Summertime Curmudgeon

For some…
Summer is fruit drinks after being tanned,
Walks with popsicles and toes in the sand.
It brings surfboards with tiny two-piece fun
For hours and days beneath that never ending sun.

But for me, no way, I’m not budgin’:
For I am that notorious, summertime curmudgeon.

They run with joy, the summer folk
With coconut oil on their skin to soak
The kisses that the sun sends down
Flipping over any summertime frown.

Except for mine, this frown ain’t turnin’:
For I am that notorious, summertime curmudgeon.

Their speakers blare with top-forty pop
While glasses clink and selfies swap
From person to smiling person so hot
I think I might want to join them…NOT.

I pull my shades closed, my Netflix a-runnin’:
For I am that notorious, summertime curmudgeon.

An eternity it seems that the summer is here
And in Texas it sometimes lasts all year.
I should move way up north where there’s snow and big moose
And I’m far, far away from tropical smoothies and juice.

But that requires effort; I’m too busy being shut-in:
For I am that notorious, summertime curmudgeon.

Only a few more months, I can do this, I can.
Then autumn will come: I’ll make pies with pē-kan!
The leaves will turn colors and die and fall down
And then it will not be me with a frown.

Until then, in ice-blasting A/C I’ll be bummin’:
For I am that notorious, summertime curmudgeon.

20170623_144913-01

 

 

Turtle World

Reread this blog this morning, it being Father’s day once again. I love your little turtle world, dad, and I love that my life has been shaped by it.

A Donkumentary

For three days, I’ve watched a turtle become less and less a turtle and more and more a dark stain on the one road that leads out of town. I wished I had seen the turtle when it was alive: I would have pulled over to move it to the other side.

Once, when I was 10 years old, I sat in the passenger seat of my dad’s car as we drove along a similar country road—two lanes with woods and pastures on either side. I couldn’t tell you where we were headed or coming from, but I remember my dad suddenly slamming on the brakes of his car with a stick shift so that when reached his arm out across my chest instead of shifting gears, the car bucked violently and stalled.

I’d pinched my eyes shut during all of this and when I opened them, my dad was…

View original post 610 more words

It Bites

Ranch life just got more real.

For over two years now, King Ranch, Little Foot and I have been exploring the ever-offering wonderland that is our small ranchette in nowhere, Texas. We’ve seen the souls of donkeys (although not the bottom of them because to get there would require years and years and probably some NASA made vehicle). We’ve witnessed the one evening in late February where the knockout roses come out to dance their twirling dance and then go on spread their pink petals for the bees and for us all to enjoy. We’ve watched shooting stars and satellites and our hearts glide across the sky at night and the deep love that roosters can actually have for their hen companions. We’ve seen lives turn on and lives turn off just as rhythmically as the fireflies flash their sulfur yellow undersides around the pecan trees.

But like a vinyl record scratching and halting the blinkless stare we’ve had at the glittering world around us, we snapped into reality last weekend when King Ranch got bit by a brown recluse.

Before I go on, I should mention that he’s very thankfully doing fine. In comparison to accounts we’ve read of others who’ve been bitten by this venomous spider, King Ranch’s bite is minor (although it’s still gnarly and painful). No hospitalization has been required. Thank goodness, no vendetta required at this time. 

After we noticed the bite and then went on to spend hours researching brown recluses, their bites, the side effects, their behaviours, and more than I ever thought I’d know about any one kind of spider, I assumed they were these evil, drooling spiders waiting on the insides of cupboards to hop out at you and dig their fangs into your cheek. The thoughts of their long, thin legs intimidated me and even just typing this out, I can feel about 80 of them crawling along my spine.

But what I’ve read is that brown recluses are actually very shy spiders and don’t bite unless provoked. They have sloppy, unkempt, little webs, usually close the floor or on the insides of boxes, but don’t use their webs to trap their prey. They, instead, hunt their prey. They are identified and confirmed by two things: 1) the shape of a fiddle on their backs and 2) their six (not eight) eyes. They’re also called fiddle-spiders (aww!) They bite because YOU’RE big and scary.

