Dusty day

Still no rain this week. The lawn, such as it is, has browned up nicely and those odd weeds that thrive in drought have popped up here and there, the kind that make you think you should mow the grass just for the sake of cutting those weeds. Each day for the past two weeks we’ve pulled into our street wondering if the tree surgeon had come to slice and dice our big evergreen out front, half expecting to see a pile of pine rubble where the monster once stood. So far, the tree still stands, heedless of its fate.

In the backyard, most of the pansies have withered away, sun loving though they maybe, they still require a modicum of water that must now come from the hose, if I can stir myself to go out and sprinkle them at all. The dogwood leaves look ready to fall, discolored by drought, though I do dump some water on it every couple of days. Meanwhile, we are ensconced in air conditioned comfort keeping the August heat and humidity at bay.

Six year old Max was trying out a new word this week. I was sitting with ice on my knee and he looked over and said, “I would be pleasured to bring you more ice when that one wears out.” I knew what he meant, though. Later, when he was headed home, Nana Kathy thanked him for doing something, and he replied, “It was my pleasure!” On Saturday we went to an early soccer game to watch him play and got there a little late. It was already hot by 10am and Max was in no mood to race around a soccer field. He sat out the third quarter and reluctantly agreed to play goalie for the final stanza (as the sports writers say). No threat to his team’s unblemished record as most of the action as always was at the other end of the field. Just as well as Max managed to get a good dust storm going at his end, kicking dirt and ignoring the game.