Storms and gardens...

 A hurricane is passing by New England today and tomorrow. The air is still and thick and the distance view over the ridge is broody. 

Up close, though, the gardens are full of color. All my flowers this year were either gifted to me in the spring or volunteered from seeds left behind last year. The beds look a little reckless and wild but are certainly bright and cheery. 

The Cosmos are taller than I am, and dance and nod in even the slightest breeze. 

These are mystery flowers, I'd love to know what they are. 

The birds plant sunflowers for me every year. Those happy golden faces nodding in the garden make me smile. 

Zinnias are so hardy and bright. The hummingbirds love them and buzz from one brilliant bloom to the next, drinking deeply. Soon they will migrate south, fueled by flowers.

A sweet customer brought us this jewel-tone bouquet yesterday. The long view outside may be a little gloomy, but the garden is glowing. 

Senility...

 See this face? It looks so innocent. So pretty. Surely, someone, you would like to know. 

But she's really a little MEAN. 

Here is an example. She likes to make me question my mental health. How you may ask? Well, let me tell you. First, there is this, "Mom. Remember to call Mrs. W. She called last Friday! (accusingly) She wants to know what brush she should buy for her dogs" My mind goes into turbo overdrive. Mrs. W? I know her. I know her dogs. I have zero memory of why I am supposed to call her.  Moments later, when I am in turmoil of wondering how I forgot to call this woman, my dear daughter says, "I didn't tell you. She called and needs you to call her back." Phew. I guess my aging brain is not at fault here. 

Then there is this. 99% of the time I make my bed in the morning. Smooth sheets, spread up and lovely, toss pillows neatly arranged. Once in a while, in the summer, I leave the bed "open," because it has been a hot and sweaty night and I want the sheets to air out. This was the case recently, yet when I went into our room that evening I found our bed all nicely fixed. I knew I had left it unmade. My husband sometimes makes the bed but he is not a fan of extra pillows and demonstrates his distaste by refusing to put them on, so clearly, he had not made our bed. Besides which, he was gone early when I was still in repose. I had felt a little bad, all day, that I had not made our bed. But THIS bed was neatly made, with pillows in place.  I froze in confusion.  I had left the bed unmade. But here it was, all pretty, with pillows. I questioned my sanity. I contemplated my drooling future. I wondered if I should quickly invest in nursing home insurance.  Then I remembered my daughter had been upstairs that day. She was clearly the one that made the bed. And made me question my brain function. She looks cute. But really? She had a little evil in her. 

Visitors and everyday life...

 Because Maine is "Vacation Land," lots of people come here to enjoy the beauty and wonder of New England summers. Some of those people land at our house, and for that we are glad.  This summer we've had friends and family popping in for a few days at a time often enough that the guest room has stayed fairly full. We cook a little, laugh a lot, and are sad to send them on their way when it's time to go. 

Chris keeps the grill going... chicken, steaks, and if we are lucky, he smokes ribs. 

Much like my father before me, I can't get enough of fresh-picked corn on the cob. This time of year we get it from the local farm stand, still warm from the field. I love it grilled, with the kernels just slightly golden from the kiss of the fire. Here are some that are almost ready to make my tastebuds happy. 

Deb came and stayed a few days. She kindly treated us to a cruise on the Appledore, a lovely wooden sailboat that summers in Camden. We've been on her before and always enjoy the ride. 

All in all a perfect outing. 

This past weekend Rachel and I drove to Freeport to do a little shopping. Niece Aimee met us there. We had a few specific things we were looking for, one being outfits for Aimee and me to wear when we officiate at her sister's upcoming wedding in Maui. Aimee suggested that it might be whimsical if she and I had matching outfits. I thought this was a marvelous idea until I really gave it a think. Aimee is in her 30's, tall and willowy, with a fashion-model figure. I'm in my 60's and best described as round. I couldn't imagine any style of clothing that would flatter both of us. But you know what? We found something!  And it was lots of fun. We had some lunch while we were there, and I sat across from Rachel, where I could admire her, all glowing and beautiful as she nears her third trimester of pregnancy. 

We found a few treasures for the baby at a consignment shop and tucked them away. We will be needing them before we know it.

One of the things I love best in the world is to paddle my kayak around a quiet lake.  Chris kindly suggested we do just that yesterday. He is not really a fan, finding the boats worryingly wobbly. I let him ride in my big, new kayak, while I sat in one of our older ones. I was convinced that he would love the new one so much he would catch my enthusiasm for the hobby. I was wrong. But he's such a good sport, and I, at least, had a magical hour. 

Neighbor Cheryl stopped by Saturday night for a beer and some conversation as dusk gathered over the pasture. She was regaling us with a story about having to call a friend for help to move a recalcitrant pig. It occurred to me that she often tells us of asking people for help moving animals or solving farm problems, but she's never once called on us. As these emergencies often seem to happen at night, I didn't feel too sad about it, but it did occur to me that she must think we are completely incompetent. And she's probably right. Then Sunday night I got a text as I was headed up to bed, "Are you awake? I need help." I laughed at the ironic timing and asked what she needed. Apparently, some of her baby cows had discovered that the hot wire to their pasture wasn't working and were taking turns dancing in the road. Their mothers didn't care to test the wire, knowing from experience that electricity hurts, but the innocent babes had not learned the hot wire lesson well enough yet. They were on one side, their worried mamas on the other, bellowing their concern into the mosquito-laden nighttime air. Chris unhooked our fence charger and we drove up. It took a while and involved running a long stretch of extension cord, but soon we were rewarded by the disgruntled yelp of a bull calf as he met a few thousand volts of electrical current.  The little renegades headed for the soft bed of hay in the center of the pasture and called it a night. 

We humans headed to our respective homes to do the same. 

It's summer in Maine, and I get to be here for every day of it.