The Leftovers Sustained Me for Night Two: Eating Ribs During a Thunderstorm as the Temperatures Take a Nose Dive in Stratford.

I've been getting up early to walk the dog. I still sweat, but it's not like it will be in July and August. It's heat without the humidity actually, and it's been brutal (if not beautiful). The pollen is disastrous and it clumps in the throat. I've even seat cottonwoods blooming and that is like three weeks too soon. Consequently, my head and throat are a mess. 

It's all good, though. Cycle of things. 

I was so happy to discover after a day of writing, packing, unpacking, readying, and processing that I had leftovers from last nights gathering with Oona. That made for a convenient dinner on night two as the rain and thunder moved in. I wanted to lie on the couch reading books, anyways. A full tummy helped with all of that. 

This morning, I awake to a day where the high temperature of 67 is the actual low temperature of the past few weeks. I anticipated storms to off send this crazy change, and am hoping that June will ready itself with more pleasant days and not the preview of July that this past week has offered. Yes, the lawn needs to be mowed again, but I wanted to wait for cooler comfort to get it done.

In one week, the 37th Writing Our Lives conference will be hosted at Fairfield University, ones that have been born from the offshoot of Dr. Marcelle Haddix's influence on my in Syracuse when we got the grant to kicks the project off. I haven't really written about the traditions but started to think about doing that yesterday when my mind wandered from morning coffee.

It will be a rain event all weekend, so I know I'll have time to sit inside sulking, which usually results in getting more stationary projects done. Next week, when the whether is beautiful, I look forward to hosting James Bird and Rose Brock on campus for the youth event. It will be full charge ahead at that point, and I've been squeezing lemons for the summer work, too. 

Here's to the rain...as Ishmael Wooley said, "Wuv the wain. It brings May Fwowers." I'll never forget that he told me this when I complained about it coming down so hard.