Dog Days of Summer

Day 235

Deep in the dog days of summer, the boys and I grab a kitchen-mixing bowls fill it with water and place it on a shady patch of sidewalk. 

“I think it needs a sign,” I say.  In our yard, walkers might mistake the bowl as part of our standard clutter. 

For All Thirsty Dogs I. writes in blue marker using his best handwriting.  We tape it to the bowl and head to the movies out of the 104-degree heat.    

Caribou Change

Day 234

“Oh, do you have any change?”  The lady in front of me at Caribou Coffee asks the cashier.  She frantically pats her pockets and rummages through her bag.   

“I do,” I say, digging through my change purse.  I hand her a dime. 

“I only need three pennies,” she says and hands it back. 

“That’s ten pennies,” I say and hand it back to her. 

It’s a little “Who’s On First” to me.  Need a penny?  I have a penny.  Who’s penny?  Your penny.  My penny?  Your penny.     

The cashier watches the exchange in amusement, takes the dime and hands the woman back seven cents. 

“This is yours,” the lady says and passes me the nickel and pennies. 

I drop the change into a white cup with a sign that reads, “Need a Penny.  Take a Penny.” 

“For next time,” I say and the two of us laugh.  

Rocky Start

Day 233

I often vary my walking route to gather gardening ideas from houses I pass.  Each season offers its’ own set of landscapes and neighborhoods to explore. 

I'm amazed and impressed by the dedication of many of my neighbors.  I know what time is involved to make these yards look this good.  If I ever find it, I'm hoping my yard might look a fraction of this good.  

 

I turn the corner at Zig Zag and continue walking east.  Water bottle in hand and ear buds piping This American Life into my brain, I could walk for hours. 

Up on the right, decorative rocks scatter across two sidewalk squares.  I assume the heavy rains from Sunday dislodged the stones.  The rest of the yard is manicured and pristine. 

I kneel on the concrete and begin scooping rocks from the sidewalk back under the tree to join a perfect circle of sandy-colored stones.  It occurs to me as I’m scooping that anyone watching from the house’s front window might wonder what I’m doing, become concerned and tear outside to tell me to stop.  I scoop faster.   

Then I pretend to tie my shoe.  Stealth move, right? 

Sidewalk clean, I stand, brush off my knees and continue my walk home.