1031

The window is left open a crack overnight to let the cool autumn air filter through the bedroom and facilitate sleep. The trees off The Urban Porch are just beginning to blush today, bright hues pulsing against an electric blue sky.

Every morning before I get out of bed I play a quick puzzle game on my phone where you connect colored dots on a grid. A few weeks ago a little pop up box told me I had just hit an unbroken streak of playing for 1000 days straight, which equals 2.7 years of doing the same thing – I suppose it is not unlike brushing your teeth or any other daily event, except it is an unnecessary one. This weird milestone does not accomplish much of anything beyond the indication that it has become a habit. Not a compulsion, not quite an addiction, but a steady routine.

Upon seeing this notification, I pretty much felt that whatever it was had come to a finale. After this grand and unintentional landmark of 1000, if I missed a day and it reset to zero it would not matter; it was an arrival to a conclusion that I never set out to achieve in the first place (see Streak 11/21/25 for some history). But I do enjoy that small morning habit and therefore have continued it anyway. This morning the pop up box informed me it was 1031 days.

This got me wondering about the usage of time in general. It probably takes about five to ten minutes (if that) to do the daily dots. Some mornings there are only two or three puzzles to complete and other days there are as many as ten or twelve. Some of them are ridiculously easy and some are hard enough to challenge your brain. I figure perhaps an average of seven minutes a day gets invested in this puzzle, which might be a generous guess. Math is not my forte, but it appears that would mean as of today I have devoted roughly 7217 minutes to this practice, which computes to five days out of my life over the last two-plus years. When I look at it that way it doesn’t seem like such a big deal. Five days – meh.

But then I started thinking about all the other games and puzzles I play – mostly from the New York Times, but there are others. I like word games. Some of these take longer than seven minutes, at least one of them has taken about twenty. If you figured all those other games out and added it up (which I will not be doing) it would likely total many days. If I did know exactly how much time, it might bother me.

This begs the question – is this time actually wasted? These games can be relaxing and also complex. One would hope that some of them are tweaking a senior mind enough to avoid stagnation, or at the very least just a mellow distraction to the world at large. Is this Old People stuff? If I had done something different with those five days devoted to the dots game over the past couple of years, what would I or could I have done with that time instead?

Because you can look up anything on the internet these days, I asked what could be accomplished in a block of five days.

The first suggestion was to work on projects, as in writing a batch of blog posts. It actually said that! Ha! I wish! Thoughts roll around in my head at random and do not lend themselves to spilling out in batches.

One biggie was doing some serious decluttering, organizing room by room throughout the entire home. Well, that is a goal. Five days straight sounds a bit intense. The decluttering could segue into making upgrades and refreshing things within your living space – rearranging furniture or painting a room over a five day block.

The next suggestion was digital cleanup, which means backing up your files, dealing with your inbox, just cleaning out all the mess, unused apps, etc. Thinking about that gives me an uncomfortable, sinking sensation in my stomach. I am sure I would rather devote that time to puzzles.

On the health forefront, making and going to all your medical appointments was another suggestion. Coincidently, I just spent an entire week going to different medical specialists because you need a specialist for everything these days and all those annual checkups happened to fall at the same time, which was a rather exhausting experience. It seems you can’t always choose exactly when your checkups will be, as we have become unwilling captives to the medical practice calendars. My goal has been at least to avoid as many in the deepest of winter months as possible, since weather cancellations have plagued me in the past. Thus they have been lining up closer and closer together. Since I’ve already completed my five consecutive days of med appointment hell recently, I wonder if this will suffice.

Five days would be good for a road trip somewhere. The yearning for “Going Somewhere” has been playing strongly in my mind a whole lot lately. Anyone up for an adventure with me?

And what about all those movies and TV series that we stream? Can you imagine if you added all the time devoted to watching them? Of course I’m looking at it from the view of a retiree, which might lend a different slant to leisure time. Yet awakening in the middle of the night with the idea that “I Am Wasting Time” has happened frequently enough to feel disturbing.

