The Perfect Sunday

I woke up yesterday to a surprise of rain. I love rainy Sundays … being awakened by the splattering on the roof ... watching drop slither down the window … the rain painting the yard a deeper green ... letting its laziness soak the bones. No more energy expended than to pad down the hall, make a strong cup of coffee, curl my pajama’ed bottom under a blanket, and listen to the drops before CBS Sunday Morning began. The rain-induced sloth relaxed me for the first time in weeks.

In the afternoon, after a nap with the cats, we were treated to one of the best parts of a Georgia winter: a surprise of sunny and seventy. The cats and I dashed out to spend our first afternoon on our new deck.

The view above. Yes, the sky was that blue.

Otto explores the deck …


… while Maggie chills and checks out the scenery.

A book, a glass of lemonade, birds flitting about … and we three were happy as clams.

Does anyone know why clams are so damn happy anyway?

* * * * * *

Fire and Rain Ramblings

We’re having a grand thunderstorm right now in Atlanta, one that’s washing away the 90-degree days. Soothes my soul to cut off the A/C, open the windows, enjoy a breeze and outdoor sounds as they flutter through my living room.

The cats and I are on the porch during the day for the first time in a month, listening to the rain, and Wilco and Lucinda and Neko, and Stipe and Badly Drawn Boy and Jeff Buckley. It’s soothing to watch the green get greener, to smell the cleansing rain, to feel the occasional spray on my rail-propped feet.


I love thunderstorms. The crack and power of thunder and lightning. The sound of rain impatiently bursting through the clouds as fast and hard as it can. I find peace in all that madness. I sometimes wonder if I’m meant to live in the Pacific Northwest. But do they get wonderfully violent thunderstorms? I need some passion with my drizzle.


I’m having a bit of an internal crisis these days. Longheld beliefs being shaken, what was is no more. I feel as if I’m about to wash away the old me and evolve into another of my selves. Eager and anxious, at once. And I’m an impatient soul, so this leaves me restless, thundering inside, wanting to walk away from everything. I know I must be patient and let the evolution take its course. But I’m ready to embrace this new self. It’s thrilling to start over at this age. And it’s time. As Wilco now sings to me, Nothing'severgonnastandinmyway(again).

* * * * * *

Another Night on the Porch

Perfect porch night. It started raining around 7 p.m. Bit of a thunderstorm with heavy rain at first, but now it’s just a steady rain. The rain broke the heat wave we’ve roasted through the last week. It’s cool again, thank God.


You can hear the rain dripping on the leaves and pouring out of the spout. Crickets are singing and lightning bugs are zipping. Since everyone else has their windows closed tight, I don’t hear any blaring TVs or radios. I get to enjoy the sounds of a summer night. Nothing more relaxing than listening to rain and crickets while watching for lightning bugs. I'm even sipping lemonade and eating watermelon. I am Southern, hear me drawl.


I’ve pretty much moved out here this summer. There’s a lamp on the table, so that I can read in the evenings. The cats have moved out here, too. We’re getting some flying bugs inside the townhouse, but that just gives the cats more toys to bat around.


There’s a leaf I always stare at when I’m zoning on the porch. It has a hot-pink squiggle across the top left. It usually takes me a second or two to find it. Once found, I can stare at it for quite a while, as I empty my brain or work on a story idea or chat on the phone.

Here’s a photo of my porch, from the office. As I type this, I'm sitting in the chair you see, but I have it turned to face the trees.


My monitor is sitting on my great-grandfather’s desk, which is in desperate need of refinishing. I’m looking for a computer desk so that I can move that equipment to the other side of the room. Once that’s done, this will be my writing area. It’s the perfect spot since I’ll have the breeze from the porch, but I won’t be distracted by the trees and the chipmunks and the lizards.

Expect great words from that corner of my world.

* * * * * *

Who needs April in Paris when you can spend it in Atlanta?

Well, I would like to spend April in Paris … but I sure don’t mind spending it in Atlanta. What a fantastic, beautiful spring weekend we had! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. This has been one of the prettiest springs I can remember. I keep meaning to take my digital camera with me when I head intown; the azaleas and blooming trees are breathtaking, a riot of color. There aren’t many places as beautiful as Atlanta in April — not even Paris.

There was a wild thunderstorm late Friday night. I love curling up in bed when there’s a thunderstorm raging outside; I feel both safe and excited. I opened up my plantation shutters and windows so that I could lie in bed and watch the thunderbolts and listen to the rain. A couple of bolts hit nearby, lighting up the entire sky. Finally dozed off to the sound and smell of the heavy spring rain.

Went to a matinee of “American Dreamz” with my mom and sister on Saturday. Good, funny satire; review to come.

One of my favorite out-of-towners surprised me with a weekend visit, so we spent every possible moment outdoors — patio beers, neighborhood strolls, lazy drives. We had a wonderful time; I could use two solid weeks like that.

Here are a couple of photos from my townhouse windows. Notice how green it is and what great flowers I have outside my place. Most of the azalea blooms didn’t make it through the storm, but the wild roses are still blooming.

Otto in the living room window.

Maggie looking out the front window.

Too bad I had to come to work today. I need to concentrate on my lotto-winning retirement plan.

* * * * * *