Four Hands, Normandy, by nalo.soul (FCC)
“When your feet will no longer carry you, you have to walk with your head.” ~ René Daumal, Mount Analogue
Friday afternoon. Dangerously hot and humid. Air advisories.
Woke up yesterday with massive migraine. I’m attributing it to the horrid heat, but it meant that I couldn’t go with Ann to visit my other m-in-law. Every time I open the sliding door to let the dogs go outside, it feels as if a wall of heat is coming at me full tilt. Even my eyeballs are sweating. Geez.
Woke up with another headache today, but not as bad. In one of my dreams last night, I was in line at a restaurant and suddenly found myself at the front of a cafeteria-style parade of food, only the food was gourmet—grilled shallots, butterfly shrimp tempura, other stuff. I was so confused by the set up that I left the line and sat down in an empty booth. The restaurant was filled with people from my high school class, and I didn’t recognize any of them.
In another part of the dream, I was with Kathleen in this huge office space filled with cubicles, and we were talking about sneaking out of work early so that I could buy a blouse. She said that Smith & Welton was having a sale. Boy, that’s a blast from the past. That store hasn’t been around for years and years.
The night before, I dreamed that Tillie and I were walking home from Old Dominion, which is not a short walk. And the more that we walked, the colder it got until there were massive snow drifts everywhere. Tillie and I were walking atop the drifts, and once in a while, we would have to jump down from heights that were rooftop high, but we landed in the soft snow. I stopped at a house that I thought was empty and opened the garage door. A woman came out the back door and asked me what I was doing in her garage. I told her that I really needed to use the phone to call my dad for a ride home. She was very calm for someone who had a stranger in her house.
Strangeness. Obviously, the heat is working on my brain. With luck, we’ll have storms this weekend.
“Everything has its own voice. Thunder and lightning and stars and planets, flowers, birds, animals, trees—all these have voices, and they constitute a community of existence that is profoundly related.” ~ Thomas Berry
Corey is working first shift today. He has worked five shifts in four days. As a result, the Rodeo is still parked near the elementary school awaiting the alternator. He goes by to make sure nothing’s happened to it. We’re hoping that he can work on it this evening, that is if it isn’t too blasted hot.
I threw tennis balls for Tillie and Shakes earlier today just so that they could jump in the pool for a quick swim. Quite frankly I couldn’t stand to be outside more than a minute. You know it’s too hot when the dogs won’t stay outside and just spend the afternoon on the couch beneath the air conditioner. Tuesday evening the transformer in our neighborhood blew, which meant that we were without electricity for about 45 minutes. Probably over-usage.
I hate being so dependent upon air conditioning. It’s terrible for the environment and a major contributor to global warming, but the alternative, living in excessive heat, does not appeal to me either. It makes me think back to when my mom and dad first bought their house. It did not have air conditioning for the first year we lived there, and somehow we muddled through. When we were in the Philippines, my grandmother’s house did not have air conditioning, but the apartment that we lived in did have AC. But talk about hot.
As a kid, I remember that summer days that I didn’t spend in the library I spent on my bike with my friend Cathy Weaver. We would leave in the morning and stay gone until dinner time. I suppose as a kid you don’t think about the heat, or at least, we didn’t. Perhaps age affects the ability to tolerate extreme temperatures, but my dad never had a problem with heat, only cold. Of course, he was born in the tropics.
Corey and I have talked about how if we ever have enough land, we hope to put up a windmill to generate power, and we want to install solar panels. I think it’s the least that we can do to help preserve this little planet we inhabit.
“She strung the afternoon on the necklace of memorable days, which was not too long for her to be able to recall this one or that one . . . It was something that lasted; something that mattered for ever.” ~ Virginia Woolf, Moments Of Being
So we’re hoping to be able to see the second part of Deathly Hallows this weekend. I’m not sure how I’m going to react. Harry Potter has been in my life for more than a decade. The books are remarkable, and the movie adaptations have been excellent. It’s kind of like when the extended DVD version of Lord of the Rings: Return of the Kingcame out—no more new LOTR. I was quite sad.
You might think it silly that I become so invested in books and movies, and I have to say that for the most part, I do not become attached to movies at all. But with these two series, it’s been different. They are both sagas, extremely well-written sagas that have been translated into epic motion pictures. Of course, Peter Jackson’s LOTR series is more epic as far as movie-making, but with the Harry Potter series, it’s been an investment of time and emotions.
Speaking of investments of time—although I should probably not put this into words as I have a way of jinxing myself—I think that I have a real working plot for a novel coming together. I mean, I have lots of threads of plots running through my mind all of the time, but this time, I have the villain; I have his means, and I have his motive. I just haven’t decided on the hero, as it were. I will probably have a woman, but I’m not sure what her job will be. Not a coroner as that’s been overdone. I’m actually thinking that she might be an investigative reporter.
Will have to consider that more. But it’s making me excited to have worked out this much just in my brain. Now comes the next step, the one that I never take: putting it down on paper (or on virtual paper, that is). I’m actually a bit disconcerted that I won’t be typing on a real typewriter as there is just something about creating the pages manually instead of via printer that seems more tangible.
I would love to have an IBM Selectric. It’s the kind of machine that I learned to type on, and my fingers can really fly over the keys. But even more than that, there is the sound of the ball (whatever that thing is called) hitting the page that I remember fondly. Oh well . . .
“And yet I love this quiet clouded day. A bell sounds from afar. The birds sing one after another, as if they called across the tree tops. I love this settled stillness, and this feeling that, at any moment, down may come the rain.” ~ Katherine Mansfield, Notebooks
Corey has almost finished with his introductory class for TCC. He plans to take biology and English this fall, which will give him seven hours. Eamonn is planning to take two, maybe three classes; he’s thinking about taking a music class. Every night when he gets home from work he sits down at my old piano and just plays, not very melodic, but full of heart.
The piano is out of tune, and the pedals don’t work. My mother tried to convince me to get rid of my piano years ago as she said that it was “just taking up room.” I still like to play occasionally, but the other night when I sat down to play something for Eamonn, I had a harder time reading the music than I ever have before. Part of it is that my glasses are not a current prescription, but truthfully, the other part is that I am sooo out of practice.
I took lessons for 14 years. I used to be able to play Chopin preludes, Bach two- and three-part inventions, and Beethoven sonatas. Not so much now. But hearing Eamonn trying to play so earnestly makes me want to play again. In fact, I just remembered that in part of my dream last night, I was accompanying a reading of The Hobbit by playing the songs in the book. I wasn’t doing a very good job of it, and the professor who was reading was getting very impatient with me.
I need to get back to basics, do some scale and chord work. And I really, really need to get new glasses, but as with so many other things, it will have to wait, at least for a month or two. We’re still catching up from this abysmal July.
Anyway, that’s about all for now. I’m trying to get back into writing at least every other day, working towards every day. Time to go into the hot kitchen and do a bit of cleaning.
More later. Peace.
Music by Beck and Bat for Lashes, “Let’s Get Lost”
Walking Across The Atlantic
I wait for the holiday crowd to clear the beach
before stepping onto the first wave.
Soon I am walking across the Atlantic
thinking about Spain,
checking for whales, waterspouts.
I feel the water holding up my shifting weight.
Tonight I will sleep on its rocking surface.
But for now I try to imagine what
this must look like to the fish below,
the bottoms of my feet appearing, disappearing.
~ Billy Collins