This past summer I had the opportunity to reunite with a very old friend who is an educated professional still working well into her seventies – not because she needs to but because she wants to. She asked me “So what do you do all day?” which was a bit triggering (see What Do You Do All Day? 11/20/13 for some poignant thoughts on that). Being a bit caught off guard and experiencing a mild wave of indignation (I’m retired, I can do whatever I want!) the first response that came to mind was “laundry.”

I do a lot of laundry, it’s true, and that is what I blurted out, partially as a joke, but yes, I do a whole lot of laundry – and I really don’t mind. But then she said “Oh – you’re a housewife”. And that slightly (okay, more than slightly) pushed my buttons. I can’t be totally sure but it did not appear to be said in a condescending or judgmental way, just kind of in a matter-of-fact way…..I think.

There is nothing at all wrong with being a housewife at all. As a matter of fact, it is a lot of damn hard work to be a housewife (or a non-housewife, in this case) as anyone who is or has been one can attest to. And you don’t have to be a housewife to be a person who does a lot of laundry either. And (and, and, and) just for the record, I kind of enjoy doing laundry.

But that statement raised a few questions about self-worth, social worth, and time management in general. So when Day #1031 showed up on my daily puzzle this morning, it opened up a little box of swirling stuff in my head that is not quite anxiety, not quite total dissatisfaction, but enough of something not quite named that sent me onto the internet to do some counterproductive retail therapy shopping.

When broken down to moments, a lot of time appears to be spent in observation, like admiring “The Three P’s” (pomegranate, pear and persimmon) in a bowl on the counter, and then taking a picture of it.

To burn off a little stress, I mowed the small front lawn off The Urban Porch, cut down some sunflowers and appreciated the flush of tiny wild asters which are suddenly blanketing the yard and appearing all over the neighborhood.

Walking down the street with my dog revealed the reappearance of the neighbor’s Fence Dinosaur, who had been taken down for repair and now wears a permanent eye patch due to being previously vandalized. He’s returned at the end of September in a raincoat

and wears an apple hat for October.

The kids on our street (and me) are glad for this little bit of whimsy.

While visiting a small local children’s zoo with a grandchild, I got lost in the patterns on the top of a Sulcata tortoise’s shell

and the striking layers of sapphire peacock feathers

A scattering of remaining Monarchs and Viceroys flutter among the late blooming Zinneas during a few sun-warmed daytime moments. We received a frost warning this morning – the last of the hummingbirds and butterflies should be migrating soon.

These things are small enjoyments and distractions, yet the nagging feeling that something bigger should be achieved remains. Some nights when I get in bed I think “Wow, the week has already ended.” Or more often than not, when I open my eyes in the morning I think “Here I am again.” (I guess that’s probably a good thing).

Because of 1031, I’m going to try to work a block of five days into this Fall with the focus of Accomplishment. Another goal is to approach those idle leisure moments sans guilt, because who really counts as judge and jury except myself?

‘Autumn leaves’ (1911) by Franklin Booth

~*~

Glad It’s Almost Over

I’m glad this summer is just about over. Aside from a few really lovely highlights, I have to say overall it has not been one of the better ones, and that’s the polite version of what I could really say about it. It has been a hard one, not just for me but for some of my family and friends as well. But hints of rusty reds and golds are already appearing here and there, letting us know it’s “soon” and on to the next chapter.

When the first cooler, breezier, blue-sky days hit about a week ago, it was almost as if a collective “Ahhhhhh” could be heard throughout the region. Hopefully the crappiest aspects of it are behind us. Weatherwise, there will probably be a few more throwback-to-summer days, but as far as I am concerned, I’m done. Done, with a really big D. Done with the frizz-inducing, bug-filled, sluggish humidity and looking forward to cool currents through open windows ideal for sleeping and the wistful melancholy that the fall palette provides, paired with invigorating winds, spicy aromas, moody clouds and electric blue skies.

