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The soft puttering sound of rain on the leaves surrounding our house is beautiful. The rolling thunder and the lightening are wonderful too. All of it is worth the annoyance of a piddlin’ lil’ migraine that accompanies a dramatic barometer swing.
By now most people have probably read bout the record smashing summer of Oklahoma heat. There were days when I looked up the temperature in Death Valley, CA and we were matching them toe to toe. I quit doing that after two or three times. There was at least one day, maybe two, when I refused to look at the thermometer at all. I began to feel as if I were the whiniest individual alive because all I could think about was how miserable it was in this oven where we existed. I worried about our well running dry. I worried about the plague of locusts. (I thereby questioned the collective noun of locusts.) The crispy brown leaves falling from trees caused me to fret. The limbs dropping from trees made me gulp.
Truth is – I was depressed by my climatilogical surroundings.
My emails to friends skimped down to nuthin’. If you’ve been reading my blog for very long you’ve noticed that the blog content of late has been primarily pretty yarn colors without much other content. I couldn’t write. Just couldn’t.
Twenty years ago, when I thought I wanted to be a novel or short story writer when I grew up (yeah really – the woman who stinks at grammar and sentence construction desired this beyond reason) I wrote an aching story about a woman living outside a small Oklahoma town in the midst of a unprecedented heat wave who by the end of the story was found wondering down the highway naked and delirious.
For two weeks that long ago story, which is probably still in my filing cabinet on a floppy disk, has haunted me.
But I won’t become her. Not this year.
I have survived.
Now that I feel as if I may just find my voice again there are stories to tell you – about Tess the dog, about the creek, about the farm… but not today. Today I’m celebrating.
Thanks for hangin’ around.