The rain in Spain
may fall mainly on the plain, but in Texas this August it falls on everything
and with unusual frequency. We had a good storm this afternoon. I heard the
distant thunder but at first, it’s often not recognizable—could be the
construction trucks from the never-ending gas pipe work or any other number of city
noises. But then a great clap right overhead, and Sophie was on her feet
barking defiantly. I hadn’t even realized that she’d crept up close to me. It
blew harder than usual this afternoon, and I worried about the umbrella on the
deck. A friend who came by to pick something up about five, reported we lost a
small limb or two from the big elm tree in front—the “suffering” tree that I
was so indignant about earlier. And the rain continued, slowing down but still
coming for well over an hour. Now it’s less a question of watering things than
it is to dump water out of flower pots so the plants don’t get root rot.
Elmer Kelton wrote
the classic novel, The Time It Neve
Rained, about the 1950s drought in the Southwest. But years later, he wrote
an article, “The Time It Always Rained,” about the problems that beset sheep ranchers
when there is too much rain. I don’t have enough ranch knowledge to enumerate
those problems, but I was struck by the fact that too much rain is almost as
bad as too little. There are those pests!
A social day. Margaret,
a steadfast friend since we met as student wives in Missouri in the early
sixties, took me to lunch to celebrate my birthday, almost a month after the
fact. We had delicious blue cheese burgers and good slaw with cabbage, kale, and
a nice, just-right dressing. Each of us brought half of our lunch home. Then
Margaret, good soul that she is, took me grocery shopping. Having spent too
many months sending people off with grocery lists and getting some questionable
products back, I find grocery shopping for myself a pure delight. And now that
I do the motorized carts, it’s even better. I’m not sure Margaret had as much
fun as I did.
My list was short, but I
promised to cook dinner for my family tomorrow night. Then an opportunity came up
to include a recipe in a guest blog, so I decided to kill two whatevers with
one meal. I will cook a family favorite for them and take pictures for the
blog. But it’s not a last-minute meal, at least not for me, and I needed some
supplies.
Tonight, neighbors
Margaret and Dennis came for happy hour, joined by Teddy and Sue. Margaret and
Dennis have just been to Scotland and knew I’d want to hear all about it. Among
other things, they went to Tattoo, an enormous military celebration of Scottish
music and entertainment. Warmed the cockles of my heart when Dennis said that
mind-boggling spectacle was great but not the highlight of the trip. He was most
impressed by the majestic landscape of the Highlands. Fun for me to listen and
relive some of my trip to Scotland. They kindly brought me a program from
Tattoo and a kilt pin for my clan, MacBean. Dennis said, “Your clan is
shrinking,” and I told him it’s always been small—but proud.
A confession: I am
so grateful for company and for those who get me out of the cottage, but all
day today I was thinking, “When will I write my thousand words for today?” I
wrote maybe 200 just before they arrived at five and wrote the rest before I
did the dishes. Now that’s focus.
And I got
bookmarks today for Pigface and the
Perfect Dog. Excited to start passing them out.
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