Another Labor Day came and left with an abandoned picnic table of a few fat-solidified burgers on a plate, remains of potato salad and beans with sloppy serving spoons buried in the bowls,and cold pasta salads, now floating in the shiny salad dressing. Did I eat this? Nope. I insult hostesses and bring my own food. I also share, of course, but no one’s interested in healthy food. So be it.
On Friday I attended Karen's virtual BBQ and had a great time. The food was great and I could pick and choose from everything imaginable!
Now we can all go home and plant our gardens, (or harvest our fruit this time of the year) as Voltaire says. I guess very few people literally plant gardens anymore so let’s leave it in the abstract intention.
I haven’t thought of Voltaire in years. One of my favorites is his story about the widow whose husband left instructions that she couldn’t remarry until the Ganges changed it’s course. For 6 months, the widow mourned and remained faithful but the next morning found her out in the middle of the Ganges River with a shovel. (So much for the “I’ll be faithful to you Honey for the rest of my life ).
As I wheeled the trash bin to the street this morning, I could already smell autumn in the crisp pre-dawn air. Low clouds had settled over the mountains as a foreboding warning of what's to come. A double edged sword in my book, as it means adios to serious lawn mowing but hello to snow shoveling.
Do I care? Uh uh. I'll just plug in my light therapy bulbs, work on my "Moroccan Days" and kiss the winter blas goodby.
