August Ripens

August ripens, falls bruised from the stem.

I can't say I'm sorry to see it go. August stretched on and on and though it was filled with many good things, I feel all a tingle for autumn. Cool days, endless apples at Farmer's Market, the leaves deepening and finding their true expressions. It's like feeling ready to see your grandparents; it's recognizing a need for silence and the comfort that cold outside and warm inside brings.

Perhaps I am especially excited to see August go tonight. We are at the end of a three-day warm spell, and tonight the house is full, stuffy, and stale. Finally the evening is cooling, and I have already completed the fan ritual, throwing open windows, arranging the air flow to exhaust the old and bring in the fresh of evening. I love our old house, but sometimes long for central air. Stifling summer days force you to close your windows and your curtains in a desperate attempt to cradle some of the evening's cool, and this results in a rather dark, airless house. Imagine my excitement as the day sighs, opening its palms finally to the darkening sky of evening.

Tomorrow is supposed to linger in the 70's, a temperature I am anticipating greatly. The locust tree outside my office window seems mellowed by the change, too; its leaves flutter wearily in the breeze. It is an eccentric tree, weighed down with heavy honeysuckled vines. It is quite messy, actually, but it stands by faithfully as a quiet friend, a spindly, ungainly companion that has sustained many hours of writing and revision.

Martin is downstairs, strumming away with two other friends from the college in preparation for a folk festival this Saturday. I am glad he makes music happily, in his "node" as his mother says, but I couldn't help feeling a little ruffled after spending the day indoors in a hot house, cleaning (I only did it because it the mess, the spider webs, the clutter, threatened a coup) and feeling rather woozy with two children. I continued the ruffled, discontented feeling until I sat down with Elspeth, read and sang to her, and then, she safely in bed, continued on to this quiet space. Quiet spaces are invaluable. I need them to sustain me. I need them in what seems sometimes like a daily battle to be kind and hopeful.

And so, on the eve of the last day in hot, weary August, I hope that you too find and bathe in the quiet of a sacred space.

Peace.

Chin-high Zinnias

Back late last night from my parent's house. It is good to be home, back in the familiar smells and squalls of my own house. Actually, Martin cleaned the house so that it was in a much better state than I left it. Blessed chap. He gets big kudos, big oreos, big shmaroonis!

The yard and garden is an absolute jungle. I am not overstating the case. Five inches of rain and no mowing or weeding to speak of equals absolute chaos. I delighted in the sight of my mother cutting down chin-high zinnias this morning. She took a huge, velvet-red dahlia the size of a 5 year-old's head to my dear great aunt, who broke her hip last week. I actually would have loved to drive down with her to see my Grandpa and Grandma and Aunt Elaine, but that will have to wait. One can only bereave one's husband so long. . .and oneself, for that matter.

Speaking of the archaic "one," I teach my first class tonight. My syllabus is finished, obscure, full of attitude and an impossible work load (or more or less all those things--also protected by the "subject to change with notice" clause), and I do now have a schedule for my first three-hour class, which to me is like a security blanket whether it stands bravely or falls.

I'll be teaching 15 men and women Creative Nonfiction, or more specifically, the Art of the Personal Essay. I must say, though I've written fairly extensively in this genre, the teaching of it seems a bit of a slippery thing. It is a truly slithery genre, including so many things and a bit fuzzy around the edges. Thankfully, mine is not a lit. class but a workshop class, and I learn best by DOING, not by EXPLAINING, and in this case the DOING is a great deal of reading and writing. These two things, besides eating and bathing and gardening, keep the world ticking--they are truly a sort of bread and butter of existence, at least for people like us.

Martin is busy with many matters, and my gastronomic sympathies are with him, he who must prepare many syllabi and classes.

Maybe, then, considering the day and the unpacking and what-not to boot, I should mobilize myself to a shower and real clothes. And PLUCK my chin hairs, since students always notice such things! Ah, the burdens of being human and presentable!

Home Again Home Again Clippity Clop

Clippity clop, much driving and fast food--and we are home again. We had a lovely time at the beach, eating constantly, throwing ourselves in the waves, chasing after children. Oh yes, and there occurred, in the grand tradition, a little stomach flu, but gracefully brief it was and not as virulent as past holiday flus have been.

We finally pulled into our driveway around seven or so last last to the bright delicate heads of the cosmos, which had bloomed profusely orange all up and down our garden. Sunflowers nod at the cusp of bloom and the garden is completely and totally overgrown with weeds and volunteer squash. In fact the garden is so completely weedy that I have abstained from venturing forth so far into the heat--the task of cleaning up the garden is a bit daunting, and one that I find completely discouraging.

We were busy enough cleaning up the inside of the house--though I clean pretty immaculately before we leave on trips, in order to feel welcomed home on return--even a week empty in late summer offers numerous opportunities to ants. Yes, I forgot to bag our sugar bowl. If last night you had felt sugar granules underfoot and followed your suspicions to the counter, where a good sized sugar pile spilled across the surface, you would have guessed "MICE!" But of course mice are busy outside in the summer, so you would have, with heavy heart, pulled open the glass/mug cabinet to reveal a colony of very busy black ants, populating not only the sugar bowl but the crevices in your cabinet door. While we relaxed in the sea breezes, these industrious house ants spent the entire week moving sugar out of the bowl, onto the counter, and perhaps then to some unknown location. We were so amazed with the ants' efforts that I felt a bit bad wisking all their work into the sink and washing them down the drain along with the hard-earned sugar.

Did I mention the little worms/moth/???/maggot-like creatures that spent the week hard at work on a bag of cornmeal?

So yes, we're back, and we only displaced a few creatures by our return, with the greatest respect but with the knowledge that swarms of ants and people cannot happily coexist.

The girls are beside themselves to be home; indeed Elspeth was so excited about being home that she rose up at six this morning to play heartily. I have a few books to rave about but will do so later, especially since the beginning of school is near, I agreed to teach a class, and I have yet to read the text.

And do I detect, in the late evening sunlight, a hint of summer mellowing? Is fall really just around the corner?

PS. Check out Andy McKee's videos on YouTube. Simply marvelous. Sent me booking over to Amazon, where I found his CD. . . .

Combat the Bee Crisis

Want bees? Plant agastache. This type of hyssop attracts bees in droves. Last year I bought dozens of plants on fall clearance at Lowe's, and in the cool weather, plopped them in a hedge formation along with some bedraggled Russian sage. Just look now!

I also planted some monarda bee balm to bring the lovlies swarming but it has yet to bloom this season. And then there's butterfly weed, which blooms all about in the ditches but is impossible to dig up and replant without killing the poor thing.

But this agastache comes highly recommended--my new favorite--drought resistant, tough as weeds, beautiful, and emits a heady licorice/aniseed fragrance.

Any one else have personal bee favorites?

--As a side, I may be absent from Wazoo for the next week or so, as I will be at the beach with all my good family, eating amazing food, swallowing salt water, trying to get sand out of Elspeth's cheeks, jumping waves and watching my sister and the men bodysurf, slathering with sunscreen, and playing crazy charades. Loonytunes, all of them. Martin is out at this very moment collecting armfuls of produce to take with us. Live nearby? Know Wazoo? PLEASE come by and pick yourselves some food while we're gone! And zinnias!

Zinnias, Zinnias, and Again I Shout, Zinnias!

Things I have recently loved:
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My zany extended family; the youngest member caressing the oldest, my lovely Grandpa.
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Ignoring daily responsibilities to read the last Harry Potter.

Zinnias, more than I can pick. . .

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Fresh tomatoes, delightful varieties right from our garden.

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Elspeth riding atop golden retriever Chester, in Texas.
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Merry loving her new sweet cousin, Liliana Cecilia.
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Roast chicken with rosemary from our garden.

Zucchinis that appear with alarming frequency; carrots from a friend's friends raised bed; delectable peaches from Farmer's Market.
The hills here, soft and green; a garden in almost every backyard.
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Perennial hibiscus blooms like saucers, like the eyes of some wonderful animal.
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The McVities dear Kara brought back from Manchester, England.
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Hot and wonderful summer!