Hot-a Hot-a Hot-a!

It is 9:17 pm.  I’m hot.  It’s 63°F (17°C) outside right now, but today’s high was 82°F (28°C).  The warmth seems to be seeping out of hidden places.  Just enough of it to keep me on the edge of perspiration.

View Clubs!

Mountains, 3-12-13

Mountains, 3-12-13

Construction, 3-12-13

Construction, 3-12-13

Boone Sculpture Garden, 3-12-13

Boone Sculpture Garden, 3-12-13

Smushy!

Smushy, 9 weeks old.

Smushy, 9 weeks old.

They’ve been out of town visiting Grammy, so we haven’t seen them in several weeks.  A few weeks in the life of a baby is a long time.  He’s changed a lot!  My kids say he acts like a human now.  He focuses, smiles, coos, tries to use his muscles, makes a boo-boo lip when he cries…

Waaa!

Waaa!

He’s filling out and has the cuuuutest heart-shaped face.   Mama has asked for help, so Jess is starting to spend mornings with them.  They call her the cousin-nanny, which comes out “cuz’nanny.”  She basically plays babydoll with Smushy while that Mama Lady does luxurious things like vacuum and take slow showers.  Not a bad gig.

What else is there to report?  Inscape is finished and going to print.  Every year the English Department faculty read the pieces chosen for Inscape and pick one in each category to win a special award.  None of us editors won, but the pieces that did win were good.  My favorite poem won, which made me happy.  I tried to secretly share it with you, but the formatting came out all wrong.  Boo.

I am going to drive home with my windows down.  I shall leave you with one last image of late winter in Southern California, with hopes for all the frozen toes out there to thaw soon.

The dandelion:  unwanted weed or maintenance-free ground cover?

The humble dandelion: unwanted weed or maintenance-free ground cover?

Mellow Yellow Monday

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Yellow Parasols

Yellow parasols, courtesty of National Geographic.

I hate summer.  I don’t do heat well at all, especially when it’s humid. I feel like old wilted lettuce.  It’s hard to think or write or do anything, really.  These past couple weeks I’ve been living in my car, it seems, with the A/C runing full-blast.  I have to jump in the shower fully clothed before I go to bed, then sleep in front of a fan.  It’s usually this way until the very tippy end of October, and then I’m dissapointed because the rest of the seasons aren’t as rainy as I want them to be.

I can see myself in the above scene in a sarong, sipping mai-tais and other rocket-fuel concotions cleverly disguised with fruit and tiny paper umbrellas.  Every so often I’d venture out from under my pretty yellow parasol to stroll along the white sand and splash the azure water with a French-manicured toe.  Only it should be raining.  Thunder would be nice.  A light wind wouldn’t be amiss, either.  The resort staff can worry about the puddles and wet sand I track in.

Mellow Yellow Monday

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Potato chip bag

Empty potato chip bag.

It is disgustingly hot today. 98°F (37°C) in the shade on the north porch that never sees sun.  I’m at my parents’ house because I thought it would be a good central location for the people who needed my help today.  Alas, everyone’s plans changed.  I remain, however, in this climate-uncontrolled remnant of the past my parents call home.  You see, If go back to my own home I will bask in the air conditioning while I play mindless PC games, check my Facebook and email every 20 minutes for counterfeit signs of human connection, and get absolutely nothing done.  So here I sit in front of my laptop, next to a box fan, under a ceiling fan, blowing around a bunch of hot sticky air and trying to convince myself that it’s not so bad today.

Friends, 98° in the shade is a bad day.  I can’t fake otherwise.

So moving on to this happy yellow potato chip bag.  Rob hands it to me after emptying it and says, “Hey, check out this contest!  You know, people actually win these things, sometimes two or three times!”  You’ll notice near the bottom right corner, the bag says I could win a million dollars.

It makes me nauseous.  Deep-fried starch on a hot day doesn’t sound appetizing in the least.  Some fresh salsa sounds good, though.  Pico de gallo, specifically: tomatoes, onions, cilantro, and salt.  No jalapeños, no black pepper, not even garlic. Yum. I could eat that with a spoon right now.  It’s just gazpacho without the cucumber, after all.  “You should enter,” Rob says.  “You’re creative.”

Gaaawwwgh! Okay.

So I enter this goofy contest. Turns out it’s an app on Facebook, which doesn’t thrill me but since I have nothing better to blog about, I click it. I invent a flavor name (“Summer Salsa”), pick 3 ingredients (tomato, onion, and cilantro), and give it a description based on my inspiration (something about being hot hot hot today, an August heat wave, and pico de gallo).  It kicks back my description for adult content. wHaT?!  After three tries I take out the “hot hot hot” part, and that does the trick.  I even don’t want to know what kind of person would blush at that.

I can’t say my new flavor is creative, but there it is.  Maybe I should come up with “Potato Salad,” but what kind of flavor ingredients would that include? Pickles? Hard-boiled eggs?  Mayonnaise?  HA!  Wouldn’t that be the most white-bred potato chip flavor ever?

I think I’ll go work on that.