Until the afternoon trajectory of the sun turns to an oven blast, this west-facing chair on The Urban Porch is where I’ll be typing this. Bees drowsily bounce around the Rose of Sharon and alight to taste the petunias in the flower pot nearest my shoulder.

Sparrows repeatedly visit the water-filled dish that the spent basil plant sits in. There were just six or seven of them sipping together, making a rather cute picture, but when I raised my camera they took off in a flurry towards the house next door.

The hellish mosquitos appear to be mostly gone. The pesky yellow-jackets barely arrived (at least not yet.) There are a few Spotted Lantern Flies here and there but for the most part they are moving on to other places. One was clinging to the hood of my car – I can see how easily it has been for them to hitch rides and infest new locations.

There is a lot of renovation action happening in this neighborhood. On the house across the street, outdated aluminum siding was stripped off to reveal the original bones beneath, then covered with insulation and the beginnings of new siding, soffits and part of the roof added. An entire crew has been working at a rapid pace – noisily – but they have stopped for a lunch break at the moment.

A few houses down, old asbestos shingles sequestering an 1800’s structure have also been removed to reveal the original boards below. It has been exciting to see some of the neighborhood homes being stripped down to their skivvies and restored to their original glory. I wonder what this house and rotting porch where I sit would reveal if it were freed from some of the renovations done by previous owners. It is unlikely I will ever get to find out.

Renegade squirrels (or the one culprit) have been busy pulling the sunflower heads off the stalks and depositing them in a mess on the front porch

where the birds then arrive to join the feast of scattered seeds.

They have been busy on the back porch too. For the first time ever, the box where the chives grow has been dug up to create a winter stash. How annoying. I know one of the busy ones happens to have a distinctive white spot on its right shoulder. I will watch to see who the main culprit is.

Cutting back the milkweed that had extended itself into the driveway was a reminder of why it is called “Milkweed,” as the latex sap dripped out of the stems.

Colors of the season are emerging, The Oranges coming forth. Petals wilt from echinacea flower heads, leaving patterns to admire.

Glossy feathers from a local rooster echo autumnal hues.

Vibrating rays of volunteer sunflowers glow by the front path (the squirrels don’t even need to look very far)

and even the Clivia that did not bloom all year suddenly decided to do so. This Clivia is easily thirty or more years old. It is from another lifetime. I have separated it many times to share.

Even the eggs seem to give Fall-like impressions. The hens are already laying less as the days get shorter, which will require finding another source for winter time omelets.

Seriously? Turning my back in what feels like a minute, more sunflower heads have been deposited on the steps! They work fast!

Beyond The Urban Porch – after not doing it for a while, I began checking the backyard camera again to see which night visitors were stopping by. Aside from the usual opossums, it was a surprise to see a deer in this urban setting the other night, only because it must have walked down the paved road and wandered down the driveway to get here.

Almost every other place I’ve lived has been filled with a daily quota of deer (There go my hostas! There go my day lilies and rhododendrons!) but seeing one appear off The Urban Porch definitely gives a different vibe.

As this small city is surrounded by rail trails and patches of wooded areas, it’s not the first time it has happened. An occasional bear will wander into town and up a tree, drawing attention. There have been coyotes and fishers across the street and fox in the back yard. They are here, but usually elusive and few. In the past I’ve awoken to see a buck standing in the middle of the empty street in the early dawn light, before the school busses and morning traffic begins. And then there was the traumatic event where a poor yearling buck in the throes of Epizootic Hemorrhagic Disease (EHD) ended up in this yard (Passing of the Buck 10/5/2020) Luckily this overnight visitor appeared healthy and was just passing through.

And so we move into the next phase. Frogs of summertime will be burrowing away preparing for dormancy. The children who caught them in their hands are heading back to school.

Spiders are tucking into crevices (did I mention The Big Spider?)

Hopefully the bats will take off for warmer climates so I will be able to go up into the attic this fall and clear a few things out without fear of surprises.

