A Change in the Weather

Bears hibernate in winter. I’ve hibernated this summer. I went out my back door a couple of times a week to water the plants on my patio. In spite of my venturing into nature’s oven, they all dried up and died in the intense heat of the afternoon sun. Now I look out my bedroom window at the brown stalks of what had been an “evergreen” bush I hoped would grow into a potted Christmas tree.

Texas baked for months. The hottest and driest summer ever. Temperatures hit 98 and 99 in May. In June began the 100 plus days. Last week the thermometer hit 107 again. Without any rain, wildfires swept over the dry grasslands, burning areas in Texas the size of the State of Connecticut. The worst was in the Austin suburb of Bastrop, where over 1,000 homes burned to the ground, leaving only brick fireplaces and chimneys standing.

Now the ordeal is ended.

Rain, blessed rain! Friday night high school football, so dear to the hearts of Texans, delayed because of rain. Parents cheered as they waited under dripping umbrellas.

This morning as I stepped out of my apartment on the way to breakfast, my face bathed delightful cool air with that just-after-rain freshness.

As I crossed the courtyard, I looked at the scrap of dead lawn. Where the grass had turned as brown as my dead chrysanthemum, the courtyard was dotted with clumps of green with the prettiest purple flowers I’ve ever seen. Flowers growing out of the desolation of summer thrilled me. .

Vista, a tiny old lady who a few weeks ago lost her husband, came out of the dining room, humped over her walker. I called to her, “Come out into the courtyard. I have something to show you.”

Vista, 90, can’t stand upright and moves with caution. She stopped, still hunched over her walker, and turned her head. When she saw the flowers, she beamed and said, “Aren’t they beautiful!.” As she moved on towards the elevator, she said, “Thank you for showing them to me. I love flowers.”

Vista was only 16 when she and G.C. were married 74 years ago. Besides the grief of losing her lifetime companion, she is learning to live alone and manage her finances for the first time in her life. All her friends are amazed at how this 90-year-old is adjusting to the changes. When she comes into the dining room, she brings love and hugs to each of us every day.

Saturday breakfasts are skimpy compared to weekdays when we get “cooked-to-order” eggs, blueberry muffins, homemade biscuits, and either bacon, sausage, or ham. Many residents don’t bother to come down for breakfast on weekends. When I walked into the dining room, only a few people were eating bagels and cream cheese.

I went from table to table, saying, “Did you see the flowers in the courtyard?” The constant oppression of those miserable days when the thermometer hit 107 is already fading. That’s good – except for us who worry about loss of short-term memory.