Summer, Cats, Gardenias etc.

The dog days of August are here early. June has been, to use an appropriate cliche, a scorcher. I’m keeping the oven off as much as possible, preferring the grill or microwave, or even just sandwiches, to standing in a hot kitchen feeding the troops. I remember one hot summer in Ohio when my mom decided she was going to make cherry jam since the cherry trees in the yard had a bumper crop. The kitchen almost steamed with heat and humidity as she put up preserves. I think I lasted about ten minutes helping her pit the fruit. I was all of about six or seven years old, so I can be forgiven my fickleness. I don’t remember eating the jam, just how hot the kitchen became that summer.

We have inherited an older cat from a church friend, and Barney, a tiny gray sweetie with a white moustache and paws, has already made herself at home. She’s tolerating the dog, who ignores her with great tact, and giving her favors to one member of the family, who is wildly happy to have a cat sleeping with her. I should give a medal to the dog, who accepts whatever living creature we bring home with great equanimity.

The best part of this heat and humidity is the gardenia and pikake bushes. The back yard smells like heaven, sweet and widespread. I’m going to be bereft when they stop blooming.

The writing suffers from a daily urge to play in the garden, do some weeding, and dredge up old, moldly pie cones from the mulch. But I’ll get there.