July, true to form, greeted us with a fantastic few days of 110-degree heat. Enough to illicit, ‘Can you believe this heat?’ while at the same time, ‘Yes, I can absolutely believe it.’ It’s always like this the first day over 105. Then we settle in and grumble quietly until a breezy 98-degree day returns, and we celebrate with backyard bbqs. Speaking of which, it’s nearly (and dearly) the 4th – less commonly known as America’s birthday: the biggest, happiest, noisiest day of the year. I’ll take it ’cause I love it.
In between the languid and leisurely hours spent reading ancient history (anything pre-1960, which sums up everything we read,) and the wonderful fractured pieces of an Art Poulin puzzle, the summer is filled with good music and movies (also ancient,) and fine conversations.
I’ve also spent long hours playing with yarn, and thinking about colors and colorstories, and trying to recapture some of my spent energies. It comes slowly. I need more rest.
The Mr. is ever-involved in his music, which looks to me like modern wizardry and electric yarn. The results of his mastery are sounds sonorous and ambient as whale-song, and musical as an orchestra. It almost always soothes my soul, and quiets my mind.
‘Till next time.