Cleanse

After a long summer drought, we were finally getting some rain. 

Unfortunately, the water we so desperately needed was brought on by hurricane/tropical storm Debby. Not to be confused with Debbie. They retired her years ago, as they do when a hurricane doesn’t behave herself. If I could do the research and find her story on the internet, I would, but after a night of strong winds and rain (as well as a tornado warning), I am left with no internet.

I slept on the couch most of the night. 

Not because of Debby, but because of another strong force of nature that often comes from the East – my husband’s snoring. When he left for work at barely the crack of dawn, I did a drunk-walk over to the bed. I didn’t wake up until 9:30, when the dogs were letting me know they were restless, with their loud shaking and scratching and pacing. Even though I’m on a teacher’s summer, it felt weird sleeping that late, but the sun did not peek through the rustic, woven shades to wake me, and there was no reason for an alarm.

As I stepped outside with the dogs, it looked like the grass had grown for the first time. Most of it had turned to brown, but today it looked as though someone had dipped a wet paintbrush across the landscape, turning most of the brown into green. And there was a pleasant breeze. And when we walked, instead of the sound we had become accustomed to (crunch, crunch, crunch), there was a squish, squash, squish, as my boots stuck to the ground. Which reminded me of the children’s book, Going on a Bear Hunt, and the wonderful words the author used to describe the different sounds. Squelch, squerch, squelch is my favorite, when describing the sounds of walking through the mud.  

And as I squish, squash, squished, I took in everything around me – the grasses, the trees, the houses in our little hamlet. And off in the distance, a small family of deer was grazing, reaping the benefits of the storm. And everything looked so . . . refreshed. 

It was the cleansing the earth had been waiting for.

 

Connections

 

I woke up with a Green Day Song in my head. Couldn’t get it out, so I summoned some help.

“Alexa, play Green Day,” I commanded.

Sure enough, that same Green Day song started coming out of the little black sphere sitting atop my grandmother’s old sideboard hutch. Instead of getting it out of my system, however, each Green Day song Alexa played left me wanting for more, and I found myself dancing around the room with my pjs on, the dogs attempting to follow me with equally nervous and excited tail wags. 

For some reason I wasn’t hungry for breakfast, but I wanted something to go with my cold brew.

There was leftover blueberry pound cake – dessert from a few nights before, so I sliced off a serving and popped it into the toaster, hoping it would hold together and not crumble apart when it popped up. Thankfully, I pulled it out in one piece and smoothed it over with some butter. I ate it slowly and intentionally, and in between bites I (politely) told Alexa to be quiet and grabbed my phone to begin my daily brain warmups. Wordle first, which I figured out in three tries, but Connections wasn’t . . . connecting, so I put my phone down and turned on the television, flipping channels to see if something . . . anything . . . would catch my interest. 

I settled upon an independent film, which I tend to gravitate towards, and like a good book, I was immediately pulled in. The setting was a charming little neighborhood in present day Brooklyn that made me want to visit, and a few of the music selections had me pausing the movie to listen again. One song in particular captured my interest, but it wasn’t mentioned on the soundtrack, so I recorded it from the movie onto my phone. The first few stanzas reminded me of another familiar song.  

“Alexa, play John Denver’s Annie’s Song,” I requested.  

I listened, and I listened again.

As a child, I remember listening to this entire album on the record player in the house on Sherborn Lane, and the view of the street as I looked outside the living room window.  I remember my mom playing this song on her flute, in between music lessons. From her teaching room in the back corner of the lower level, the notes and sounds would travel, filling up every space in our home.

After I finished watching the movie, I went back to Connections. This time everything connected. The brain is funny that way. Then, I went to the room in the front corner of the lower level of my house and sat down at the piano. I placed my hands atop the keyboard and as I played the recorded song from my phone, I allowed my fingers to wander, in search of the proper notes, until the song was completed. 

And I felt satisfied . . . 

except (and even though I still really wasn’t hungry), I felt the need for a taste of something. And I remembered the leftovers in the fridge. I pulled some out and warmed it in the microwave, and as I enjoyed the complex flavors and spices of the Indian food, I thought about the movie, and the music, and the memories, and the beauty of a day with nothing planned. 

Shades of Brown

  

The cows, 

The field in which the cows graze, due to the long, 

summer drought, 

A large, fuzzy caterpillar climbing up a dried-up piece of grass, 

    The patio umbrella, too hot even to sit beneath,

The deer on the opposite side of the field, hopeful and searching for 

a patch of something green, 

The light sweater I grab to cover my bare arms, as soon as I step 

inside the air-conditioned house,

The iced-coffee (with a touch of oat milk), 

inside my mason jar glass . . . 

