The games people play

Those evenings when it just wouldn't cool off we ate dinner at the patio table with a sprinkler at our feet. And this time, there were no bad children making up reasons to leave the table so they could stomp on the hose "by AC-cident!" (Actually, someone did kick the hose about two more times than I think could qualify as accidents.)

We celebrated my birthday by doing a butterfly hike up Horsepasture Mountain with an very pleasant group of strangers. Even though we knew the terrain, the birds and the plants, it all looked completely different from the point of view of butterfly and moth ecology.

The mountaintop only has a few remnants of the lookout my parents manned during the summer of ‘42. They packed all their supplies in by mule and weren't resupplied all season. It's hard to imagine having to anticipate everything you'd want to eat, wear, read for an entire summer! I have trouble remembering keys, debit card and grocery list for a simple trip to town!

I'm watching tractors, trucks, cars go by these days and trying to figure out whose is which. It's a matter of waving, see. When I ask whose pickup that is, I swear he just picks a name at random. Then I'll say, "But Merle's pickup is blue, isn't it?" and he'll laugh. "Yes, it was - ten years ago." I think he can actually see the driver, which gives him an unfair advantage.

We're watching five kittens to pick out a couple to make housepets of. They're such lumps at first, but a couple are starting to see a little, and their ears are popping up, too. Some of them hiss like little snakes when I come talk to them, which is just silly - as if they could carry out that threat! The mother, who wasn't much interested in us until this litter, has decided I'm her very best friend, and she'll hang out with me when I'm weeding, so I can talk to myself out loud and pretend I'm talking to her. Who am I kidding?

Plunk your magic twanger, Froggy!

My cousin, Pris, reminded me of the radio shows we grew up on, and I've been in a reminiscent haze all day. To get myself in the mood, I listened to the Stan Freberg Show called "Orville Arrives from the Moon". It's the one that made catch phrases of "Turn off the bubble machine!" and "Gee, Dad; it was a Wurlitzer!"

I liked "Bobby Baker of the B-Bar-B", "Big John & Sparky" and "Tom Corbett, Space Cadet". This was probably coincident with my crush on Sunny Jim, the Seattle peanut butter company trademark. Staying home with the measles, mumps, chicken pox meant getting to listen to "Don McNeil's Breakfast Club" that came, I think from Chicago. The weirdest part of that show was when they all got up to "march around the breakfast tables!"

But best of all were the grown-up shows, often listened to in bed with the covers pulled way up and the volume way down: "The Green Hornet", "The Whistler", "Let George Do It" and "The Shadow". "X-Minus One", with it's sci-fi stories, alternately creeped me out and thrilled me. A geek is born.

My radio was a brown metal affair that boasted a spectacular antenna. I clipped the lead right to my bedsprings, which were conveniently unobscured by padding and fabric. If there was a signal out there, I could pick it up!

TV, which had to be watched communally, lacked both the intimacy of radio and the personal control. As the youngest and least assertive viewer, I tended to watch what someone else chose. Still do . . . But radio hasn't disappointed me; it's still there, and still has worthy shows. Fewer? Perhaps, or maybe I just haven't found them yet. And don't get me started on podcasts. . . Wow, what a goldmine!

Poor, pitiful Pearl!

I'm going to do some preemptive whining, so I'll be able to just grit my teeth and get through the next few days. I hate heat! And when I say heat, I mean anything over 80 degrees F. So, you can just skip this post, and go on about your daily life.

Heat makes me cranky and lethargic. I suffer agonies over the garden and the wildlife. Heck, I even put out water for the bees! And it's supposed to get really hot. Well, ok; not hot like it's been in Chicago and New York. We don't have that humidity problem, but it's going to be really hot - like, over 100, ok? All I want to do is lie on the cool floor and drink beer. I always envied the dog, who could wrap herself around the chilly porcelain of the toilet.

I love it that Spring can last clear through June and that we can't count on summer weather until after the Fourth of July. If it's 65 and overcast, I'm one happy chica, because it's really the SUN I don't like; the heat is just an unpleasant side-effect of too much sun. So much for astrology . . . I'm supposed to be a Leo, for Pete's sake!

Shhhhhh! There's a California quail at the water dish! I'd take a picture, but Mrs. Stupid left the camera . . . outside! Oh, well, maybe the quail will take some pictures.

OK, that cheered me up a lot. I'm going out to set up the teeny-tiny hose with the misting nozzle to give the critters a mini-spa.

Sweet summer nights

In July it's so hard to come inside to sleep. As the evening fades so slowly into night, it feels like things are just starting to get good outside - cool breezes, new animal sounds, and fragrances that get lost in the heat of the day. I can forget about sunscreen, and quit worrying if I should drink more water. Without my hat, my visor or my sunglasses I can see the sky, the mountains and the fields as a panorama again.

So, we've put up this screened canopy where we can't see the neighbors and will go "camping" within easy reach of flush toilets and the espresso machine. What would Sarah Isabel Fawk think of that, do you think?

Ch... ch... ch... changes

So, while I waited for Bill to come out of a surgery that turned out to be sublimely uncomplicated, I had some time to think. I'm not a worrier, but I could see several possible outcomes, and considered them one at a time, a little like pondering different places I could go for a vacation, except without the thrill of expectation.

First, I thought, what if he dies? And I thought about paralyzing grief, affairs to reorder, being alone, the rest of the family . . . Yes, that's what that would be like, all right, and then some. Second, I thought, what if he takes weeks or months to recover? I'd take a lot of time off work, ferrying him around, caring for him and the house and all. Then, what if he's permanently disabled? He might need more care than I could manage alone, or even need to be in a care facility. While I ran the scenarios through, I kept thinking, "OK, I've looked at that and I'm not afraid to face it." But I kept coming back to how I'd need to take good care of myself.

Then I thought of another scenario: what if he recovered beautifully, and didn't need heroic efforts from me? Well, then all I was left with was taking care of myself! When I looked as frankly at my situation, I dared myself to do the same what-iffing. Like: what if I didn't have to carry a pager 24x7? What if I didn't have to commute 106 miles round trip? What if I admitted to myself that my dream job wasn't such a good dream any more? What if I retired?!?

So, I did.