Wednesday, May 29, 2013

I bravely planted corn and beans yesterday. Today a little more rain is forecast, and then we're supposed to get sun and heat and sun and heat, which is pretty much impossible to imagine, given the fact that we had a frost on Monday night. On the good side, the blackflies are flummoxed by the weather, and not a single one has bitten me yet.

So far I've spent the morning solving the problems of my worked-up older son, who thought he had a well-paying summer construction job for the summer . . . until yesterday, when his boss fell off the roof and J had to drive him to the emergency room. Things could have been worse (our friend only cracked a couple of vertebrae), but J's money-making plans were dashed. Fortunately, I have some pizza-making connections among my band members, so he's not entirely out of luck.

For his part, my worked-up younger son is consumed by track-and-field nerves, soccer-camp nerves, going-to-a-rock-show nerves, piano-recital nerves, etc., etc. It seems that the exigencies of Boy Land will be thriving this summer. And yet
                        Whatever we do,
Desiring, loving, possessing, suffering,
Is always only meanwhile.
says Milosz, and I sigh.


Rtuh said...

Nothing like worked-up children to increase adult blood pressure. Perhaps that is a sign of caring?

Maureen said...

Here, the ground has warmed sufficiently that the cicadas, some call them the dreaded Brood X, are coming up out of their underground shelters. Such strange insects. They'll be gone by July but in the meantime we get to enjoy their loud music-making.

Lucy B said...

While one of my earliest careers was in taco and burrito making, I think pizza making has equal potential for both building an appreciation of a staple food and learning that staples need some care. Meanwhile, perhaps, the vertebrae will heal faster than expected. For P, I have no remedy, except that after he does his best, I expect you or someone will give him a hug and maybe some strawberries.

Dawn Potter said...

At this very moment P is consuming grapes like there is no tomorrow. You're prescient, Lucy; fruit is always the answer for Paul. And Maureen: keep me posted on Brood X. I've been looking forward to the tales. I remember spending much of one childhood summer peeling their shed carapaces off fences, trees, etc., and leaving them on my sister's side of the bed, etc.