End of July

The perennial question: where does the summer go? Already we have arrived to the last days of July, and so August with part of September is left, our last chance to be in summer. Being is the trick. Being in this time of warmth, long nights, fresh berries and fruits coming along in a kind of gentle sequence. Friends visiting who like the view and the relative cool.

Last weekend was wine tasting with my sis Therese and her man Greg. Curtis drove the hills, with Greg up front, Therese and I sitting in back being the girls, being who we have always been with each other, taking the best of the moment and laughing a whole bunch.

The four of us, playing poker into the wee hours, with our pennies and our wine. She and I laugh, the kind of laughs which bring tears and cleanse the body. The laugh we inherited from our Grama. The laugh I remember viscerally, so grateful that I can still experience that feeling. It is a way of saying to life:
"I am so in the moment, I can feel this abandon, even though 26 Billionaires may be trying to steal my country even as I write."

Sparrow writes, in 'Poor Sparrow's Almanac', (August Sun Magazine):
"The rich chuckle; the poor laugh."

I think I would rather laugh if given the choice. My car is old and dusty, but it knows the way to the best wineries in our neighborhood, the insurance is low, and it always starts.

July, the month of dust, green grapes, ripe radishes and raspberries, lots of visitors who like scones and home roasted coffee in the morning, with all that crazy jam we made last fall.

August will bring the blackberries and cabbage, astors and dahlias, carrots and basil. My mom, who is good at laughing and giggling will turn 87 in August, and I think her daughters will be there to get some good belly busters going, kleenex on hand. We will invoke her mom, Brama, our queen of the good giggle.