I've recently learned of a special project amongst fellow bloggers. Becoming involved is a simple symbolic gesture that puts everything in perspective...
2,996 volunteer bloggers will join together for a tribute to the victims of 9/11. Each person will pay tribute to a single victim on September 11, 2006 honoring their lives. This is a chance to learn about and celebrate those who died. If you would like to help out and pledge to post a tribute on your own blog, please click the graphic to learn how you can participate.
I raise my Kleenex as a white flag, grabbing a new tissue.
Yep... it's allergy season.
But it's far too hot to complain. I simply can't keep focus on more than the weather. The heat takes my mind off my nasal woes. It's been bastardly hot this season.
Lawns' are more scorched than green. A sunny garden left unattended, in a few hours resembles a cemetery plot. Drooping sad flowers and lifeless green limbs hang in the miserable drying sun. The mortality of our rosemary seedlings provide a perfect example of how unbearable these temperatures are.
Our place feels like a furnace. Slightly better than my sister's condo, which must feel like an easy bake oven. My parent's air conditioned kitchen is barely a sanctuary. The unit can't take on such magnitude. My mom can't sleep at night, much like everyone in the area. It's just too damned hot.
I'm praying for rain, not sure it if it would make much difference. At least our lawn would benefit. I haven't seen so much dead and dying water deprived grass in years.
...Just thinking about it makes me thirsty.
Man, do I dream. I mean a lot.
Unfortunately, I've had more than my share of negative ones, even bad enough to cause a major depressive episode (isn't that nutty?). But generally, most of these nightly visual escapades are re-runs. I'm sure many other people share the collective of text book examples. These include: being chased or unprepared for tests, working (they often leave you fatigued before your day's even started), and the odd flying or supernatural one (I miss the magical powers I haven't possessed in ages).
Of coarse, then there are the dreams that set us apart. Unique to our own lives, at the mercy of our manipulative little brains. We conjure up the most peculiar things. A sense of humor seems a basic requirement for that lot.
I sometimes find myself watching, in the form of a movie. Dreams that have all the bells and whistles. Even proper titles, I kid you not.
There's the popular school theme. Those dreams make me wish I could escape the monotony of them, and take a well earned summer vacation. Dreams In which I usually can't remember when my classes start, never knowing what the assignments are, or where the class is located. Ultimately it ends in failure (about as literal as it gets). The clueless nature of which leads to the next catergory.
Consider those memory lapse pangs we all experience. Dreamy fragments of forgetfulness. When simple facts elude us, like phone numbers or locker combinations.
The most problematic dream state for me these days, are a different kind. I become the victim of urgency! I'm speaking of the most frequent type of them all...
The need to pee dream.
When you've got to go so bad and nobody will leave you alone. The event always finds you in a place where a clean bathroom can't be seen or found, which ironically is lucky.
Because if you found one...
You get the picture.
These days, each and every morning I wake with sudden reaction. Every thought I wake to is of the loo. The sudden jolt defies wit, and frankly that perturbs me... Why won't my brain just nudge me awake at the first inkling?
Why must I experience a long drawn out torture only to have to jump out of bed in the nick of time? Maybe our subconscious thinks its funny. A prank on the host and the senses. Whatever the reason - it boggles the very mind that starts such dribble (no pun intended) in the first place.
Last night I worked myself into a tizzy, over a screen door, I might add. I'd had a bunch of stuff to do, in a very warm kitchen. I just wanted some relief. Instead I found frustration. A lesson, like others - I'm bound to forget.
It all started with an unintended project and my feeble sense of recall. I've always had a short attention span. Many times my lack of focus bites me on my metaphorical behind. Ah, anyways, before I become further diverted, here is the gist of it...
We have a window, a storm door of sorts facing our backyard, and beyond that an eerie alley. It happens to be located in the kitchen, the scene of this 'shaggy dog' story. This particular door's latch doesn't lock properly. In fact, it hasn't the whole time we've lived here. Safety concerned, being the late night nut that I am, I set out to fix it before I'd become absorbed in my duties.
Sure, it looked simple enough - just needed some temporary solution for the time being. Honestly, what started off as a simple project kept me sidetracked much longer than I would have liked. I fiddled with the damn thing long enough, opening and shutting the door endlessly My feeble attempts of repair fruitless. I was becoming impatient, and grew concerned that my cursing could possibly waking the neighbors, whose windows were open for the night's heat. My efforts were proving futile. I was Rewarded by becoming even more hot and bothered!
Finally, I resigned myself to the fact it just wasn't going to work. All I'd accomplished was getting myself angry, wasting time that could have easily been spent getting on other things than needed doing in the house.
