Tonight, in spite of air conditioning, the air inside feels muggy. Until I open the sliding door to the deck; out there I find a night as steamy as Mum's kitchen on her washing nights of fifty years or so ago, when she would boil our sheets in a dolly tub after work. I slip back inside quickly, with gratitude for even a few degrees of difference in temperature.
This was a day of earthquakes and tornadoes in Ontario. I wonder if they were triggered by the fact that at work we held Mock Emergency drills in York and Simcoe. Did the weather want to add some authenticity to our pretend "widespread power failure?" Many people are experiencing the reality of what we role played.
I just fell over a pile of golden fur lying outside the bathroom door, strategically placed as a hurdle for someone exiting the bathroom bent on preparing tomorrow night's cell group dinner. Paul pointed out, not helpfully, that I have fallen over in dog accidents three times recently (I only mentioned two on them here if you are counting.) He's right, but there is a time to point such things out--or perhaps not...
Molson and I lay blinking in a dazed pile for a few moments while we both regained our equilibrium. Two granddaughters came running, hair flying, eyes wide with alarm, to see if we were both all right. Convincing them that I was, convinced me.
So I lean into two blogging friends on a night when I am too hot and tired to write two coherent words strung together. I commend to you a blog post by a friend, Marilyn Yocum,Rather than Beating Yourself Up. In it Marilyn posts a link to another wonderful blog post from 2004, written by Ann Voskamp, entitled Three Simple Words. Read and be encouraged.