The last time I wrote one of these was back in February. Oh, I wrote a poem in April, but when I post them in this spot they are, more often than not, filler.
I called this Summertime more because of the weather than the juxtaposition of the sun, moon and earth in their annual transit through the space/time continuum. I mean, it’s 11:00 PM (2300 hours if you’re keeping score that way) and according to my nifty Weather Channel electronic weather station, it is 79.6°f (26.4°c), 71% relative humidity and the dew point is 71°. I think that means if it cools off another 8.5°, gills are required to walk the dog. Fortunately, the forecast says we’ve probably already bottomed out for the night. Barometric pressure is 1014 millibars and falling, so we might get rain. If the temperature drops, the humidity will take care of it whether there’s rain or not. There is no wind to speak of, so the ‘feels like’ temperature is the same as the actual temperature.
Of course, the calendar disputes my numbers. According to the calendar Summer doesn’t start for another five and a half weeks.
Of course, the weather has absolutely no bearing whatsoever on my lack of linguistic legerdemain. I don’t write because I’m lazy – at least part of me, anyway, and I’m frankly not motivated enough to try and resolve the issues with the dysfunctional bits.
After about a minute of typing and my left hand take an unscheduled, long term break, and I’m not patient enough for one handed typing. I also have software that will transcribe my spoken word into printed text onscreen. It’s a great idea, and works well – but (and there’s always a ‘but’, isn’t there) but here’s the thing. For me, writing only works smoothly when it flows from thoughts to fingertips. Thoughts to spoken word – at least for the purpose of writing – doesn’t work for me. Oh, I can speak extemporarily at the drop of a hat, but to just start telling a story can’t do it.
I believe God healed the damaged blood vessels, but I now live with the consequence of ignoring high blood pressure for fifty-one years. My BP in under control, and the CT scans and MRI’s are all clean, but the neurological damage is in all likelihood permanent.
But that’s OK. It’s even cool that I can walk on a leg I can’t feel. I cook and do other things with an arm, hand and fingers I can’t really feel. My speech, memory and cognitive centers were unaffected. And God continues to bless me and open doors for me to serve Him.
I’m still writing, however slowly, and will dust off the text recognition software and, somehow learn how to direct my creative writing that way. Even an early summer can’t stop me – as long as the A/C keeps working.
Who knows – I may even get a poem finished this month. AND sometime during the first week of June I get to conduct an exclusive interview with #1 New York Times bestselling author Lisa Unger in conjunction with the release of her new thriller, Heartbroken, which comes to stores June 26th. Now is that cool or what?
So – last night I had this dream about performing “Summertime” with the Wynton Marsalis Big Band in a sultry New Orleans jazz style, What a shame you can’t videotape dreams, huh?