Things have not settled down at the rabbitpatch, since Sunday.  I get daily reports about Ryans’ first days, and so does Jenny.  Even Tres, who does not like to chat on the phone, has put that aside to know the latest details about his nephew.  We want to know everything .  I know that just today, Ryan did not cry when his diaper was changed.  I am glad of that too, for Brant says “it hurts his heart, when Ryan cries.”!  I know that Ryan napped for two hours this afternoon – and on and on we go with such minute details, to just make it til the weekend.

Pictures are sent back an forth that just prove  our ravings about Ryans’  beauty are well grounded.   . .and plans are going back and forth too.  Will, Jenny, the girls, Tres and I are all going for a short holiday on Saturday. so we are planning meals and travel arrangements.  It really is hard to think of much else. . . unless you count my back.  What a damper that puts on things!  

My director, has been very accommodating, allowing me to go in a bit later and leave when I can.  I am using a cane, too.  That helps tremendously, but goodness, I am moving as slowly as “molasses in January”!  Of course, all that matters to me, is being able to hold Ryan.  I also worry, that Lyla, may fret that her Honeybee, is any distress, for she has a compassionate heart.  Brynn will not flinch as she is on a constant mission, to know every detail of her world.  She does not consider anything “out of reach”  nor “out of range”, so she is busy.

The mosquitoes have made life fairly miserable, as of lately.  I am not exaggerating when I say that dozens of them lie in wait to ambush anyone who opens the back door.  I have no mercy on them, for I am swatting like a mad woman hobbling, on the way to the car.  On Wednesday, cooler air came in.  How delightful that was and I do hope it thins out those awful mosquitoes.  This is part of the aftermath of a hurricane.

Each day turned into the next one, til at last it was Friday-the eve of the “holiday”  . .  . the day before, we meet Ryan. . . the day that I will see my son, as a father, for the first time.  I will see Lyla meet  her “baby brother cousin” as she calls him.  . . and what will Brynn think to see someone smaller than her?  How beautiful it is to consider all of this.  

Since I have five children, I have spent the most of my life raising them.  One by one, they grew up, til at last, it is down to me and Christian.  For years, I mourned this.  The laundry was always caught up and suppers got smaller, which made the table seem bigger.  Evenings got quiet and mornings lacked any commotion.  I no longer needed to rush, when I was out nor call to make sure things were going smoothly, at home.   Grass grew up at the basketball goal.   I cried for years at the silent house.  I did not relish the freedom of a nest that did not need tending.  Many of my friends were in the same predicament and were thrilled, mostly, with this new liberty.  They took trips and joined clubs, but I lived for visits from the children and wouldn’t plan a thing . . .just in case.

Finally, the dust settled and I made some sort of peace with my circumstances.  I planted flowers and more fruit trees.  I tended a garden and preserved the food.  My pantry was always full.  I raised rabbits, chickens and miniature goats.  I read a lot.  Then Lyla was born. . . .and things changed again.  Since you cannot tend to a farm, and “run the roads, too” . . . I let the garden grow up and found homes for the animals.  

Looking back, at those years, “before grandchildren”, I realise it was a time of personal growth.  I had never had any real time to focus on myself, nor to deeply reflect on my  own truth.  Working with the soil in the garden, was healing.  The garden became my friend and faithfully kept my secrets. It is a lot of work to keep a garden tidy, and I found the same could be said of a pure heart.  The heart needs constant attention, so it too does not become filled with “bad seeds”.   There was always a rabbit out, to worry about and the goats ate my flowers on occasion.  I found out that a Shepherd, will worry about the lost and forgive the wicked, as it is written.  I also found out, that one can be happy, in all sorts of circumstances, too.  That season was time well spent, in spite of my reluctance to be there.

Now, here I am, years later, in a new season.   It may be my “time to dance” season.  . . . It sure feels like it.  Sometimes I feel like I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth.

 

We all  got the phone call, we have been waiting for, on Sunday morning.  After that, we kept calling one another with any updates, we had.  We were in our separate homes, but it felt like we were waiting together.  By noon, we were all told that Sydney was doing fine and the doctor thought we would have our little son by evening.

I couldn’t think straight that day.  I cried, I prayed and oh how I just wanted it to be over.  Finally, around 3:30, Brant called and said, the baby would be born shortly. By 4:00, he sent pictures of a beautiful, healthy son. Thomas Ryan was born at last.

He weighed 7 lbs 4 oz and was 19 inches long.  He has a lovely complexion and dark hair.  He will be called Ryan, after Sydneys’ daddy, who must still be smiling.  Thomas is Brant’ first name.

We are all going to Wake Forest, this weekend to meet little Ryan.  If there is a sweeter time in life, than  when a new baby  is born in the family, I do not know about it.  

 

School started back today for us.  The hurricane may have littered our yards and sadly taken a few trees, but we fared good, compared to our neighbors, on the coast.  

The children came back with all sorts of tales of the storm . . .and the clean up.  I was complaining because my back was “out” and everyone had either stepped in fire ants, gotten scratched or had blisters from working.  Still, I can not imagine the destruction that some folks or dealing with . . or the loss. 

The good news is that people are helping.  A building supply store is offering discounts on the items needed to rebuild.  Civic groups and Churches are sending meals and many, many people are making all sorts of donations.  Folks are doing what they can to ease the suffering . . .and that means so  very much.  It is a silver lining and a testimony, that there is goodness in the world.

Brynn had her actual birthday on Tuesday.  I thought of her all day and wondered how we ever got along without her.  I gave her a music box, that plays “You Are My Sunshine”.  The first ginger lily of the season, bloomed on her birthday and I couldn’t help but notice.  

Brants’ little son, should be here any day now.  When the phone rings, there is a scurry to answer it.  Sydney remains as calm as can be.  I do hope the baby inherits her perpetual sense of peace.  There is a full moon this weekend-and apparently it is a rare one.  Though science does not support the notion, that a full moon has any thing to do with impending births. the prospect is exciting. 

