Today is a hott’n. I heard tell of a heat index of 100+ degrees F. Maybe even actual temperatures above a hundred. I’ve heard rumors that it’s a record-setting heat wave. Let me tell you, I promise, this “wave” has absolutely nada on last summer. Last summer was brutal. It was suffering. Oppressive heat waves that make this current spike in temperatures for three straight days (in August, shocking) look like an amateurs mic’ night. Last summer was days and days on and on forever and ever well above one hundred degrees. And I was horribly pregnant through it all. And swollen. Housebound. Whimpering. I couldn’t spend any amount of time outdoors without having to lay down afterwards. Bad. Bad. Bad heat. Back on the thought train, brain. I’ve let George in the house, because it’s hot and you know, we’ve finally cleared up the flea thing inside, so why not reintroduce a few of our jumpy friends?
He is such an affectionate beast, and so under-loved since becoming infested.
Michael is adjusting to a hectic class load and work schedule, and I am settling into a routine where co-parenting occurs in bursts. It is hard. Shout out to all my single parents, you are brave and solid human beings. My days can be exhausting, like every other person’s out there. I woke at a silly place in my sleep cycle this morning after having a hard time falling asleep last night due to members of the KU marching band. That frequent the bar around the corner from me. With their instruments.
Tired today, yes. Thoughts are bumbly-jumbly. Every day is good, and every day is bad, no? On my spectrum includes: a hysterical baby thrashing about at being told something was off limits, and a candle-lit dinner date with my Dingo, just the two of us. He held my hand as I said our blessing. So. Sweet. Cavity sweet. He then proceeded to devour two pieces of quiche and some blueberries. I even experienced one of those moments in parenting where one has to chuckle inside at the hilarity and tenderness wrapped up in one moment. In my case, it was Oren’s head on my shoulder as I held him before dinner (after he melted down due to pure starvation). I was sending a text message, he was watching from the crook in my neck, his big toe twirling about my nether regions.
I tried really hard to get a good picture of him today, here lies the progression (and success) of that:
Our first melon has been harvested with unbelievable success. We may never have the space to grow melon again and I’m pleased as punch we did so this year. We hauled in our largest melon off the patch last night. It weighed no less than 30 pounds. The anticipation as Michael cut into it was nuts. He sawed through the outer rind, and all I could see was white flesh and I murmured that if this melon wasn’t ripe that I was going to need sessions with a therapist. Fear not, the pink flesh of the melon appeared fast enough, and I squealed about the house, flailing and hunting for my camera. After Michael successfully halved the monstrosity, I plunged right in with a spoon. Warm. Sunny. Sweet. So unreal. So holy. Have you ever eaten something straight from the ground/vine/stem/stalk? It is truly holy. It is, I promise you, like eating sunshine directly. That is the only apt description.
Our entire bottom shelf of the fridge and both produce drawers plus two large tubs are all brimming with melon. Tomorrow we will be distributing it to our fellow gardeners and friends. I may lose sleep I’m so excited.
I did some re-arranging in my house. Mostly, my motivation was a photography styling challenge I am participating in, but my sad dining room was inspiration. I’ve been meaning and meaning to do some sprucing. Well, now that my dining room is more balanced my living room is missing a piece of furniture. It’s so off. And so funk. But the dining room is a dream and it makes everything okay. I’ll just drag the sofa into the dining/sewing/record player room. I’ll be doing more of a reveal of this space on the 1st of September. Reveal. Ha. Like the state of my dining room is causing you fitful moments.
I also received some highly anticipated mail today. I secretly daydream that our mail carrier delights in the volume of genuine correspondence coming and going from this house. I hope and hope that he relishes that our house utilizes the mail service for more than bills and recycling facility fodder. A friend from Chicago sent me a well-stocked envelope. This gal is the queen of the goody bag. Pure tiny-gift-giving royalty. I practically begged her to be pen pals with me after she moved north.
What loot! Every one needs one snail mail buddy, at the very least. It is essential to the soul. If you or someone you love is in need of a pen-pal, please, with all sincerity, send me a message. I would be so glad to write you/them.
Michael will soon be hopping onto his bicycle and heading home after his second shift of work today. There was a class in there too. So I should wrap this up and make sure the quiche that has been kept warm in the oven hasn’t gone to rubber.
Readers, thanks for being here. Thank you for you support.
Take care, comb your hair,