Goodbye July

Summer sneaks away here in Georgia because they make the kids go back to school so damn early. It will stay hot and muggy with near-daily thunderstorms, but the buses will be back on the roads. 

We took a ride to find the middle school  he'll be attending. The best I could say about it was that it looks new. Massive, and there are tennis courts. 

I haven't done much stitching or writing this week. We've been spending a lot of time just talking. 

Charlie will turn eleven tomorrow. 

A distant sunset? Or a battle just over the horizon. It must not come to that. Must not.
 

Peace seems small

The water is about 85 degrees. Warm enough that when I go down the ladder, all my muscles and nerves find a way to relax. I wonder what would happen if I stirred in twenty pounds of Epsom salts? 

I have a new brush on a five-foot handle, which makes the daily sweep a piece of cake. A little wireless speaker, a bag of cherries, a pen, and paper. It's the best part of my day in the best part of summer.

I did a thing today. I bit the head off the snake! 

Did some taxes. Fuck you, Forosophobia. 

Somewhere, I saw a meme of Mike (turd) Johnson.

(Because Trump's balls won't lick themselves) You laughed! You know you did. 

I'm digging into the word whipping because books won't write themselves. Thank you, Dee, for reminding me to read like a reader. It's hard. 

Boil it down, but leave a little juice. See it from another angle.

A word about all these Known People shuffling off the mortal coil. They lived the lives they wanted. Creatives, celebrities, known to many...I'm unmoved. Cartoons everywhere of Jesus welcoming Ozzie and the Hulk home. They had their time. 

Each time I hear another name, I think about how the unsung thousands are suffering and dying before they ever had a chance to love life because of a few greedy, power-mad men who should suffer living death for their crimes. The wheel needs to fall on the right names and quickly.

And power to Colbert and the other nighttime wizards of whoopee! It's heartening to see them and SouthPark (which I have always despised) putting hot pokers to his rotting feet. 

 

Square one

 

One should not one-hand a short case of kidney beans from the shelf to your cart on the second day after a back crash. There was a warning twinge but I ignored it. 

By the time I got home, brought the perishables inside, and climbed the stairs, it was all I could do to sit in the desk chair and figure out how I was going to roll it to the sliding glass door. Salem wanted to inspect the high deck. It took a few minutes.

Is there a better word than breathtaking to describe pain? Breathtaking should remain a thing of wonder, but that's what it was. 

I stayed there close to the door because I didn't want to forget her. Even in shade, it was too hot out there. The sun was down behind the trees, and this little pile of crocheted critters was something to focus on between breaths. Each of these shots was accompanied by a splash of pain as I turned in the chair to catch the light. 

I contemplated re-wetting them with soda ash solution and painting dye directly to the pale places, the misses. It will happen. But not for a while. The blue cusspot with the golden belly is done. 

Her Highness came back to the door after a very few minutes, and the two of us made our way back onto the Slab of Rest, where she spent long minutes scraping salty grocery shopping sweat off my hands. 

I won't show you the ceiling I have to stare at. Besides cobwebs and old water stains, like most contemporary, cheaply built houses in the 70's, all the ceilings were finished with a mop of dicks dipped in plaster. I won't show you because you can't unsee it. 

There's too much of that on the internet lately. 

Smug faces thinking they have secrets as layers of rot peel away and drop off, and they start turning on one another, smarling and snapping. 

                                    We abide. 

Even though I have never been able to sit through the entire movie, that one phrase spoke to me. Abide.

I went online, applied, and somewhere, I have a certificate proclaiming me a Dudeist Priest. I should get a CLERGY placard for my car.

Who was that bastard Murphy?

 

And how did he get a law named after him? 

Less than a day after booking a flight for a short week at the beach, something in my back has crashed. If I were to list all the medical jargon, you would slip into a coma of boredom. I have. 

I saw stars and swore profound curses.

Normally, a hot shower fixes almost anything. This time, I was happy to stay on my feet and reach a chair. I took the last one of a bedtime-only medication and sat puzzling over my phone, trying to order refills for everything.  The cops will probably be waiting at the pharmacy.

Common knowledge suggests the cats have it right. Rest. 

I'm pissed that the nerve ablation has been a dismal failure this time. After all the time and expense, there's been little improvement. 

Could someone suggest to AI that we need a way to regrow functional spines?  Strong ones could be passed out to some CEOs, senators, and congresspeople.

I used to be tall. 

This is my summer uniform made from a light linen sheet. Really not much more than a pleated barrel with straps. I need to figure out sleeves for a cool-weather version. 

We the People

To keep my hand in color, cloth, and design, I'm working on a new flag. We are going to need one.

I knew these stars were headed somewhere else.

 

Home from away

I actually got some writing done this week. The feeling is tantalizing. To create another world and get lost in it. I wanted to join the Make Good Trouble protest in Athens, but I was committed elsewhere. 

I'm fascinated with that copse of trees in the center of the field.

What is in there? What kind of trees are they? There's a road just beyond them, and the view is exactly the same from that vantage point. No animals are ever wandering here. It's unfenced. Right after the hay is cut, crows scavenge whatever didn't get out of the way.

The days have been long and deliberate. Chores, meals, two to three hours of math homework for Charlie, closely supervised to keep him on the rails. My own shortcomings in math blare at me from the workbook. 

I read ahead, study the examples, and check the answer key after I do a few problems. It's easy to see how repetition helps him. I understand how it might help me, but I'd rather spend the time learning another language.

It was too hot and humid to go outside. We soaked up an old favorite cartoon series that has held up, with writing, music, and delightful animations. 

I get postcards from home.  And now, I'm back.

He says the best day of his life, so far, is the day they found and adopted Nibbler. She remains tiny and full of feist. 

I'm awake before dawn, and she climbs on the bed and nudges my phone until I find cat videos on Insta. She pounces, purrs, and scrolls, and I can't take a picture of it.