Tag Archives: #heat

Hot Enough for Ya? My Late Summer Check In.

The magnificent desolation of the marshes on the Harriet Tubman Trail to Freedom.

Europeans get it. Working in August is inhuman. Today is the first day I got back from walking my dog that we didn’t both need to lay somewhere cool and eat ice cubes for a few hours. Instead it was lovely, overcast, breezy, and a chilly 78 degrees!

In order to keep my mind from wandering to the theme song to Lawrence of Arabia during the last month of brain baking heat, I have been practicing walking meditations I find on Spotify. I really enjoy them. And I’m more patient with the heat, Abbey, and myself. I take more in. Engage with Miss Abbey more. I remember to stand up straight.

We generally walk a few blocks to a marina where there is a breeze. There are some water spigots. But otherwise it’s a tease. Water water everywhere, but I can’t jump in! And neither can my dog. But she can count “her” ducks. Make sure they’re all there. Watch over the people fishing.

Summer is usually my best time of year for about every reason. By the end of winter, “olive” is a pleasant way to say I look jaundiced. But put me out in the Sun for fifteen minutes on the first nice day, and I’m well on my way being pulled out of line at airport security.

I am here for my flight.

My hair also starts having fun. Soon I have hair that would fit in on any street corner where Do-wop is being sung. My natural olive oil starts flowing in my veins. I feel healthy again.

Missed pickling this year. But holy hair!

For me, in summer, I take long walks. Play in water. Swim in water. Sit in boats on water. Pull stuff out of the water that I consider eating. (I’ve made my own crayfish that way!) Find cool stuff that is near water. Drink water. I even actively smell water. I should become a dowser.

This summer has been a big change. Some of it is where I now live. It’s technically and kind of actually is the South. One degree below the Mason-Dixon line, and people hunt muskrat in the marshes…to eat. Silly me thought it was crab bait the first time I saw these flayed monstrosities in a local seafood market.

There is also every sort of water bird, bald eagles, turtles, wee water snakes, fish, and crabbing!
Turtle friend.
Crabbing with Stan and Abbey.
Little crabby fellow.
At the nearby produce place, making friends.
Goat friend.

Earlier in the season we got lucky with some great fishing, and even spent some time at the little beaches fishing and getting stung by jellyfish. I had forgotten how much that hurts. And Stan refused to pee on my leg to make the ouchie stop. Romance is dead.

But things slowed down recently because HEAT! Walk out the door at eight in the morning and it’s 97 degrees kind of hot. But I’ve been using the time to think about my writing, plan out the new house better, and become less paranoid and more relaxed again.

After last year’s summer of the insane harassing neighbors, and doing time in a hotel room full of fleas: I needed this. I’ve been doing a lot of work on me. Journalling, meditating, yoga (of course), reading about trauma recovery and about writing has all been inspirational and helped me feel more me than perhaps I ever have.

I also set up my luxurious pool! It’s 8 ft x 3.5 ft. I love it. I retired the 1964 Guild my Dad bought long ago. It’s beautiful, but now she deserves to be prettied up and displayed. I do love playing her replacement. It’s made guitar fun for me again. Music is not my forte, but it’s lovely to play on a summer evening. And playing is very mindful, in the moment thing. So if I feel anxious, I grab it and play.

Overall, it’s been a good summer so far despite the heat. I even finally got Covid, which let me listen to the entire audiobook of I, Claudius. (For the record, Livia is a great character, but in reality she was a powerful and wise woman, and co-ruler with Augustus during Rome’s rise to a stable, well run empire. Just sayin.)

Finally, I am looking forward to the better fishing and crabbing at Summer’s end. And the cheaper camp sites, Abbey being allowed on all the beaches. We’re even getting our little skiff legal and ready to take out now. I suppose though all my American guilt at not laboring at all hours and in all climes was simply resistance to learning that Summer is when we “set” out on the porch, drink sun tea, and give ourselves a break before Autumn’s rush.

It was tough, but someone had to do it. πŸ˜‰

– JL βœŒπŸΌπŸ’šπŸ––πŸΌπŸ¦†πŸŒ…πŸΊπŸ’πŸŸπŸ¦€πŸ§˜

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