Wow.

I can't go into detail, but wow.  The world is so surprising sometimes.  No sooner do I lament the lack of something in my life and feel almost ready for it. than it pops up, unexpectedly, like an enjoyable ambush.  You got me, God.  I admit it, I'm surprised!

Oh no! Say it ain't so!

The chrysanthemums have arrived!  All hope is lost; the icy blast of winter is nearly upon us.

The Dread Chrysanthemum

"These are the times that try men's souls . . . "

We have reached the middle of August, and now when I approach McCaffrey's Supermarket, I do so with a certain amount of dread and a desire to avert my eyes from the horror I might encounter in the garden department which surrounds the access to the entrance.

At some point, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, too soon, the waning perennials and annuals they have out for sale will be replaced by - say it ain't so, Sam! - (shudder!) Chrysanthemums, those evil, sloppy, puffy harbingers of Autumn, feared only because it is itself the harbinger of - dare I write the word? - Winter!  There, I said it - and wrote it.  Winter, Winter, Winter - season of cold, darkness, doom, and despair.

When I see my first chrysanthemums of the season, a chill breeze seems blow past me and I realize the ephemeral nature of life.  No matter how much I try to enjoy winter . . . (and I did, quite, this last go-round, which had tons of snow and most people hated, but to me was at least more what winter was when I was growing up, instead of just the cold and darkness and no sparkling snow and ice crystals to gladden the esthetic soul) as I say, no matter how much I try to enjoy winter, I feel an instinctive drooping of my spirits when reminded of its imminent advent.

Maybe I will enjoy it even more this year, though, with the growing of my spiritual pursuits.  From my mouth to G-d's ears, as my mother, the atheist, would always say.

So far, no chrysanthemums, but I know my luck can't hold out, and I grow increasingly anxious each time I drive to McC's for sustenance.  I fear that first shock when I see those muddy colors - the mustard, the rust, the brown, the dirty orange. 

Unfortunately, I am unaware of any measure which will prevent the chrysanthemum's appearance, unlike the similarly unwelcome vampire, who may be put off by garlic, flourished crucifixes, or a threatening pointed wooden stake, so with resignation I invite them in:  I seek out the purest yellow mum, and cart it off to my front steps, where it squats, slowly deflating, until autumn is well upon us.

Bei mir bist du schein

I love this portrait miniature.  First of all, it is authentically "folk painting," which I usually find charming.  Second of all, as my mother would say of this young woman from long ago, "Sie ist nisht kein scheinheit," "She's no beauty."  (Love those faintly bug eyes, the long nose, the disappearing chin . . .)  But third of all, she's painting in her journal or notebook, her hair is in those snazzy curls, she is wearing coral jewelry (that's my kind of woman, wearing jewelry) and altogether, she exhibits a kind of low-key self-possession that makes me smile.

Last thought for the night

How pleasant the simplest human interactions can be.  I was over at CVS tonight, picking up a few things to use my $5 off coupon.  It only cost me $95 to save the $5, but that's another story!  CVS has installed those dread check yourself out stations, which I loathe and are another cheap way stores have developed to get the customer to do more of the work and to reduce customer service even further (along the lines of McCaffrey's checkers being told to wait til the end to bag, counting on the customer, being eyed by hostile people in line behind him/her, to start bagging to move the process along).

I asked a salesperson if there was a human being checkout available, and she said she would do it for me, which was nice.  Then there was a screw up with my CVS card, and she had to cancel the whole transaction and start again, and she didn't kvetch or moan.  When I started to go through the doors at the end, the beeping alarm when off.  I turned to go back into the store, and she said "That's alright - you can go through."

I was in such a good mood after this.  She had been pleasant - not over-the-top friendly - but pleasant, and I had been pleasant, and it just felt so encouraging to have yet one more reminder of the potential people have to be nice.

It's late, I'm tired, and I was very, very sick earlier today, so I am not getting the feeling across.  But at least I have the rudiments down, and I can improve it later, I hope.

Briefly, the Moon

The moon tonight was lovely - the sky was inky dark, and the moon was a luminous alabaster potato chip.

The Mystery Chocolate Benefactor Strikes Again!

