Time for a Haircut
69F and 97% says Weather 32401 at my sitting down for coffee moment, 3:38 digital time. Upstairs the porch door by my side of the bed is wide open, downstairs the doors between the front and the back of the house are open, and now the kitchen door is open to the downstairs back screen porch where I am; but Wind is 0 mph, not the slightest stirring, meaning no cross-breeze through the house. Are we close to turning on the air conditioning? I was hoping we’d have more lovely springtime to work outside. The neighbors’ a/c compressor is running, but the only sound here is right behind me, the noisy motor of the well pump bringing water up from deep down to fill the tank, thence out to the sprinkler system, which just began its cycle with the front yard.
What's down there, is that the Florida aquifer? Darned if I know.
For comfort, we have overhead fans running in the family room, but with no breeze and 97% humidity the alternative to running the a/c will quickly be mildew. I remember with fondness because of the loved ones we had then but not with longing for the smothering heat, how dry it was in Cave Creek, Carefree and out on the desert when Linda’s parents lived in Scottsdale years ago. You got out of the pool dripping wet and were dry before you got to your towel. Would I go back? By train, yes, but not in time.
Still dark, all the cars are out back except one, without which Papa cannot be happy. They go off to college, don’t they, which is just the start of the emotional, mental, physical distancing that is a natural part of their growing up and away, and my growing old, older, to where I am now: oldest. “Next” the barber used to say as he brushed the hair off his chair onto the floor and I stood up for my turn.
To make sure you got your proper turn, you had to keep track of those who were there before you, not those who came in after you. Next?
As well as itching, the tiny spot on my left wrist now has a tiny blister, which means it was a flea or spider bite from working in the yard, not a mosquito. Pulling weeds in her part of the yard just after dark the other evening, Malinda was bitten by a snake, evidently one of the garden snakes that are around here. Not poisonous, but sore and caused bruising on the finger.
Self-corrective, that physical, mental, emotional distancing actually starts at age 13, doesn't it. Twelve or thirteen. Only one of my children so blessed my life that she didn't seem to mind being smooched by me every time she walked past me all her growing up years.
No frogs or crickets, all quiet except the pump and my tinnitus.