Finally, it cooled off—and rained

                                                       Well, it didn't rain THAT much.

          Last weekend, the rain that stormed through while I read the state and local papers provided both a respite from the near-drought and a reason not to finish my project of cleaning and grooming the corner iris bed. I’d begun working early the day before, bending, clipping, tossing detritus into Mom’s discarded shredder-cum-yard waste container.

          With an early lunch meeting in town, I had to stop, shower, and dress. An Aleve would (ahem) eventually alleviate the soreness. After the meal, I drove a short, back way to Home Depot for landscape materials. I hauled down a huge bag of potting soil. But I waited for an assistant to load the marble rocks and bags of pea gravel I wanted for the south yard.

          But then, I needed a few things from the dollar store, so I stopped. I took only a yellow basket with me, but halfway through the store, I picked up a second one and filled them both. I left with five bags of merchandise on one arm and a bag of cat food in my other hand—by this time, it was early afternoon—and I suddenly felt old. I felt like I walked like an old person—for the first time in my newly-82 years. At the car, unloading my arms and hand, I talked severely to myself. “You ARE old!”

         Obviously, I said that in a weak moment, tired from the early yard chore, dressed too warmly for that time of day, not to mention the oppressive humidity. After a longer-than-usual nap, I recovered both my strength and my positive attitude. So, I moved on as we all must do at certain times.

        The next morning, I arose early to water the roses, but the sky looked bluer than usual. Weather sources said 100% chance of rain, and a map showed a storm moving our way from the west. Sure enough, thunder pealed and eventually, the rains came.

        The rain was no flood--an inch deep in my garden wagon--but it helped. After it stopped, I finished the iris bed and de-grassed part of the sidewalk--until ants appeared from under a paver.

           I had one more responsibility before that day ended: baking a pear cobbler for Ebenezer UMC’s Fifth-Sunday potluck, a new church activity. I intended to use a 9x13 dish, so I lifted three packages of al-ready-stewed pears sans sugar and cinnamon from the freezer and set them to thaw. Before the storm that morning, I had “run” to Harvest Foods for a pie crust to make decorative strips.

           After an unrestful nap, it was time to begin. Using a recipe I found online and printed out, I substituted for fresh ginger, half as much of the ground spice. For the lemon zest, I substituted twice as much lemon juice as called for—both suggestions from online.

                In my ignorance of this church's potluck "doings," when I signed up for "dessert," I figured it would be the only dessert, so I'd better make as large a dish as I could. I filled a 9x13 Pyrex dish to the brim, added the cut strips of pie crust, Voila! Enough for all two dozen or so folks. I took whipped topping, too.

          But when I got there, I saw 2 store-bought pies, two homemade cakes, cookies, candy. . . I'd forgotten that when "potluck" is mentioned in a United Methodist Church, it usually means each family brings at least 3 dishes. True this day!

          Three of us took small helpings--to sample some of all, of course. I took the rest ofit home where it sat in the fridge for a day or three. Finally, I filled 8 coffee cups (not mugs) packed down, topped with (ahem) topping, and placed them in the freezer before covering with plastic wrap.

          I'll know next time.