It's 5:30 A.M., summer solstice. The days will start getting shorter now, reminding me that winter is indeed on its way, no matter how much I'm sweating now.
The window-unit air conditioner is in place, keeping our bedroom pleasantly cool at night. It operates for about twelve hours each day: I turn it on a couple of hours before I go to bed at 10; and when Cliff gets up around 8, we turn it off.
The huge fan upstairs moves air through the house when the grandson goes up to bed. The electric bill we received yesterday is already fifteen dollars higher than normal. I'm braced for next months bill.
The price of gasoline keeps on getting higher, which is causing the cost of groceries to escalate at an unheard-of pace. Good grief!
Even though it was my idea to cancel our motorcycle trip to Colorado (and I am sure it was the right move), I'm sad that we aren't going somewhere on vacation this year.
The stray, Annie, disappeared last weekend. I really miss her.
Ticks and mosquitoes are worse than usual this year, making our daily walks and my nights in the cabin less pleasant than they could be.
I wanted to buy a cheap steer calf so Secret, my calf, would have a cow buddy. Looks like it won't happen.
I hate that our son is laid up for the whole summer with a badly-broken leg.
Looks like our yearly drought has begun. Everybody who lives thirty miles from here in any direction received significant rainfall last week. We got 1/10 of an inch.
My faithful horse is willing to take me five miles in any direction and then bring me back.
The Missouri River bottoms (my favorite place to ride) are starting to look normal again after being mudded and flooded.
Sadie makes me smile many times each day.
We have plenty to eat.
We're maintaining our weight loss.
Secret isn't complaining about her lack of bovine companionship. She chews her cud peacefully, and literally dances circles around me when I go out to feed her.
Nobody in the family has any terminal illness, so far as I know.
We have a roof over our heads and a bed in which to sleep. I've been to Mexico with a missions group and seen people living in houses made of wooden skids and scrap lumber, squatting on government land. I've seen these same people dancing and laughing in the evening as if they didn't have a care in the world. Oh, and it's hotter in Mexico than here, and those folks don't have air conditioning. I could take a lesson from them.
We don't farm for a living, so our income isn't affected by a drought.
I think I'll take the advice found on this little plaque I saw on one of our motorcycle trips: