Get Used To It
By Margaret Young
Wake up, even Monday the cup's still full,
lettuce rosette-ing up between sandstone scraps
by back steps where ladybugs swarm in
to die or lay eggs, some say, death-march
or birth-march looking about the same.
The rust of barn-sides: different chemical effect
than rust of oak-copse, burning with late fervor
beyond reaped cornfields.
The temperature in my area is horrible at present. I shall not belabor it because I know it is terrible over much of the East Coast at present, and that it was terrible in the Midwest before it got here, but it still is highly unpleasant to live with. I stayed indoors as much as possible, since my thermometer said 101 degrees, other than to drive Daniel to driver's ed and Adam to Michael's to get art supplies (I also dragged him into the mall for two quick stops, but he didn't complain because the air conditioned mall was a better place to take a walk today than anywhere outdoors). I did not wake up to watch the space shuttle land, though I saw the recording and am as frustrated with the stalled space program as nearly everyone I know.
I've been saving my LiveJournal page by page in case of catastrophe -- I have all the entries exported to several other sites, but the photos are nearly all on LiveJournal, so if anything were to happen to Scrapbook I could never recreate all those pages, so I worked on that in the afternoon (it'll probably take me the rest of the year to do all nine years' worth of entries). In the evening we watched the dreadful animated Star Trek episode I need to review on Friday, then this week's Futurama which made me giggle a lot. It's supposed to be even hotter tomorrow and pretty near the same all weekend, bleh. Some loveliness from Kenilworth Aquatic Gardens: