August 7, 2024
Today in my small corner of
the world, the sun is shining, the birds are singing…and of course, the dogs
are barking.
The canine members of our
household are currently on the porch with their daddy/grandpa (depending),
while here I sit in my office, butt in chair, fingers on keyboard. And in a
room that is separated from them by an uninsulated, outside wall, and a window.
In other words, it’s as if I
am right there with them.
The temperature today is
slated for the mid-to-high seventies (Fahrenheit). The rain and humidity of
yesterday are gone, and that all by itself is wonderful. Today, in other words, is like a late spring
day. As opposed to a day in the beginning of the month we used to refer to as
the dog days of summer, which it always was.
See what I did there?
The weather is no longer “normal”.
Sadly, that’s a two-word grouping—normal weather—that we won’t use much from
here on out. Which means that until things settle into a recognizable pattern,
normal is an as yet undefined state of being. I suppose we should be grateful that we still
have light in the “day-time” hours and dark in the “night-time” ones. That’s
normal. As well, we likely will not have anything approaching snow or ice
during this month or the next—and that’s about as normal as we can expect to
achieve in the here and now, too.
All distractions aside, life
goes on. Some folks are on their summer vacations, others on their staycations,
and the rest of us are simply putting one foot in front of the other
(metaphorically) and doing what needs done, day by day.
The July birthday/anniversary
celebrations and commemorations are over for another year, and as near as we
can calculate, Smokey kitty turns one year old today. We don’t call him by his
name, mostly. He’s puddy or kitty or, most often, Katmandu the Catastrophic
Catastrophe. Daughter, the official cat-person of record calls him a**hole.
That’s like a term of endearment and likely says more about her than it does
the cat. Puddy, as I call him, enjoys the occasional olive, and will let you
know when he wants to go into the basement to explore—which is at some point
every day. He has full run of the house but may not go outside.
I keep telling him he’s a
house cat, not a field cat. He gets by us once in a while, and it’s a scramble
to get him inside again. And once, a couple of weeks ago, he got past the grandpa,
who was unaware, at about 2 am when he put the dogs out to pee. Daughter then
put her dogs out four hours later, and the cat charged into the house, crying
for all he was worth. He wasn’t hurt, but I think he may have learned that the
out-of-doors is a very scary place for a house cat.
Basically, all beings under
this roof do their best to simply live their lives. The humans here do what
they can when they can to help other folk. We practice kindness because that’s
the state of being that is the most comfortable to inhabit. When we are out and
about, we seize what occasions present themselves to give back or lend a hand.
When we are home, we do our best to be kind to each other. Believe it or not, being
kind to those closest to us appears to be something that happens less often in
today’s society than does the act of being kind to strangers.
Not that we stand on ceremony
here, because we don’t. But we do our best to give each other, and ourselves, a
break. We’re, each of us in this family, free to be ourselves. No one tells
anyone what to do (though sometimes suggestions are made). This is home, and
home should always be, as it is here, the ultimate safe space.
Our green beans continue to
thrive, and we’ve had our first tomato. We also have a new challenge,
garden-wise, and it’s taken us a few days to recognize it as such. Apparently,
the outdoor critters (squirrels, chipmunks, and birds) have discovered the joy
of tomatoes. They’ve been helping themselves to some of the ripe ones. So now
there’s a new rule in this household and we’re hoping it’s a rule that we can
use to our advantage: if the tomato begins to pinken, pick it. They will
continue to ripen inside the house, though more slowly. And when they are ripe,
they will be shared and appreciated by the humans who planted them.
This may change down the road,
depending on the yield, and how long it takes us to become “tomatoed-out”.
Since I’m still waiting for my first tomato, lettuce and salad dressing
sandwich, that won’t be anytime soon.
Love,
Morgan
https://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
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