Midsummer Night's Dream

Ice floes, ice cream, ice cubes, Iceland; such are the stuff of dreams now.  The nights stay so warm that I am awakened by the dog's harsh panting beside me.  Eighty-two degrees at five a.m.  We lost electricity again yesterday, this time an intentional shut-down for hours by the power company because of a fire down in Shingle Springs.  I did get a laugh in the morning when the weather persons suggested people should check on the well being of their elderly neighbors because of the heat.  I started thinking about who I should call, and then realized, for crying out loud, they were talking about me!  I remember my dad, in his 80s, telling about this "young guy."  When I asked him how old this young guy was, he said, "Oh, probably somewhere in his 60s."  It's all about perspective.

I feel so bad for all the animals during a heat wave.  Every bird, wild and domestic, has an open beak as they try to get air and cool off.  The turkeys sit in the shade with wings akimbo.  The chickens settle themselves into the dust, fluffing their feathers and tossing dirt over their back.  Bessie moves from the entryway tiles to the stone hearth, trying to find a cooler spot.  Goats and sheep lie like stones until the sun drops.  It doesn't help that there are hotter places on earth.  Misery does not love nor need company; it can be miserable all on its own.

The door saga continues.  This time it was the little trap door in the toilet mechanism that keeps the water from running on and on.  Why, after all these years, would it suddenly become balky and refuse to close?  When I figured out how all that stuff worked, I was able to make an adjustment and we're back on good terms again.

Six a.m.  I think I'll let Bessie go wading in her pool and start the day off right.