So, so glad Summer is almost over, teetering here on the verge – the time of squash and corn and pumpkins and apples upon us. Harvest days. Here again, every year, going into it with a tinge of excitement and renewed hope.

~*~

Chanterelle

Foraging for mushrooms took a back seat this year. Between my unstable hip, the abundance of ticks and mosquitos and the thought of wandering alone while mostly deaf in the woods, I didn’t think it would be the wisest of ideas. Instead I’ve been longingly looking at the wild mushroom displays in the market with their insane prices…..

….until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I was sad to have missed the first wave of spring mushrooms popping up and thought just maybe I didn’t have to miss it all.

Okay, I was brave/foolish. Suddenly unable to resist the call, I grabbed my walking stick and hiked up a hill that was criss-crossed by rivulets of running water and strewn with fallen branches. Then down a steep slope slick with moss and rocky outcrops, grabbing on to tree trunks on the way down, all the while navigating my wonky, not-quite-better-yet titanium hip while chanting the mantra “It’s okay as long as you don’t fall” repeatedly in my head. All this on a quest to gather “Chants”. That’s Chanterelle (Cantharellus cibarius) mushrooms. Because it is time.

According to many in this area, it was shaping up to be a pretty good year for them, so I assumed they would also make a nice showing in my special “spots” where they had previously flushed (although some years did not produce.) But when I got to my Secret Places (you are supposed to keep your place Secret, as many foragers who have shared their locations have sadly learned. I sure did), it appeared the Chanterelles had relocated a bit. Luckily they weren’t picked over by anyone, instead having actually popped up in new areas – still in the vicinity, but perhaps conditions causing the mycelium to favor different soil and weather conditions had sent them off to alternative grounds amidst the leaf litter.

It’s such a happy pop of color and such a good feeling when you see them, little glowing earth-flower suns with a faint, apricot-like aroma.

All told, from locations in two different towns I gathered about five pounds of insect-free Chants (save a slug or two) without falling or encountering a bear, and before the mosquitos did me in. While not a huge haul compared to past prolific times, it certainly was enough to share with a few friends and neighbors and still plenty to enjoy and experiment with.

I started off by heating some up in a dry skillet to evaporate excess liquid.

A few were sautéed in a little olive oil, a pinch of garlic powder, salt, pepper, tarragon, and tossed with leftover penne for a quick and easy lunch.

The next night it was polenta e finferli dusted with parmesan and a side of crispy kale. I served it with tomato-basil sauce, but for myself I prefer it without. Polenta gives me some serious throwback childhood vibes (comfort food) but also a nice recollection of once upon a time in northern Italy.

Some were blended into Chanterelle pesto, to be tossed over pasta or spread on crackers or bread.

In poring through one of the many mushroom recipe books on my bookshelf, I came across one for Candied Chanterelle. These were sweetened with the addition of orange rind and a cinnamon stick.

They tasted okay but the chewy texture didn’t do much for me. The excess sweetened liquid was poured off and used over French toast. The chewy Chants were then pureed to a consistency of a jam or butter to make a sweet Chanterelle spread over sourdough bread.

They have also been great cooked up and tossed over scrambled eggs. There are a few left, which would be good in risotto, should I be so inclined to stand stirring at the stove. I’m not sure if that will happen.

Even though my mission was finding golden Chanterelles, there were other fun things in the woods to see, like the appearance of a few tiny Cinnabar Chanterelles (Cantharellus cinnabarinus) amidst a rock outcropping.

Their bright colors and diminutive size remind me of Eastern newts when they are in their red eft stage, sort of a fungi/amphibian counterpart. The red eft of mushrooms!

Usually I have managed to gather a good amount of Black Trumpets (Craterellus cornucopioides), but this year my spot did not produce – at least not on the day I was there.

I found enough to throw in an omelet along with a handful of the cinnebars.

