Habits (and not the black and white cloth kind)

Some weeks are going to be better than others.

Some weeks will see more entries than others, more construction here than others, more organization, more wallpapering or painting or plumbing or …..


The wood stove is going over there, the kitchen over there, and the bedroom, well not tellin ya where THAT’s goin ’cause I gotta get SOME privacy…

This is initially at least PARTIALLY about making the habit of opening this window and actually writing something.  Again, some days it’s going to communicate and some days it’s going to be SLIGHTLY choate rants.


Today it’s a mixture.  


Here on the North Coast we got 4 inches of Partly Cloudy Spring in the yard, and it’s somewhere near freezing at 9AM.  This would just be disgusting on its own, but, well, it looks like my last Hyacinth may be toast (or mush) due to the cold.  Maybe I’m over-sensitive but those guys have been my Birthday Touch Stone since Spring of 1981, our first spring in this house.


I didn’t think much about the flowers planted by the folks who built this house and died in it, but one morning in the spring of 1981 I walked out the kitchen door enroute to the bus stop to bus in to the city for work and I was wrapped in inhalable wine.   The bed along the driveway sidewalk was FULL of Hyacinths and they were ALL in bloom.  Yes they are a fairly early flower here.   The fact that this was a couple days before my birthday made it s TREAT!

Over the years, my Hyacinth bed has gone from LOTS of them to a VERY few to now this last one.  I have tried to replant the bed more than once but we have a neighborhood skunk (one of the WHITE ones with a BLACK stripe) who PARTICULARLY enjoys when I try to resurrect my bed because all HE can think is LUNCH!!!!  So I will just hope that this last one is still fragrant next Wednesday for my birthday, and, if we’re still here in the Fall. I’ll work out some grid screening to set in the ground on top of a bunch of bulbs for next spring, for the next owners (I’mshalla and we get our tails to TX).


Texas.  Yes.  RELIC my bride and I are more and more in need of moving down to our motorhome which is sitting in Texas.  This winter damn near killed BOTH of us with pneumonia, and hers triggered her to non-insulin dependent diabetes.  Which put us both on a whole different eating plan, which means she has lost 24 pounds (of the ### she needs to drop) and I have only dropped about 10 of the ## I need to drop.   While we would BOTH lose the weight faster in TX because we’d be VERY busy, I don’t see us going there this SUMMER.  More like late October.  Why??  Because the North Coast (Northern Ohio) is like a Lorelei Seductive tart.  


This time of year she is incredibly willowy, and soft and seductive.  One touch on your newly hatless head of the  newly returned sun and your heart starts to speed and your breath quickens along with your step as you chase this lovely BARELY out of reach sylph.  By June, when the temp is rising, and you have caught up with her and life is just one warm invigorating day after a hot night after another you are SO drunk with her touch and her love that you can’t see much beyond her.   July and August come around and your love affair is SO torrid you aren’t thinking straight at ALL, and then Sept shows up and you start to notice the wrinkles a little more, and she gets a TAD bit testy about things and you aren’t QUITE so blinded by your infatuation.  And while some of those August nights might have cooled your ardor a tad, by September there is a seriously noticeable crispness in the air.  

By October your lovely willowy sylph is no longer willowy, but much more sharp.  She isn’t QUITE as loving as she is sharp edged and razor tongued.  And by Hallowe’en, she has turned a bony, cold back on you and the snows have come and there is no comfort or warmth to be had from her.


Yep, we hope to be outta heah by October’s end.  But for NOW, it’ll be 65 tomorrow, and in the 70’s for the weekend, so my Sylph awaits.


‘Til Next time, 


I remain, 

Chuck, your Backwater Ranter.


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