Saturday, July 28, 2012


I have noticed with my age or the Zoloft, I have been sweating buckets. This year, not just summer, has been warm. I sweat even in the air conditioning.
I remember Mrs. Boal perspiring. I'm trying to imagine her age in the 1960's. I know her daughter, Grace, was the same age as my  mother, born in 1923. I'm thinking Mrs. Boal, even though she seemed ancient by our standards today, was probably only in her sixties. Their fiftieth anniversary was 1971.
I'm not sure why that is all relevant, except to say although I was a little girl, she seemed old and today if she acted like then, would be old. Her sweat trickling in rivulets from her forehead fascinated me. Those beads of clear liquid on hot humid days before air conditioning as she worked on her flowers made me envious. I wanted my sweat to bead like that.
She wore a scarf around her hair to protect the set, I'm sure. In the pink tiled bathroom between their two bedrooms, I stared at the blue rinse bottle for her locks. A lady could have blue, sliver or purple. The colors arrayed at church on Sunday morning, as we fanned ourselves with the funeral home fans.
A few years later, the younger ladies had wet hair as they worked diligently in the kitchen and Fellowship Hall with that evening sun baking those rooms during dinners or receptions. My hair has felt like that this summer. The sweat soaked roots look so dark to my blond top. Oh, well. I'm thinking shaving it all off this year. But I won't.
My friend Sherry and I sat with my family in church during those hot summer days. We tried to be near the opened windows to catch the rare breeze. Summer was great though as we could get away with not wearing nylons. We used our fans or bulletins to move the air. I thought of a story about twins, Hollie and Mollie, enduring a service in heat. Didn't have much of a plot, though.
This morning, I thought of the plot for the third story of my Gables and Gingerbread Tales. The ideas of the basic story come easily as I drive around, looking at houses, countrysides, small towns. I have always loved history, so setting them in last century came naturally, just as Hollie and Mollie was thirty some years ago. But plots to drive a nice tale takes much time to ponder and develop. A long work in progress, as I sweat through the summer. I am excited how this trilogy is shaping up. All the delays of writing with my hectic life are part of the plan. I gently allow that yoke to lead my way. No sweat, there.
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