smell the early perfumes of flowers, and the clean scent of overturned dirt, and a hint of a freshly mown lawn. I smell rain.

Rain is coming to a place near me.

Meditating on Meditation

 Meditation is supposed to be a method for many things, Goal setting, stress reducing, creating mindfulness, just plain creating. As I said, Many things.

I once took a class in college about meditation. 

It was a strange experience for me. 

I followed the same directions as the rest of the class. 

Relax. Concentrate on your breathing, not thinking. Do not think.

As I did these things, I became aware of many things.

The swoosh-swoosh of my heart beating.

The whoosh whoosh of my breathing.

The scritch of my hair on my shirt when it moved.

The way my sleeves felt on my arms, and the marvel of the difference in the feel of material in my pants against my thighs.

And the swoosh and whoosh and scritch and the caresses were somehow without me-- outside of me. All part of an enormity. The wind was breath, the heartbeat was water constantly moving, and I was a cloud, being caressed by the sun and tickled by the wind.

And then the instructor recalled us all to ourselves and began a discussion about what had happened in our minds.

The other students spoke of doors opening and closing, of distant phones ringing, of people talking in other parts of the building, of classmates coughing, and someone whose breathing whistled , and someone else who kept clearing their throat.

They marveled over how clearly they heard these things, and I was sitting there thinking "But all you have to do for that stuff is to listen. That's not a special talent. Or is it?"

No wonder meditation wasn't working for me. I must have been doing it wrong.

Now, I know that there are different types of meditations,

I have learned that there are different paths of meditation that can take the participants to the same Place.

I have learned that the same meditation path can take people to different Places.

But then, I thought I was doing it wrong. 

I thought that meant there was no value for me in it. 

Even now, it is difficult for me to freely do it, without feeling or fearing wrong.

I have to take my own advice sometimes. 

Just listen.

Pay attention to what you hear.

And feel.

And see.

And while others may be stuck in the classroom in the world, I can be a cloud, a part of Nature's water cycle, whispered to and tickled, and caressed by the many factors of a Bigger Place.

And there's nothing wrong with that.

Unbaring the Walls

 I surely do understand why children draw on walls.  All that white space is so inspiring.  That short wall needs a waterfall surrounded by autumn trees.  The long wall cries out for magnificent mural.  Trees and a stream,  rocks and a muddy embankment,  children and a bridge, filtered sunlight.

The wall behind the door begs for a bare tree outlined against a silver moon.  Maybe some snow-capped or icicles. 

The rest of that wall,  to the window could be the milky way,  spilling stars from its spiraling bucket.

Chalk or pastels.  Crayons or watercolors.

Muted but vibrant colors,  blending peacefully.

It's really a good thing that I know I can't draw.

The Lure of That Light

The light lured me out that night.

The moonlight coming through my ceiling.  

Sometimes silver, sometimes white.

Promising.

Hopeful.

A reminder of beauty, and receding darkness, and tomorrows.

Yes. it was cold out there, but that light was so intriguing.

 I had to see it, look at it, feel it on my skin, breathe it into my body.

So I wrapped up in a blanket, slipped on some shoes, and went to sit on my porch while the coffee brewed.

It was everything that has ever been said about moonlight. All the clichés come to life. Silver, gold, pure, clear, white, magic, mystic, omnipresent. 

Wise.

Every reality, every dream

I had thought to return to my shelter when the coffee was done, but instead I found myself dragging a chair off the porch, into the yard, to settle myself, my blanket, and my hot drink out in the yard beside my fence. 

I looked up and up into the purity of a winters night, with the beacon moon tangled and bouncing in the bare black branches of the stripped trees. 

Black clouds gathered around the light, and crowded it, trying to overtake it.

But it would not be doused. 

It serenely shone on, as the branches danced and painted themselves with the colors of the light.  So much light so that when the darkness of the ominous clouds did succeed in dimming the light, the trees were able to return the light to its source, so that the darkness never blotted it out completely.

Such symbiosis!

Such love.

Such faith in the intangibles. 

I don't know how long I sat out there. Or how short. Time did not exist while the moon glowed, the wind made music, and the trees danced. 

I don't know.

 And I do not care.

The time thatwasn't, that I was just another part of. A twig. A dust mote. A breath of wind. 

A breath of life.

Yes, the magic of moonlight, cliched as it is, was tall and strong and all inclusive that night.

And I was humbled and exalted to be a part of it.

.

sunshine in my ceiling -- 2/11/2020

 I'm waiting for a sunny blue sky white cloud day to see what I can see looking through my ceiling window. One evening just before sundown I saw little cottonball clouds tumbling across the gray.

Once.

Mostly I see gray sky and/or white light. I don't know if that's filters or tinting or what. It will take the forementioned blue sky white cloud day for me to know.

Or there could be something technical with the oblique and direct angles of light.

It would be really neat to look up from doing the dishes and seeing the moon looking in on me, or a couple stars winking.

Will I see that?

I don't know.

One day I'll find out. It may not be until April, May or June, but one day -- or night -- it will happen.

8Rita O'Toole, Mary Dietz and 6 others

New Year; Same OLD Me

There's really not much difference between December 31 and January 1, but just the changing of the calendar gives off a feeling of freshness. Of new starts, new chances, and Things Changing. 

It's a bit of silly, feeling that way, but most of us feel it anyway.

I think it has more to do with the returning daylight than anything else. 10 days or so, from the longest night and perhaps darkest day, the difference is already discernible. 

It is the return of hope. The promise of new life.

Usually, the coldest weather is yet to come. The snows, the ice, the blustering, freezing winds. 

But despite those disheartening events, there is daylight. A little more each day, and by the time a week or 10 days has elapsed, we can and will marvel how much longer the light is lingering.

This year past has brought almost every person some form of disease or disaster. The loss of someone or something; and the loss of individual freedoms for the greater good. (More shibboleths, I know, but the best way to repeat concepts as old as humankind.)

Let us try to remember this: That we have all lost something, even if it's "only" the world as we knew it. 

Scientists and politicians, so recently at odds, all forgot to reckon with the forces of Nature, or maybe the Wrath of God, if your beliefs lead you that way. When too much of any species occupies and consumes, in various ways, an area, then there comes a dying-off. You can blame the "smaller globe" syndrome. You can blame the Chineses people, who were just as disastrously dying as anyone else. You can blame spaceships, UFOs, aliens, angels, disturbed spirits, diseased factories, diseased morals. 

When there is so much disease, there will be a dying-off. 

This is one of the immutable rules of physical existence.

It is one of the rules of science.

It is also one of the rules of religions. That the diseased will be destroyed in great numbers whether in judgement and condemnation, or inertia.

Whatever the cause, it IS how things are. We start this New Year with the hope of brighter days coming and new life growing. We do not want to forget the loves we've lost or the lessons learned.

Let us fix what we can, instead of arguing over who to blame or how to avoid the inevitable.

Let us grow into better brighter tomorrows, worthy of those we cherish, whether they survive the struggle or not. We can bring something of them into the Fresh Tomorrow.

Let "us" be "us."

There is no them.

Only us.