HOT ENOUGH to FRY PICKLES

"Hot weather opens the skull of a city, exposing its white brain, and its heart of nerves, which sizzle like the insides of a light bulb.And there exudes a sour extra-human smell that makes the stone seem flesh-alive, webbed and pulsing.." - Truman Capote

"Hot enough to fry pickles ...." was a favourite saying of my mother's in the summer.

Though I think we never did fry pickles. Just eggs. And they ended up more runny than anything. Sally, the lab from across the street, who came to visit,  always ended up lapping up the leftovers. 

My mother's hot weather solution was to rinse her hair with white vinegar. Then she's rinse mine with vinegar. Then she'd slap on mayonnaise as a conditioner. I felt like a Caesar salad.

Some of those hot summer days , and yes, there were some, she  would try and beat the heat in other ways. At the edge of the driveway, under the willow tree, she's set up shop. So the neighbours could see. And they always saw. They would wave.

There were endless jello popsicles. My mother made them almost every day. Problem is, they would half ways melt between the freezer and the willow tree. So, you'd smell like mayonnaise, vinegar and  have jello popsicles melting all over your hands. Win win all round.

My mother decided drinking scalding hot tea was the answer to cooling down.  As hot as possible. 

Then she would take a large metal basin, the kind her mother used to wash laundry in, place it in the shade under the willow tree, near the edge of the driveway,  and fill it with cold water from the hose.

She'd dump in as many ice cubes as could be scavenged from the freezer. Sometimes she would make a ring of ice in a jello mold.

If she had any  chammomile, she'd toss it  into the basin.  Then she'd take a chair, under that willow tree,  and plunk her bare feet into the mix.

For good measure she place sliced cucumbers over her eyes, cradling a teacup of hot tea, with her vinegar washed hair, with mayo and she's sit like that for ages. I frequently had to replace the ice or the tea. We'd wave at the neighbours across the lane.

One day she invited my violin teacher  over . On a really hot July day. And over she came. Expecting high tea, no doubt. 

Instead my mother  met her outside  with vinegar, popsicles, and ice cubes. 

And the two of them stuck their feet in the ice water, put cucumbers on their eyes, drank hot tea and ran vinegar over their wrists. My teacher stopped short of washing her hair in vinegar, or the mayo dressing.

Then they ate jello popsicles, even though they were all goopy and melting.

"Hot enough to fry pickles, isn't it? " My mother said. They waved at the post man when he cut thru the yard. He must have jumped 10 feet. Okay, five feet, when he saw them. My mother offered him a popsicle. He actually took it before heading up the hill to finish his route.

Sally  the lab came by that day. They fed her  leftover cucumber slices and  let her sit in the basin with the ice.

They smelled like a salad. They laughed a great deal. They were silly. It was nice. Really so nice. A wonderfully  silly hot day.

Photographs 2021

 

IMAGINE

                       "Everything you can imagine is real.." -Pablo Picasso

"Learn to light a candle  in the darkest moments  of someone's life...." -Roy T. Bennett

"Life isn't about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself." 

                                   -George Bernard Shaw

                                                       "Dream on it..." -T F. Hodge

"It's the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting. .." -Paulo Coelho, (Alcemist)

                               "You were born with wings..." -Rumi

"What lies behind us and what lies before us, are tiny matters compared to what lies within us. " -Ralph Waldo Emerson

   "Imagination envisions what could be..." -Craig D. Lounsbrough

"Promise yourself to be so strong that nothing can disturb your peace of mind..." -Christian D. Larson

"Imagine all the wondrous things your arms might embrace if they weren't wrapped so tightly around all your struggles.. " -Sheila M. Burke

"I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge. That dreams are more powerful than facts...."-Robert Fulghum

                                                 "A day will come..." -Victor Hugo

"And once the storm is over, you won't remember how you made it thru. When you come out of this storm, you won't be the same person who walked in..." -Haruki Murakami 

"Life is a shipwreck. We must not forget to sing in the lifeboats.."