I remember the days before I became “Honeybee”.  Truthfully, I was unsure how to be a grandmother.  Everyone said it was wonderful and many told me, I would need to  adjust my budget , for I would want to buy everything available for the modern child.  I would also tolerate poor behavior, as it was not my problem, after all  .  . . and worst of all, I would love the grandchildren more than my own children!  This was not my nature at all, and so I was convinced I just would not get it right.  Well, none of that happened.  What did happen was that I found a new kind of love.   . .a realm I did not know existed.  Being a grandmother is “everything its’ cracked up to be”.  And there is more  good news, it happens quite naturally.  You love them because they were born.  It is an uncomplicated, pure affair

By the time, you are a grandmother, you know what matters-what lasts for all times. The passing of many years, now pays off, for because of that, there are stories to tell. We will celebrate at the drop of a hat and sing praises of our grandchildren, “til the cows come home”.   Grandchildren renew our strength . . .and we are not scared to use it.  We stand in the shadows ready to pounce at the slightest inkling that we are needed.  The world and its’ cares, are lost on grandparents . . .all because we are head over heels and hopelessly smitten with those grandchildren.

I remember my own grandmothers with great fondness.  My maternal grandmother was right next door.  she kept Baby Ruth bars in the”Kelvinator”and gingersnaps in the cupboard.  She gave me coffee on occasion, diluted with  canned milk, in a china tea cup.  This was a great privilege, as children ought not to drink coffee.  She told stories which were full of tragedy and promised to buy me a monkey, when she got rich.   I took it for granted, that she loved me better than any one else in the world, for that is how she made me feel.   I was not a pretty child with my reddish hair and freckles . . .and skinny, but I felt beautiful in her presence . . .and she convinced me I was bright, too.  She died suddenly when I was ten years old, now fifty years ago, yet I can still remember the sound of her voice.  In those short years, Grandmama loved me enough to last  a lifetime.

 

My paternal grandmother lived til ninety three.  She was as sweet and tender a spirit as I have ever known.  She taught me to love flowers and birds . . .and to pray about everything.  She had a hard life, but she was not bitter about it.  She felt blessed.  She loved animals, wild and tame  -and mimosa trees.  She was generous and she was the least judgmental person I have ever known.  I am so thankful that all of my children, got to know her and know her well. 

It is no wonder that I take the role of a grandmother, or in my case, “a Honeybee” so seriously. 

Every day of the week was clear and full of hot sunshine. With my back out, the house and yard were mostly untouched.  I have two projects going on in the house, which are two ceilings now.  The laundry room had several loose tiles too, and so I “peeked” beneath to find more beautiful bead board.  At least, I will not even have to paint it, for it is a lovely shade of green.  I just can not get on a ladder now.  I can barely get in the car, so both rooms are about half done and quite unsightly.  The piles of branches in the yard are right where I left them, so the territory is as awful as the house.  Kyle is living on his own now, and Christian works long, odd hours and is barely awake for supper. That leaves it to me and the boxer.  The boxer doesn’t let it bother him and so neither do I.  

I believe now, that flexibility is crucial to a happy life -or at least it has been for me.  I make plans, like everyone else, but things seldom fall into  the place, I had designated.  Expectations require a lot of energy and if you “set your heart on it” . ..well, there is always the chance of unnecessary disappointment.  Many many times, things have not worked out as I expected and as it turns out, all was well in the end, anyway . . .and often better, that I could have imagined.  I still, faithfully plan supper and what I am wearing to work, the night before.  . .but lifes’ plans are a different story.  When situations do not work out as I had thought would be best, these days,  I am reminded that I am not in control, and I am relieved, for I know my ideas were wrong.  It has only taken my lifetime and A LOT of gooseberry nets to learn this.

Moving slowly, has its’ advantages, I am finding out.  Down the garden path, I notice the floss flowers are setting new records, for they are everywhere!  The chives have gotten a second-wind and are blooming again.  They are a pretty sight and so full of flavor.   Now and then, I catch a glimpse of a golden leaf floating to its’ destiny.  They seem to dance  as they fall-a grand finale to their season.

I do not mind time, the way nature tells it. I couldn’t argue with a full moon or a sunrise or a ginger lily for – “love or money”.   I can not complain with mornings bathed in silver fog nor with  golden fields .  I have no quarrel with the lowly  and aggressive , swamp flowers, for they are as bright a yellow as I know of.  These are the “bells and whistles” in nature. Time is ushered in, gently . . .in the most beautiful manner . . .and invites everyone to celebrate.

 

A lot can happen in a short time.  The last few days bears witness to that.  Since, I rarely watch the news, the fact that a hurricane was coming came as quite a shock to me.  Of course, I found out in time to prepare, thankfully.  By all accounts, it did not seem too threatening for inland Carolina.  Still, I did not take it lightly.  School closed on Wednesday, which allotted me ample time. 

I went to the grocery, which was chaotic.  Next I put gas in my car.  These two things are crucial for hurricanes.  I have been without power for two weeks in the past, and the memory lingers. (This also means without water, for many country dwellers.)  In light of this, I set up the familiar supply table with water, flashlights, wipes for messes and wipes to bathe with, if need be.  There was hand sanitizer and candles and paper towels.   I spent Thursday, cooking and cleaning.  

Since the dryer needs a repair, laundry meant hanging the clothes on a line.  I love to hang the clothes out, but felt very rushed, under the circumstances.  I washed clothes, linens and the dog beds.  There was a constant light wind and so that helped my progress. 

I also boiled eggs, made a pot of soup and a pot of dried beans.  In my “spare time”  I cleaned the house, from top to bottom.  Somehow, Christian came home to a nice dinner, as well.  I was tired when all that was over.  I willed myself to shower close to midnight.  I had the notion to make a caramel cake . . .and fry chicken . . .just in case, but I lacked the gumption, after the shower.  There was wind and rain, when I fell asleep.

Christian and I woke early on Friday.  The wind was blowing with a fiercenesss and rain was hammering the countryside. Since Christian works six days a week and has to be at work at three am-well we rarely get a single day together.   I told Christian “we are going to have a big breakfast and then I am frying chicken for later.”  That is when we lost power. . . .You can never tell, how long that will last.   We had cereal for breakfast.   

Christian composed a song and I wrote in my journals.    I also made quick calls to check on family.  Mama and Daddy did not have power, but they do have a generator.  Will and Jenny did not have power, but Tres did, surprisingly.  Tres lives in Wilmington, where the storm landed.  Brant and Sydney were fine and had power.   I had no idea how other folks were faring and hoped for the best. 

There is never a shortage  of tasks, at the rabbitpatch, but every job seemed to demand something, we just didn’t have.  I could have finished the ceiling, but it is a dirty job.  A coarse dust falls with every tile and without the prospect of a shower, I wasn’t about to attempt that.  There was also some painting to be done, but being a messy painter, I knew better than to start that, without water . . .well a lack of water stops a lot of things.