There was one Old Man of the Woods (Craterellus cornucopioides), which is an edible Bolete. Although I love the fun look of the scaly, giraffe like pattern on the cap, it’s not one of my favorites to eat, so I took a photo and left it.

I entertained myself for a few moments by poking some aging puffballs (Lycoperdon) with my hiking stick to make clouds of spores poof out into the air.

While there were no bear encounters, there were some big piles of bear scat in the vicinity (I won’t post a photo of that.) Bear scat is one of the reasons (besides ticks) that I stopped taking my little dog Rudi on foraging walks with me. He will find, drop and gleefully roll in it. That is some really stinky, sticky, greasy stuff to wash out of fur.

And then there were these – a number of snowy white mushrooms about that looked very much like they could be the extremely lethal Destroying Angel (Amanita bisporigera) or something else quite poisonous. By this time I was ready to go home, so I did not flip it over to see the gills or pull it out of the ground to visualize the base and help to ID further. Whatever it is, it is not edible. It is a given that these are meant for photographing only.

With a growing trend for mushroom hunting, the news has lately been filled with stories of eager and uneducated foragers who have sickened, poisoned or killed themselves by eating what they do not know. You can’t mess around when it comes to wild mushrooms. To quote, “All mushrooms are edible – some only once”.

It was not a particularly long day in the woods, but more than enough for me. Finally it was time to head back to the kitchen with my bag of “Chants” and get cooking.

Being out in the woods for a while, away from the madness of the world, was good for the soul and a perfect way to close out the month of August.

~*~

Free Bird

On occasion I will suddenly awaken in the middle of the night with A Thought, which then evolves into A Question, leading to the urge to look something up, which then means reaching for my phone in the dark to browse the internet and find out. This is not a healthy habit to have, staring at a screen emitting light between sleep cycles. It is a habit in which efforts have been made to curb, but it still happens and it happened last week – and then somehow it got off track and went a little haywire.

Somehow the thought I began pursuing when I woke up (the subject which is now totally forgotten) led me to YouTube, where I then happened to stumble upon a link for Lynyrd Skynyrd playing Free Bird at a live performance at Oakland Coliseum in 1977. The photo on the link was of lead singer Ronnie Van Zant, which eerily looked like a picture of my long ago high school boyfriend (who happened to be named Johnny, who tragically passed away in his thirties – and is no relation). Seeing that, I had to click on it to check it out further, and indeed there was a visual likeness that felt a bit surreal.

If I leave here tomorrow
Would you still remember me?
For I must be traveling on, now
‘Cause there’s too many places I’ve got to see

In the Wayback Days my fondness for Southern rock pretty much centered around The Allman Brothers Band. While I’ve enjoyed a few songs by Lynyrd Skynyrd, I was not especially a fan, although I have always liked Free Bird, which has brought up some wistful, bygone, self-indulgent hurt – for example when an old boyfriend (not Johnny) had moved on from me

But if I stay here with you, girl
Things just couldn’t be the same

or when it was me who was the one that decided to move on (ironically, from Johnny.) In my brain those scenarios switch back and forth whenever I hear Free Bird. So I clicked on it and watched the video in order to indulge myself.

‘Cause I’m as free as a bird now
And this bird you cannot change
Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh
And the bird you cannot change
And this bird you cannot change
Lord knows I can’t change

It’s a pretty excellent video. I especially love Gary Rossington’s slide guitar.

Bye-bye, baby, it’s been a sweet love, yeah-yeah
Though this feeling I can’t change
But, please, don’t take it so badly
‘Cause Lord knows I’m to blame

At the point where it moves away from the slower ballad part and launches into the high powered kind of frenetic rock solo and finale by Allen Collins, Steve Gaines and Rossington, it became way too intense for me to digest at three A.M. lying in bed in the dark (especially at my age) and I decided to pack it in for the night. So I shut it off, finally fell back asleep, and that is when the dreams started.

