twists and turns

Navigating this summer is proving to be quite the challenge. My stalwarts let me down a tiny bit: the peace of Sorede in June was thwarted a tad because, well, I felt sick. On and off, but enough to throw me off. And then there were the ticks of Slovenia. Did I mention them? No? Well, there were forest ticks and we did not catch on until too many had found comfort in our skin. Now mind you, we have ticks in Wisconsin, but we know what to look for here. They caught us off guard in Slovenia. And then, finally, there is the matter of work -- but that's an ongoing story without a resolution yet, so I'll refrain from exploring that for now.

So why didn't I write about the sore whatever it is that was sore (actually: neck) earlier? And the ticks -- why just mention them now? Well, honestly, it was all part of the inconsequential. At the time. I thought -- if this turns into a crisis, then's the time to write. Ocean isn't a repository of all my concerns in life. I have far too many and Ocean is far too precious to waste time on most of them.

Today I spent time on work in my campus office and then on doctor visits and both were reassuring and so now I am less squirmy about the future and yet I have to ask -- is one ever un-squirmy about the future?

Let's go back to the beginning of the day. Breakfast, on the porch. I'm throwing the camera to the side of the garden, where I have let the tiger lilies do their thing.





Anyone in these parts of the country can boast of tiger lilies and frankly, they can be quite the proliferating nuisance, but still, I have good words to speak on their behalf. For one thing, they look great in a vase. Especially by the painting  put up today (on the cheap -- without a frame!) -- the one from Sorede, the one that now is prominently in the kitchen of the farmhouse.






The storms and rains broke through shortly after. I wasn't paying attention. I had work to do.

And so that's a good thing, no? When you are tied to work, you do not pay attention to that, which is best left forgotten. Storms pass, appointments are checked off, I come home. To my flowers.





All of them.






Supper is our usual simple summer fare.






No, wait. I should be careful with my choice of words: summer -- that gorgeous stretch of time when the sun shines down on us far into the evening hours -- never really offers up the "simple." It's like everything else  -- summer is merely a stretch of time. And you do with it what you can. And you appreciate the colors, the beauty of it all, but you know that it's all skin deep. Happiness is born of different things.

I try to tell Ed this, but he's still on Europe time or some other time -- one that has him fall asleep on me now for the third evening in a row. I can only hope that Isis will (unexpectedly) stay quiet tonight and not throw up, meow or do his other acts of July theater.