It rained on the way to the beach… stormed so hard that Miss Piggy left her bed in the back of the station wagon and scrambled over the seatback to find a hidey hole among all the paraphernalia of the back seat where we had piled everything so that SHE could have the entire back portion of the wagon.
The spot she chose, between DB’s leather suitcase and the hanging clothes, was directly atop the bag of heirloom tomatoes I had carefully packed in my cloth wine bag with the dividers so that the ‘maters would be separated and not hit against each other. Funny–I never considered an aerial assault by a 35 lb. bomb. I could practically hear my Pink Brandywines and yellow Mr. Stripeys splitting under her weight.
Furthermore, she had pressed herself against the hanging clothes. . . the ironed-just-before-we-left white blouse and linen pants that I’d brought in case we go out while we’re here. I tried to pick her up, but it’s hard to bench press 35 pounds from a mid-air, leaning-over-the-headrest position with my butt positioned just south of the overhead light.
Friday it rained. I fixed the roasted corn and tomato salad from the NYTimes because it called for two cups of chopped tomatoes and Miss Piggy had already done half the work for me. During a period of sunshine I ran out to do some errands and the sky was so blue that I left my umbrella in the car when I went into the yarn store. Of course I walked out a few minutes later to thunder and lightning and a deluge of rain. I stood under the awning for 20 minutes before finally realizing it was going to be Sink or Swim soon. I took my sandals off and made a run for it, the water well over my ankles in the flooded parking lot.
Saturday, the heat index was 108 and the mosquitoes lined up by the back door, daring us to come out in the steamy weather. Eventually they’ll win, because the shrubbery is growing as we watch, looking like someone had crossed it with Kudzu, adding a little Viagra for stability. They have grown alarmingly since we pruned them IN JULY. We’ll have to swat and clip simultaneously.
The Lady Banks Rose along the back fence is a lady no longer; she flaunts her suckers and looks like those silly tall balloon men which wave in the breeze outside car dealerships. The mosquitoes probably put her up to it. Hussy!
Not that I should be complaining. . . ! The Trooper of the Month award goes to my friend who attended a wedding in an unnamed southern town this weekend. We’ll just call it Hotterthanhell. Occasionally she updated us via her iPhone. You know, the usual good to see everyone…rehearsal dinner was fine notes. She sounded a little despondent the next day as she toured…and toured…and toured Hotterthanhell in a car full of in-laws. They were all but going house to house. When she wrote that they were all going to lunch at A Meat ‘n 3 we really grew worried. Her last e-mail was a plea: “Server wearing Septic Tank Service t-shirt. Come get me.”
The tourists came to the beach this week, despite the rain and riptides that Bill sent on his way up the coast. I suppose once the housing deposit is paid, the post office motto, “Neither rain nor. . . ” goes into effect. Oh, to invent a suntan/bug spray combo!
Too hot to pull weeds, too humid to walk.
A friend in England forwarded an e-mail from a Minnesotan. I had to laugh at the note her American friend had added– advising her how big the group on the video is in Europe. You know, I’ve read that if you put a pattern of a labyrinth on a tabletop or pillow, you can trace its path with a finger and benefit from it, almost as if you were walking the actual path. If I use two fingers to follow this video, will that count as exercising?
Or I could step outside and do the old Mosquito Slap Boogie.