Bobby Mac slides about on the wet hood of the car.
I woke this morning to the rumble of thunder. I'd spent a restless night--body tired, mind very busy--and due to the grey-green half-light had no idea of the time.
I've been sleeping mostly in the charming small bedroom at the end of the hall--a room with both a north facing and west facing window. [The solitary bedroom is a concession to the respiratory flu which has spoiled our sleep for several weeks.]
From the bed I can look directly into the trees which ascend the side hill beyond the retaining wall.
Leaves rustled in a slight wind, and moisture plopped from the over-hanging roof.
Eventually I heaved myself from bed, groped for my slippers and padded along the hall, down the staircase.
It was 7:30.
By the time we had cleared away breakfast the sun had come through and the thermometer outside the kitchen window stood at 92 F.
I pegged sheets on the back porch clothesline, dealt with litter boxes and scuttled inside, out of the damp sultry air.
A strange bristly green caterpillar at the back door.
Jim stomped to the garden in a rage--from the upstairs window he had spied the damage done to a ripe melon--one he had thought not quite ready to pick the day before.
Possums always know when the melons are at their best and they gnaw into them by night.
You can see how much we had to cut away to salvage the remainder.
The live-trap is now set up invitingly at the edge of the garden.
I pottered about with a bit of house-cleaning, made up the beds with fresh sheets, briefly considered some sewing.
Instead of doing anything really useful, I decided to work on family research--learning more about the life and times of a 3x great grandmother. Some of my findings are undoubtedly repetitive--but I wasn't inclined to rootle about in the too warm room upstairs where my notebooks are stored.
The afternoon raveled away as I squinted at vintage newspaper scans and census listings.
Jim went out to roar about on the lawn mower.
I fetched in the laundry.
The boy cats came inside and flopped on the cool wood floors.
Thunder began again to rattle and boom, wind whirled through the trees, and then rain pelted down, creating a steamy haze which hung over a green twilight.
At 10: 45 the needle of the thermometer, viewed through a rain-spattered window, stands at 77 F.
Lightning still flashes, but the thunder has moved off.
Jim is micro-managing the AC unit in 'his' bedroom--the fan is whirring gently in mine, the windows are open and the curtains parted.
We are promised a break in the month-long heat wave!
I hope for a restful night and a cooler day which may inspire me to noticeable accomplishments.