Everybody's Talking 'Bout It

"Hot enough for ya?"  Standard conversational opener after seven days of triple-digit heat.  The very air is condensed, hard to breathe.  It presses against skin with a tangible weight.  Smoke from wildfires burning clear across the valley has made its way to the foothills, scenting and flavoring the air.  That in itself is a danger, masking the warning smell of smoke should a nearby fire break out.  All we can do about the weather is talk.

The venom from one little wasp sting is powerful stuff.  Swelling in my hand is such that I can't hold a coffee cup this morning, and is working its way past the wrist.  Milking was an experience yesterday.  With fingers like stiff sausages, today it will be more difficult still.  I might be a little panicky had I not recently gone through this with the other hand.

Perhaps I misjudged Sparrow's male appeal.  Last night he had not one but two females enticed to his bachelor pad.  Three sets of shiny black eyes follow me as I move about putting the girls into their stalls, the birds sitting motionless.

One thing about gardeners, they love to share.  Debbie K. came by yesterday with a gift of tomatoes, green onions, and zucchini.  Last night, grated squash, chopped green onion, eggs, a little Bisquick and a good squirt of sriracha made wonderful zucchini pancakes for dinner.

It's supposed to be only (only!) ninety-eight today.  I hope that wasn't just talk.