Whatever happens to strike my fancy, but surely some sort of fiber content.
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| Like The Queen Whatever happens to strike my fancy, but surely some sort of fiber content. |
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0 Comments:Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom] Tuesday, May 25, 2004 The heatwave continues and the isolated thunderstorms are so secluded we haven't even heard one up our way. It's a rather pleasant sort of hot weather because the deep earth is still moist and cool. A week of this in July or August would have us gasping on the sidewalks. Thus says the gal who works in A/C. LD showed up at the library at 4:30 yesterday, pooped, brown, and exhausted - and reminding me so much of his father 20 years ago, I got all mushy (inside). Loving an adult child is, if you can stretch your mind to its fullest extent, even more fun than loving the little ones. All the passion and no responsibility. I wonder if I'd have wallowed so long in the empty nest pit, if I had had any idea it would be such pure fun? The house he's renting was full of furniture and appliances that belonged to the previous tenant. She collected it all last weekend and he emptied his refrigerator into mine, so he's dining with us this week. He's planning a monumental shopping spree, but I suspect he's waiting till GF returns to advise. After dinner last night the three of us hopped in the boat and took a spin up Occupacia Creek. This is a quiet little stream that winds and twists deep into the county. You actually cross it on Highway 17, but by then it's just a trickle through a culvert. It's a marvelously beautiful place. Wide skirts of marsh grass billow out into each bend, aflutter with red winged black birds, skimmed by blue herons and ospreys. The blanket of cool air drawn over sun baked wheat fields squeezed the scent of fresh baked bread out across the water. Then, a sudden turn in the creek bed aimed us at a bank of honeysuckle, still fragrant with that buttered sugar perfume. Elderflower is blooming all along the banks as well and LD mused out loud about making Elderberry jelly. Captain Priss stood at the bow, ears so filled with the wind she looked like a bat. First Mate Socks snuggled down by BD's feet and wagged her tail. Both boys wanted to see if the running light gear worked and fiddled with it so long they got their chance, as the carpet of stars spread across the night sky and true darkness came upon us. There's something fun about making the trek from the pier back up the bank in the dusky starry darkness. The path wanders through the woods, though through far fewer woods than summers past. Last September's hurricane left its mark on the landscape. Almost all the trees to the south of the path went down - great enormous oaks, lying now like bleaching dinosaur bones. But the canopy is wide open now, letting in more starlight and making midnight trecks easier on these old eyes and wobbly ankles. There is no great loss, without some small gain. I'm having a hard time writing the next installment of Pioneer Story. I don't have the diary and I'm obsessing over how soon it was we went to town to talk to officials. That is one of my favorite funny memories, but I want to put it in the right order. As if anybody on earth will ever care. La, I wish I could remember where I put that stupid journal! The silk shawl knitting is going apace - every row is shorter, so, like finishing up socks or the top of a hat - the end comes upon you suddenly. It is to be completed by the weekend, ticked off the list, and tenderly wrapped in festive tissue. Purple mohair lace is next. posted by Bess | 6:56 AM |
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