At The Beach - Three Short Stories

Comes and Goes 

"I love people watching," said Mike, as we sat at the bar on the corner of comes and goes. I say that because this bar (and restaurant) is located just over the bridge where everyone, either by (flip-flopped) foot, beach bike, car, skateboard, electric scooter, fancy golf cart, or very cool Volkswagen bus (with a beautifully painted-on scene of a tree frog hangin out on some tropical flowers) . . . comes or goes. And the windows are tinted, so from the outside it practically looks closed, and we can see the passersby, but they can't see us. "One of my favorite things to do," I agreed, as I sipped on what may have been the perfectly made margarita. If the bartender can make one better than I can, it's pretty damn good. 

The Umbrella

It was only a matter of time.

The day before was a windy one, and we caught the umbrella just as it was being lifted from the sand. We decided it would probably be best to leave it down, rather than try again. 

Today did not seem as windy, and I was immersed in my Hallmark-movie-beach-read (which I did not realized until I read about the author, about a quarter of the way into the story), when Mike said, 

    "There it goes . . . " 

I looked up and noticed our umbrella was no longer in its place. I jumped out of my chair and saw it flipping and tumbling down the beach behind me, as if performing an acrobatic routine (in a circus, perhaps). 

As I began to run after it, an older looking teenager jumped up from his spot on the sand, and as his two friends cheered him on, he ran after it with gusto. As he got closer, it looked like the two were performing a dance, battling over who would take the lead, and then the umbrella got angry. For a moment, I feared it would take the teenager out. He was determined though, and despite his gangly looking arms and legs, grabbed hold of that umbrella like he meant business, refusing to allow it to escape.

His friends and I clapped and cheered, and as he handed the defeated umbrella to me, he announced, 

    "I have been training for this moment my entire life!" 

I appreciated his enthusiasm, and through my laughter, responded, 

    "You're my hero!"

I walked back over to my chair and plopped the umbrella down. 

    "Do you want me to try to put it back up?" asked Mike.

    "Nope!" I said, as I picked up my book and turned the pages to try and find the place where I left off. It's not difficult to do with a Hallmark book. 

Weightless

There was a constant breeze coming off the coast, and the saltwater felt amazing on my skin. I had the pool completely to myself, and I soaked it all in.  At first, I kept my hat and sunglasses on, treading water to keep my head from getting wet, but the water felt so good I could not resist. I swam over to the edge of the pool, removed my hat and sunglasses, and immersed myself entirely. 

Oh, what a feeling!

When you don't do it often, you forget. Renewed, restored . . . refreshed.

I put my sunglasses back on, leaving my hat behind. I tilted my head back, allowing my body to follow, and floated. Weightlessly floating, floating, floating, remembering what it felt like as a child, when I would spend entire summers at the pool. As I stared up at the blue, blue sky, I listened to the sounds of the water rippling up against my ears, and the muffled, distant sounds of things going on around me. I felt completely and entirely in the moment, and invisible at the same time. 

When I decided I was ready, I made my way over toward the ladder. Remembering (from when I stepped in) to skip over the wobbly, top step, I pulled myself out of the pool, picked up my hat, and walked over to my spot - one of the (many) turquoise blue lounge chairs, partially protected by the shade of a palm tree. As I began to adjust myself into the perfect position, I heard the sound of a very loud helicopter. Must be military, I thought. I sat up to look, and it was. Always such an impressive sight. 

As it flew off into the distance, I adjusted myself again, and looked up at the palm tree. Riding along in the breeze, atop the flowering branches, were lots and lots of bees. I could count ten just on one branch, and as I looked up into the higher branches, I could see more, and more, and more. As I watched them, I did not feel concerned. They were way too engaged, visiting and flirting with those tiny, white flowers. And, as I sat and listened to the sound of the palm leaves rustling against each other in the wind, I was happy to share my spot with those bees. Or, happy those bees were willing to share their spot with me. 

 

 

 

 

 

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Pile of Rocks

As I walked out the back door, I took in the day. I had already walked the dogs, visited with the neighboring cows, and watered the flowers. I sat at the top of the three wooden steps that lead down to the walkway, and set my iced coffee-filled mason jar beside me. The humidity was low and the house faces northeast, so the sun was currently warming the front porch.

It was a beautiful morning to sit outside.

I could have chosen to sit at the patio table, but there is something about the rustic feeling of sitting on a piece of wood — it just feels right. Besides, there is a bird’s nest resting on the pergola just above the patio, and the expectant parents aren’t too happy when I hang out there.

As I sat, I took notice of the fact that my mind was completely quiet. What a gift! To be able to sit and look around, allowing my senses to enjoy the moment without the interference of my thoughts. It was then that I realized the cows were directly in front of me. They had been in the far field when I was out earlier, but now they were hanging out in the tall grasses behind the house, just beyond the barely visible wire fence. They do follow me sometimes — me and the dogs. They especially take a liking to Charlie, for whatever reason. They will touch nose-to-nose, if Charlie allows.

