Crazy Hot

It’s hot in the Midwest. People do crazy things when it’s hot. Like my artist friend, Carol, for instance. We had a nice chat while she watched butter melt in a frying pan on her 104 degree deck. Her plan? Cook an omelet right there on the sweltering deck. That’s right, an omelet with mushrooms, peppers, onions…the whole shebang. She e-mailed me later. It didn’t work. The whole project was relocated to the kitchen stove. But hey! I give her credit for trying.

Then there’s my other friend Gina. She’s into yoga. Now some people like hot yoga and this weather doesn’t even register as warm in their book. Gina, however, decided it was too stuffy in the house for her personal practice so she took it out on the patio. Nothing wrong with that, right? But she felt that clothing was also a hindrance in the triple digit heat. She was upside-down when, through the splayed legs of a perfectly executed downward facing dog, she caught sight of the UPS man coming around the corner of the house. She had forgotten the note she taped to the front door specifying that, in her absence, the package should be left on the back patio. You don’t want to hear the end of that story. It wasn’t pretty.

For me, however, the weather is a perfect conditioner for my return to Bali in a few weeks. I’ve been shivering ever since I came back to Minnesota. Now summer has finally gotten her act together and other than an insatiable craving for DQ Blizzards which must be indulged, I’m as happy as a (steamed) clam.

Weathering Mood Swings

It is still cold. We had a day or two of high 80’s but that seems like eons ago. I’d like to say I’m not complaining, just stating facts. The truth is, I am feeling grumpy and growly and crosswise and I AM complaining! But I don’t like myself much when that happens so I decided to funnel some energy into more positive channels. I turned my blue funky mood into this poem.

Mood Swings

Heavy clouds leaking rain
cast cold shadows
across the slice of warmth
streaming through my window.
Steady drum of thunder
accompanies
staccato raindrop notes
pelting the glass.
My mood plummets
to the soles
of my feet.
I contemplate
spoiled plans.
There will be no
walk to the lake
for the outdoor concert.
Not today.
I pull a sweater
tight around my shoulders,
grumbling,
just as the slice of warmth
reappears
streaming through my window.
 

Of course the minute I sat down with my notebook and pen I was mentally in a different place. As I thought about the thunder and the rain and how to describe the way I heard it and saw it and felt it, I forgot to be grumpy. Then, by the time I had finished my poem, the sun was out. So…

I walked to the lake.

Rainbow over Lake Harriet in Minneapolis

Photo by Debbie Donovan

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