THE LONG, HOT SUMMER

 Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

July has flown by. Today is my daughter's birthday. Tears came to my eyes Saturday afternoon when Sweet Cheeks and I discussed our supper plans because he seemed kind of grumpy, but what really bothered me is how much I miss her. I cried over my baby girl this afternoon. 

When we decided we really did want to go out for barbecue, I wore my earrings that feature a quotation from Sylvia Plath:

I want to be important by being different. These girls are all the same. 

My daughter is important by being different. I am not, but I did my best to give her the gift of support, love, and opportunities.

I saw the following Far Side today and shared it on Facebook:

I laughed over it because it made me think of Sweet Cheeks, who does not care to socialize and would probably be happy to hide underground when people come around.

Sweet Cheeks walks through my door almost every Saturday afternoon (sometimes he's on call and needs to be closer to his employer than my house allows) and stays until mid-morning or mid-afternoon Sunday. When he arrives, the dogs are the first to greet him, with tails wagging. He gives each of them some love. Then I get a greeting and a hug. 

We used to spend a large part of our time together dissecting the big stories in the news. Now we speak of the world less. The news is filled with pain. The House passed a bill to ban certain semi-automatic weapons. We know the Senate will cast it aside. As Sweet Cheeks said, Young men have to be able to buy their guns so they can go to schools to shoot children.

It takes a good guy with a gun to stop a bad guy with a gun? 

In Uvalde,  good guys with guns stood around, waiting. Waiting for what? 

Yes, a man with a gun stopped a shooter at a mall in Indiana. He's lucky he wasn't mistaken for the murderer and killed by the police. 

It's hot. So hot. July ends; August begins. The heat will remain oppressive until October. Then the nights will be a little cooler. The days will be 80 degrees instead of 90 something, and we'll breathe a sigh of relief.

For now, the sheets on my bed are a pale shade of rose and made of Egyptian cotton. They are cool and soft when my lover and I lie upon them to grant each other succor. Instead of talking about the news, we hold one another close.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug