Dear Family, Friends, and Diary,
Despite it being mid-summer, it feels like Ground Hog Day, at least the Bill Murray version where everything repeats. Covid cases are soaring, pushing us back behind masks and into outside dining. Just yesterday, we canceled a planned trip back up to Idaho to visit with cousins. Independently, we all got cold feet. I went on a neighborhood walk, like I had done almost daily in the first Covid pandemic. Flowers were still there, as was Tom's garage posting. (And, again, I did not understand the meaning.)
Drought has returned to the Western US. We still water the grass and flowers, but I wonder how long that will continue before strict controls are reimposed. This year's fire season is shaping up to be a repeat of last year's record burning. Elderly friends are passing, or almost so, poignant reminders of Mamo.
Marianne retreats to her art hut again and I wander down the street to sit with Vern on the Selland porch. We probably will avoid returning to the porch when a neighborhood crowd shows up. It's back to not feeling right to be among crowds, even outdoors, even with people we know are vaccinated.
New doves have reappeared in our back porch hatchery. I think this is our sixth or seventh family and this repeat is welcome.
About one time each summer season, we try our hand at canning, and this year it was plum jam. If history repeats on this, we will need to give away the jars since sweet jam isn't on our diets. Again.
Almost last, but certainly not least, the elephant in the room is threatening once again. But we will try to not look toward the giant animal until test results are available.
I'll admit, all this is a sober finish to my 75th year.
John and Marianne.