life's soundtracks

His curiosity grows every day. He discovered that the wellhead is a good place to scratch your neck! I love this guy! He's a bright spot in our everyday lives. And it's all so rural and seasonal around here at this moment. August. Wild sunflowers lining the roads, cooler nights and mornings. I missed the nights of the shooting stars but noticed the second haying.

Yarn comes in every day. It's Christmas at the post office! The financial output makes me a little anxious, but the touch of the yarn and the colors excite. I will do the Yuletide Fair and plan to introduce newer versions of tried and true items that I have scheduled for completion from August through October. I can't wait to get my hands on the alpaca that arrived today but will try to be grown up about it and wait its turn.

Ron is slowly getting better and there's a light at the end of the tunnel. He even spent time in his studio today, not working, but out of the house and the room he's been confined to. Walked down the stairs, across the driveway and back up (dragging a little) a couple of hours later. A real coup! He'd requested an apple pie (I make great apple pies, his favorite food) so I pulled myself together and faced the bowl of apples that have been provoking guilt for two days.

Once peeled, sliced and spiced, I discovered there was no pie plate! I forgot I broke the glass one and the silly aluminum pans from frozen crusts had disappeared. I was loathe to go to town again (twice already today) and decided to bake the pie in a deep Corningware ceramic pan.

Final result is uncertain, but it occurs to me that it really doesn't matter. What's that trite saying? When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. So that what I did. Lemonade and a new meaning to deep dish apple pie.

I received so many warm lovely birthday greetings from my friends yesterday. One message from a loved friend and extraordinary poet (who taught me how to embrace my audience during readings and banish fear) lives in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. Her loving message made me cry. Not from sadness but from joy.  Thank you Judyth.

I mourn my friend who died, and the friend who lost her husband, I embrace the friends and family who have supported me through these last weeks, I wish for health for those in recovery, I wonder how to talk to the real person whose ghost has haunted me, and how to find my center again. And at this moment, as I write these last words, it has begun to rain. I love the rain, a blessing on this dry land. My soundtrack at this moment? The music from Umbrellas of Cherbourg in the next room. The sound of my life long long ago.