Gripes and Groans

 

               Gripes and Groans

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The tree tops are doing the bendy splits against the sky. I am not having a good day. The Pacific storms continue to line up like a pre-school crocodile, one by one, holding hands, coming to get us. Coming to torture me.

Okay. Okay. I get it. Storms are not personal attacks. I’m not that important. If I’m going to gripe, might as well gripe big.

Pollen, we have pollen, we have lots and lots of pollen, to paraphrase an old song. Might as well sing. When the wind blows big, like now, pollen adheres to every pore, as you know, with the Montana winds. To me, pollen means runny nose and eyes dripping down my face. As you probably know.

My cousin Nancie has been here at her rancho home in Etzatlan a mere two weeks, a lot of that time, down sick. We’ve not even had a good visit. I urged her to go see the doctor. I was worried. She went, whether at my urging, no matter. Nancie has the flu.

Remember when we were children and we’d get sick, and to get well, it always meant a stick down your throat to make you gag and a shot in the rear? They still do that here, the shot, no age qualifiers. If you get sick, you are likely to suffer the indignity. I have. It works. Nancie is on the mend. Pat is down with same.

I’m not all gripes. Three more friends arrive this week. I’ve got a slab of sea bass marinating on the counter, fresh strawberries and whipping cream. I’ve a good book at hand, a comfortable home.

Despite the winds, I have a yard full of flowers and hummingbirds and butterflies. I have 3 new cotton ball cocoons hanging on one of my papaya plants.

My cousin feels better. I have friends who like me and a dog, whom I choose to believe adores me. Can’t ask for much more than that.

The wind will quit howling and settle down to its normal gentle breath. Won’t it? The raging Pacific storms will attend anger management classes and return to, well, pacific. Won’t they? The sun will soon brighten the sky. Won’t it?

The good Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, I hope to see what tomorrow brings me, good and bad and in-between.

Sondra Ashton      Looking out my back door

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