Cool It

Last week at the beach we found a chart that reported the monthly average temperatures for that location. As I've mentioned, we didn't really need to look at August, but it was surprising to note that September was usually some 10-15 degrees cooler than the weather we were sweltering in. How can that be? we wondered. September was only two weeks away, and it would take a major change in the weather to meet that published statistic. It seemed preposterous.

Back at home, though, there are subtle signs that suggest summer is flagging, ever-so-slightly: The heat is less intense; the days are noticeably shorter; the humidity slumps; Orion's shoulders, Bellatrix and then Betelgeuse rise in the southeast just ahead of the sun. The psychological effect of getting ready to go back to school may contribute a little bit to the tiny chill (the first big meeting of the year is tomorrow), but I don't think so.

Fall is coming.

The Splitties

Some of the tomatoes in our garden split on the vine before we can pick them. I did a little research and discovered that a lot of water at a time (say, for example, the torrential downpours we've been having this summer) can cause the fruit to swell quickly and crack. The skin around the fissure toughens a bit, but otherwise, these tomatoes are as tasty as any.

One of our roadtrip audiobooks this summer has been The Uglies by Scott Westerfeld. For those who are unfamiliar, this is the first in a four part series (followed by The Pretties, The Specials, and The Extras) that takes place a couple of hundred years in the future. Some sort of bacteria that feeds on oil, both raw and refined, and then causes it to explode has brought about the demise of our civilization. We have been replaced by a group who is, on the surface, much more eco-friendly and politically correct then we ever were. One way that they ensure equality is by conducting extensive plastic surgery on every citizen once they reach the age of sixteen so that they will become one of the "Pretties." Before then people are known as "Littlies" until the age of twelve and then "Uglies" until their operations.

Obviously, two of Westerfeld's major considerations are nature and perfection. My mind wandered to the book this evening as I visited my garden after a week away. So often, we have an image of visual perfection in our mind that has nothing to do with what's best. Homegrown produce can be beautiful, but a lot of it is not quite fit for the grocery store. Despite its superior flavor, it doesn't always look flawless. No matter-- I took my splitties and went home to prepare a very pretty salad, and better still? It was delicious.

Record Time

I live with a person who finds it essential to unpack everything the minute we arrive home from any trip or vacation. After that classic Saturday morning whirlwind to empty the rental property before 10 AM and then ten solid hours on the road, we hit the front door with fully-loaded minivan less than an hour ago. As of this minute every single item has been carried in and removed from its suitcase or bag: seventy-five percent of things have been put away; ten percent waits neatly by the attic stairs (along with the luggage), and the other fifteen percent is in the washer.

Is it a boon or a bane? Why don't you be the judge? I'm too tired to decide.

Same Old, Same Old

The weather forecast is remarkably consistent here for the month of August-- pick a day, any day, and you can be pretty sure it's gonna be 88 with a chance of thunderstorms. It's amazing the variation we have experienced within those seemingly cookie-cutter days: one day the breeze on the beach is offshore and cooling, another it's onshore and really hot. Some days the thunderstorms rumble through with a few dark clouds and raindrops, other days they don't show up at all, and sometimes we are absolutely deluged.

Today we had it all. Hot in the morning, breezy midday, one peal of thunder and a few drops in the afternoon, and then one hell of a downpour around 5. Tonight hundreds of huge dragon flies are diving through the still sunset-- there's no wind at all so they can fly-- and dozens of bats are close behind.

To be honest, none of this weather is to my preference. Those who know me know I am a daughter of the constellation Orion; I love cool days and cold, clear nights, but if the Eskimos have forty words for snow, then the Edistonians should have at least that many for hot and humid, and as a writing teacher, I appreciate that.

Photographs and Memories

I got a new app for my iPhone today. Called Hipstamatic, it makes the digital images that the camera takes look more like snapshots taken on film. Square with a white border and saturated color, these pictures seem to transport their subjects forty years or so into the past.

The beach is an ideal setting for such a concept, and I loved every single picture I took today. In them children and dogs play, people relax, and brightly colored suits, towels, and buckets pop against the sand washed in the sun. The sky and ocean are impossible shades of blue and green, and every cloud is perfect: just like it was when I was a kid.

I should know-- I've seen the pictures.

Save the Turtles

When Mom and Heidi took their customary walk on the beach this morning they were haled by a couple of ladies with the honey drawl of these parts. In short, we had left our outside lights on overnight and that's a no-no around here. This beach is one of the few where the endangered loggerhead lays her eggs, and from April to October the community observes some simple practices to assist these turtles and help to increase the odds thet their offspring will survive.

The women were actually members of a local turtle patrol. Later we found a postcard-sized message wedged into the outlet by the outdoor light switch that explained everything. (Those turtle ladies are efficient!) It seems that when the young turtles hatch, it is the light of the moon that draws them into the sea. Household illuminations can distract these newborns with disastrous consequence; once turned around hatchlings rarely find their way to the ocean.

I want to do all I can to preserve this (and any) species-- really I do-- but I confess that I'm a wee bit conflicted. On the one hand there is the pathos of those infant loggerheads heading with all of their innate instinct and determination in a direction exactly opposite of the one they ought to go. Then there is the notion of natural selection. Hey! Dumbass! The ocean is over there!

Don't worry. The lights are out.

Cogito Ergo Queritor

People don't always play the way you want them to. Some build sand structures, and others enjoy destroying them. Some are aggressively competitive in games, and some are politely cooperative. Some people prefer to pursue the impossibility of preserving pristine playdoh while others like to mix it all up.

What to do? As annoying as it might be, if you just take your quirkle blocks and go home, you'll miss all the fun. Eventually you've got to work it out. Does it really matter if you like reading on the beach or reading in the recliner, hot dogs or seafood, getting up early or staying up late? It's only a problem if you think it is, and who wants to do so much thinking on vacation?