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Watering more than the yard ...

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  Porch Notes … (from the patio) Have you ever watched your sprinklers sprinkle? While smelling the water like it was rain? No, I haven’t ‘lost it’. I’m just enjoying it … for two reasons. One. It’s my ‘designated’ watering day, so I can. I admit this would probably be more fulfilling on a ‘non-designated’ watering day, or ‘no designated’ day at all. It doesn’t set well with me anymore when the government tells me what I can and cannot do. But alas, I get a low water supply in a drought and summer heatwave. It’s been enough to make you want to cry over your plants and parched yard. Not to mention the shriveling foundation. Pretty soon I won’t be able to open or shut our bedroom door at all if we don’t get some much-needed relief in the way of a good ole thunderstorm. So for now, I’ll sit outside and watch those beloved sprinklers sprinkle, praying for rain. Two. It’s really really quiet this morning. Shhhh … you can hear the silence. Okay, there were lawnmowers out on the golf co...
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  Drunken Chicken ...    I know. It's not what it sounds. We don't have a chicken coop, and I wouldn't have watered em with booze. Not in this heat anyway. Although when I was little there was that one mean chicken at my MaKee's farm that chased me around and around in the yard. Gave me nightmares for weeks. I still remember it to this day. Would have given it shots of tequila and not batted an eye. That tone set in childhood, I'd probably not make it as a 'Coop Mother'. Same as a den mother .. but different.  Although I have plenty of friends who can and do. Julie, in particular, can tame any beast she sets her mind to .. well, except for her new lab puppy. Other than that, she manages her farm and all its creatures with what looks like the ease of Noah on his Arc. Her chickens fawn all over her like she was Mother Goose herself. I didn’t get that mothering chicken gene. I cook mine. With no regrets. Chase me in childhood, and I'll eat you in adulthood....
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Passing the Porch   “I just want to go home,” I told hubby, after hours of researching fly fishing trips in states I knew nothing about. “I just don’t think I want to fly anywhere right now, and I miss home.”   In the fiery heat of August, a bucket list trip to the mountains to go fly fishing for my birthday sounded like the perfect getaway. Until in my post-moving fatigue, I started looking for guides, lodging, and flights. Then my brain was flooded with so many choices, like walking into a Costco without a shopping list. I was already low on gas and trying to map out new destinations.    And what happened to direct flights? Evidently, they were wiped out by their own pandemic. Trying to make connecting flights in an era of never-ending flight delays, cancelations, and ‘flightmares,’ was just not appealing to my weary soul. I was looking for peace, comfort, and the coolness of mountain lodges, not a stuffy overcrowded overnight stay in an airport terminal. Thus, fly...
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