Monday, June 6, 2016

Tropical Depression



It is hot here--too hot.  All I can do is drink wine spritzers and take to my bed with a book for the afternoon.  There are worse things.  At least I can do that.

But today, the tropical storm has brought clouds and rain.  The house painter said he would have to wait to begin, but he was here on time to get the money.  It is O.K.  I have a good feeling about him.  Just as I did with the fellow who just redid my mother's yard.  500 jasmine plants and a yard full of sod.  Before they put them down, they came in with a backhoe and tore out the thick matt of oak roots that had choked out the old grass and then threw in a dump truck full of new, rich dirt.  He repaired irrigation lines, even coming out on Sunday to fix something he was not obligated to do.  When I met the fellow, I thought my mother had chosen the right guy.

Still, I am having anxiety nightmares every night.  My heart is in my throat.  I am going to need either therapy or yoga.  I'll choose yoga.  But summers are always like this for me.  Some people get depressed in the winter.  I get depressed here in the summer.  It is when the bad things happen--hurricanes and floods and divorces.  I think I have been conditioned over the years.

I get up early now and do the yard work before the heat is too great.  And everything is looking lovely.  My neighbors smile and wave and stop to chat to tell me so.  It is a wonderful feeling to be so popular with the natives.

I bought a new grill this weekend, and that is a bright spot.  It is a dandy with five burners.  I turned it on to see how it would do, and it got HOT--almost seven-hundred degrees!  So last night was the inaugural.  Mother came for steaks.  I have not had one for months, not since I charred them on the old grill.  And man-o-man, can I cook a steak.  Last night's was the best steak ever in the history of the world.  Everyone said so.  It was my masterpiece.

I am doing everything except making photographs.  I am in a creative straightjacket at the moment, but I have some plans to remedy that to some extent.  Just a bit.  I won't spill the beans here as there are great chances that I won't get around to doing it.  But there are some chances that I will.

And now I must prepare to go to the factory.  Summers are slow there, and time drags.  I am anxious to get home tonight to read more of "Sweetbitter."  The opening chapter was a great promise.

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