As the seasons change so does the early morning light, meaning that when I’m up early drinking my coffee out on the deck, I see things differently.
[Or is it that I see different things?]
Above is a photo in which you can see a jet plane, headed one direction, and the waning crescent moon headed the other direction.
[Look closely, they’re both there.]
To me this seems like they’re saying hello and goodbye as they pass each other, rather like the way in which summer and fall pass by each other on the calendar.
[Or something like that.]
I’m not a poet, nor do I profess to be profound. Instead I notice things, photograph them, describe them, then allow my thoughts to meander. Perhaps with no purpose. Perhaps with a keen insight that I have yet to understand.
[Regardless, I think the above photo is cool.]
Happy Autumn, everyone. I’m looking forward to it. Whatcha got planned? Spill the beans in the comments below.
This hasn’t been a good summer for our flower beds and shrubs and the flowers in the outside pots of floral prettiness that I insist on scattering around the grounds… until I feel at home.
[Gold star to anyone who gets that reference.]
But on the other hand in the end it’s been a great summer for parsley. After a slow start the darned stuff has thrived in this hot humid weather.
Each spring I start parsley from seed inside the house, then either add it to my outside pots of floral prettiness as a filler or just put some parsley by itself in a pot to grow.
A pretty rose seen in a city park. Is it orangish yellow OR yellowish orange? You decide. I’ll believe you.
Who am I to stop a friend or acquaintance when they’re on a good rant?
I MEAN, I may or may not agree with them but there are times when letting people vent is the best conversational gambit I know of.
And let me assure you that people in my life are getting quite rant-y. Blame it on the hot weather or the current deluge of Trumpian noise or the alignment of the planets, but the peoples have things they want to say.
• 🔶 •
FOR EXAMPLE, one woman, a Boomer, spent a good 5 minutes monologuing about how all Millennials are lazy and useless and entitled and __________ [fill-in the blank]. I think she stopped because she’d run out of breath, not complaints.
Considering she has a child who is a Millennial I thought her rant was a bit odd, but maybe it was her passive-aggressive way of dealing with her frustration about her progeny’s choices.
Beats me.
All I could think to say was “I believe you” because I do believe that from her point of view what she said is truthful to her.
I’m perceptive and empathetic, don’t you know?
• 🔶 •
SOON THEREAFTER, one man, a Millennial, started into his monologue about how much debt he and his friends have and how Boomers never had any debt and that his suffering is the worst darned financial suffering that ever has been. Without any doubt.
Considering he lived at home rent-free [with a Boomer parent] while he was in college I thought his rant was a bit odd, but maybe it was his passive-aggressive way of dealing with his frustration about his job now that he wants to leave the nest.
Beats me.
Again all I could think to say was “I believe you” because I do believe that based on his life experiences what he said is truthful to him.
I’m tuned-in to the people around me, don’t you know?
• 🔶 •
SO WITH the foregoing experiences fresh in my mind, and with the summer temps predicted to be in the 90s with humidity to match, I’ll end this post by suggesting that if you have a rant you’d like to express, I’m here to hear it.
I suspect I’ll be inside most of the weekend and from what I can tell my ability to listen is what the world needs right now.
Lay it on me. What’s been grinding your gears lately? What’s your sorry not sorry? I’m listening.
Purple petunias in terra cotta pot as seen in humid, hazy light. No filter involved. Photo taken mid-morning.
With a hat tip to Jimi Hendrix, I’d like to share with you, my gentle readers, that this has not been a wonderful spring. This makes me sad because I love late spring.
It’s my second favorite time of year. Oh yes it is.
However this year, to continue quoting Jimi, “Lately things they don’t seem the same, Acting funny, but I don’t know why.”
Which is me alluding to the fact that all it does around here is rain.
Overwatered pots of formerly beautiful geraniums and petunias, now looking like death warmed over.
Pots of herbs so wet they are existing in a weird soggy stasis, looking pathetic.
Sad basil.
In the parlance of ye olde weather forecasters who claim to know why we’ve had this excessive, soul-sucking rain: there’ve been “numerous ripples of energy” that have brought more rain showers and thunderstorms to the region than are normal.
Uh huh. That’s nice.
However, be that as it may, while the rain continues unabated I’ll just contemplate “am I happy or in misery” while I’m stuck inside the house today in my own version of a caffeinated, irritable, non-psychedelic purple gray haze.
Me happy. NOT.
Stone steps down to terrace as seen in humid, hazy light. Again, no filter involved. Photo taken mid-morning.