So I’m playing in a band with a few old friends and we are up on stage at some local bar/pub that has live music and holds a small capacity of people. In the dream I am younger, as are my friends, we are all maybe in our twenties, kind of immortal and up for anything. I still have the capacity to hear perfectly (which I no longer have in real life) and I am standing up there with my old Gibson SG (which I also no longer have – and even when I did have it I really didn’t have the skill to play it very well anyway – but okay, this is a dream and you know how that goes).

At one point one of the guys asks “Is there anything anyone wants to hear?” and of course the classic response to that line after almost any band asks that question, usually (obnoxiously) shouted out by some inebriated guy from way in the back is “Play Free Bird!” In the dream I just smile, then take out my glass bottle neck slide and essentially shut the guy up by unexpectedly proceeding to play Free Bird, damn well I might add. I don’t recall who is singing it in the dream. It might be me but I’m not sure if it actually is me or if it even sounds like me. I wake up from the dream after the slower verses and before getting to the wild instrumental part at the end.

Whew, that was so weird! Not only that, but it happened again!!! The dream became a Recurrent Dream for a few nights. Same people, same bar, same drunk, same song, same scenario.

And then after the dreams stopped, the Free Bird Earworm began, which has been going on for over an entire week straight now.

But, if I stay here with you, girl
Things just couldn’t be the same

It just won’t stop! All day (and evening, and night), on and off. I figured maybe it was a sign pointing me in the direction of checking out more about Lynyrd Skynyrd (and that maybe if I did it might cease happening once I exhaust this mind that sometimes just won’t shut off until I have All the Answers.) So I went down that famous rabbit hole which lead me to interviews, opinions, stories and photos of everything I had never wondered about concerning Lynyrd Skynyrd. (At least Ronnie Van Zant looks a lot less like my high school boyfriend in other photos than he did in the Oakland video, which is how this all started).

While all this exploration and unbidden brain invasion has not necessarily made me a real Lynyrd Skynyrd fan, I still really like some of their songs and have gained an appreciation for their history and story.

‘Cause I’m as free as a bird now
And this bird you cannot change
Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh
And the bird you cannot change
And this bird you cannot change
Lord knows I can’t change
Lord, help me, I can’t change

So I’m a solid week or more into it now. Eventually something will come along to change the tune. Next time I wake up in the middle of the night with A Thought, I intend to pull up something totally different in an attempt to alter the trajectory.

Lord, I can’t change
Won’t you fly high, free bird, yeah

~*~

  • Free Bird – Lynyrd Skynyrd (Allen Collins / Ronnie Van Zant) 1973

Already

It’s already August. Having just eaten what might be one of the juiciest, luscious peaches ever, I’ll begin there, but you know this is going to veer off into other places. The peach – it’s one of those white flesh peaches known as “Saturn peaches” or “donut peaches” (based on their appearance). These are from the local farmer’s market down the street. One bite and the phrase “This is what summer tastes like” popped into my head. I was going to use them for the weekly Dutch Baby but they are so good they deserve to be savored as is.

Starting out with a mention of delicious peaches is in part my feeble attempt to Be Positive in the face of some not so positive things. In my last post I was bemoaning my hip replacement gone awry. It was quite the rant. While there has been some improvement, something is definitely still very wrong. Being months out from surgery and still not able to bear weight without pain, it is apparent this is Not Normal. One side of my leg is also entirely numb from hip to knee. It feels like there is a giant, dead fish plastered to the side of my thigh, which is extremely creepy. They keep telling me to Be Patient while throwing around this magic “six months” goal, where everything should be fine by then. Patience has never been my thing. I’m trying. I’ll be the first to admit being (hopefully) wrong.

Late July and early August have presented with the usual summer sky show of dramatic thunderheads and cloud formations. There must easily be one hundred photos of clouds stashed in my phone. I drive around constantly a-gasp at their majesty.

