Finally . . . the rain came. It has been a while since the watery music of a rainfall .
Now, everywhere seems to be having some kind of weather. The rabbitpatch on Bonnet street has been through a hot and dry spell. The gardenias will testify to that. If I had a dollar for every bucket of water I have carried, thus far . . .
In August, summer flowers fade, anyway. I have a few pinks still blooming. One gardenia, still has the gumption to bloom and rewards my efforts with its’ lovely fragrance , still. The young butterfly bushes are the only ones not complaining, nor . . the stalwart phlox, by the backdoor.
Now, the roses lack any boast. They are alive , and after a hot drought, that is something. There are about a dozen of them growing along a fence. They are a “motley crew”, gathered from clearance shelves, and folks who were landscaping and tossed them in a rubbish pile. I did buy two, that produce three colors of roses. Usually, roses rally at the first sign of cooler weather. Time will tell, as it always does.
On Monday, sister Delores and niece Dana came. We gathered at Mamas’ for the noonday meal. They are moving to the coast, where Dana will be attending college. Life has become very busy for them, with the move and college looming ahead. On account of this, we decided a leisure visit, was in order.
The next day one of my dear friends of several decades stopped by. We enjoyed a small lunch while we talked about our grandchildren, figs, flowers and pottery. Sara and I have a lot in common. The day was so hot-over a 100 degrees- that we did not linger on the traditional stroll around the yard. Being born and raised in the south, does not make one a fan of hot weather.
I can tolerate heat, I work outside some everyday . I always have and when I was a child, children came in to eat-otherwise we were outside, but this is not heat of the yesteryears. I remember that in 1979, the summer was awful. I was restoring another old house, that year. 2015 was hot, that is the year that Lyla was born.
I am in the mood to bake but this season is just not conducive to sweet breads nor hearty soups. We eat salads and quick meals that do not make the kitchen any hotter. I still cook in the early mornings, what can “rest” until evening. Hence I am making pies. . .lemon, chocolate and custards. When Sara came, she brought me a generous amount of figs, so that helped satisfy my yearning for “kitchen work”. They are in the freezer now, waiting for Christmas. For me, it is never too early, to think about Christmas.
By mid week, I was back to carrying buckets of water and hanging clothes on the line. I have to work on “unemployment” in some sort of way, several times a week. Everything is on line and I am convinced that many people are not able to navigate this system . I have had to ask for help several times. . . . and what if one doesn’t have a computer? If losing your job didn’t shake your confidence , , ,filing for unemployment, will. I haven’t even looked for a job in 23 years !
None- the-less, there is a sense of peace that abides in my heart and a sense of certainty that all is well.
Lyla starts school next week. She will be in the second grade. In light of that, I hope to get in a visit, this week. We are going to make an old fashion “magic cake” and I will tell our story, for the doll community is thriving (by now, this could be a book). I will watch the girls play with “Biscuit” that darling beagle and if it is cool enough, walk by the laughing river.
Just before I leave for Elizabeth City, I will water the flowers. I have been working on the fence for almost two years now. It was a bramble of thorns and poison ivy. Those things can survive a drought. There was also some english ivy and honeysuckcle . . . I let those grow- and there was another tender vine, that I wasn’t sure about. The thing bloomed in late summer, last year! Little white and very fragrant blossoms were a pleasant surprise. I think it is a kind of jasmine. One little patch is blooming, right now. . . I just might come home to a delightful garland of summer snow
This week, I returned back to my routine . . . rising early, hanging clothes on the line and pulling grass. Temperatures are at long last, back to a normal range. How refreshing to have the mornings almost cool again. It is dry here, and I am almost out of rainwater. There is a chance of rain this afternoon.
I am finally at peace with losing my job . . .mostly, at least. I have not yet been able , to abandon my concerns about money . .but , Something is happening . . I have felt a “shift” in my heart, and thus my thoughts. I suppose it was always present, but maybe I was hindered from acting on it — or reluctant. I am not sure which. Surely words will fail me, to clearly define what I mean. I feel like I have ” come home” in some sort of way. It could be that my attention has been on what I hold most dear-family and home.
I also complete my work in a different fashion. I do not have to multi task at break neck speed. Instead I can just peel apples or just fill the birdbath. When you just peel apples, you really smell their sweet scent and notice where the sun kissed them. When I just fill the birdbath, I notice the tinkling sound of the water andwhat a cheerful song . Now, I wander in the yard, and watch the squirrels, born this spring there are four of them- scampering about , playing wildly in the old trees. Their parents are quite stern and scold them, but it is to no avail.
I have always tried to live mindfully, ( before it became a popular notion) – and indulged myself every chance I had, even when the children were young. To me, personally, it has always been a necessity as my spirit seems to require it .
As a child, my cousins and I spent most of our time outside -even at harvest time, there were the walks between the fields and back to the house. There was hardly ever a ruckus barring the ponies didn’t escape-or a sudden shower popped up, when clothes were on the line. Our lives were “quiet and peaceable” . I don’t know if that spawned my condition, or if I am just an overly sensitive person with a delicate sense of balance. . .or maybe because I am older now and lack the compromise of my youth.
At any rate, this slower pace of living suits me. . . and that is a good thing, because the business of being unemployed, and just a bit shy of social security is a tricky place to land in. I have had to ask for help just to fill out, scan and forward the history of my life to all sorts of government offices. My confidence is shaken by my incompetence, besides losing my job. So if I am watching squirrels . .. it is understandable.
August 4th,was my maternal grandmothers’ birthday. Grandmama died suddenly, at the age of 52. I was ten years old and had never known a day without her. It has been over fifty years ago, since I last heard her voice, yet I remember the sound of it. As a child, I saw her as a constant and unwavering source of love, She let us play “dress up” on rainy days. We read the World Book” Encyclopedias” . She told us stories . We worked with her. If she wasn’t at the clothes line, or the garden, she was in the kitchen. She would cook breakfast for a crowd, clean up and start the mid day meal, that we called “dinner”, and for our supper she added something to the left overs from our “dinner”. Everything was cooked from scratch. She did not mind me being in her shadow, while she rolled pastry or put a cabbage and potatoes in a whopping pot. Grandmama did not let us get by with “ugly” behavior.
She did not yell about it, but instead simply talked to us about our transgressions til we were truly sorry. I never wanted to disappoint Grandmama, but I loved to sit on top of that two story barn and look at the pasture and the fields -and would risk it from time to time.
She wore faded “house dresses” every day. They smelled like country air-green and sweet. She did dress up for grocery shopping. ( We went weekly) and for church on Sundays. . Grandmama was never in any “limelight”. She simply served her family. I have no idea what she sacrificed for she never complained. She always seemed content and took pride in her job of tending to us.
To this day, I miss her and I remain grateful for her profound influence on my life. Slow
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