Thursday: FROM HAIL TO ITALY

DSCF9589A sweltering afternoon clouded over and that’s when I decided a trip to the closest greenhouse would be comfortable. I have one more pot to fill and not nearly enough in bloom when I look out my windows.

On my way past SouthForks I pulled into the yard and invited Pat, my mother-in-law, to come along. Unfortunately the greenhouse had locked its doors early, so after a pleasant little jaunt around the countryside we came to my place for a cup of lemon-ginger tea.

While we were sitting at the table, the sky turned so black that I had to turn on the kitchen light. Lightning and thunder brought Duckie Doodle a-shivering to our feet, and I found his “sock” and slipped it past his head and front legs. And then the sky hailed on my flowers and I, sighing in disappointment, decided not to look at them till today.

I haven’t been off the step yet, but from the doorway can see that the lovely lobelia took a beating.

Ah well. We get a hailstorm at least once every summer. There’s no getting around it.

At least we didn’t get what Moose Jaw (three or four hours southwest of us) got:

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Someone outside my window has been making a hell of a racket this morning.

Oh, it’s the catbird(s). They’ve arrived! They make an impressive array of noises. Every year they’ve nested in the row of lilacs outside the back door. They stay well hidden while they chatter, but once in a while I manage to watch long enough to get a glimpse.

The ones I haven’t seen yet are the wrens that usually nest in the oak trees right in front of the picture window.

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While Ms Blathers over there on the left has been quitting smoking, I’ve been cutting down on my morning coffee and it hasn’t been the least bit difficult. I’m down to one-and-a-half cups from my usual three. (Scott calls my favourite coffee mugs “pails.” Each one holds a cup and a half.)

By the way, the coca-cola took care of my migraines for a third time. Now according to the Mayo Clinic, coke has a lot less caffeine in it than coffee, so there goes that particular theory of mine. Maybe, as Sandy suggested yesterday, it’s the combination of caffeine with the high sugar content in pop, and I’m hypoglycemic? Never been diagnosed as such in all the years I sought help from doctors, but that doesn’t mean much. Plus I always thought the migraines were triggered by hormonal surges that would pass once I was over menopause. I’ve been over it (except for the swift temperature changes) for several years but the migraine frequency remains what it was.

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While my toast toasted, I sliced the last loaf of homemade bread and thought this a perfect day — cloudy and cool — to make another batch, though I don’t really feel like it. I noticed Scott’s put a frozen chicken on the counter, so that’s what will be filling the oven this afternoon and that lets me off my own hook.

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I’ve just finished reading Stephanie Barron’s novel Jane and the Twelve Days of Christmas. The fictional murder-solver is Jane Austen and I have, over the years, read the entire series. I love the structure, written dialogue, and spoken English of the mannered in the 19th century. I love, a little less, having to stop reading and refer to my dictionary quite a lot. Just a few examples:

buhl (also boule, boulle): 1) pieces of brass, tortoiseshell, etc., cut to make a pattern and used as decorative inlays, esp. on furniture, 2) work inlaid with buhl, 3) inlaid with buhl

shako: a cylindrical, peaked military hat with a plume

nuncheon: a slight refreshment, originally taken in the afternoon

brawn: a boar’s or swine’s flesh, esp. when pickled; headcheese

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And now, thanks to that little sister of mine, I must break my new routine of only checking my Facebook account on Saturdays. She’s traipsing around Italy, and Facebook is where she’s posting photos and the odd update.

 

 

 

 

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