A place to sit.

The bench I finally moved from the garage to the tree, calls to me each day. It’s the only spot I can enjoy outside, as there’s nothing like it near where I live. Hidden, unless you know where to look, yet affording me a full view of the place. I sit with my newspaper after I return from the mall and if I’ve been forward thinking enough, I have a cup of McDonald’s coffee with me. Evenings, I’ll bring a glass of wine or a cup of water and ice, sit reading my Audacity of Hope book. If it is a humid evening, I’ll light a citron candle to discourage the flying bugs.

In the mornings the sun rises behind me, over the berm that protects the land in this holler. In the evenings the sun sits behind the building and in both times the bench is in shade. I’ve thought of putting a metal mobile fire pit nearby so I may enjoy the bench later in the year when evenings are cool, even cold. I may do that.

Rain

Rain among other things is heavy and loud and wet.





Approaching rain in the country is smelled as well as announced by the sound coming through a field or a copse of trees in a wood. In the city rain is not heard until it arrives.

One day this week after some time of dryness, rain fell just as I left the front door. As I pulled on socks and tied my shoes I had put the ear buds in for the iPod, so instead of rain I heard a poem read by Garrison Keeler. Stepping out the door turning to lock up, I stepped from under the roof into sprinkling rain. I walked to the garage and stood just inside the door watching as that little bit of rain tuned into a downpour. I’ve heard rain and thunder and lightening described in mythological ways; thunder was God bowling or lightening was anger being thrown and rain was water poured from a bucket onto the earth.

Rain in summer is welcomed to satiate a thirst.

That morning I was accompanied by hard rain. Into and out of buildings, the rain seemed to slow when I was under cover. Out the door of the mall or the post office, it started again dampening me and beating onto the truck so hard it filled my ears with its sound. I stopped for gas putting in my usual ten gallons. All the while the rain fell onto the asphalt outside the metal cover at the pump. I pulled into the bank drive-in up close to the window and my favorite teller called my by name remarking on the rain.

I arrived home again and put the truck in the garage. When I again stood at the garage door the downpour had become a gentle sprinkle. I walked over to the door and as I unlocked the rain stopped.

Cake

It won’t be long until the cake time is here. I’ve practiced twice with the two cakes I’ll enter in the state fair August 11th. I made the big white cake and the pineapple upside down cake for the cake booth at the St. Agnes Carnival two weeks ago. Then the week after I made both cakes and gave them away. Reports were good so I’m hopeful again this year.

During a re-run of Martha’s Show this week, a man made an astounding coconut cake. He didn’t separate the eggs. He put the whole eggs in the batter. He used 2-10” cake pans. He also split his 2 baked layers into 6 layers. His filling was different from his frosting. He used European butter that cost $6 a pound! Consider the cost of this spectacular coconut cake; 6 eggs, 6 ½ cups cream, 2 ½ pounds of butter, 6 cups white sugar and 5 cups confectioner’s sugar. The completed cake weighs 15 pounds, and a single slice weighs one pound! He sells 20 a month and ships them overnight anywhere. The cake cost $100. I’m not going to check out the shipping.

The white cake recipe I’ve been using the past four years is a variation of another “Martha” cake. To keep it a white cake I separate the eggs, saving the yokes for something else and whipping the whites. Then for the final assemble I gently fold the whites into the batter. This adds height. I use 3-9” pans and split each baked layer into two. I make the frosting from a traditional 7-Minute Icing recipe but split it into two bowls. To one I add either raspberry or apricot preserves, using this mixture between the layers. I finally cover the outside of the cake with the pure white frosting.

One thing he does is as he assembles the layers is drizzle simple syrup over the layers to make them moist. I may do that myself with a variation.

I’m going to cut down the coconut cake recipe and make a 1 layer version as a test. If it tastes better than my recipe, I may make the investment and bake the coconut cake without the coconut!

Geese across my path.