A number of years ago I wrote about the simple joy of sitting in my car enjoying a bag of Pirate’s Booty cheese puffs while watching the clouds (Cheese Puff Bliss 4/8/2015). Recently while in the same supermarket, I spied a party size bag of Pirate’s Booty and could not resist. Why the cheese puff craving tends to coincide with the the appearance of billowing clouds is something I haven’t figured out. Perhaps it has to do with their mutual puffiness. And yes, okay, I ate the whole bag all by myself in a day. No regrets!

Despite not doing any gardening, volunteer sunflowers appeared all over the front yard and side of the house, creating a towering flower doorway that passers-by must walk through while traversing the sidewalk.

Honey bees have been enjoying them, while birds and squirrels are methodically picking the large heads clean.

While it has been mostly the invasive House Sparrows at the feast, for the last few days I’ve spied a beautiful Goldfinch taking advantage of the bounty. Yellow on yellow.

It keeps returning to the same flower head, working its way through the rows of seeds.

While on the subject of birds, the House Sparrows from the nest above the porch have fledged. Two of them were hanging out together in the Rose of Sharon bushes and on the porch railing for a couple of days, fat little fluff-ball siblings, before finally taking off to make their way in the world.

In a more dramatic scenario, there are three juvenile Red-tail Hawks that have been patrolling (and somewhat terrorizing) my daughter’s neighborhood. As I was leaving her house I spied one of them enjoying a squirrel lunch. It must have been too near a Robin’s nest, as a pair of very upset Robins were diving at it, angrily hopping around and making quite the racket. The hawk ignored them. I didn’t catch the Robins in the picture but was impressed by their tenacity. Small dogs will be remaining on leashes.

Segueing on to living squirrels, the mysterious culprit who has been leaving shells all over the porch was finally spied in action. I don’t know why it continually insists on bringing its meal up onto the porch to dine, but now I know who it is. It also stole one of my porch plum tomatoes yesterday, nibbled it and left it. Cheeky!

On to insects and their kin, my son-in-law was in his garage when he spied an unfamiliar and very distinctive spider. He snapped a quick photo before turning away to grab a container to catch it in, but in a split second the spider had taken off. It appears to be a Northern Black Widow spider. They have not been able to locate it since. Last time I saw one of these was as a teenager in Los Angeles, at the bottom of the bathtub I was about to step into. Not! I like spiders but am not too sure if I would sleep well knowing this one was somewhere about. Nobody is thrilled about the AWOL intruder. They have not seen it since. Hopefully there was only one of them.

One of my goals this summer was to be able to walk along the ocean without having to use a cane. Loaded up on Ibuprofen and with my sister the cheerleader by my side, this was accomplished.

The New England summer flowers were in full bloom there. The bluest of blue Hydrangeas

and freckled Lilies heavy with pollen.

A tiny hummingbird appeared at the window a couple of mornings in a row while we were all having breakfast. The feeder was full but it was more interested in hovering by the screen. It might sound odd, but I like to feel that lingering birds are a visit from my mother, and that thought makes me smile. This one was pretty insistent. Mom would have been beyond delighted and no doubt moved to tears to see her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren enjoying time together. I know that because I felt that way.

As for birds and family, my brother no longer keeps bees but has a small flock of Pekin ducks. They are quite entertaining but also extremely messy.

Once upon a time I was the recipient of fragrant wildflower honey from his hives. This time it is duck eggs.

For some reason they have had no desire (so far) to eat these eggs and have been giving them away, despite my insistence that they make wonderful French toast and are great in Dutch Babies.

Freshly picked seasonal blueberries complete breakfast.

It’s also fig season. Fresh figs are so delightful, once upon a time I was moved to write all about them here: (It’s Fig Season and I’m In Love 7/21/2011).

Blueberry season. Fig season….here to be briefly savored and then gone. The Passage of Time has been strongly felt this summer, laden with familial memories and visits, along with the reappearances, reunions and loss of old friends.

I guess this might be the Senior Portion of this post. If anyone reading this is not a senior, you can be assured that if you are lucky enough to make it that far you will be staring down some of the same things eventually. It just kind of happens when you least expect it, you are still young inside but your outside and everything around you changes. Big Surprise!

