I refuse to worry about what I remember and what I don't. If I don't remember something, someone will remind me and I don't *need* to take it personally. If someone has a hissyfit it is not my responsibility to make it all better. I resolve from this day forward to use my good guest soaps for everyday.
Speaking of liberating things. Now I understand that Condoleezza Rice and Colin Powell are testifying as regards the 9/11 disaster and the Weapons of Mass destruction. And I am beginning to be convinced that *no one* there would tell the truth if someone had a gun to their head. I don't know why, but the truth in Washington has never been simple or complete. It leaves me wierdly hungry for something with yes/no answers, something clean and clear where I understand what is being asked of me.
Is that just a reaction? Or is it something to do with spring, with things pushing up out of the ground? My husband's got trellises of beans in the backyard, squashes along the fences, and melons growing on poles. The front yard is full of tomatos and beans and more squash. There are confederate jasmines in one corner and a bunch of pots full of roses that get leggy and long before he pinches them back. It seems so simple..plants grow, or they don't. They push away the soil and they rise up like green flames out of the dirt. Or they never do, and any battle that's fought dies out unseen. Maybe that's just spring, yeah.
Summer is more complicated. Summer's always been hard for me. Bad times, compressed and squeezed by the heat until it's just a long sweaty curve of time to get through. Work through until it's autumn again, and things loosen again. I know that in some places summer's the short, golden time. Wonderful, bright and soft. I remember that from England. But that's not how it is here. This is Florida. The summer is our winter, when the heat drives us indoors, when it turns our gardens sere and brown, and nothing grows. Summer's when even the snakes come indoors to cool off. And every little kid in the neighborhood knows the sound of the icecream truck as well as they know how to dial 911.
Autumn's kind of a wishywashy time. Nearly as hot as summer, nearly as sticky but there's hope in the air. Salvation's coming. Somewhere along the line things will start to cool down. And then winter arrives, and we all start planting things like mad, and setting out chairs out of doors so we can sit and watch the neighbor's kids play basketball in the street.