It is so hot here at a humid 33C, it feels as though you could fry an egg on a paving stone, in the backyard. Where I was out, briefly early afternoon, watering the garden. As usual, Jackie and Jillie were enthusiastic about coming out with me, but that enthusiasm was quickly diminished. It was hot after breakfast, but not quite as much as a few hours later. After breakfast their enthusiasm turned to laying splayed out on the deck, full exposure to the sun. That too didn't last long, but they repeated it several times.

It was hot too, yesterday, but the heat spurred (we thought) the Stella d'Oro lilies to begin blooming again. Those same blooms have been fried in the heat, they're completely shrivelled. Though I note that the hibiscus is working hard at producing new blooms. Different heat-strokes for different vegetation. So though I had planned to use my free time today to do some gardening -- mostly tidying up for there's so much constantly that has to be done in the garden to keep it respectable -- common sense argues against it.

But that doesn't stop us from doing other things indoors. Not that we necessarily look forward to doing those things. Some chores just have a habit of haunting you. You find yourself procrastinating and it just goes on until the irritation factor spurs you finally to action. Like Irving deciding he's had enough of looking at the raw, unpainted mouldings he had decided to install a few years back in the laundry room, the hallway connecting it to the kitchen, the kitchen and the breakfast room.

It wasn't needed, but it was something to do, and he felt inspired to do it all at that time. Nothing ordinary, but woodwork that took time and effort, skill and imagination. In any event, I didn't mind the look of it, but  he did, and he set up his painting apparatus yesterday to begin painting what he had left off. It's just about the most finicky, boring job imaginable. Today he's still at it, and he'll be at it for days to come. I admit, it does look fresh and appealing with a coat of clean white paint.

Yesterday I had thought to try again to guess the ingredients and methodology of a yeast-raised buttercake my mother-in-law used to bake. I know how much Irving enjoyed it. I'd tried before, and the results were all right, but nothing special. He'd never say that, but it's my opinion. So yesterday I prepared a batter with butter, eggs, milk, yeast, sugar and salt. Not a kneaded batter, but a relatively loose one though mixed thoroughly to a fine, smooth batter. When it rose I packed it into a springform pan, dotted butter on top, then sugar and ground almonds. Not my idea of a perfect dessert for Friday-night dinner, but one he liked.

It wasn't hard this morning to decide for a pre-breakfast ravine hike with our puppies. Just too muggy and hot even at that time of day. When we plunge into the ravine's dusky shade there's an ambient coolness quite the contrary to what we feel up at street level, so there's immediate relief. Our intention was shared by others another handful of people and their dogs who sought out the trails for leisure exercise and the pleasure of just being there.

We came across a little girl with her father and their dog whose comfort at being there was obvious. She couldn't have been more than three years old, perhaps even younger, and she was confident in her gait, almost careful about where she placed her little feet, but stumbling now and again to splat on the forest floor, then gamely restoring herself to an upright position to continue forging on. We had seen her first poised on the edge of the bank by the first bridge when their dog entered the creek to cool off. The little girl, as we looked on from above, sat on the ledge portion, kicked off her shoes and looked as though she was ready to copy the dog, until her father intervened.

We took our time through the trails, choosing to lengthen the circuit this morning just because it was so pleasurable to be out in the forest. Hot it was, but the sun illuminating the crowns of trees in the forest canopy and shooting its bright shafts of sunlight down to the forest floor here and there, looked so dreamily beautiful we wanted to extend our time there. And so, apparently, did Jackie and Jillie, spurting ahead randomly searching out adventure.

The last portion of our circuit was, as has been of late, into the meadow beside the creek, where the forest opens up briefly, and there the sight of the wildflowers instilled a sense of serenity in us. We had a rare sighting of a Monarch butterfly among the cabbage variety, and hoverflies and bees were everywhere.

Finally, it was time to return home, and so we did. Where Jackie and Jillie, as usual, mill about the gardens after spurting onto the porch to see who might be present having at the peanut offerings. And finally, it's time to doff our hiking boots, wash up eight little paws and prepare for breakfast.