Annoyed with how little headway I made with that portion of the evening, I reached for my favored mood stabilizer, ICE CREAM. I clicked time away at the computer, spoon in hand, now yawning. All that buggering around left me tired and unmotivated. I eventually settled on going to bed and cutting my evening short. I relented to the fact the dog had whined plenty and was going to get her way. For some reason in that furry little head - her bedtime was also considered mine.
This morning I woke up full of regret. Trudging around the kitchen becoming aware of the mistake I'd made. A sink full of dishes and a cluttered counter stared me in the face. I'd barely scratched the surface, the whole house was in disarray. Humbled, I set out to make my hubby his lunch (another intended task from the night before), when I truly felt the stab of regret. No, not because I ALWAYS lose focus, never finishing what I start. I doubled over in pain, made aware of the fact I'd forgotten an important detail...
I can no longer digest certain dairy without consequence. My stomach didn't forget, even if I had. A foolish mistake certainly, but it wasn't always this way. Until recently, me and moo-juice got along just fine. Now it creates a war zone in my tummy. What a battle that was! The antagonizing didn't end there. I was at odds with myself, for ceasing to remember such a traumatic fact.
But wait, that's not all! I missed a dose of one of my meds last night (the bitch was back), yet another reason for misery. Something I realized, ruminating in bed last night, at some God forsaken hour.
(Doggy voice)
"Hey ma..."
*Crunch crunch*
"Mommmmm!"
*Gulp!*
"I'm gonna eat in here..."
*Cruncha cruncha*
"In case you didn't notice..."
*Kee-runch! *
"Just how much..."
*Pittewy*
"I HATE dry dog food!"
If it's not the heat, it's the stupidity.
I'm leery of turning on the news this morning, having heard so many sirens and police cars whizzing by. Virtually the whole night, including the hours that spill into morning - the sound has been nearly endless. Some scientists claim in hot weather people are apt to be more aggressive, that there is a measurable rise in violent crime. Judging by the sound of it, with some speculation, I'd have to agree.
But... Before I elaborate I require my morning caffeine hit, as life is a blur without it. If there is anything happening, which the weather suggests - I'll keep you posted.
For now I'm just going to languish in the maddening heat like everyone else.
I guess they don't call them that for nothing.
So many hot days ahead of us. Even our terrible two can be found hiding out from the heat. This morning I came across them lazing in refuge. Belly up, feet dangling mid-air, splayed across the bed directly in front of the blowing fan. Though early, they already seemed sapped from the temperature.
On days like this I'm reminded of summers past. Those record breaking highs. Feeling the scorch of pavement, sandals missing, barefooted . Comically tip-toeing or hopping madly, depending on the intensity of said cement. Daring the kid next door to face a mother's wrath, and ruin the clean sidewalk with an egg snuck from the kitchen. An attempt and a distraction in homage of how truly hot it felt.
We'd parade our freckled pudgy bodies, blindly squealing, as we'd run through the backyard sprinkler. There was laughter instead of self-conscious loathing . Back then baby fat wasn't the issue it is today. Teasing and bullying aside, wearing halter tops and terry cloth mini-shorts wasn't a fashion faux pas, thick or thin.
We'd beg our moms to pull our hair back into slick ponytails, bringing relief to our necks sticky with perspiration. The odd wispy hair defiantly peeking from our tamed little manes. Spit on fake tatoos, mismatched hair ribbons, clothes in total disarray - we felt downright smashing. All that mattered was how high you could go on the swing, airborne. The sky was the limit.
The neighborhood group of kids fed themselves on Freezies and crazy flavored Happy Pop (a summer solace). The lot of us would poke our tart colored tongues out for sake of comparison. Each of us would then chuckle at the one kid who constantly sported a smudgy upper lip, the remaining evidence of his last frozen fix. Afterwards we'd prop ourselves in the tangle of long grass. Content.
My favorite time was away from home. Out of school, when we would spend our days at our grandma and grandpa's house. So many plans of mischief made in that garden. We spent so much time with our cousins. Stealing ourselves in the thicket of raspberry bushes, pinching mosquito bites.
I fondly recall the entire town's kids (a whopping population of 500, marked on the statue standing in the middle of the dirt road intersection). How we wailed in unison to the air raid siren, much like a pack of dogs. No longer used for intended purpose, it went off marking meal hours and church services. Warning lunch and supper, even curfew instead of some impending bomb.
I realize now what I didn't then. My grandparents had the patience of saints. The kitchen table was always a combat of sugar cereal, the floors muddied from our excursions in and out an ever-swinging screen door. They must have waken to our spurts of giggles middle of the night, as we forced one another's company down the dark passage of stairs in dire urgency towards the bathroom.
Poor Grandma. The trouble we must have been! Our messes and bickering, often underfoot. I can only imagine the frustration, finding the aftermath. Those days, when she found all the beds torn apart, void of clean sheets. When we excused our actions telling her we needed them for our fort, just like the topsy turvy chairs providing support to our makeshift tent! Poor Grandma indeed.
