Rites of the Season
The upstairs fan came on a few weeks ago–the first motor run since last year. It was the signal that it was time to pull down the granny attic stairs and open up the two windows up there. Rites of the season. There’s a good flow of air in this old girl of mine. With doors and windows open, I get a breeze most of the time that keeps the house cool except on days that are hot and still. There’s still snow on the mountains. We’ll have water all summer. Odd that we have to think about that even here on the Olympic Peninsula. I wonder how many of us think on a daily basis how lucky we are to have access to water…clean water.
The rhubarb is harvested, chopped, portioned, and frozen. At four cups to the quart, it will be enough for five and a half pies, if made in a 9″ shallow pie pan. I like measuring things that way…an old way. If given my druthers, I probably wouldn’t measure much at all…except for time, and I don’t even do much of that as I’ve never been fond of wearing a watch.
At six, I did have an original Mickey Mouse watch with a bright red shiny wristband and Mickey’s yellow gloved hands. Later I was given as a birthday present, a Cinderella watch. It had a pretty light blue fabric band. I liked that one better but still preferred measuring the hours by shadows on sundials or the trees in our backyard. School bells and busses mark the passage here in the mornings and afternoon.
I folded up my winter blanket and set it on the side of the foot of my bed. It’s always a gamble as nights can still be a little chilly and we’re in the “I’m too hot, I’m too cold stage” of the year, when I find myself kicking it off. It won’t matter for the next few nights as I’ll be in a sleeping bag outside looking up at stars. Rites of the Season.