Friday, July 21, 2023

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 waybecause 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. 



Tuesday, August 16, 2022

TODAY (A Corn Salad)

    Three (or four, or five . . . I lost count) 100-degree days in a row. Even the dogs would begin the u-turn back toward the air-conditioned house, just a few minutes into their normally 10 minute-plus long walks. 

But, today, TODAY . . . 

    we had a nice, morning rain. It began as a heavy downpour - a parental pounding on the roof, prematurely waking me before the alarm, before settling down into a steady rhythm. It rained for several hours, turning all of the dips and ruts in the country, gravel and dirt road into tiny rivers and ponds. This made driving Logan to school a bit more of an adventure, maneuvering the car this way and that to avoid all of the camouflaged potholes. During the ride back home, I pressed the buttons on the radio, until I found the right one. Something about the rain always makes me go back to my roots, and the desire to listen to classical music. 

On my way home is the local vegetable stand. Every Thursday, I stop by to pick-up my prepaid allotment of farm fresh vegetables and fruits. This has become my favorite kind of shopping. By the time I arrive, the symphony of rain has come to an end, giving way to whimsical, white clouds and an iridescent blue sky. 

The stand is more of a market - roof covered walls, with openings on three sides. And, as I am greeted by the reds and yellows and greens of tomatoes, squash, and peppers; watermelon, cucumbers, and basil, there is an incredible cross-breeze blowing through - a breeze so pleasant that it makes you stop what you are doing, breathe it in, and envelope it, as if it's the best feeling you've experienced in a long, long time. 

After filling my bag with all of the wonderful colors and scents, shapes and textures, I continue down the road toward home. Just before turning into the little hamlet where I live, I pause for a mother deer and her two fawns. They nervously stare for a long moment, before safely tucking themselves back into the tree-line, from where they came.  

Minutes later, the dogs greet me at home with their usual enthusiasm - as if I have been gone for days, not just hours. "Hola, mis perritos! Como estas?" I say to them. I have been brushing up on my Spanish skills, this summer, and trying to put them to practice. The dogs are a forgiving audience. 

I lay my bag full of goodies on the table and, like a child at Halloween, begin to plan and prioritize my loot. It will all get eaten, but the corn, red peppers, onions, and cilantro will be just perfect for a salad to go with the local sausages, thawing out in the fridge. I just love it when a meal comes together, as if the meal chooses me, not the other way around. 

After I finish sorting and organizing, I take the dogs for a walk. With the temperature much more comfortable and pleasant, I would have thought the dogs would be more energetic, but Max, especially, stood, still as a statue, and lifted his nose into the air. It was as if he was taking in the same experience as I did, when I was standing inside the market. "Are you catching a good scent, Max?" I asked (in English - I haven't learned that in Spanish, yet). He seemed to be smiling, and answered with a wag of his tail. I kept the dogs outside a little longer than usual, before going inside to begin cooking the corn.  



Tuesday, June 30, 2020

4th Try is a Charm - Coronavirus Times

Current day circumstances require that I plan for a trip to the local market.
There is no spontaneous "running up to the store" for milk.
And, these days, I never bring my purse with me -
just my credit card and driver's license, usually in my back pocket.
First try, they were closed.
It was a Friday, and I had forgotten that the family-owned,
Jewish market closes at 3:00, in observance of Shabbat.

Home, I went.
I tried again on Sunday.
I parked the car, and began to gather my stuff - empty milk bottles (to return),
mask, credit card . . . SHIT!

I FORGOT MY CREDIT CARD.

Home, I went, again.

Don't have it in me. Not today, I said to myself.

Try number three happened Monday.
I walked out of the house with my mask (empty milk bottles, still in the car),
made it halfway to the car before I realized I had left my credit card behind, AGAIN!
Fortunately, I remembered early, this time.
I retrieved my credit card, and drove to the market.
I parked the car, and began to gather my stuff - empty milk bottles (to return), credit card, mask . . . mask . . . mask . . . WHERE is my MASK??!!

SHIT! FUCK. REALLY??!!

After frantically searching around the car, between and underneath the seats, 
   I realized it REALLY wasn't there. And, I had a moment when I thought,
it won't kill me (or anyone else) to not wear my mask this one time.

Shame on me for thinking that.

Home, I went. Again.

I found my mask on the walkway, between the garage and the house,
rolled my eyes and scooped it up.

I am NOT dragging this out another day!

I went back to the market, again.
I parked the car, and began to gather my stuff - empty milk bottles (to return), mask,
credit card . . .

YES!!!

I can hear the voices of my "twenty-something" kids, but these days it is true -
I just don't get out enough.
4th try was a charm, though.

And, at least the drive to and from the market is a pleasurable one.

Wednesday, January 8, 2020

With Appreciation and Sympathy

Though the sound of the wind from inside the house made me hesitate,
   the morning was calling to us (me, and the dogs).
Winter's playground was looking for a friend.
The sun shined brightly above the snow;
   sparkles of light upon the star of the show.

The beautiful, white landscape, with its lines and its curves, edgeless and never-ending.
The wind, more energizing than biting,
   blowing ripples across the water in the nearby pond.
The day, with all of its brightness and beauty, making me feel alive
   in the way that one should feel alive - full of energy and awareness,
appreciation and presence. 

And, in another part of the world, the star is burning.
Not in the way that sparkles and shines in the warmth of the sunlight on a winter's day,
   but in the heat of a life-threatening battle - a flame-scorching, take-no-prisoners, relentless and destructive, heart-wrenching fire.

Oh, how I wish I could send our blanket of snow your way, to sooth and ease your burns. 

Friday, November 15, 2019

The Gift of Silence

It was a beautiful, crisp, Autumn day, though it felt more like winter.
It was the first cold spell of the season, so I was bundled up more than usual.

The dogs and I were walking our normal, morning path.

We like to walk toward the back corner of the property, where the wire fence begins,
and a single tree sits. I am not sure what kind of tree, but it is beautifully shaped,
and has large, almost whimsical looking leaves that, come October, turn a golden shade of yellow. Now, midway into November, the leaves have long since fallen from the tree, exposing its bare branches.

On the other side of the fence is a cow pasture that spreads out, over rolling hills,
toward the horizon. On this day, as we were walking,
I noticed some movement in the field, far ahead. And, as my eyes focused in,
I saw that it was a deer, full-grown, running and leaping through the tall grasses,
as if her life depended on it. We were almost at the fence line,
and her path was a straight line toward us.

The dogs had not, yet, noticed, so I stopped, and stood as still as I could.

I was sure she would see us and change her direction, but she did not.
Seconds later, she, effortlessly, leaped over the cow fence, and flew past us so quickly,
and so silently, that even the dogs were caught off guard.

As the dogs let out their delayed responses of barks and growls, I stood there in awe.
I live in a place where I see deer almost daily,
but I had never witnessed one so close, moving so swiftly.

  And, the silence of it - wow.

Had my attention been drawn elsewhere, I would not have even noticed she was there.

I thought to myself, whatever happens with the rest of my day, I have this.

Nature is awesome.





Thursday, October 3, 2019

Falling Leaves

Look up!

at the 
    falling leaves,
beautiful colors on a breeze.

Drifting and sailing, 
   dancing and floating,
gracefully landing . . . with ease.






Thursday, April 18, 2019

Winter Canvas




Stark white, 
against the grays, 
   against the blues; 


the curve of the gravel road, 


the distant mountains, 
   painted with snow; 


branches - reaching; shadows -seeking.