Dear Grand-dad. So funny how he'd refer to us little women as 'boy!' whenever we crossed his path. How sweet it was to see him take a shine to the birds we'd bring, intended our pets, better suited to his quiet nature.
I can't help but let out a little laugh remembering. Like the time 'Boots' (his cat companion) made it's way into the dishwasher he was fixing. Also how sweet it was when he looked forward to watching 'soaps' in the afternoon. 'Puss' the demur sister cat, an avid fan herself, at his side.
Most vivid in mind, an echo. I still miss the sound of the train moving down the tracks. How we stood still, hushed, an entire group of grand kids frozen for a moment, staring into the distance. Our ears piqued and flooded with the sound of it's whistle... It was only when the caboose was seen trailing off that we would resumed playing. Glowing children in the blazing summer sun.
Last night was exhausting. Amelie barked and growled incessantly waking both D and I up, causing quite a conniption. Finally between begging her to stop the racket and fits of interrupted sleep...We HEARD the object of her distemper!
The mysterious noise was originally thought to have emanated from Speckles' odd doings. That is, until we realized she wasn't even in the room! Blurry eyed we both woke up to inspect the auditory anomaly. Without any visual clues we unable to find the culprit. However, it's safe to say it was a mouse lurking about. Feeling defeated we crawled back in bed defeated, knowing there was nothing that could be done until morning.
Laying in the not so silent darkness, my head began conjuring unlikely and disturbing scenarios. I wearily fell back asleep most sure the varmint was re-arranging the furniture during one pique point. I shuddered at the thought! Maybe the ghastly critters were having a get together. A 'moving party' minus the pizza, with grey beady eyed family and friends joining in the bizarre night's activity. My brain echoed the adage 'to have one mouse is to have many'.
Perish the thought!
When the dog somewhat settled down, pacifying herself by licking my hubby's pillow-cradled head, it was 4 AM. Like clockwork the birds outside rose resounding their ritualistic twitter (I've spent many a sleepless night fascinated by their timely conversations with an enthralled moon enrapt of their musings) .
With the dog wedging a safe spot between us I couldn't help but think how spooked we would have been had we not known the source. Bad enough, the Most Haunted TV episodes, and Coast to Coast paranormal radio broadcasts we willingly subjected ourselves, we would have undoubtedly surmised the nights events were supernatural in nature. A bit over the top, right?
Hours later, my guy woke up to find the likely candidate caught, ironically a ghost itself. For the first time he expressed his primitive urge of man over beast. I was relieved to see his sensitive notions swept to the wayside. The prior summer's counter-productive humane traps and my burden of being in charge of the ugliness had drained me.
From now on, if anyone is was going to do any chair hopping and stereotypical shrieking - let it be me!
Yesterday, I had the be-Jesus scared out of me by a mouse. The little wretched thing nearly gave me a heart attack. I'm at my wits end! What's worse is I cought wind from a neighbor the possible cause of the intruder.
It seems that an old spinster, who until recently lived just down the block, was as crazy as the day is long. She obviously had a misguided sense of animal adoration for mice because... she was FEEDING THEM!
I kid you not.
She had a 5 pound bag of seed in her kitchen, tossing the decrepit little creatures a handful whenever she made herself a morsel to eat. I truly cannot fathom what she was thinking staring at the bloody rodents between mouthfuls of her ill-gotten sandwich. I shudder just thinking about it.
Realize this is not a slum type area. It's actually sought-after property. Its a pretty block trimmed with huge trees and little gardens up nearly every residents pathway. The kind of neighborhood where you'll find old couples arm in arm taking ritual strolls, Where you'll see avid dog walkers with furry companions certainly known by name. Look out the window and I guarantee you'll see a jogger, or parent proudly carting baby.
It's a busy block of familiar faces.
I guess every neighborhood has a crackpot (or two, or three). Thus, we aren't without our own. I believe every person has a right to be flaky, if they so desire, aspire, dream to be or were born one. My concern is if these said individuals infringe on my territory. Especially by means of their hairy following.
So when I get the novel experience of being the first house with a pest control van parked out front, or having a cashier price check the necessary traps at the local home depot - I get my back up about it.
Wouldn't you?
It's nice and peaceful waking up before everyone else. Almost as if the worlds flurried thoughts are at a stand still. Slowed by sleep and brightened by a day with new beginnings. There is a zen like quiet that fills the ears. To listen is blissful.
This is when I sit and ponder. Sipping sweet tea from an oversized mug, moistening my night parched palette. The only talking going on comes from the chatter of birds. Even the dogs are asleep. A time without disruption.
No ringing phones. No dogs scratching at the door. No falling behind with the demands of the day's activities. At this time nothing needs to happen. A moment without expectation. Just being here, sitting in a ray of sunlight. The very purest calm.
