If my refrigerator could talk

     If, through some unlikely series of events, a person had lost his calendar, all access to the internet or any other media, and had been living on an uninhabited mountain top, he would only have to check my refrigerator to know that Thanksgiving is coming.

Shaken

     Our son and delightful daughter-in-law are on their honeymoon, delayed a bit from their June wedding.

Porlocks and Snidgets

     Considering my husband’s pack-ratting tendencies, the day we ever have to move from this house will truly be enlightening. 

Confessions of a Writer

My former high school English students have nothing on me. I’ve sunk to levels of procrastination they could only dream about.

Identity Search

In the years of our acquaintance, my hairdresser has

Forgiven

For those of you concerned about my little dog Mamie, who was pining away for me when I went to a conference this weekend, this video of my welcome home proves that she seems to have bounced back just fine:
 
                 Rocket Dog

A weekend of crime

     This weekend Mamie's been on strike.

Where were you?

          I remember the announcement at Stratford Junior High in Arlington, Virginia that November day in 1963 and walking home through the leaves with my friends Sheila and Anne.

Have a Nice Day!

 I picked up my last farm share portion on Wednesday. It was a pretty good haul and inspired me into all kinds of culinary enterprises. That night we had Swiss chard sautéed with mushrooms and roasted red onions with rutabaga. Both were glorious. Thursday night I made Italian wedding soup with the big head of escarole I’d brought home – also a success.

          Still, we did need a few more vegetables so today I went to one of my favorite places, a local farm stand on steroids. I imagine it once just sold apples or pumpkins, but these days it offers a selection of wines, a whole aisle of gluten-free products, an excellent deli, and oh yes, vegetables.

          I carted my loot to the check-out counter where I drew a cashier I’ve seen before. She’s a woman of a certain age (or past) with Morticia-length brown hair, stark white bangs, and capital P personality. She greeted me with enthusiasm and joked about my butternut squash’s refusal to stand upright but the mood went downhill from there.

          She had difficulty with the register, since it was driven by fingerprint and she was wearing a latex glove. My sunny mood on this beautiful autumn day began to dip as she launched into the explanation for the glove.

 There’s apparently “all kinds of things” going on in the fruit-producing countries, so it was anyone’s guess what was coming in. My mind immediately turned to the grapes I’d snitched 5 minutes before right out of their bag.

Next, she informed me that there are drugs on dollar bills, and not only that, “some virus is out there killing little kids. Six-year-olds are dying!”

By now, thank heaven, my purchases were bagged and paid for and I eased out of there as she continued her diatribe with the unsuspecting woman in line behind me.

Channeling Sisyphus

       All we needed for true realization that our Florida days have ended was a glance out of the window. If we ever had grass in our yard, you'd never know it, thanks to the six-inch layer of leaves out there. 

Today we played beat the clock – or, more accurately, the rain.With a forecast of showers by noon and a yard untouched by a rake since fall began, we were on a mission. 

 

          One year, when My Guy was laid up with a broken leg, I attempted to make a dent on my own but we ended up hiring a landscape crew. It was magical. They descended on our yard with blowers galore and struck with surgical precision. Not one leaf remained entwined in a bush, and all acorns disappeared as though they had never fallen. It was all achieved in one afternoon.

          Today we worked on the “Well, it’s better than it was” premise. 

       

           Mamie was useful as a depth gauge for a while

        

 

  But soon decided she’d rather serve as a supervisor. 

With several yardfuls still in the trees there wasn’t much point in perfection; it’s only a matter of days before we start all over again.