20170615_101414-01-01

Still, the brown recluse, as shy and intimidated as they are, can do a lot of damage in their bites and lucky for us, King Ranch is fine, but what if it had been Little Foot? So since the bite, we’ve done an overhaul of cleaning out and inspecting our house and garage for any other introverted arachnids and, lucky for us, we’ve only found a plethora of house and wolf spiders which means that the recluse event was either isolated or they’ve all spoken to each other and hidden that much more diligently.

I guess the point of my posting all about this is to be aware—introverted and shy or not, the recluse can really do some damage if it feels threatened, so be careful. Look for brown recluse signs. Don’t keep cardboard boxes around your house or clothes on the floor because they love those hiding spots. If you live out on a ranch or anywhere in Texas, really, you definitely have them around, so be careful. All the rainbow glitter magic that’s swirling about your farm or homestead has an underbelly of creepy-crawlies that really just wants to be left alone. So be safe. 

In other news, if you missed this video on my Facebook or Instagram yesterday of Bunny trying to eat my phone, then here it is again. I’ve watched it at least 8,000 times and I’m still giggling. What a goose.

 

Brown recluse bites. Bunny bites. Nom nom nom.

June Afternoons

Long are June afternoons
Where the sun floats in blurry
Waves above every shiny surface,
Where densely-leaved trees sway
Lazily as if to fan themselves,
Where clouds thinly sprawl in
Wispy, white brush strokes across
Windless, endless blue sky.

Long are June afternoons
Where wonder floats gently like
Wished upon dandelions;
Scattered pseudo petals soaked in
The desires of dreamers and blown
Into directionless breeze.
Where thoughts dangle like dying lilies,
Drifting down petal by once vibrant petal.

June Afternoon

Rain Thoughts

It’s pouring outside. Like one of those real, north Texas, springtime storms that we haven’t had many of this year. I think about how many of my blogs last spring and the spring before were stories about hunkering down in these storms of epic proportions: the kind of storms from which tornadoes and old, forgotten childhood fears spiraled. But this year’s been different…only a handful of noteworthy systems have moved through our little town, most of which have been more wind damaging than anything. 

I’m also laying in my bed right now, typing this blog post on my phone with my right thumb because my left arm is wrapped about a sleeping, slightly snoring Little Foot. He’s started chatting in his two-year-old sleep recently, mostly about dinosaurs, cars, and sharing and it’s downright adorable. I wish, so badly, that I could see his dreams. What do the colors look like there? I wonder how many more times Little Foot will sleep curled up next to me. That’s one of those things I won’t realize it’s the last time until way after the fact. 

The plants outside must be thrilled: their roots are probably chugging the draining water with fury because it’s been that long since they’ve had a drink that wasn’t poured by me and we all know that water from a hose just isn’t the same. I hope that this storm refreshes my struggling garden and peps up the lawn a bit. We thrive on these storms and in their absence, everything’s just seemed…I don’t know…a bit off. Everything has been so tense and tired and stressed out. 

I know there’s a cliche metaphor in there: the whole, “can’t have a rainbow without the rain” concept. Which I mean, it’s true and I love that idea, but what I’m laying here thinking about isn’t what lies on the other side of this storm. I’m thinking about how much we need it and how much I’m loving this rain… The kind of rain that will take days to fully soak into the ground. How grateful I am for the fury of this storm upon us because I think everything needs a good wash out from time to time. A good cry. A purge of the build up that happens when it’s too hot and heavy for too long. 

There’s a meditation technique I learned once where you close your eyes and focus on one sound that you hear at a time. The rain. Little Foot’s heavy breath. The clock ticking in the bathroom. The chimes clanging outside. My own pulse… Can I really hear my own pulse right now? Or do I just feel it that heavily in my temples? 

Pitter-patter, inhale-exhale, tick-tock, clang-clang, thump-thump. 

It’s pouring outside and right now, I want it to last forever.