the mood is dark

 

There are toxic vibrations here. 

A pool chemical plant thirty miles south of us burned. I smelled chlorine the minute I stepped outside, but I didn't realize how bad it was until I got out on the highway. 

"The EPA is monitoring air quality for chlorine and related compounds. Chemical levels are unlikely to cause harm to most people."I can't swim in public pools without risking pneumonia. I was leaving a law firm to drive home through this when a juicy migraine settled in.

I hurt my back the other day making a badly aimed sit. You've done it. Seat lower or softer than anticipated. I heard bones crunch and, unless I'm laying flat on my back, hard drugs are looking good. 

All this mess on top of the heartache. I drove and tramped the property Saturday and Sunday, as I could. Now I go from window to window, viewing all the places I normally see her. And here, right next to my stitching chair is where she spent most of her time. 

Camilla

 

We haven't seen her since early Saturday. A large chunk of our hearts is not where she's supposed to be. 

The Fart in a Mitten

 Early this morning Helene finally dragged her damp skirts over us.

I know there were tragic outcomes for some, but by the time the storm got here...the post title was my late Dad talking. 

I was up all night worrying mostly about falling trees, here in Danielsville and sixty miles southwest at home. Who's to say if worrying works? Being prepared is less wear and tear, but little of that is on me. 

By this afternoon, it was delightful out. You could still smell the ocean. 

Thanks everyone for the concern. All's well.

Waiting

 So far, it looks like we will be in the direct path of the hurricane. I've learned that there's no telling how much juice the storm will still have after it makes landfall and scrapes its way up the length of the state. 340 miles, give or take. Georgia is big. 

For my New York family, that's the same distance from the tip of Manhattan all the way up to the backside of Plattsburg. Spitting distance to Canada. 

All of this is an appeal to the 'verse that Helene blows herself out well before she gets to my neck of the woods. Gutter guards are in place, mostly. Hatches battened. 

Update: 

An early band of thunderstorms started right after lunch. This cat takes a perverse delight in going out, getting wet, then jumping into my bed to snuggle. 

 Madison County schools are closing early tomorrow and will not open on Friday. I'll be saddling up early tomorrow.

Subterfuge

Have you figured out yet that I am a most unreliable narrator? Shifty. Whim prone.

Ahead of the storm coming, I brought the dye shakers in for run through the dishwasher and just ordered a shitpot of yellow from ProChem. 

It could happen.

All these men in my life.  'Nuff said. 

Yesterday I had the rare privilege of bearing witness to talent. Can't help that it's Charlie. 

We were free-forming with a pile of Lego pieces drawn from the giant box with half a cubic yard of Lego in it, some of them were Colin and Jakes. 

I spoke to the computer and asked for some music. It gave up Paul Simon. Charlie was immediately attentive because he likes story songs and Paul Simon articulates his poetry. 

The kid started singing along to a song I'm pretty sure he's never heard. I'm just listening. We get to the verse:

“Sail on, silvergirl, sail on by, your time has come to shine, all your dreams are on their way”

And I get goosebumps because he's taken to the lower register of the harmony and was faking the words precisely in tune for the whole song. 

He's become involved in the chorus at school, so I said, "You know, the chorus teacher might ask you to sing alone in front of the class one day." If you've had the experience, you know how impactful it is. 

"So?" He shrugged and continued working on a croc-ship. The soul of blase. 

Next time I'll ask Alexa to play some Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and Nate King Cole. Maybe he'll be ready by the time Michael Buble retires. 

I specialize in party boats and parade floats.