I ended up doing something else, I never planned on.  I unpacked a box.  It was a box of clothes for the cooler weather sure to come.  This was the only box I have had to unpack . . .since the whole affair of almost selling the rabbitpatch.  It did not make me melancholy to do so – and most especially, when I found the navy cardigan, I had forgotten, I had.  Just a few months ago, I would have felt defeated, at unpacking any single thing, I think, but it was not so today.  It seems “Hope  springs eternal” rings true for me, after all. 

I am the least likely candidate for sainthood, that you know of, but it seems a peace, has taken root in my heart and abides faithfully.  This is not due to any gallant nor noble act on my part, for I was growing weary by the whole thing.  It is quite overwhelming to plan your future.  Precision is impossible because mankind just is not capable of knowing every detail that may arise.  Now, we still ought to do what we can, but woe to the one that assumes he has so very much power, in the  grand scheme of things.   I can say all of this,  have learned a lesson the hard way . . AGAIN  . .but now, in the midst of my “quiet season”  the Truth shines clearly and without a hint of malice.  Instead of reproach, It serves as a source of comfort and a sense of well-being wells up inside of me, like a joyful fountain. What a shame, I had to become thoroughly exhausted, to gain sight of the beauty, right in front of me . . .where It has always been.  My hopes and dreams are alive and well . . .and so unpacking that box, was of no consequence. 

An hour or so later, the power came on.  I cheered, Christian was smiling and Cash, my boxer pranced around the house, as if he were responsible for the lights coming on and the window fan purring.  I closed my book and started frying that chicken.  I mixed up the caramel cake, as my desire for it, had only increased over the hours and opened the refrigerator, at long last, with a tremendous sense of liberty.

We ate supper and agreed it was about perfect.  The cake turned out light and velvety.  It was like a slice of celebration and it only added to our high spirits.  I put the hurricane supplies back in the pantry and settled in “my nest”, which is a soft sofa, in the den . . .when the lights flickered several times, before finally shutting off for good.    I counted on the thing being resolved by morning, but I woke to Christian getting ready for work by flashlight.  The sun shine gilded the countryside without mercy and in the absence of any breeze, it was hot.  I made six piles of branches and stopped. While I worked, I noticed the morning glory was bragging and the periwinkle blossoms of the floss flower were too.  Some pale lavender spikes of the loosestrife  remained and so the territory is all shades of blue and lavender, which is lovely.   One day, I am going to paint a picture and call it “The Rabbitpatch in September”. 

  

Just after the noon hour, the power came on and so I jumped in high gear, to get a shower and actually make it to Brynns’ first birthday party.  I had given up all hope but consoled myself, that I would just go on her actual birthday, on the tenth.  Now, I jumped in the shower, with renewed gratitude for water. Oh how good it felt to be clean.  Since,  I keep a bag mostly packed,  I left soon afterwards.

The party was a success, even in the wake of the hurricane, Even a great grandparent made it!  There were also two of Jennys’ faithful friends, Sarah and Michelle – and the cake had somehow survived the power outage and was perfect!  Brynn surely thought so.

Jenny and I talked after the last guest left, about how stunning t it was for us, that little Brynn is a year old! The last year had been  very full for our family.  It seems something was always shocking us. There was heartbreaking loss-and hopes dashed.  These things take a toll, but despite the days of sorrow, we can not deny, there were blessings, too. . .and  Brynn is a blessing.. 

I always say, the best meals are the ones with a baby in a high chair.

   

Happy Birthday Brynn!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Christian left the house especially early yesterday, for work.  My only plans were to get the house in perfect order.  If I am home on the weekend, that is what I do. . .at least when school has started.  When Christian came home from work, the place looked like a battle had occurred, in his absence. It all started because I was looking for cobwebs in the hall. 

The ceiling has celotex tiles, which the real estate agent had disliked.  She had suggested that really everybody she has ever known, dislikes them too.  Still, this did not move me, to tear something  else up in this old house.  

As I searched for webs, I noticed that the tile that was loose, now for years was separating from the ceiling and the one beside it had followed suit.  I got a chair and peeked beneath and discovered there was bead board .  I can not explain why, but the loose tiles came down so easily -and so did the ones that were not so loose.  Half of the tiles were down and scattered in the hall when Christian walked in.  I thought he was going to  cry by the dismal  look on his face.  He has lived in a perpetual state of such incidents, for most of his life, after all.  . .and apparently, “it ain’t over yet”.  

I surveyed the calamity in the hall, and really was about as shocked as he was.  I truly never meant for it to happen.  I felt like I had been “caught with my hand in the cookie jar” . . .taking the last cookie . . .and broke the thing in the process.

I was tired too.  I do not like any sort of ceiling work and make meaningless vows to never attempt it again, after any project that requires a ladder and craning your neck.  I cleaned up, what had accumulated .  About half of the ceiling was on the floor. . . but the bead board, when painted white was going to be lovely.

The sun rose on Sunday casting no more than a blush, on the territory.  A coolness came in yesterday, so that I could raise the windows – and it remained this morning. How good it felt outside.  It was a quiet “early service”. Now rest assured that I have applauded on occasion, at an “early service”.  I have sang . . and yes I have danced like a joyful child-but this morning was still and silent and so I was too.   

I wanted to see Mama and Daddy today as I was gone for much of the summer, most especially, in the last weeks.  I had planned on a “Sunday supper” and so I started a pot of brunswick stew – and a chicken was roasting all before eight o’clock. . . and of course, there was that ceiling.

I did make some progress on the ceiling, though it is a bigger job, than I anticipated.  Every job always is.  I did not take into account removing the staples. . .nor that it would take three coats of paint, to properly finish it.  One day, I am going to plant flowers all day. . . and watch the rain fall on them, in the evening.

I worked on that ceiling, carried out the debris and pulled grass along the garden path.  All of the food was cooking as I went about my business.  By evening, somehow beyond my wildest dreams, I had the car loaded down with food and was on my way to Mama and Daddys’.  The ceiling was not finished and the kitchen was not clean, but we would have our supper. 

It was pitch dark, when I returned to the rabbitpatch.  I made a feeble attempt to restore some order.  One thing was certain, the house was in worse shape than it was on Friday . . .and tomorrow was Monday . . .and that changes everything.

 On Monday, I woke to an alarm.  There is just nothing natural about that. 

The sun made up for its’ lack of fanfare on Sunday, for Monday dawned bright and clear.  The sweet cool air was lingering and nobody was complaining about it.  Within a few hours, I was greeting the students.  Most of the students, I know well, for we have spent years together.  I know the names of their dogs and many of their grandparents.  I watched the kindergarten parents walking through the parking lot and thought, many years ago, that was me and I remembered the anticipation of the first day.  There are just some things, that stick with you no matter how old you get.

