Waking Up, Trying To Focus, and Wondering Why

Amazing how unexpected little things completely derail all my plans. In this case, the little thing was two wasp stings on the top of my middle toe, early last Friday evening. The stings burned like the dickens when they happened, but ice and cortisone cream seemed to keep a major reaction at bay for Friday night and all day Saturday. But on Sunday morning the assaulted toe and both its neighbors were swollen, itching, and angry red. Out came the Benadryl tablets, which successfully tamed the itching and swelling, along with disconnecting me from all higher cognitive functions.

So I’ve not done any real harp or recorder practice. I’ve tried to get my fingers to stretch and wrap around my new tenor recorder, with limited success. I’ve not written anything about my week at Mountain Collegium. Not posted a photo for the weekly photo challenge. Not worked on any of my house or yard or garden projects. But I have slept well and often – oh, so very, very well!

It’s been a good week to live in a dimly aware haze. Temperatures are once again in the high 90’s with humidity to match. I couldn’t get a shoe on my right foot until yesterday, which was all the excuse I needed to avoid the hot early morning dog walk. But yesterday the foot consented to being crammed into a sneaker, and the dog and I ventured forth about 7:30 a.m.. We returned 30 minutes later dripping and sweat stained. At least I was. Charley immediately resumed her belly-side down position on the hardwood floor in front of the air conditioning vent, so I suppose that if she could sweat, she would have been dripping and sweat stained as well.

Today is no better. The morning walk was even hotter. Watering the garden feels akin to trying to create a water hole in the desert – no matter how much water I pour on the vegetable beds, the squash and cucumber plants are drooping before 10:00 a.m., and the tomatoes are shriveling and drying on the vine, giving a whole new meaning to “sun-dried.” The late maturing blueberries fall off the bushes still pink and unripened. Even the okra, that tropical hibiscus relative, refuses to grow or flower in this heat. The atmosphere feels explosive, but we’ve had no heat-relieving afternoon storms so far. It’s beginning to look like it will take a hurricane to break this weather pattern and bring us rain.

A week later, my toe is back to its normal size and is only a mottled shade of magenta, so I’m bidding a fond farewell to the Benadryl and its accompanying unconsciousness. I hope to be back on the harp bench tomorrow. But this afternoon, I think I’ll have just one more blissfully air-conditioned nap.



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