                                                          -Voltaire

"Hope is the thing with feathers  that perches in the soul and sings the tunes without the words,and never stops at all. " -Emily Dickinson

"Imagine who you are, and then live it.." -Caleb Teal

"Do not let your fire go out, Do not let the hero in your soul perish. t he world you desire can be won. It's yours..." -Ayn Rand

"You can't imagine what is the strength of love..." -Sonal Takalkar

"When there is darkness, be the first to shine a light.When the day has ended, dare to be the best you can be....." -Steve Maraboli

 Photographs 2021

OLD HOLLOW TREE

"A child's world is fresh and new and beautiful.Full of wonder and excitement..." - Rachel Carson

It seems like it was forever, probably was, but THEY were always there.  First time we noticed them was in the summer. In June. In the Old Hollow tree. My father liked to lean his ear close to the rotten bark and pretend to hear the wind. 

They were little balls of butter sliding down that old hollow tree. We sat  on the porch most days. Six of them plopped down at the base. Very old tree that was threatening to topple. Tree that had the wind  blowing thru it, rain pounding it, moss hugging it.

Their Momma  came out of the underbrush. She  "Chirr chirred Mm-mmmmed" at them. The sixth one slid down to meet her and the others. Bandits. The lot of them.

They weren't scared. Just Curious.

And the summer lingered on. Babies became big babies. They tended to slide down the hollow tree ever day. Over and over. Like a child's game. Autumn came and they grew up.

Then next June came. First time we saw one was when we came into the kitchen. I'd left the door open. One baby was sitting in the cat's food bowl. He seemed happy there.  Chomping away on chow.

The cat glared at him. From on top of the table. He made weird noises at the baby. That was HIS chow. Baby was unpertured. We picked up the cat and tiptoed out to the hall. Put the cat in the bedroom. Closed the door.

My mother decided to sing. Her tuneless, off-key sort of singing. She went back into the kitchen and sang at the baby. Trying to get him to leave. Believe me, anyone would leave if she sang at them. It was awful. And she knew it.  Baby just  chewed. He left after a long while. His bloated belly rolled out the door.

That year there were only four babies. One was afraid to climb or slide.  Momma would "Chirr chirr" at him and he would come to the sound of her voice. She would cuddle the four of them at the base of that old tree. That old hollow tree. My father attached a plastic swing to that tree when I was little.  It was still there. The babies liked to sit on the swing.

Following year, the new litter developed a habit of sitting in a row, in front of the porch. They had figured out we left the cat's chow out on the porch. They liked that. They would steal it.Handouts.

My mother thought they were cute. At first she let them eat the cat chow. But then they were ending up in the kitchen and were hard to shoo out. And the cat didn't like it. So the cat chow was kept inside, with the door closed. But the lot of them would still in front of the steps. The cat would bug his eyes at them,  thru the glass. Na na na na naaaaah, is what I imagined him thinking.

Every year went by there was a new batch of bouncing baby butterballs.  Squirming. Sliding. Dancing. Playing in the hollow tree. the sounds of "Chir Chir Mmm-Mmm" echoing from the rotten bark.

A few summers later, we had company. They came in a big red car. Parked it in the old driveway.  They planned to stay just for a couple of hours...When they were ready to leave we went to see them off.

 Five babies were clambering all over the  car. They grabbed the windshield wipers , sat on the roof, peed on the hood. Momma circled. My mother broke her cardinal rule. She took a bowl of cat chow, rattled it and spoke to them in her sing song voice. 

They  perked up their bandit ears.  She put the cat chow at the base of the hollow tree. And they scampered to the bowl. Company escaped. They never returned. Can't say I didn't blame them. The cat clawed at the glass door.  We sat on the porch and watched them.

Every summer  they slid down that hollow tree, chewed on the swing cord, plopped on the ground, like shrimp balls. And the cycle would start again.

Until one winter a storm finally took down that old hollow tree. The one my dad thought wouldn't last and would finally fall. It never did, while he was alive. It took twenty years.  Not realizing how many bandits, and birds and garter snakes took refuge in it. 

Following year, there were six. Not sure if the  if the Momma recognized us. Instead of sliding down the old tree, her babies hopped and played on top of the bark, tussled with the fallen swing my dad had strung up for me.  No longer did they get to steal cat chow.   The cat guarded his bowl, from behind the glass door. Muhahhahahaha. While we watched them gamble about that old hollow tree, rotten and wonderful.

The "Chir Chir Mmm-Mmm" that signalled their arrival once more.....

Photographs 2021