Monday turned into Tuesday and then it was Wednesday.  The leisure days of summer are replaced with routine and duties to be done at a certain time.  I actually bought a daily planner, and will try not to record what is blooming, along with  lesson plans. . . or the grocery list.  

I drive past the quiet pastures and fields and feel like I am visiting with old friends.  How good it is, that amidst the constant change in life, some things remain constant.   . . and often, they are the most beautiful things.

Christian and I were talking about this one night over supper.  We were going over the contents of our day.  We both had the “usual” kind of day. . . at least for us  We had both attended our work and made it home safely.  Now we were back at the rabbitpatch sitting around the kitchen table enjoying supper. We decided  first, that a good supper was always fitting, for a good day.   . .that in a way it was like a small celebration, every day.   . .and then, there was the time after supper when it was quiet and so unlike the day -free of tasks.  It is a restoration, of sorts, and the dogs and the cats were napping, and would only rouse when we retired for our own rest.  One dog, sleeps on the floor by Christians’ bed-and Cash, the boxer and the cat, Christopher Robin  curl up together, where I sleep.  It is always that way.  

That night, when I went out to say good night to the world, I saw the stars shining boldly.  The haze hung over the fields and the beauty of it all, did not go unnoticed.  I realised that for a long while, I have and shamefully so, been in a state of “biding time” -a sense of “waiting until”  was always present.  While we ought to hope and pursue our dreams, there isn’t a bit of harm in the time spent waiting. Some of my greater lessons have been revealed, while in the act of waiting.  . . and things like the time after supper and  silver clouds shrouding old fields, make the waiting so very pleasant.

 

   

I have been in an official routine since Monday . . . and I have lived to tell about it!  I could not even sleep on Sunday night, for I was convinced I would never make it to work on time and doubted I would survive a four hour meeting, right off the bat.  I never do any one thing for four hours!  . . . I was at work, bright and early.

I came home and started supper and laundry.  I laid my clothes out for the next day and made a batch of “summer oats”.  I must adhere to these practices for I can not put a single thought together in the morning.  I rise several hours early, so I can perform my duties, with some degree of sanity, on account of that.

It is hot outside. For days, now a wilting heat has plagued the countryside.  In the evenings, a haze covers the fields in a mysterious way and hushes everything.  Now, the “morning glory” vines bloom.  Like every other vine, the morning glory grows rapidly and anywhere it pleases.  It is one of the few vines, that I love.  Besides being tender and thornless, the vine bears bright true blue blossoms.  A lot of folks do not share my affection for the morning glory.  It is likely, that since they grow in ditches and clamber up every fence post, the vines are considered too common to appreciate, which is a shame, for they are a cheerful lot and what fun to ramble the territory and come upon something so sweet, that you did not have a hand in.

The loosestrife blooms too. Like the morning glory, it is not beloved by many. The lavender spike flowers do not bloom til August, which is what Mama holds against it.  I laugh every year, when the loosestrife blooms, remembering Mama saying, as she was pulling them up, that they “take too long to bloom”.  I have several places at the rabbitpatch where the loosestrife bears its’ pale lavender flowers . . . always in late August.  

The ginger lilies are some of my favorites.  The flowers themselves are unimpressive – and usually sparse, but their fragrance is extraordinary.  I am very partial to fragrant blossoms.  A single flower of the ginger lily will make you stop in your tracks, to drink in the sweet air.  Ginger lilies are hard to find and they are pricey.  They are also dependable perennials, that bloom in August.  I am sure we did not buy bacon, the week I bought the ginger lilies, but I have never regretted it.

I realise, that I hold a grudge against clocks and papers announcing the time and date of what I have to do.  Their proclamations of “Be here” and “pay this”  are but cold demands.  . .but nature declares the time, softly and tenderly, like a loving mother.  If I were in charge of such things, I would say things like “The sweetest month of May  is here, and on the fifteenth, when the honeysuckle blooms, your bill is due.”  Or, “school starts in August, when the loosestrife approaches its’ peak.” Or “The sun is slipping and shadows are  falling, it is time to go home, now”  At least, I can practice this way, for myself . . for I leave for work, “when the sun is almost over the pines”.

It is odd to think I have been on a “school schedule” for most of my life.  I remember graduating from high school and feeling so free of that schedule.  When school started the next year, I was elated  that I would not be facing that familiar routine.  I got a good job working for an orthodontist, and did not go to work til nine.  I had Wednesday mornings and Friday afternoons off.  Oh!  I was so very grown.  I married a few years later and stayed home with the children as they came along.  Those were golden years.  I have been teaching music for twenty years now at the school. I worked at another school and also taught violin, prior to this particular school)  I am back on that schedule again.   . .and now I am thankful for it, for I am that grown.  Now, I wonder how any one works through the summer.  

The sweet couple that came to see the rabbitpatch, did not decide to buy it.  In this circumstance, I am taking some time to breathe.  The “remnants of a former farm”,  that I call the rabbitpatch is still for sale, but I have not advertised it.  I have some decisions to make -and they are  not as simple as whether to have biscuits or corn bread for supper.  These are decisions that will alter my course . . .and frankly, I need to pray.  At least, the peace of it all remains steadfast and as constant as the North Star. 

Besides, school starting and decisions to make about the rabbitpatch, something far grander occupies my thoughts. Within the month, my first grandson will be born.  He is actually expected right around Brynns’ first birthday. Brant is as nervous and excited as any one I have ever seen.  He simply can not be still, for he always thinks of something that is necessary and should be done immediately . . .or else, the baby will surely suffer, in some way.  Sydney, on the other hand, is as calm and collected as she can be. Instead of fretting, she quietly and efficiently completes her tasks.  She does not worry about what size winter boots, her little son will need when he is a year old , as Brant does.  Thank Goodness,  Sydney has a gentle nature to “balance the act”! 

I suppose, I can not chide Brant too much, for Sydney called today and I uttered “Yes?  What! I mean hello, are you ok?”  I was senseless, and Sydney laughed, as I tried to recover, feebly.  Sydney says her own mother did the same thing recently.  So that is where we are.  . . We are all “in a state” as my elders used to say.  How can it be, otherwise?  We are all well “over the moon”, after all.  . . and that is one Holy place.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I came home yesterday from an extended time in Elizabeth City.  I had been  away almost two weeks straight- really I spent the most of my summer with my daughter and her family.  Now, I am back at the rabbitpatch, for suddenly . . .it is August !  . . .and I start school on Monday.

