The sultry days of August are upon us.  Every day is as hot as the day before-and the one to come next.  Sometimes, a shower pops up and I celebrate every one of them. When the showers leave, mist forms and quiets the  wilting landscape, for a while.  Despite the awful conditions, I have been scurrying the last few weeks. 

Mama and I visited Aunt Christine again and got to see her grandchildren and a great grandchild as well.  It was another lovely time. 

Brant and Sydney came for the weekend. I made tarts for the occasion and Sydney baked a cake. Brant worked the whole time and the visit with little Ryan and Sydney, was too brief to suit me, for I can never see them too much. Still, I was glad to have the visit. 

The next day, Sister Delores and niece Dana came.  Niece Hayley was being honored with a bridal shower.  Mama and I ,  Delores and Dana attended that on Sunday.   The affair was at a delightful cottage like home, that was nestled in a grove of old trees on a country road.  The ladies were all friendly-and so we all enjoyed ourselves.

I left afterwards for Elizabeth City. 

 I was there four wonderful days.  It was just too hot to walk by “the laughing river”. . .so,  I told extra stories about dolls who drank strawberry tea with a talking kitten.  It was a golden time, altogether.  In a week we will all gather in Raleigh for a weekend gathering.  I suppose this will be the grand finale of our summer, as in a few very short weeks we return to schedules and days measured by the almighty clock.   Mama and I got in  another visit with Aunt Christine and Uncle Gene.  This time I was so happy to see my cousin, Gena as well.  Gena was the first “living doll” in my life.  She is younger than me and I used to love the afternoon visits in the yesteryears, at Pop  and Grandmamas’, when she would follow us around the yard.  She wore pristine dresses and had curls peeking out from under hats.There was never one iota of unkindness in her . . . .and that is still true, today.

Something has come up, which I could not have predicted.  Regular reader know, that I prefer fields and woods to streets-and moon shine to street lights.  I have certainly always said so.  While, that remains true, “something out of the blue”  came up. . .I am in the process of buying the little house on Bonnet Street.  It happened this way .   . . 

The landlords offered me a deal, that would have been foolish to decline, even if I am a devoted fan of rural living.  This is one of the reasons, that I have been scurrying about, for there is a lot of business to tend to.  I of all people, know first-hand, that anything can go wrong in the process . . .still, I planted a peach tree.  I have planted pinks and phlox, as well-and said a prayer as I did so.  As I worked and dreamed, my heart softened til at last, I knew that I was in the right place, at this particular time.

The little house on Bonnet street is older than I am-of course, I love an old house.  I must confess that I have entertained a few notions about some improvements, I may attempt. A small pantry, moving the laundry  OUT OF THE KITCHEN.  That has been a thorn “in the side of the house” .  As far as I am concerned, it is an unnatural thing to wash clothes in the same room, that I bake my bread in.   A little clothes line would suit me, too. . . .and roses.  I know it may all come to nothing-but I like letting my imagination “run wild” on occasion.  It was imagination that made the first rabbitpatch, after all.  It was not a garden, when I got there.    . . and I have already planted a peach tree. 

Now, tomorrow an official appraiser comes. I know full well, that he is not interested in my housekeeping, nor the fact that my flowers are blooming their hearts out .   He could care less about the lovely second-handle table, that is freshly painted and affectionately named  the “Scott”, after the cousin that I got it from. . . .I also know that there isn’t a bit of harm in a  good presentation.  Besides that,  I love a tidy house, myself. 

I can declare with all certainty, that I can not predict the future,  but  . . . time will tell, as it always does.