Haven’t had a sinus headache in ages, but I had one today.  It started around noon, and by 2pm my face felt stuffed with cotton and my spinal cord made every effort to push its way out through the top of my head. In the past, I’d have taken a decongestant, but I’m on thyroid meds now and can no longer take sinus meds that actually work.

When I feel like this, my body fixes on complex carbs. Around 230, I hiked across campus to the main cafeteria for a nutrition drink that I normally wouldn’t touch with a barge pole. When I got home, I cut up the two very ripe cantaloupes that I had picked up yesterday, and fixed a big bowl of the stuff with blueberries. Had some warm Brie and crackers on the side because soft, mild cheese was the only protein that appealed.  Now I’m sitting on the deck, where the warmish, damp air is working its decongesting magic on my head–I’ve already had a couple of sneezing jags, and am hoping for a couple more.  I’ll stay out here until the skeeters drive me inside.

The days are already noticeably shorter. The bats used to emerge around 830pm; now, they come out closer to 8. Nuts are falling from the trees. Two of the larger tomatoes are finally starting to ripen–Siberians, which come in a couple weeks earlier than other varieties. The Mountain Fresh should start to redden soon, I hope–they’re the size of softballs but still green green green. The Tommy Toe cherry tomatoes are starting to cascade; first one ripened, then two, and now there’s a dozen or more that are almost ready to pick, with a bunch more at the green-red stage. The mesclun look to be petering out, finally, but the peppers haven’t even gotten started. The basil are only a few inches tall, but there’s a bunch of them, so I may have enough for a small batch of pesto. I have no clue what I’ll wind up with by the time this whacked-out growing season ends.

I’m about ready to sell King for parts. A couple of days ago,  I  made the mistake of leaving my supper dishes on the table by my deck chair. Of course, King nosed them as soon as my back was turned, and of course he knocked them off the table. The bowl was fine, but the soup spoon that came from the set I had given my folks for their 25th anniversary managed to find its way to the gap between two slats and from there to the ground. First I tried to put some caulk on the end of a stick so I could nab the spoon and pull it up, but the only caulk I could find had dried out. Then I tried a string with a hook on the end, but while I could reach the spoon, I couldn’t get the damned hook to, well, hook. Did I mention that it was hot, I was dripping wet within minutes, and King kept trying to help?

Finally it hit me: Dummy, old deck. Old boards. I got the crowbar from the garage, pried up the board, reached down and recovered the spoon, then hammered the board back into place. Five minutes and done.

This newly acquired knowledge came in handy yesterday when King knocked over my side table and a pen-with-sentimental-value went the way of the spoon. Crowbar. Recover pen. Hammer.

Anybody want a dog?