Brant came by just after I arrived home.  He, Christian and I had supper together, which was a huge consolation, for me.  Brant has been working in the area, but tomorrow, he leaves for good for Wake Forest.  His little son is expected in September, after all.  Sydney has been patient, throughout.    . .and deserves a medal.  How wonderful  and anxious a time, it is, awaiting the birth of your first child.  All mothers remember, though decades slip by.  It may not seem so, but, without doubt,  the “season with child” is that remarkable. I see the mother of my first grandson, fairly alight, with hopes and dreams, and it pleases me to no end, and I am filled with joy.

Last weekend, we had a gathering at the lake to celebrate the impending birth, of  the first grandson.  My sister, Connie hosted the affair and her husband, Mike cooked on the grill .  After a satisfying meal, a lot of us headed to the lake for a swim.  The water is crystal clear with a clean, white, sandy bottom.  It is also a shallow lake, so we were able to walk a long ways out -even Lyla!  Mama and Daddy sat in the shade and a cool breeze blew around them.  After the swim, we all had ice cream.  Little Brynn was passed around like a doll and Lyla was pleased to pass out popcorn and eat ice cream with little supervision.

 

The days afterwards dwindled by at an alarming pace.  On one day, the girls and I took a very long stroll around the village.  At some point, Lyla asked me, “Are we even still  in Elizabeth City?” Not long after we got back, a horrific storm popped up.  It was full of “straight line winds” that brought down branches and scattered everything not nailed down.  Part of the town lost power.  Jenny and I both love storms, but this one was cause for concern. It did pass quickly, leaving us somewhat bewildered, by its’ sudden fury.

 Both of the girls love to swing.  Lyla is quite accomplished now in this art.  Some hours were spent under  old the cypress  singing, telling stories and swinging.  Lyla and I made lists of birds and flowers she knew by name and  sight.  We recited her poems.  What a goodly collection, we gathered, while Brynn cheered us on, clapping her little hands and squealing in delight.  

One day, Lyla had a fever.  She said her head hurt and later her stomach.  She was so pitiful and slept a lot. Once she said to her mama  “I don’t understand what happened,” through tears.  Lyla has never been sick, so it was a shocking ordeal for her .  A day or so later Brynn had a fever and was cranky.   . . .and a few days later, Brynn started walking!  

We had  some visits with Aunt J  -and Miss Thelma. One afternoon, Miss Thelma and I cooked together.  Those were golden hours.  Lyla and I watched Venus rise and the moon grow to its’ fullness.  We listened to Andre Bocelli  and one day, I made a new friend, who lives down the street, while the girls and  I were on a walk.  Will and Lyla picked a few figs  from the little tree, that Lyla sings to.  We went to the book store and ice cream parlors , Brynn learned to say “Lyla – and Lyla danced around the willow tree most days. . til suddenly it was August . . and  the roses faded . . . and the dragonflies came. 

These are some of the contents of my summer.  I will not deny that I will sorely miss the liberty that affords me such pleasures.  It does not bother me in the least, that I did not see distant shores, for I have found that I am most content in the company of loved ones.  I needn’t stray far for “Divine” , for I am as close and surrounded as I can be, in the shade of an old tree. Venus shines  most brilliantly, when I am holding Lylas’ hand and a sparse meal in the company of my daughter, is worth a Kings” ransom.   There is wonder and enduring beauty  -genuine and as rare as fine pearls, in the union of my parents. . . and joy, unbridled and without rival, as we await the birth of a child.   I have listened to the dreams of my sons and sung songs to Brynn.  

Surely, the summer, even in its’ haste, did not leave me empty handed, but instead bestowed gifts generously and without ceasing.  Now, in the twilight of the season, I remember these things, fondly . . . and with gratitude.

 

I arrived at the rabbitpatch, last night.  I had been away a full week and so  Christian and the boxer made quite a production over my return.  The cat, Christopher Robin, did not.  He “put on airs” and acted indifferent.  He does this on occasion, if I have been gone too long.

How good it was to see that my neighbor, and friend Susan had mowed the yard!  Most especially, since someone is coming to look at the house tomorrow.  I know that a  manicured yard does not make or break a deal, just like clean, well groomed dogs, but it can not hurt, I think.

I was pleased to find the house in good order.  Christian is always dependable in that aspect.  Still, I concocted a full agenda for Saturday.

The “Morning Service” on Saturday was cool and sweet.  I miss the chatter of birds in spring, but somewhere, a dove was cooing and that was enough.  The peach tree bows with  small peaches.  I am certain the weeks without rain are accountable for the little fruits, but oh how delightful to eat a fresh peach in early light. Without even the slightest breeze, the pines were as quiet as the oaks, on this morning.  I prayed as I walked around the territory.  I usually do, but the only thing that I could utter, was “thank you”.

I came back in and started washing the linens, for Christian does not think about washing curtains . . .ever.  Nor does he worry his sweet head with cleaning the refrigerator.  I wanted the floors scrubbed, which is no small task in the rambling house.  He does keep things in the right place, which is a huge contribution. When Christian, came in from work, he gave the dogs a bath and I had to laugh.  I suppose, the dogs will be as glad as I am, when the place does sell.

I was busy all day long and well into the night.  This was because, I took a good many breaks-almost a shameful amount.  Years ago, I cleaned the house from top to bottom, in a day – and cooked supper!  The only sense I can make of it, is the house really did get bigger . . . and, well, I did get older.

Sunday dawned fair.  A gentle sunlight dappled the countryside, almost lovingly.  I did not feel the old anxiety, in the wake of the visitors.  Maybe, it is because the first two deals shattered, just before closing or maybe it is because I am finally able to “practice what I preach”  – which is “not to lean on your  own understanding”.  A peace has welled up inside of me, that I can not account for . . . I do hope it is for the latter reason.

Everything went well with the couple that came to see the house.  Neither of them liked dogs, so once again, clean dogs are just not a selling point.  They did love the house and property, so time will tell as it always does.

