Summer to Come

It's writing time again...I was having coffee with a friend last night, in a tremendous storm, and having the time of my life. Just to let you know I can have a good time...which some of my fans doubt.

I cleaned the pool again yesterday, and looked for my frog friends. I didn't see them, but last night, when closing up, I heard them. I was relieved. I wish destruction on no creature. Except some insects. And since I live in Insect Central, the Southern part of the U.S., it's more of a wishful fantasy than anything else.

I have been thinking, way too early, of the lemony quality of fall. Sweet, sour, and filled with memories of a coffee house, and the light streaming in the windows, enveloped by the scent of cakes and the cup in front of me.

But it's summer, and if I am to practice mindfulness, I must yank my imagination and memories out of autumn storage, and into the hottest time of the year. We are just starting to get the heat of a summer that some say will be fierce, as predicted by the mild winter that we had.

I like playing with water, and the only drawback to cleaning a pool full of leaves and algae, is that someone as short as I am must GET IN the pool to clean it. I have 'fished' things out, not knowing, and not wanting to know, what they are. On the other hand, I have pretty much figured out which smart ass tree is donating it's leaves to what I call the Pond. I'm just lucky the deer don't come up to drink out of it. The skunk scent probably keeps them out of the area.

Woofstock, a dog festival, is coming to Roanoke this Saturday, at Elmwood Park. I am contemplating taking The Dog. I wonder if they will have face tattoos for the puppies? Or me, for that matter?

I am constantly reminded how much my brother liked going to Scotland. He now has the Scottish lion tattooed on his calf and has acquired a Highland bull. He truly is a pasture ornament, nevermind the 4 Paint horses my brother has, who cannot be ridden. He had the bull castrated, because of his aggressive nature. He cannot breed, or eat, this critter. It just hangs out in the pasture and looks cool under the Scottish flag waving from his flag pole, and eats. Maybe he should have had more children. He likes feeding critters.

Practice mindfulness where you are, along with me. It is no more than not thinking about anything but that moment, or what is right in front of you. Of course, if you are at work, don't practice mindfulness, but dream of the summer to come, and the first time you swam in a pond...

Gloucester Courthouse

We lose the privilege to be Free (Charles Evans Hughes)

Well, after shocking the pool, the frogs have gone onto greener pastures. Literally.  I am surrounded by water: watering the vegetable garden after a long, silent night of soaking up what I gave them yesterday, and cleaning the pool. They are very relaxing and quiet occupations, and remind me of my childhood.

I grew up in a very small town near the Chesapeake Bay. It's called Gloucester Courthouse, and we were too small to have a stoplight in town. One didn't go up until Interstate 17 cut the town in half. I don't visit now, the place I dream of still has no stoplight and it is still the town where I can ride my bike down the street, with no fear of cars in the way. 

Surely everyone has that place in their mind. I hope you do. Where the memory comes fiercest is walking along Tinker Creek in the darkling twilight. When the memories of the last light, and the scent from the creek reminds me what a fine thing it was to ride a bike, to fly, at the beginning of the evening. Mom and Dad and my brother Marc are waiting right over the hill in our house. It is light with the lamps Mom has lighted and smells of dinner and home and dreams.

Riding until the very last ray of sun was on the horizon and leaving the freeing darkness willingly to be enclosed by the light. It is the definition of nostalgia, where all bad things have gone and only the cover of dark and light remain. Only the flash of fireflies reminds me of the promise waiting in the house.

Time has changed that small town and me, but that memory remains unchanged and graceful. I am grateful for it. Many do not have that twilight dream.

I hope you do.

I have seen the memory clearly in the past several weeks, with the fireflies coming in again, and the croaking of the frogs. I miss the frogs now, but I want to become a water creature again. I love to swim at twilight and after the hottest of days. I love sharing that experience with the fireflies and the sounds of the darkness. I love sharing the light that streams from the houses near by.

All this comes back to me now, at 4 AM with the quiet of the early morning. I am wishing the world awake. I am waiting to talk to you.

Frog Legs

I have discovered a frog population of 2, whilst cleaning the above ground pool. I went to 'Nature Camp' when I was a child and love amphibians. That being said, these frogs have, as frogs will, become the color of the pool walls to camouflage themselves. The color is an odd, icky blue-green. Frogs from space color. Warning! Will Robinson color.

It is almost watermelon time in the South of the U.S. I say almost because I got one yesterday that is almost, but not quite, ripe. Still edible, considering how long it has been since the last one, but not worthy of much song.

I have moved the unicorn-meat eating cats' food to a neutral position. That is, not on the table I eat on, and not where the dog can get at it. It is now perched on the Hope Chest, which I think is very symbolic. Did I tell you that cats won't eat frogs? Mine won't and I don't know why. They eat bugs and mice, after all. Why should an amphibian not be worth a taste? It's got to be the texture.

My mother, after all, ate frog legs in her childhood and they, on the whole, are a very deluxe item in some countries. I don't have the slightest desire, to be frank, and so these will go free after a quick trip over the railing and some experience with swimming children, who can be quite dangerous in the wild.

The Therapist

I have started with a new therapist. There is no one who needs one more. My unicorn-meat eating cats all agree that it's time that I moved on with my life after my last therapist moved to Richmond two years ago. I think because of me. The new one, has no idea what's in store for him, but life is full of surprises, no? It will be good for him.

It's a bit like someone dumping a dog on me that I didn't want after my sweet Eddie died. Surprise! The only reason the unicorn-meat eating cats accept him is that he is so very thrilled that they accept him. At least he knows his place in the universe. Dogs are good for something. They are a valley that the cats gaze into from their god-like position on the peaks.

As for the new therapist and the dog, they help me laugh at the unlaughable. Rape, stalking, addictions, life events, it's all grist for the mill. After all, the lighter stuff I can make fun of myself. For free..

Many people, mostly women, have been through what I have. I just figure that I have burned enough bridges that now I can write about it. Also, writing is very contemplative, comforting, and unlonely. I am willing to get naked on a page to talk to you. You should be flattered. I don't think of everyone that way.

I have been to a place without hope and you should not go there without some kind of guide, or at least not without someone with a very big torch. And throw in a unicorn-meat eating cat or two. And take a creative writing course while you are there. You need all the help you can get.