High Summer

Stepped out my back gate this afternoon to thickets of Himalayan blackberry vines, hot and spider-webbed. I think the spiders are nearly ripe. Certainly the berries are, abundant this year for all the rain, high in sugars for all this recent sun.

There are few things more glorious than an August afternoon in Seattle.

My old cat Tip -- sixteen years plus -- followed me to the alley and plunked himself down in the midday sun. He's getting to that straggly-old-man-cat stage, at times more cranky than his usual cheerful self. He's a big guy still, but drinking water excessively which points to deteriorating kidneys. He might have another year in him, might not.

He strayed into my house (full-grown) the night of my 40th birthday party, an uninvited guest, and decided it wasn't a bad place to spend a life. His patience and sense of humor have sustained my boys and me all these years, and we'll miss him when he's gone.

When my boys were young, and in a quandary over how to react to this situation or that, my advice was often, "Be like Tip": chill, think about it, laugh a little, practice good cheer, have a little catnip. (Well, not the catnip part.) Hard to go wrong with those attributes.

The bowl of blackberries on my kitchen counter will go well with my son's homemade, fresh coconut ice cream. It's dinner party time again -- seven of us tonight for Margaritas, carne asada, pico de gallo, etc.

These August days are golden.