If we happen to be able to get together each year, a few of my siblings and I try to make the pilgrimage to the cemetery to clean up the family grave; a small stone which marks the memory of a few generations of loved ones. Since it is not local, we make a concerted effort to achieve this, usually during the dog days of summer – planting bulbs and flowers that we never get the opportunity to see bloom, clean up the mess from the previous year, and then leave. We are aware that “they” are not there, but it is a ritual acknowledgement and an act of respect. It is realistic that the next generation most likely will not be making trips there to continue the tradition and that it will end with us.

Way back in my hippie-chick days I lived in a variety of group/communal households. This was both financially driven and also part of different social scenes that evolved and changed over time, these people essentially becoming “chosen family.” Eventually we all grew up and went our separate and more conventional ways (well, some of us). Given that, it has been somewhat remarkable that most of these connections have weathered the ups and downs, emotional and geographic distances throughout the years.

A few weeks ago a satisfying phone conversation was had with an old friend of many past adventures that I have not seen in person in a long time. This must be the summer of reconnections, as last week I had the opportunity to meet halfway and spend a long and loving day with some of these friends and fellow housemates from fifty years ago. That’s a half century ago. Yikes, how is that even possible? It was remarkable to see our children together, who had not seen each other since they were young. And who would have thought back in the day that we would actually someday be sitting there watching the magic of our grandchildren immediately connect and run off together to swim, paddle and play?

When trying to look at way back friends objectively, the signs of aging and residuals of illnesses are certainly upon us. But it’s a strange thing that – in my eyes – I still see the same person visually that they were when we were in our twenties, remaining forever young.

Lastly, there is the very recent, unexpected and raw loss of yet another old, dear friend and former housemate. He was one of those people you would consider a bit of a Renaissance Man – a musician, artist, home builder, woodworker, luthier, photographer, graphic designer, all around creator – socially and morally aware. On top of all that, he was a years-long reader of this blog who championed me to keep going with it, and in our crazy youth was one of my closest maniacal cohorts.

As usual, so many lines from songs start running through my mind. Others who have been processing this loss have interestingly mentioned some of the same ones, specifically those from the Grateful Dead. Although it’s almost automatic – at least for me – to think of a Dead tune that aligns with those thoughts and feelings (in this case, perhaps “Box of Rain”), the one earworm that keeps playing through my head is actually from an old Elton John song, “Friends.”

I hope the day will be a lighter highway
For friends are found on every road
Can you ever think of any better way
For the lost and weary travelers to go?

Making friends for the world to see
Let the people know you got what you need
With a friend at hand you will see the light
If your friends are there then every thing’s all right

It seems to me a crime that we should age
These fragile times should never slip us by
A time you never can or shall erase
As friends together watch their childhood fly

Making friends for the world to see
Let the people know you got what you need
With a friend at hand you will see the light
If your friends are there then every thing’s all right

So here we are. Already. Only mid-August and despite the heat, already one can feel Summer winding down. The leaves have not yet taken on the olive drabness that signals the end of it, but the light is already changing. The stores are already filled with Halloween decor and advertisements for back-to-school clothes and supplies. The season has blasted by. I know I’ve mentioned before a theory of why time is moving so fast. When you are ten years old an entire year is only one tenth of your life. The days and months appear to be in no hurry. Summers feel endless. When you are fifty, one year is a mere fiftieth of your life and streaks right by. Seventy or eighty? Well, you see how it is – that was only yesterday, wasn’t it?

In the blink of an eye.

My takeaway from the above is to Appreciate All the Things that bring you joy, even if it is tiny joy. The ripened, juicy peach. The deep hues of glowing flower petals. A bird at the window. A walk in the sand and waves over your toes. Animated sounds of quacking ducks and laughing children. French toast, fresh berries and figs and a giant bag of cheese puffs. And your people, always.

~*~

“Friends” by Elton John / Bernie Taupin, 1971