“Do you know," Peter asked, "why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories.” ~ J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan


grrrrrrrr . . . and then there was light

welcoming july.  she's taken a long time to get here, and yet wasn't yesterday just christmas?  weren't we just fireworking in the new year?  and now here we are, summer's fireworks just a couple of days away.  i'm growing old - time flies past me and around me and all i feel is my hair, daily streaked with more white and gray, blowing in its wake.

i am up late each night, unable to sleep, and was there to say hello when july sashayed in under the stars and clouds, the shy moon stealing a glance for just a second.  we'd looked for the moon earlier last evening, sitting on the back porch, slapping away mosquitoes, talking away the darkness, but the clouds kept it hidden until later, when i was back in the house.  i caught a glimpse from the kitchen window, and then it was gone.  

i expect more tonight.  i expect its light to stream through my bedroom windows and give me an excuse for my wakefulness.  i expect to barely notice the exchange of sunlight for moonlight.  i expect the sound of cicadas and more mosquitoes and a bit of summer wind.  i expect the cat to yowl and the dog to growl and when i finally fall to sleep, i expect my dreams to be sweet ones.


title courtesy of a friend of a friend.  i wish i'd said it.



the cat's chair

i dreamed about draperies, sheer against a nighttime sky.
i could see the stars through them.

it's because the house is still a mess.  it's because i keep changing my mind about the new floor color. it's because because because.  


yesterday i was sure this new color, the one you see above, was too light, too gray, too everything.  i decided it needed to be darker, needed to be the color of a pair of old navy shoes i own, still taupe, but browny taupe, darker.  i was sure.  and then this morning i moved the furniture again, more of the floor needing to at least be primed, the couch now in the middle of the living room, just a bit of walking room around it.  i moved this chair onto a part of the floor already painted, this chair that i was so in love with back when it was new and perfect, this chair that the cat destroyed back when she was new to this place and there seemed no way to stop her, this chair that i eventually handed over to her - it's yours, i thought, and maybe even said out loud.  even though when i'd catch her scratching it i would stop her, i knew it was useless.  and anyway, the chair was less important, and i just covered it and i still cover it.  eventually there may be a slipcover because it's a comfy chair, and it holds all those memories of the months after my mother's death, when her cat became my cat. memories in the form of those scratches.  she was making her mark.  i've talked about this before, about how she mostly now uses the pear tree by the staircase, scratching right where maggie used to scratch.

but back to the chair, back to the floor that this morning i suddenly liked.  i keep leaning over from my spot here on the couch so i can see the chair sitting there.  it scratched a bit of the new paint when i settled it into place and that seemed kind of perfect.



late morning early summer

light and air.

i have paint on my fingers that won't come off.

i am painting the floor, changing my mind daily about the color, about the paint, about why don't i just move?, and then i look out the windows and i remember.  i open the doors and windows and junebugs make themselves at home, and also mosquitoes, and i am sticky and sweaty and dirt is under my fingernails and my hair gets in the way and in the paint and the color is different over here in the corner where no sunlight reaches, and i am grateful i can see beyond it all.  a table from the living room has been pushed to the bedroom, and i think it will stay.  i like the emptiness left behind when we move things and i want to throw everything out, and then i don't, and then i do. it's a seesaw summer.