Today is a pretty day with a cooling breeze, lots of sun and a temperature of 71°. The heat and humidity will arrive next week. Some of the state will be hot enough for record heat, but here on the cape we will be cooler. For that, we bless the ocean.

When I was a kid, my father was the great mosquito hunter. During the hunting season, he carried a rolled up newspaper. I remember him waking me up when he stood on the bed swatting mosquitos on the ceiling. If any had already bitten one of us, my father always commented. “We’re too late.” The ceilings always had squashed bugs and a bit of blood.

I love the sounds of summer, the leaves rustling in the trees, the birds greeting the morning, the buzzing of the insects and the clicking of the cicadas, the male cicadas. One other summer sound sits in my memory drawers, the slamming of the back screen door. When I was a kid, we had a wooden screen door. I remember the wood was painted green. All summer long you could hear my mother, “Don’t slam the door.” Usually her warning was too late. My screen doors click closed. I find that perfectly dull.

I have been the epitome of sloth. My to do list just gets longer. I did go to the dump yesterday. It was really crowded. That was my only accomplishment. My deck is cleaned but still needs unveiling. I have put that on the top of list. I want to enjoy my morning coffee and newspaper outside. I want to light my chiminea with the piñon wood I have. It smells so amazing when it burns. It always reminds me of my trips to Santa Fe.

My parents had the best dog. Her name was Bebe. She had been found with other pups in a box at the dump. Her breed was unknown. She was black with curly fur. If people asked, my father always said she was a Canadian sheepdog. They believed him. Bebe loved to ride in the car. If she heard keys, she was right there with a mournful look in her eyes. I’d take her for a ride around the block. Bebe fetched rocks. Her kingdom was the front yard. She seldom wandered. The one time she did, the dog officer arrested her. She would be released the next day, but that night it thundered. Bebe was afraid of thunder. My father went to where Bebe was being held and tried to get her as he was afraid for her. He couldn’t get her. She came home the next day to hugs and kisses. Bebe was the last dog my parents ever had, but they doted on mine, spoiled them rotten!

This entry was posted on June 17, 2024 at 1:03 pm and is filed under Musings. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. Both comments and pings are currently closed.