Mary's Heartbeats

Pitch blackness greets me this early morning.  The daylight hours tell me that Fall has begun, but the Summer heat appears to have not received that message.  September seems to be even hotter than the traditional "dog days of summer." Yesterday afternoon, I caught a bushy tailed squirrel seeking relief from the edge of our pool, lapping up the water as if it were his last chance to ever quench his thirst again.  Even Goldyn prefers our indoor air conditioning to his outdoor spots of shade.  I made my way up the road, feeling the sun's intensity piercing through my back, but it was balanced out with a gentle, easy blowing breeze. I pondered the past days as I pedaled at a steady pace. I was weary from the week of work, the never endless electronic medical records in which you are constrained to instantly reply or then at home must continue to complete. Gardening tasks remain undone, as once again the weeds are winning in the front flower beds. Why do they thriv...

I'm not sure why there are still such times of sweating.  I can literally be sitting calmly without any exertion or excitement, and within minutes be drenched with rivers of moisture from my neck, right down to the back of my hands and top of my feet. Glistening from the inward inferno within my core, I tell myself I am least 10 years past menopause.  I should be beyond these "hot flushes."  Perhaps it is the weather, even global warming, as our "typical California weather," has been replaced with the high humidity of the Midwest.  Or maybe it is just the reality that once you hit menopause, your body temperature never is the same.  It's like your thermostat is always "a bit off."   And that's when I recall my Mom, even in her 80's, all of a sudden, having to fan herself because of the heat that no one else felt.  It's like we are in our own climate zone, apart from the rest of the atmosphere.  I tend to chuckle when this happens,...