At the end of last year, I emerged from my front door one afternoon to discover a box of Lindor chocolates on my front step.  There was no card anywhere that I could find, and I searched.  Then I racked my brains - who could have left them??????  Tim, Ed, Adam, Bob, Jim, R***, my neighbors, Carl and Lydia - WHO?

Above, a candy box from the 1920s.  I love

the motto:  "From Me to You."  But who is

"Me" if I am "You"? - that is the question!

I never found out, although at least I ate quite well during the initial phase of my investigation.

Imagine my astonishment when I returned home yesterday afternoon and discovered upon my doorstep a package of mixed Lindor Truffles wrapped with a Lindor ribbon, which by the way are so good you could practically die from them, again with no card.

So now I am going through my lists again, in the completely vain hope that I will come up with a new candidate.  There may be new potential culprits who have come on the scene since then, but it is not reasonable to suppose that two different people would have come up with the same romantic, generous, but ultimately crazy-making notion.  So I am stuck with the same potential suspects as before.  Someone who did not take credit, or who denied involvement upon being asked, must be responsible.  Probably.  Maybe.  Who knows?

Please, if the perpetrator is reading this, identify yourself, or your next chocolately gift may have to be left on the steps of the sanatorium to which I am committed after going completely insane trying to figure your identity out.  (Hmmm, could that be your fiendish plot?)

Excelsior!

This last year has been a rather good one.  I have made friends, forced myself to be more social in terms of groups, done work on my house, explored many, many woods and brooks and gotten many, many, MANY itchy insect bites in the process.  I've gone to museums and galleries and concerts and plays and movies; I've even gone on a mini-road trip. 

In terms of religious feeling or, dare I say/write it? -  spirituality, which let's face it, is one of those projectile-puke inducing words a lot of the time, I feel MUCH clearer and happier and anticipatory of good things.

But that certainly is not to say that I am smugly satisfied.  It is interesting that one can be rather content, without losing the desire to improve.  And, alas, there is LOTS of room for improvement.  But I think what I find encouraging is that this last year has demonstrated to me that things truly can change for the better, that I myself have the capacity to change for the better, and that it doesn't necessarily take ten years.  Well, maybe for some areas of my life - some may even take more time than I have left on earth - but the general direction is upward, which beats the feeling I had a couple of years ago, that in general, things kept getting worse and worse.  What a bummer, as they say in the vernacular . . .

So Excelsior!  Onward and upward, and as always, thanks G-d!

Beautiful night

I went to the English dance tonight.  My ambivalence about going to social events surfaced in the difficulties I had finding something to wear.  Finally, however, I got myself out of the house, and I was on my way.  As I drove, the sun was sinking: it was glorious, like an irradiated tangerine.

The dance was fun enough, not fabuloso, but fun, and I stayed through the break, which is rather a challenge for me.  On the drive back, I passed the Dinky station, and was surprised.  The ticket machines were illuminated in red and blue lights and looked wonderful in the dark.  I was amazed at how something so pedestrian could be that transcendentally beautiful.

Back to earth:  I got pulled over on Nassau St. by a very young, rather good-looking police officer.  Evidently at one point when I switched off my brights, I switched off my headlights!  He was very kind, and said that on Nassau Street it's difficult to tell if one's headlights are on or not.  He checked my license and registration and then let me go without a ticket.  I started to drive off, and realized I still hadn't turned my lights on!!!  I turned them on immediately, but was really embarrassed.  What a nice experience, in a way, though, because he was very kind.

And yay!  Tortellini has come out of hiding.

The day, not so good.  The night, much better.

Raindrops

When I left this morning to make my rounds of appointments and errands, the sky was blue, the clouds white and puffy.  At some point when I wasn't looking, the clouds shifted to gray and ominous, the sky darkened, and a few random drops of rain were soon followed with a fair additional number.

I didn't have an umbrella or rain slicker, so I surrendered to the inevitable and made no attempt to run through the rain in a vain attempt to remain dry.  As I walked along, I was struck by how lovelyit all was: the feeling of the spritzling rain on my hair and face, the slight wind that kicked up and whirled the droplets about, the atmospherically saturnine skies.  I felt a deep sense of appreciation and wonder. I wished I could slow down life temporarily so that  I could to hold on to that feeling of pleasure at just being outside in the gentle rain.