Shortness of post is necessitated by the time. Why bother? Nearly three weeks ago, I committed to writing daily. Blogging seemed like a logical means to accomplish this. I expect others and myself to follow through on commitments. So here I am writing in the middle of the night.
Tonight I hosted a fund raiser for the Hilltop Senior Center here in Amarillo. We tried to sell tickets in advance but not all that many sold. The Director of the Center and I became a bit worried, but continued with planning, hoping some would show up even if at the last minute. They did. We had great Mexican food donated by Braceros on Sixth Avenue, wine, my wonderful well water, cheeses, fruit, and cakes. Even the silent auction proved to be a great success. However, nature became the real star of the event, nature and my dog Isabella. Unlike earlier in the week when the wind shrieked to 6o miles an hour creating several days of endless dust, today the wind laid low, the sun shone, and it was hot. This morning the heat went on and this afternoon the air conditioning as it rose to past 90. Thirty degrees difference between night and day is rather typical here and some days, like to day, this difference increases to nearly forty.
At dark the stars seem so much brighter out here in the country. Many of the guests walked back and forth on the patio, looking for different constellations. People came inside for a while only to go back out and look at the stars and the crescent moon. What I take for granted daily, became a wonder for my company. As I write this, I think about all the things each of us take for granted, things we eat, experience, feel daily. How often do we really take the time to appreciate these things, to realize that although they may be ordinary for us, for others they would be incomparable blessings. So now as I finish this, get ready for bed, and snuggle into my cool sheets, I will meditate and give thanks to the universe for the wonder of the stars.
Initially, I planned to continue my Apocalyptic Planet series, but today’s events caused me to choose otherwise. As I sit here writing this, I can see the endless blowing dust through the spotted window. Sometime today, while I was at work, it sprinkled while the dust blew. Now every window on the east and north side of my house appears as if someone had thrown handfuls of nearly dry mud at it. My black car looks the same. The wind whistles in the flue of the wood burning stove in my bedroom. This storm blows harder and longer than the one we experienced last week. Tomorrow they forecast more of the same.
Saturday I stopped by two greenhouses to purchase some hanging baskets and native flowers. The mesquite trees kept telling me, “Wait, wait. Cold will come again. Wait!” Normally, I obey what the mesquite trees tell me. They never come out until they know without a doubt the cold is over and they feel safe. I bought the flowers anyway. This coming Saturday, Hilltop Senior Citizen Center in Amarillo has their Gala at my house to raise money–complete with a silent auction, food, and drink to raise some much needed money. I want everything to look springlike and pretty. I heard the weather forecast on the radio coming home from work. I just looked again on the Internet. Frost predicted tonight and even colder tomorrow night. After I fed Rosie, placing the alfalfa as much out of the wind as I could, I brought the hanging baskets inside and poured a bunch of water on the other new plants. The native plants, tough, worry be little. The others will not survive 33 degree weather. Later, I will go out and cover them with old towels, hoping the wind relents and does not blow them off.
Everyone here posts photos of the dust on the Internet and gripes about this horrid weather. Although I certainly dislike it, I refuse to complain. This, too, is tornado country. I listened to the news this morning and again coming home from work. Thirty four dead, whole towns destroyed, a new school flattened. Here I see no devastation, only the endless, depressing, annoying dust and wind. My friends, family, and I are alive, our houses intact. Rosie huddles behind the barn, still healthy, neighs when she hears me coming. Gratitude engulfs me.
The iris I was hoping for.