Mixed in with the tall grasses in that field are whimsical weeds and wildflowers — purple, white, and gold. Together, they were doing a dance in the wind, swaying side to side, side to side. Birds, butterflies, and bees joined in, flying in and out, in and out. The recently mowed grass between the house and the field was looking more brown than green, due to the drier than normal summer. Down the fence line, however, just before the gravel road, my favorite tree was standing lush and green. The birds love that tree. Its large leaves and perfectly sized branches provide shelter from the heat and from the rain. On hot days when I walk the dogs, I usually pause in front of it, looking and listening, and appreciating the only shady spot there is.

As I sat, every so often a large shadow would appear across the earth, drawing my attention toward the sky. Up above, a large vulture or hawk could be spotted gliding on a breeze, surveying the landscape below. Closer in, at the edge of the garden, I noticed the pile of rocks — six, of which I had collected from various spots in the yard. Slightly different sizes, shapes and colors, for whatever reason they were chosen to hang out together. Every day, I walk past that pile of rocks , on my way to somewhere else. Today, however, I wasn’t going anywhere. And for some reason, the composition of those rocks, the way they were resting upon and sitting next to one other, the rough edges along with the smooth, the flat colors and the translucent — it all just made me happy.

My gaze looked up again, and as I breathed in the pleasant breeze, and listened to the sounds of the birds, I noticed I could no longer see the cows. I stood up and saw they had gone back to the pasture further away. They must have gotten bored with me and moved on to something else. And, behind me were two hopeful and impatient dogs, staring back at me through the nose and tongue rubbed glass window panes in the door.

Presence

Peace

Nature

Observation

Appreciation

The Simple Act of Dancing

Our spot on the water was incredible, with the breeze blowing steadily across the bay. As I breathed it in, I thought, Oh, how I have NEEDED this! I made it through the school year (plus two weeks of summer camp, one left to go), and I could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. Or in this case, the Maryland Bay Bridge. 

As one band was packing up, the next beginning to set up, we ordered some drinks. From the online reviews, their fish tacos were excellent, so we ordered those, too. I didn't particularly care for the ordering process - scan the QR code and order from your phone. A reminder that Covid times are still with us, and I'd done it enough times that I was accustomed to it, but I still preferred face-to-face interactions with the servers. 

Oh well, I thought, as I took in my surroundings. Nothing but a thing. 

As I looked around at the people, most seemed to be around our age or older. Still casual, but more nicely dressed than at the tiki bar where we normally hung out. As the band began to warm up, Mike went to the bar to pick-up our order. I ended up having a conversation with another couple and introduced them to Mike when he returned with our drinks and tacos. They were locals, and as the night went on, I realized quite a few of the people at this bar were. The tacos, by the way, were NOT excellent. They were just okay. But the drinks were good.

At some point, the band began to play, and while I'm sure the ambience played a role, I realized they sounded really, really good. The all-male band played mostly 80s music, with some 90s, and a few earlier generation songs mixed in, as well. As I sat and listened, my body intuitively moved to the rhythm of the music. I was surprised there was no one on the dance floor. At the tiki bar, there were always people on the dance floor, whether the music was good or not, and I don't remember which song it was that made me get up off my bar stool, but suddenly (in the words of Billy Idol) I was out there "dancing with myself". I was hoping that others would be inspired to join me, but for the first few minutes, it was just me.

At first I didn't care. Whether it was the alcohol or the atmosphere (that constant breeze felt a-MA-zing), I felt so free and uninhibited, like I hadn't felt in some time. I saw other people dancing in their seats, something holding them back from placing their feet on the ground and walking them toward the floor, but I began to encourage them, waving my hands and even reaching out to help them along.  Part of me was like, who IS this person? But then I recognized her. I just hadn't seen her in a while. Soon enough, I encouraged one person to come out and dance, and then another, and another. It was mostly women. And, before I knew it, we had a sisterhood of arms, hands, and hips moving freely; expressions of joy and happiness on our faces - the only forms of communication necessary. 

Until women started talking to me. Not just talking, but they began sharing their stories. 

One woman said she always wants to dance, but never feels the courage to get out there and do it. Another woman was getting over a divorce, and it was really difficult for her to force herself to come out that night. One lady appeared to be not much older than I, and in good physical condition, until I saw her prop her cane up against her chair, leaving it behind. "I can come out and have one good dance," she said. Wow! Another woman thought I was one of the band's groupies, as if that explained my motive. "Ha, ha!" I laughed. "I've never heard this band before." And my favorite story of the night was a woman my age, who introduced me to her 75 year-old mom, who was this tiny little woman with a sparkle in her eyes, and the dance moves of someone half her age. She looked me in the eyes, grabbed both of my hands, and squeezed them tight. Her daughter said, "Isn't she amazing? If you can believe it, her boyfriend of seven years just broke up with her. This is exactly what she needed". Again, wow. And, soon after that, I bumped shoulders with an LGBTQIA couple. We briefly danced together, and for some reason I felt inspired to introduce myself. "Oh, I know who you are," one of them said. And raising their arms up in the air, they said, "You did all this." 

