I’m an August baby. We are wonderful people, generally speaking, and can light up a room like sunshine pouring in through the windows even in the cloudiest weather, provided there are people around us.
It might be just me and not every August person, but when there is no one around and the clouds stay too long, my mood grows dark and brooding like a coming storm. Maybe I should be like a flower, feeding and basking in the rain, finding strength and beauty in the gray world in which they live. I’m not a flower, though. I love the first day of rain, especially as it is watering the yellowing lawn, and revitalizing the plants and shrubs. The second day of dreary weather darkens my soul. I feel I’m being pulled down toward a drain where the rushing water sucks at my life, covering me until I can’t breathe.
When the sun returns, as it will, I slowly return to a more ‘normal’ state of mind. I love the sunshine, so answer this. Why do I not love the heat? My body is revolted by it. Tremors and fever are the result of exposure to heat, along with nausea and exhaustion. Summer means long hours in my air-conditioned bedroom. It means being unable to be involved in every family activity. It means the very thing I love causes the thing that I hate, and that hates me.
I’m going to fight back. I’m going to buy a cooling vest. I will go to Hawaii next year. I will love the sunshine, I will snorkel, I will look weird in the vest, and I will survive the heat. It will be glorious.
I think I’ll get that vest very soon. This August baby is going to rock the rest of the summer.
So many gray days, no blue peeping between the clouds, and then – a day of light, fluffy white clouds drifting through a blue sky and my desperate dreams of primroses and crocuses become a reality. I love planning the planting, eager to weed out the weeds and feel the soil move as I prepare it for bright and varied colors and kinds.
Though I can do so little to make this happen I will enjoy doing what I am able to do. I will enjoy teaching my grandchildren to do things for me, and it will still be my garden. I think of myself as author, producer and director. But what if it rains every weekend until June? It won’t. It can’t. After rain there is always sunshine and clouds for dreaming and trees adding leaves. It’s spring and my garden will grow and it will be watered and fed, and after the rains I will sit on the back porch and saturate my soul with sunshine and flowers.
After the rain.
It is so hard to look out at the gray rainy weather and dream. This is the day for dismal thoughts and dreary outlooks. At least it’s not a monsoon, and I’m not out in the wind. There’s the Pollyanna side. I don’t feel at all Pollyanna-ish about it. I’m ready to shop for plants and flowering shrubs full of life and color, but not in this weather. It takes the light out of the day and brings an early nightfall and I sleep when I should be lit up with the joy of writing.
Ah, I just had a gray memory that was also bright. My grandma’s eyes changed from gray to blue-gray to bright sparkling blue depending on emotional state or the color of her clothes. I had bought a gray coat that I loved. Grandma loved it, too, so I gave it to her, not because I am such a wonderful person, but because I loved Grandma more the coat. One other neat thing happened when we transferred ownership of the coat: I discovered I was as small as my little Grandma! Unfortunately, it didn’t last, but it was a sweet gray time.