Late summer is getting hot

Today's projected heat in our area

I saw this graphic on my New York Times page, which shows the temperatures in my area, north to British Columbia, and south to Oregon. All that dark red stuff is on the east side of the Cascades, which always gets much hotter than over here on the western side, where the ocean breezes moderate our weather much of the time. (We live almost right under the "77" near the border.) When I walked to the bus this morning, it was actually cool enough for a jacket, but by the time John dropped me off at the Cornwall garden to start my journey home, it felt almost, well, warm.

I have a pretty full life, at least for an old retired person, and the only day during the week that I don't have an appointment for something is Tuesday. And since the Senior Center (as well as the buses not running yesterday) meant no Monday yoga, I'll have to wait until tomorrow for the Wednesday class. I sure feel better when I get stretched and tuned up.

I am finally through the whole procedure to remove that skin cancer, so I washed all my clothes that still had some vaseline residue from two weeks of constant slathering of it onto my neck. Now I'm back to my new normal, no more cancer, no more stitches. 

One thing I've noticed is that I am no longer feeling sorry about not hiking with the Trailblazers any more. I read about their adventures weekly, and I am glad that I've done these hikes often enough that I know exactly what they're doing. Now that I am just reading about and not actually doing them, I feel quite pleased that I have moved into another new phase of life. 

Sure is pretty and hello to Mt Baker

There are many things that I miss, but probably the hardest is that I can no longer appreciate the pictures of these places like I once did. My failing eyesight means that a picture is no longer just something I can take for granted, since the lack of depth perception means I often see something different than the real thing. And my ability to hike long, hard distances is fading fast. I suppose that's to be expected, since your body wants to do what it always did before, and I can't keep up any more. So, in a way it's a blessing to settle into my easy chair (not wanting to miss being outdoors I do some walking every day) and enjoy resting on my laurels. What does that mean, exactly? Well, the AI that comes up when I look for the meaning is:

To "rest on one's laurels" means to be satisfied with past successes and achievements, to the point of stopping any further effort or striving for new accomplishments, often leading to complacency. The phrase uses the ancient Greek and Roman tradition of awarding laurel wreaths to victors, symbolizing honor and accomplishment. 

Ha! I guess it's all right, then, if this octogenarian enjoys her retirement from reaching any new goals and pops on her many laurel wreaths and sighs with contentment.

:-)