What??? WOW!

This feeling was incredible, but I was a little taken back. What exactly did I do? 

And, as I'm reading all of this now, it almost seems made up - a fictional story with characters that almost sound too predictable and unbelievable at the same time. 

As I sat down with Mike to take a breather, I observed the dancing from afar, and tried to take-in the last thirty (or so) minutes. All of those wonderful people out there - how much I had needed to let loose, and how amazing it felt to be part of this experience. And I realized it was simple, really, as the best things often are. All of us out there, we needed to dance, but something was holding us back - our fears, our inhibitions, our anxieties, our . . . whatevers. And, any one of us could have been the first one out there. Or, maybe not. Maybe that night it NEEDED to be me. But again, whatever, right? Whomever. It just takes one person. And, while it was just a night of dancing, it is a month later, and just like that rehabilitating breeze that consumed me, I am still remembering, thinking about, and smiling about those people. I could relate to a lot of their stories, and boy could I have shared some stories with them, but it was nice to just listen. But mostly, to just DANCE.   

Summer Storm

I had been having a particularly good hair day. I had recently gotten my hair cut much shorter. I was tired of the frizz and the effort it took to make it look decent, only to get fed up with it and put it up in a clip almost every single day. Ladies (especially in your 50s), I'm sure you understand the battle. 

I took my good hair and my dogs out in the back field for a walk. 

Off in the distance, the faint sound of thunder drew my attention to the dark storm clouds forming in the west. We normally have an impressive number of thunderstorms during the summer months, but none so far this year. This one looked and sounded pretty far away, and I thought to myself, just like the others, this one will lose steam or change direction. This one will disappoint. 

What seemed like a long while later, long after the dogs and I had come inside, the wind began to pick up, and those dark clouds that had been forming off in the distance, were now encroaching. A few raindrops began to fall, and then I noticed that my stack of plastic flower containers (that had been left sitting in the alcove outside the back door) one-by-one began to fly past the kitchen window. With the rain beginning to fall, along with the strong winds, I debated whether or not to chase them down, or wait until the storm was over. 

But, who knows how far those things will fly. 

Then, I saw one of the patio chair pillows take flight. So, I quickly pulled on my boots and began to chase them all down. I grabbed the pillow first, then went after the containers, which were mostly scattered between my house and the neighbor's, but the wind was playing a game of takeaway, and just as I would go to grab one, the wind would snatch it up and blow it in a different direction. 

This has to be comical to watch.

After I finally grabbed them all (so I thought), I turned the corner to go back inside the house. The direction in which our house sits, in addition to the fact that we are surrounded by open fields and farmland (no interference from the trees), it's like living in the middle of a motor speedway for wind. So, when I turned that corner, the wind smacked me so hard it pushed me backwards, sending a few of those containers sailing, once again. As the rain began to come down harder, I decided to let those go, and quickly made my way towards the back door, grabbing the poor, single potted, wind-pounded petunias, along the way. 

Wind-whipped and wet, I kicked my boots off in the mudway, and happened to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I call it a mudway, by the way, because it's not really big enough to call a room, but it is the shoe holding area (muddy, and otherwise), as well as the passageway to the bathroom, outside, or the kitchen, depending on which way you go. Anyway, what I saw in the mirror resembled some type of hairy canine who had just been hanging her head outside the window of a stock car, racing down the straightaway at top speed. 

So much for the good hair day. 

The storm stuck around for a while. It was slow moving, which would explain why it took so long to arrive, and why it hung around for so long. It was like the party guest who is last to arrive, and late to leave (not that we've been entertaining any parties, lately). And, the wind did not seem to let up. Our grill, which is bolted to the ground with rebar stakes, looked like it could take flight at any moment. It was bolted to the ground, by the way, because a previous storm (several years ago), sent our last grill tumbling across the yard, and was left resembling a disassembled tin man. 

After what seemed like about twenty minutes (or so), the storm finally subsided, and the tin man stayed intact. What was left behind was a beautiful evening, as well as a few more stray planters that were discovered and collected the following day. The storm left behind a little surprise, as well - one tiny piece of paper that could fit in the palm of my hand, swept up from somewhere, lying in the grass, in the same field where I walk the dogs, with some words written on it:

Signals

When the light is green you go,

When the light is red you stop,

But what do you do

When the light turns blue

With orange and lavender spots?

Shel Silverstein

As for my hair, I will have other good days. Simply can't beat a good summer storm. Nor, a Shel Silverstein poem.