Driving on a usual road one morning, I was delayed by a group of geese friends walking across my path from the field bordered by trees where they sleep each night, to the side of the road where the creek flows. These mid July mornings are cool. A few days the humidity is low. There’s no bite to the air as in mid October. It is warm but if you don’t have to load a truck, you remain cool.

This small welcome delay has occurred before. Once in the afternoon with a friend, we were headed back from the errand. I had my camera with me and the geese group was heading to the field rimmed by trees. Cars approaching us stopped as we did. Five minutes after we had stopped all webbed feet were in the grass, standing as they often do, conversing with one another about all matters of interest to geese.

This morning the lead goose had gotten half way into my lane and I could have quickly gone around him to save those moments waiting for the flock to pass. I stopped and with the windows down on my truck I heard the quacks from the group. These were not harsh squalls often heard standing on the ground as a wing of geese fly toward the south. This was the soft sound of communication between the birds.

I wonder how it would be to be a goose, whose only industry is to sleep in the shade of a wood, eat of an open field of fescue, and walk to the other side of a road to the creek. Although I cannot see into the creek when I pass, as it is deep in an earthen gully, I imagine floating on the cool brisk flowing water, ducking my head to eat water bugs, and bringing my wet face up out again, fed. Does drama occur in a flock of geese? Are there rivalries between the males and females? I do not want to do research this to the extent I would learn the answers. I like believing in the idyllic life of geese.

The Nap.

In the heat of summer when after noon the sun is hard light and the air is still thick and hot, a nap beckons. To be lying on clean cotton under a ceiling fan, air cooled by air conditioning, without interruption by phones or a knock at the door is a luxury few of us have as a choice. Yet when talking to friends or business associates I’m surprised to hear naps are normal for some.

Just this morning a segment on one of the annoying morning shows was about sleep. Americans don’t get enough sleep. We a gain weight if we don’t get enough sleep. Every adult should get at least 8 hours and 10 isn’t too much. Think of that.

Some employers have set aside rooms and beds for naps. In large cities, there are nap businesses just down the street from the huge office towers, so workers can stop by for a forty-five minute nap. I figured it out, if we work the new 4 day week, 12 hours a day, nap every day and sleep 10 hours recommended, there’s only 6 hours a day left for everything else.

I think of those 18 months I worked two full time jobs and am amazed.

A full moon is coming.

Hot summer days often start with cool sunny mornings. I cannot describe the way I feel when I drive out of the lot up the hill and sun hits the front of the car. I wear sunglasses and that’s a good thing, for I would be blinded without them. This same trip most days of each week illustrates the change that comes as the sun and the moon make their trips with the seasons.

How long have these same paths been traveled and this same land witness to the sun and moon.

I noticed when I was out last night that the moon is near full. It was bright in the sky. Tomorrow night it will be full and when I drive up the hill to leave the next morning. On Wednesday or Thursday this week the moon will linger there above the sun.

Another astounding thing is that every human on the earth, this small blue marble, sees the same moon and the same sun, when they look up. The bright blue sky above my yard, near the trees and the wild honeysuckle, is the exact same sky seen by a young boy in Iraq or a woman standing under her laundry in Peru.

Books have history.

A vice of mine is purchasing hard cover books. I don’t buy paperback books. I buy hard cover books. This is a habit of long standing and would be the last thing I would give up before shelter and food.

Friends sometimes give me their books, if they need the room. It is fun to see what I end up with. One time by organizing what I had, I discovered I had two books written by Colon Powell. I knew I hadn’t bought them, but there I was with two of his books.

A friend recently gave me three books. They were very old. Her mother had died and these were in her things. There were inscriptions in two of them but my friend said the names were not familiar. This makes me wonder, did her mother purchase these at a tag sale or had a friend given them to her.

I have very few books with inscriptions. In books that were given to me as gifts there’s sometimes a note of who gave the gift with the date. There’s a couple signed by the author when I had a bookstore as a client. These days I only write inside the front cover the date I finished reading them for the first time.