Mouthbreathing, Buttermilk Skies, Tomatoes, and Other Odd Bits

When someone is described as a "mouthbreather," it is not a compliment. It implies that the person is dull-witted in the extreme. In the last week I have become a mouthbreather. I hope that does not mean my IQ has taken a precipitous drop.

My daughter and granddaughter tell me that when I was slow to wake from the anesthesia after my little nose surgery, the nurses kept telling me I needed to breathe. I apparently told them I couldn't breathe through my nose. They told me to breathe through my mouth and I told them, "I'm not a good mouth breather." I'd take a breath or two and then they'd have to start telling me again to breathe. Apparently, this went on for some time. Of course, I remember none of that!

Less than two days after the procedure I came down with a cold. Then there's the ever-present summer allergies and the smoke from distant forest fires. The result of all these insults to my poor abused nose is that a good deal of the time it has been swollen shut and, like it or not, I've had to become a mouthbreather. Necessity rules. It should be much better soon, but in the meantime I must have oxygen!

Last evening was so beautiful here--the air was calm, the temperature pleasant, the skies lovely, the flowers gorgeous, and the green treetops I feel surrounded by on the deck soothing to my eyes. Why, then, did I water my flowers and scurry back indoors? Smoke. Even though I could not see the smoke, even my nose could smell it and my lungs felt it. So disappointing. I feel pouty to complain--think what the folks who live close to the areas that are burning must endure.

Last night we had a nice little rain shower. The air felt clean and lovely early in the morning, so I relaxed on the deck for a while and cloud-watched. There is an old song about Buttermilk Skies--I do not remember what the lyrics to the song are, but I wonder if this is what a buttermilk sky is.

This year I decided to put tomatoes in some of my deck pots. I bought two different varieties. One was already quite large and I thought it would fruit first. The second was much smaller, so should provide fresh tomatoes a little later. Then I planted a third tomato from some old seed that Grace found in a kitchen drawer at our mother's house. It is seed from the old Victor strain. My sister Terry has grown them, and saved seed, for years. I planted two seeds, wondering if they were too old to germinate. Both sprouted, but one got wind blasted and died. The other was in a slightly more protected spot, survived, and thrived. Tomatoes love heat. June's cool temperatures did not harm the plants, but they just sat there. Since we've had some hot days the plants have really taken off.


Tomato plant # 1--the large plant at time of purchase. It was slow to begin putting on fruit, but once it got hot it quickly put on many.

Tomato # 2. It was quite small when I got it, but put on a tomato long before the big one did. With heat the plant has quickly grown. It must put all its energy to building the plant, because I haven't seen anymore tomatoes. Lots of blooms now, though.

This is the old fashioned Victor tomato. Although I didn't even plant the seed until a few days after I transplanted the purchased tomato plants, it has proven to grow enthusiastically. It has lots of blooms and I saw one little tomato this morning.

While being housebound by the smoke, I've been reading and listening to books. I even--finally--finished Irish History for Dummies. Now, in my continuing education project, I will start on European History for Dummies. Just a glutton for punishment, I guess!