Change of Season
The first day of Winter.
A strong wind caught the flowers on the porch railing and dashed them to the ground–good-bye fine old glass jar. Another will turn up as I dig in the garden.
The air is heavy and moist, carrying tropic warmth.
Being Thursday evening, I collect myself and head off to Frustuck Avenue. It’s dark, but the roads are floor- lit with racing yellow leaves. Rounding the uphill bend onto Phyllis Lane, I discern the strains of “Red Haired Boy” .
Park bike, climb stairs, and open the door to a bright, tune-full room. An ancient dog hobbles to and fro, and eight people strum away at .
The early part of the evening features old timey & Celtic tunes. Several bottles of wine sit half-empty on the enamel-topped folding kitchen table.
The kids frolic underfoot in the kitchen.
Last week it was the girl’s birthday, this time , it’s the boy’s.
Jeanie C, Liam’s mom, baked a lovely angel food cake, a marbley chocolate-vanilla bundt beauty. Hallowen deco on top, and a fine orange scented glaze drizzled over the whole thing. Liam’s slice is impressive…a fifth of the cake-ring (wise move, tactically speaking).
The other eight or so non-children get reasonable chunks of ‘facial quality’ sponge cake …(sorry, Jenny, for dabbing your cheek with the icing-covered side).
I adore textures…and like to feel soft cake, bread on my skin (don’t ask why, please). Some french dude once opined that swan’s necks were the ultimate tactile indulgence.
Richard’s choices were sentimental …Four Strong Winds…When First I Came to This Country (or “Her Name Was Nancy”)… and other cool, mournful songs. He pilots the piano with a stride-y sort of bounce.
I brought my Packrat ABC mini-book to be reviewed by the excellent Larry Rippe who’s at work on a piece about his father–in–law, Rea Irvin who co-founded New Yorker Magazine.
We commiserated about the sluggishness of our resepctive progress. And the fear of Others nabbing our cherished Specialty and (gasp!) running with it. Because we are sooo-ooo-o distracted by the little things (in his case there is a pile..he runs the San Geronimo Cultural Center. Well, OK, co–runs…
Every time I play music at Larry & Molly’s, I read a new book. The latest was Guy Ogilvie’s tome on Alchemy…it’s interesting to think about alchemy in the modern times. We know that base metal can’t be (easily) turned into gold (and why gold, anyway, doesn’t everyone want petroleum these days?)
Outside the wind howls.
I wonder what this time next week will bring.
Liam, your generation will have to clean up our generation’s mess. Will you ever forgive us?
I am si(h)gning off.