I Don't Like The Air When It Has Weight & Mass

It has been so uncharacteristically humid this summer, I... well, I don't know what to say.  Over the last few years I've come to expect hot weather but humid?  Humid was for 500 miles or so south of us up here in the Great Lakes region.  We're so close to Canada where winter lives you'd think a breath of icy air would come down to suck all the moisture out and soothe us but, no, it's been beastly hot and sticky all over the map this season.  All I can say is it just better get itself in hand and wring out the air before I go up to The Clearing in 17 more days to spend a week in a place where the lodgings aren't air conditioned.  This ain't July.

I didn't knit yesterday.  I didn't crochet either.  Didn't sew, didn't clean, didn't cook--except for a take-out pizza for supper--so I don't have anything to show for the day.

Sunup was good yesterday and bands of gray clouds, rain, and thunder passed through interspersed with sunny so the humidity stayed high and heavy, until night when the lightning fired up and the rain seemed to hold pretty steady as a heavy drizzle most of the overnight.  Today it's supposed to be some cooler but it still feels like the air pushes back when you go out the door.  Can someone dial back the thermostat and wring out the atmosphere, please?


I finally managed to capture Mr. Oriole sitting on top of the fountain getting a drink.  He's so beautiful and he's LC's favorite color--orange.  Haven't seen many birds in my favorite color--red--this summer even though I put the Cardinal's favorite seeds on the platform feeder.  The House Finches like safflower seeds too and the squirrels use the platform feeder as a step in their path to the peanut wreath, probably keeping the skittish Cardinals away.







I picked all the remaining, ungnawed tomatoes the other day then hauled and dragged the plants in their pots into the garden.  The leaves were looking bedraggled so I had no faith that they were going to make more fruit.  The picked tomatoes are ripening in a bowl on the counter where there are no chipmunks.

September 7--Michael DeYoung, Winter Running.  The footprints are far apart.  Al measures them against his stride and thinks whoever made them is either freakishly tall or was running.  He thinks about what's up this way.  There aren't many houses around here, just the old Jewele place off Seven Mile Road next to the tamarack swamp and Leo McKeever's cabin at the foot of Elk Rise.  Maybe someone new to the area ran up here but, if they did, where are the tracks back?  This is basically a dead end road.  He supposed someone could go up the rise, climb the bluff, and then circle back to town, but who would even think of that?  No, whoever made the tracks in the knee-deep snow had to still be up ahead.

Okay.  It's another drizzly day.  I've had one airfill customer so far.  Maybe more will come but it's the time of year that people are more concerned with football and back to school than SCUBA diving.  That'll change pretty soon but right now it's kind of quiet around here, so if you're in the neighborhood, stop in for a fin strap or mask strap, an airfill, or make me a heroine and buy a whole set up.  I heard a car door, maybe someone's coming.  Toodle-oo.
--Barbara