My dear cousin, Faith popped in later on.  What a nice surprise!  Faith and I grew up, like sisters.  Faith was a “firecracker” as a child.  She was liable to” talk back” to the adults and would fight with boys twice her size, if provoked.  We all had ponies, when I was growing up and we rode them to see each other, often.  Faith had a sweet pony named “Sam” who seemed trained to dash off at full speed, at the drop of a hat, if Faith got in a bind.  I can remember clearly, watching them gallop away down the country road, when something didn’t go right, in a game.  I hated to see her leave, for Faith was the liveliest  of the cousins.  She would not play “school” or “housekeeping” or let the older girls brush her hair.  That kind of play was too tame for my cousin.  . .but the truth was, that I learned early on, that Faith had a tender heart and would protect those she loved, with everything in her.  She lived to grow up, despite her reckless childhood.  Faith tended her ailing mother for years and is a doting mother and grandmother, today.   . .and remains a loyal cousin.  No matter how diverse family members are, one thing they all share is the remembrance of the elders and the past way of life.  That is a “tie that binds”.

A thunderstorm popped up in the evening.  It was a “full blown” storm with thunder and lightning that cracked the sky.  The rain was blinding, so that you could not see your neighbors house.  With the house clean, I caught up on my reading .  The boxer curled up for a nap and Christopher Robin, who is back on good terms, lay in a window sill to watch the event of a storm.  

To me, the storm was a perfect conclusion to a day, to be glad about.

 

It finally rained -and that changed everything.  After weeks of blistering heat that wilted flowers and spirits, a cool wind blew and then the rain fell.  That was on Tuesday . . . now almost a week ago.

On Wednesday, the realtor came.  I will tell you that every room fairly sparkled and not a single cobweb was in sight.  Even the dogs were bathed!  The meeting was all business  and I could tell, the realtor was thinking hard about how I should proceed.  The big question is , should I spend money on the house and hope to get it back? or should I sell as it is, and hope I sell it  soon.  The realtor left , wanting to consider the facts.  Apparently clean dogs, do not make a difference at all.

In a few hours, I was on that very familiar stretch of highway, to Elizabeth City.  

Since my arrival, there has been a whirlwind of an agenda.  I declare I am at the “house  that never sleeps”.  One day, we cooked a supper for Wills’ Uncle Larry and his aunt Mary Ruth.  Of course, we also cooked for ourselves and Miss Thelma.  Uncle Larry has a huge farm, and I must say, that when we went to deliver the food, I felt right at home.  In the yard were apple trees and grapevines,  There was a pasture of cows, with two grandsons,  there working.  There was a litter of very young kittens in the yard. . . and there was a tremendous sky overhead.  I understand this kind of beautiful. I surveyed the landscape and all sorts of memories flooded in.  I half expected “Pop” to appear from around one of the barns.    

We had a nice visit.  Jenny and I listened to the story of how they met, and how they were not allowed to date for a while.  When at last that ban was lifted, they were married within about six months .   That happened fifty years ago and so they do live “Happily, ever after”

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With the weather, remaining pleasant, I took the girls on a stroll one day.  Jenny has a double stroller, so both girls ride.  The day we went out, I had high expectations, to walk the whole course along the river.  It was a lovely day, after all and besides I had done so countless times, with Lyla.  We stopped to watch some porpoises in the laughing river.  That was a sweet surprise.  We stopped under a pine and smelled “Christmas” and  later, we watched about a half dozen turtles sunning on an old log, by the little bridge.  We had traipsed all the way to the furthest edge of the village,  which had seemed manageable, but the thought of walking all the way back . . .well, that seemed daunting.  A double stroller, is not for the faint of heart.  Still, we struck off in high spirits.  Lyla identified pine trees all along the way.  Brynn watched some friendly squirrels and the river rolled  by, all the while, like a lullaby sung with a hushed voice. Before I knew it, we were approaching the shady lane, where the lilies grow, that runs along the side of Jennys’ house.

On Saturday, we went to the “Farmers’ Market”.  I went straight away to the lady that makes soaps.  This is where I bought the “dish washing” bar soap.  I continue to promote this, as the soap has pleased me in every way – and I am far from a light weight in the kitchen.  Whether I have fried pork chops, made a pan of biscuits or a pitcher of peach tea . . .the soap works.  I was pleased, my new friend had shampoo bars , too.  I have been using shampoo bars  for a year, and so I decided to try hers’.  It is a pleasure to find, that this bar is my favorite. . . and once again, it doesn’t come in plastic.  I know, such things are but a minute dent in the enormous problem of plastic, in this world, but it is what I can do – and that comforts me.

One day, we had an almost fancy luncheon.  Aunt J and two of her best friends came.  It was a lovely affair altogether .  The table was set with Miss Claudias’ beloved dishes, which touched Aunt J.  Lyla played her violin and recited poetry, she minded her manners, but said she was “too young, to eat such food”.   We had a wonderful visit and it did me good to see Aunt J smiling with her best friends.  She was “in good company” – and it made a difference.

Modern living does afford so many conveniences.  Just in my lifetime, few things remain as they were.  Technology changed life and continues to do so.  Many things are better, many things are easier, yet there are some remnants  of  the yester years untouched  and unrivaled by modern progress.  My elders used to say “Don’t throw the baby out with the bath water”.  I don’t suppose many folks say that anymore-or can make “heads nor tails” of its’ meaning, for we do not even bathe our babies as they did, with a large washtub in the kitchen sink.  After the bath, the tub was emptied out of the back door, hence the saying.  We ought to take great care , not to lose the most precious things in our haste.  

Now let me admit, that I have little hurry in me.  I never have.  I did not grow up in a mad rush, for I played well past the age children do now.  My parents did not push adult issues on any of us – and I remain grateful for that, now decades later.

I thought of this when I listened to the love story of Aunt Mary Ruth and Uncle Larry -and again when I saw the “ties that bind” with Aunt J and her friends.   . . and as I rocked Brynn to sleep and felt her against me . . . when I watch Lyla dancing around the willow . . .and when I peel apples.   Some  joy remains    -ageless – and is not improved upon.  

P.S.  Here is the link to the lady that makes lovely soaps – and does not use plastic!  “loveandlightning.patternbyetsy.com

I was up early on Sunday and was out traipsing the territory at the rabbit patch, before seven am. The boxer was with me.  I cut the vines that were creeping up the barns and fences.. . again.  Those vines and I have been in battle for a dozen years now-but, there are less of them than there were.  At least, a breeze blew and the sunlight was gentle.  It has been miserably hot and humid for a few weeks now.  

