Sights and Sounds
04/07/11 07:09
Well now. Here we are on the Fourth of July in the year of the lord, 2011. I'm up at the usual hour hoping the family will sleep in so as not to disturb me whilst I write in this here journal. Actually, the Ev-Man is not at home having spent the night with friends. God help us. We just don't see that boy much anymore. He's off here, there, and everywhere. All the time. I think that is what kids his age do. So we'll wish him well and try to make sure that he checks in from time to time just so we know where he is and what he's doing. Not that he'll be all that candid about the latter but we will certainly ask. That's our job. That's what we do.
It's a foggy and frightful morning here on the coast of New Hampshire. I'm just a little annoyed that it didn't storm as expected last night and my garden may need to be watered sooner rather than later. I didn't realize until last night as I was standing over the garden with light rain falling that the tree cover above the garden was preventing half the garden from getting its share of the rainfall. Who knew? It could be a warm one today so I'll be sure to soak that puppy good before the day is out. That will probably be after my bike ride. The Nan may or may not join me. She's been tired lately and may wish to stay home for a change. You do what you think is right, sweetness. I'll take in the sights, smells, and sounds of the boulevard all by my lonesome. I love the sweet smell of the sea roses this time of year. They are especially sweet when blended with the offshore breezes of salt water pushed ashore and squarely into my path by the relentless pounding of the frigid Atlantic surf. It gives new meaning to the expression "getting a second wind." It can turn a mundane bike ride into a magical mystery tour. I can't begin to tell you the kinds of things I think about on my rides. Anything to take your mind off the task at hand I suppose. I do it in spades.
Did I tell you that my babies are into berries in a big sort of way? When berry season rolls around, hang on to your wallet. Their indulgences know no bounds. We're talking blueberries, raspberries, cherries, and strawberries here. At every turn, there are berries on the table, in the fridge, and in bags and bowls strewn across the counter and in various and sundry spots in the kitchen. The timing is interesting as well. Just when you think the season for any one of the berries has come and gone, they appear in every conceivable venue like ants in a honey pot. They are plentiful and then they are gone. I do not begrudge my darlings their berries as it would be hypocritical at best since I too like berries. I prefer them in my cereal but will eat a handful if given half a chance. The sweetness is explosive this time of the year. One only has to look as far as the nearest berry festival to know this is no passing fad. Every animal under the sun waits an entire season for the berries to return in the same place so that they might know their sweetness once again. Even the memories of berries from recent seasons past carry a scintilla of sweetness and they are lodged more than likely in a place inside the brain reserved for such things. It is truly a place where dreams of all kinds, especially sweet ones, hibernate awaiting next years crop. Forget the store-bought variety. And, forget the pick-your-own places. We go to Miss Marples for our berries. You should too.
It's a foggy and frightful morning here on the coast of New Hampshire. I'm just a little annoyed that it didn't storm as expected last night and my garden may need to be watered sooner rather than later. I didn't realize until last night as I was standing over the garden with light rain falling that the tree cover above the garden was preventing half the garden from getting its share of the rainfall. Who knew? It could be a warm one today so I'll be sure to soak that puppy good before the day is out. That will probably be after my bike ride. The Nan may or may not join me. She's been tired lately and may wish to stay home for a change. You do what you think is right, sweetness. I'll take in the sights, smells, and sounds of the boulevard all by my lonesome. I love the sweet smell of the sea roses this time of year. They are especially sweet when blended with the offshore breezes of salt water pushed ashore and squarely into my path by the relentless pounding of the frigid Atlantic surf. It gives new meaning to the expression "getting a second wind." It can turn a mundane bike ride into a magical mystery tour. I can't begin to tell you the kinds of things I think about on my rides. Anything to take your mind off the task at hand I suppose. I do it in spades.
Did I tell you that my babies are into berries in a big sort of way? When berry season rolls around, hang on to your wallet. Their indulgences know no bounds. We're talking blueberries, raspberries, cherries, and strawberries here. At every turn, there are berries on the table, in the fridge, and in bags and bowls strewn across the counter and in various and sundry spots in the kitchen. The timing is interesting as well. Just when you think the season for any one of the berries has come and gone, they appear in every conceivable venue like ants in a honey pot. They are plentiful and then they are gone. I do not begrudge my darlings their berries as it would be hypocritical at best since I too like berries. I prefer them in my cereal but will eat a handful if given half a chance. The sweetness is explosive this time of the year. One only has to look as far as the nearest berry festival to know this is no passing fad. Every animal under the sun waits an entire season for the berries to return in the same place so that they might know their sweetness once again. Even the memories of berries from recent seasons past carry a scintilla of sweetness and they are lodged more than likely in a place inside the brain reserved for such things. It is truly a place where dreams of all kinds, especially sweet ones, hibernate awaiting next years crop. Forget the store-bought variety. And, forget the pick-your-own places. We go to Miss Marples for our berries. You should too.