Remind me to be a little cautious next time I exult about how much I love a good storm. Last night, rain which had been all around us final came—first big drops and then a really heavy rain and dark skies too early in the evening. The thunder continued, but we had no wind, no lightning. My kind of storm, and I was a happy camper. Sophie not so much. She was by my side, even if I went from desk to kitchen, a distance of maybe fifteen feet.
But then I happened to glance out the French doors—the patio and the back portion of the yard were under about three inches of water. I wasn’t afraid it would rise and come into the cottage—it still had about five or six inches to go before that. But the portion of the yard that was flooded became a sea of mud—it’s under trees, shady so no grass will grow, and we just hadn’t decided what to do with it. I was afraid Sophie would be desperate to go out, and I didn’t want her in the mud. My fear was reinforced by Jordan who texted from Dallas, “Don’t let Sophie out.” Long story short, Jordan came home, let her out, and watched to be sure she only went on the grass. This morning I called a landscaper for mondo grass.
We have two sinkholes in the yard where Atmos dug great, deep holes and then filled them in. With the rain, they’ve sunk several inches below the sidewalk. Of course, they aren’t yet covered with grass. Atmos will come back and do that. So far, the dogs have not gone near them.
Do you know about the Manitou Incline? Only a mile long, the arduous trail gains 200 feet from beginning to summit, a 68% grade. It was built years ago as a track for a cable car to carry pipeline supplies. No longer needed for that purpose, it has become a tourist attraction. My daughter and her family climbed it a couple of days ago. There are some things I’m grateful my lack of mobility won’t allow me to do. This is one of them, though I’ll probably never be faced with the opportunity gracefully decline.
Festive and fun supper tonight with Betty and Christian at a new wine bistro. We ordered scallops—they were out; we ordered ceviche—the chef didn’t like the look of the ingredients. We ate a charcuterie board and deviled eggs. Delightful!
Why did all this work pile up on my desk, while I was at dinner? And is that really thunder I heard in the distance?