Since my return to the rabbitpatch, I have been restoring order and cleaning.  The spiders are every bit as gallant as the vines.  Yet, I have not lost heart.  I even packed a small box yesterday!  This box joined the fifty, already packed.  Boxes are in every nook and corner, still awaiting their destiny . . .as am I.  I have a real estate “expert” coming on Tuesday.  Hopefully, she can offer me advice, which I will pass along to my sons, Will and Tres.  Maybe then a plan will be concocted, on how to proceed.  The bank looms in the near future, awaiting the decision.  They are more than willing, for me to borrow money for repairs.  Goodness, I am drained and can not seem to make sense of any detail, at this point.  So I clean.  It is about the only course of action, I am suited for.  Oh!  I want to mention that I love the bar of dishwashing  soap-it lathers and does the work needed  . . .and it does NOT come in plastic!  

The peach tree is full of young peaches.  They are not yet ripe, but it seems there are a good many cobblers, to come.  How lovely it is to smell peaches, when the wind blows just right.  I especially miss “Miss Claudia” when the peach trees are bearing, for she loved them dearly, in ice cream, cobblers – well in any form.  I told Will,  that I will never see a peach, without remembering her.   

The Pear tree is bowing under a bounty of fruit.  I planted the tree on my fiftieth birthday, now a decade ago.  The pears are far from ripe, but it seems clear that not a single rabbit on the territory are in danger of starvation, for a while, at least.  Now, the apple tree is another story. . .

You could not prove it is an apple tree at all, this year, for the thing hasn’t produced a single apple.  This has never happened, and at first  I had  a pity for it.  The poor thing is planted right beside the sagging pear, after all. But then I remembered that I  could take comfort, in that trees are not as shallow as humans, and surely do  not base their worth,  on how they compare to their neighbors.  

My paternal grandmother spent her last years at the  rabbitpatch.  Those were happy years.  Grandmama was in her nineties, yet was determined to contribute to the work load.  She swept every floor in this house every day. . .that has never happened since .  She also made the beds.  One night, Grandmama took a bad fall and that changed everything.   She stayed in bed after that.   That summer, there was always somebody visiting, for we are a close lot and we all especially loved Grandmama.  I spent half of my life in the kitchen preparing meals for at least a dozen folks, three times a day.  Bed sheets were always on the line and the grass was always growing.  My aunt Carolyn, who tended my goats and always had a fire of sticks going, came in and said “the apple tree is full!  What are you going to do with the apples?”  I was on the way out to hang more sheets on the line, and said “nothing, I  just do not have the time for apples.”  When I came back in, the kitchen table was surrounded by every woman in the house, peeling apples!  The sight moved me to tears.  Aunt Carolyn, was determined I would have those apples, and so she had organized ( or demanded ) the endeavor.  That was the way Aunt Carolyn said “I love you”.

Country life keeps you very informed of the seasons.  It is a harder life, in some ways . . it is more beautiful, in some ways.  Tending a big yard is hard, but watching wild honeysuckle climb up the woodland trees is beautiful.  There is not concrete to keep dirt from being tracked in on a regular basis and there are more pesky insects-but the grass is cooler than concrete and much more tender.  . . and the air is filled with more than just insects, for it carries a sweetness, of all sorts of blooms. To see fox or deer, reminds you what it is like to live with a bit of wildness and to consider, the way you live, carefully.  The earth is their home too.   If all else fails to keep you humble, there is also the sky.  Views are unhindered in the country, of sunrise and sunsets.  There are no bright light to hide the  shine of the stars or the whereabouts of the moon, so it is beautiful-but it is also hard.  I am always so impressed when Will cleans his yard of debris and just puts it all by the street.  A crew comes along daily and carries it away.  How delightful, I think.  Yards are push mowed in a morning and the farmers’ market has every fresh fruit and vegetable-without endless hours of toil and fatigue.  I always thought living in an apartment, would be dreadful, until I stayed with my friend Julie, as she was recovering from surgery.  The neighbors were so kind and quiet.  Daily, during my six week stay, folks would make inquiries of Julies’ recovery, and offer to run errands or help in any way.  How cozy it felt, to be surrounded by new friends.  There are so many ways to live happily.

For many years, I had no quarrel with living on the rabbitpatch-in fact, I felt it was a privilege.  Then, everyone grew up and moved on, save Christian, who being the youngest, bears the guilt “of being the one, to make me be alone”, as he said.   The children grew up and I grew older.  The house and territory got bigger and the grandchildren were born-now, THAT changed everything.  Still, with all the “hard”  there is the beautiful, here too.  I have wanted to “escape” and I have wondered how I will ever leave.  I have felt “stranded” and I have felt richly blessed-all in the same day.  I have felt as if I were in battle and weary from it -and hopeless . . til at last, and now, at peace,  with whatever prevails.  Finally, I know, that “There really are so many ways to live happily”.

I have been in Elizabeth City, a good while this summer.  With Jenny, having the shingles, I have visited even more than usual.  Little Brynn has no idea, that her mommy isn’t well and carries on with “business as usual”.  She seeks things out, like electrical cords and things to climb on, that are likely topple over.  Anything, that fits in her mouth is highly desired, from little doll shoes to bobby pins! Nothing is safe.  Someone must be “on duty” at all times, under such conditions.

The last few days, that I was there were sweet.  One day Lyla and I made tea with flowers.  My sister, Delores, had given the teapot to me at Christmas.  The teapot is crystal clear so you can watch the flowers “bloom”, when hot water is added.  If you think it seems like an uninteresting activity or something only a child could fancy . . . .you would be wrong, on both counts.   It was beautiful to watch the blossoms unfold and expand.  It was like watching flowers bloom, right before your eyes.  Slowly and gracefully, the petals unfurled and released a delightful fragrance.   Lyla. perched on a bar stool and said nothing, in those moments -neither did I.  For a few moments, the teapot full of flowers, was the only thing in our world. 

 

Christian came to get me on Wednesday. Daddy had an appointment on Thursday.  I had been there a full of week – a week that had flown cruelly fast.  Of course, when I am away, I miss Christian.  I miss the boxer and the gray cat, Christopher Robin.  I am further away from Mama and  Daddy . . and I feel the miles.   Oh, how I miss the days of my youth, when everyone lived close enough to walk in the back door, at any given moment.  

Jenny fixed a supper, while Christian, Lyla and I walked over to Miss Thelmas’ house.  Miss Thelma has a grand piano, and since Christian is a musician, I asked him to play for her.  Miss Thelma played for us too!  She played a beautiful piece, that she had composed, many years ago -from memory!  It was a cheerful melody and hearing her play . . .well, of course, I cried.  We  were all impressed.  Then she went on to recite  “The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere”. ( remember, friends, that Miss Thelma is ninety five years old)  It was a happy time.