Last week was a troublesome one for me. It was rascally and I got scattered and I lost focus on my one word of the year, streamlined.
I had dreams of getting it together last week, doing the things on my to-do list in a smooth and centered way like the organized lady of the list I long to be. But the Universe scoffed and instead, beleaguered by annoying things, I was distracted me from my true purpose.
THE WHINING PART
Nothing bad happened, only small RIDICULOUS annoying things happened that began to slow me down and wear on my very last nerve. Here is a list of those annoying things:
• tornado warning with winds gusting to 60 mph that took down a piece of our house’s gutter;
• smoke detector battery went chirpy during the day when I was here by myself, without anyone to spot me to climb on a ladder to change the battery, so the smoke detector sang all stinking day;
• the water department turned off the water to this subdivision because of a nearby traffic accident, thus in one day our water was off for 6 hours, on for 2 hours, then off again for 4 hours;
• landscape crew arrived without advance warning to do spring cleanup, then piled mulch in such a way as to trap my car inside the garage;
• laundry service lost one of Z-D’s shirts and told me such when the delivery man came to the front door, handed me the laundered unlost shirts and asked me if I could tell him which shirt was missing… as if I pay any attention to Z-D’s extensive collection of mostly white or pale blue button-down Oxford cloth dress shirts; and finally
• doorbell got stuck on meaning that the button, after being pushed in, connected with the bell box that rang its melodious ding, then the bell box started to buzz… loudly and ceaselessly… until I got a screwdriver and dismantled the doorbell separating the wires to make the stupid thing be quiet.
AND IN CONCLUSION
Pretty hot pink geranium harbinger of better days.
At this point, if I were an inspirational sort of blogger, I’d share with you a pithy lesson, succinctly put, so that you might learn from my experiences too and say to yourselves: what a wise Bean is Ally for sharing her troubles here and showing us, through her example, how to live better lives.
However, I’ve no such conclusion to this post.
Other than to say, I guess, it’s rather empowering to acknowledge setbacks, complain about them, then get over your sorry self while you carry on with another week as if you’ve got it all together.
I understand how he feels. April is difficult for me, too, Mr. Bird. I’m allergic to the pollen and mold that is everywhere outside this month. I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember.
Not a fan of this month. Don’t sign me up to be on Team April.
There’s nothing for me to do except complain take allergy meds that make me drowsy and wait for the rain to clear the pollen and mold from the air.
I mean I’m out and about living my life because I’m a conscientious woman who said she’d do the things. But I’m doing the things with tissues in pocket, eye drops in handbag, forced pleasant attitude on display.
As if I think April is dandy.
QuestionS of the Day
What’s happening where you live? Are you sneezing and wheezing? Or are you happy and healthy, unbothered by pollen and mold? Tell me your deal, ok?
Snoopy, my spirit animal, sitting with a room thermometer on top of a bookcase in the only sort of warm room in the house.
IT SNOWED LAST NIGHT, not much, but a definite covering of the white stuff. That however is not exactly why I’m cold today. Nope, the reason, to put it succinctly, is that it’s 54ºF… INSIDE the house.
Thus I am huddled in our home office with the French doors tightly shut, sporting a ruana over my flannel + fleece jammies, sitting in front of my desktop computer with the little electric heater swaying to and fro behind me.
What has happened? WELL I’M GLAD YOU ASKED.
You see, yesterday was the last day of February, a short month of days that are soul-crushingly long. A month that should never be trusted.
However, in the morning while waiting for the furnace service tech to get here for our annual check-up, I indulged in a moment of unbridled positivity. Yes, I forgot myself and sighed a happy sigh of joy about making it to the beginning of March unscathed by February’s negativity.
I mean all that was left on my calendar for February was for the furnace to be serviced and then I had March, the action verb month, calling to me.
I like March.
• • •
WELP, I WAS WRONG to let down my guard regarding February, and by 3:00 p.m. our furnace had gone clunk. Come to find out there is a breach in the heat exchanger at the 3rd and 4th cell of the primary, meaning that the whole system as been red-tagged and shut down… by law.
Also, the tech guy accidentally broke a switch which turns the gas on and off.
So, you know, WE GOT TROUBLE.
The cutest little electric room heater that ever was.
Hence I am sitting here this morning, the first day of March, waiting for a phone call from the furnace repair company to tell me IF they have the parts we need & WHEN they might be able to get here again to fix the furnace.
If there is a moral to this story it would be something like never count your chickens before they hatch, but my moral would involve swearing, muttering, and not just a little bit of self-pity because honestly, February is the SUCKIEST of all months.