When, the visit concluded, and supper was eaten, Christian and I prepared to leave.  Lyla cried as if her heart would break.  No amount of preparation, is sufficient for  the time when we must part. 

 

Christian and I drove back to the rabbitpatch, while the sun slid down the horizon. There were streaks of gold and ginger light falling across the three rivers.  I love when night begins.  A long time ago,  this was when families reunited  ..  It may be that this is why I hold the evening hours so dear. This was before factories and stores that stayed open all night.  Even grocers were closed and no one I knew, ever had “a meeting” to attend.  Tractors did not have lights on them in those long ago days- and besides, there were many small farms that boasted all of twelve acres.  A family could manage their work in day light hours.  . .and make a living.   That “way” is long gone, now. . .and I can say with all honesty, that I never saw it coming.  

The light  had faded rendering a dimly lit,  peaceful world,  by the time we got back to the territory, I call the rabbitpatch.  The moon was rising, where it always does at this season and the air was heavy with the scent of cut grass, faintly and sweetly  scented by the mimosa.  Christian and I lingered a moment . .  It seemed a shame not to, for we were not indifferent to the quiet glory around us .

 

It rained last night.  Evening showers came and “settled the dust”, revived the countryside and cooled the air.  What a relief it was, when at long last the distant thunder, did more than just tease.  The ginger lilies took heart, and so did I.

 The long awaited rain, was like a grand finale to yesterday.  Sunday would be the conclusion of our holiday gatherings.  Tres had left on Saturday, but Brant and Sydney were still here.  When I remembered that I had bought a large package of pork chops -which is Brants’ favorite – Mama and I planned a Sunday dinner.  I am glad we did, for it was a sweet time. . .and there is no such thing as too many Sunday dinners.

When Brant and Sydney left, and the kitchen was cleaned . . .that is when the rain  fell. . .

 and I remembered my grandmama saying  “I love you, like rain.”

On Monday, I had “business” to tend to, which I always dread.  I do my best to avoid any “official” thing, as if it were a plague, but sometimes there is just no getting around it.  I was in a courthouse before nine am.  My stomach lurched the minute I walked in. A large group of people stood out side the court room, awaiting their fate.  I was heartsick, for all of them. 

I was there to convince a DA to drop my citation for  expired registration on the car, which was pointed out at a routine traffic stop.  I declare the place smelled of brief cases, clocks and threatening forms. The lack of natural light only added to the gloom of the atmosphere.  As it turns out, the “system” was down, so I had to return after lunch.

 I came home and called the bank.  . . another dreaded task.  There was “no getting around that” either.  The repairs that I have whined about for a year or so, are still needed and apparently, whining does not work.  The gentleman, I spoke with was kind , but I could not make “heads nor tails” of some things he said.  He used terms I was unfamiliar with.  He said he could explain every detail and the conference would take about forty five minutes.  I told him that sounded horrible.  For once in my life, I had a pair of aces . . .Will and Tres.  The two of them are a brilliant pair and Will is a commercial banker.  I trust them with all my heart. The gentleman agreed to send me the information, which I will hand off immediately. . .and gratefully . . to my dear sons.   . .one by birth and one by grace.

I made it back to the courthouse and without much ado, had the citation dismissed, since I had tended to it promptly.  I was out of the “gooseberry net”!

I rode back to Elizabeth City, with Jenny, on Tuesday.  Jenny had developed a rash, thought to be poison ivy, . . . but  it turned out to be shingles. 

A few weeks ago, Jenny lost her beloved dog of fourteen years.  It was heartbreaking, certainly and this event,  may have been the cause of the condition. known now as shingles, which can be caused by stress.   We all mourned but I suppose for Jenny, it was a  hurt, felt most deeply.   After all, she had “Jada” before she was married and before she became a mother. 

We are all dog lovers, in our family, and losing Jada, was not taken lightly, by any one of us.  

I can scarce believe we are nearing midsummer.  Of course, the heat is convincing. . . .and so are the mosquitoes.  The days are humid now, mornings are often muggy and at night a haze sets in, but Lyla managed to see her first shooting star, two nights ago. 

With all there is to do, I am ashamed to admit, that I have not read a single book, thus far.  You would think, having the summer off, I would have read several by now, but alas, there is always some chore to do.  Some task presents itself, regularly.  I am reading articles and I am reading the Sermon on the Mount daily.  It is the best advice I know of.  Times have changed . . .they always will continue to do so.  It is one of the few things, you can count on, but ironically, the plight of man has  remained the same .  . . and so do the solutions.

Yesterday, Lyla and I pulled the spent canes from the lilies, that grow down the lane.  Thankfully, the lane is shady. She has helped me do this every year, since she could walk.  Now, she sprints away with the bundles, like a young rabbit.

A fair amount of time has been spent in the kitchen.   . and hence, the grocery store.  Lyla was thrilled to get her own miniature grocery cart, this week.  The store only has two, and so the odds have always been against it.  The first time, she almost cried, she was so happy.  The list was short, so everything went in to her cart.  She took the job very seriously and all went well.  The next time, we went, Lyla could hardly believe a little cart was again, there for the taking.  We found out early on, that the cart was the kind with wheels that stuck.  It caused the thing to stop abruptly and “buck”.  Lyla had shoes on that wanted to slip and slide, on the slick floor.  She took a fall twice – and once the cart almost toppled over!  I laughed til I shed tears.  Somehow, we made it out, though I forgot the ginger ale.

On Saturday, we went to the farmers’ market.  It was awfully hot.  Jenny bought a cucumber for Miss Thelma and I bought a dish detergent bar.  I have been using shampoo bars for a while, in my personal quest against plastic.  I loved the idea of eliminating more plastic, by using the detergent bar, but had my doubts it would work.    I decided the chance was worth it.  I barely had time to buy squash, as Jenny can not take this heat, with the shingles.  

The laughing river, that ran by the market square, was like a sheet of glass, for there wasn’t a bit of wind, to stir it.  The old trees that lined the streets were as still as statues.  Gardeners were not in  plain sight, for they are “early birds” in July.  July is always extremely harsh -just plain merciless, when it comes to heat.  It is hard to believe, that I grew up without air conditioning, at least the first ten years. Nobody else did either.  Not even cars were air conditioned!   We were all outside mostly during the day.   I don’t think it was as hot then, but I was young, then after all. I still remember the cool shade of the old oaks.  It was enough.  I do not remember ever sleeping hot, for a window fan blew the cool night air in and with it  the scent of the night. and the song of the whippoorwill .  Those days may have happened long ago, but the memories linger, so sweetly.