AUTUMN, FINALLY

We're one month into our three-month season of Autumn, and in my neck of the woods, we're only just now getting real fall color in the leaves.

There are plenty of naked trees already; they lost their leaves early in the month. My back yard is filling up, but I'm sad to say they aren't the usual lovely gold, bigger-than-my-hand maple leaves that I've had year after year. On a cloudy day, I could look out and be tricked into thinking the sun was shining--those leaves reflected such brilliant light.

Last night's low was at or near 31 degrees, and tonight's won't be much higher. A quilt on the bed makes for a good night's sleep. Hot soup makes a substantial lunch, especially the thick kind with plenty of chicken, veggies, and rice. In a few days, I'll think about baking again--those banana brownies from last year are calling my name.

-----
Here's a poem for you--not an autumn poem, exactly--but one I've always liked. Hope you do, too.

THE ROAD NOT TAKEN

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--

I took the one less traveled by,

and that has made all the difference.

                                                             --Robert Frost

A WEEK OF GOOD THINGS

Some weeks are in the Super class. Some weeks are, let's face it, the pits. And some are just in-between/okay/nothing special.

In the week since our last visit, I've had several good things happen. Such as:

Last Saturday I drove to Ohio to make strawberry jam with my daughter. We had a delicious time! There was--amazingly!--a little left in the pan after we filled all the jars, so we sampled it with toast with our lunch. Homemade strawberry jam--to die for!

The Tree Man, Dan, came with his helpers and trimmed back several large limbs on one of my big maples. The operation removed some already pulpy limbs; others had overgrown their boundaries and were threatening cars parked nearby. The best news was that what's left (it's a very big tree, obviously old) is quite healthy and should withstand further storms.

An email notified me that some gluten-free cookies I'd ordered will be shipped tomorrow, a good two-to-three weeks early! [Note: They came yesterday! I sampled them this morning while I wrote in my journal. Gluten-free shortbread--excellent with coffee.]

Yesterday, my quilting buddy, Jane, and I took a road trip; we went to Shipshewana, in the middle of Amish country, for a look-around at Yoder's Department Store (definitely department store--lots of everything, including plenty of our favorite thing--fabric). I found exactly the colors of flannel I needed for more NICU blankets. Jane picked out great print fabrics for pillow cases that will go to Riley Children's Hospital in Indianapolis.

A Tiffany's special--Tues & Thurs

Our road trip included lunch at Tiffany's, a home-cooking, family style, mostly Amish restaurant in Topeka, Indiana. My grilled chicken salad (the chicken is grilled, not the lettuce, you understand) was so large, I didn't eat much supper last night. I won't say we go to Shipshewana (only a few miles from Topeka) in order to eat at Tiffany's, but the two go together like a horse and carriage.

Work on a healing quilt is nearly at an end. Only a few more finishing touches and I can deliver it to a church friend who had a cancerous kidney removed. After it goes to its new home, I'll post a photo of the quilt.

-----
I've now made some decisions about Christmas gifting in my family. This has been a frustrating subject for several weeks, mainly because no ideas rose up and demanded to be The One Best Gift for whoever. 

Another deciding factor--besides time slipping away rather quickly--is that I've been asked to sub on the organ for the Christmas Day service. I couldn't say yes quick enough--that's my all-time favorite service to play. Now I have a few weeks to go through Christmas music from years gone by and pick out the piecesI want to play during the service, in addition to the hymns and carols already chosen.

-----
Outside my window as I write this, the sun is making long shadows in my neighbor's yard; trees are dancing a little in the breeze. The temp made it into the upper 60s by late afternoon. Grass is still green, and, alas, so are the leaves. We haven't had enough cold weather or a hard enough frost to color the leaves (so I've been told) and the ones that are falling are either all brown or still green.

But the sky is that pure October blue I love. 

Life is still good.

CHECKING IN...

 I'm a little late reporting my reading for the past three months, so here's the score:

JULY:
16 mysteries (all re-reads)
  1 non-fiction (a new quilting book)

AUGUST:
12 mysteries (again, re-reads)
  3 non-fiction (another new quilting book and two memoirs)

SEPTEMBER:
  6 mysteries (yes, re-reads)
  1 sci-fi
  1 non-fiction

Total for 3 months: 40

-----
The two memoirs are: 

What Comes Next and How to Like It, by Abigail Thomas
  Abigail Thomas would not be everybody's cup of tea, but I was entertained by her rapid-fire short pieces that chronicled a long friendship.

Leaving Church, by Barbara Brown Taylor
 Taylor is an Episcopal priest who left parish work for a different kind of ministry. I'm told that she later returns to parish ministry so I'm looking forward to the next volume. She's another one who doesn't pull any punches--her life is not always exemplary, and she doesn't gloss over any of it.

The non-fiction in September was The Boys in the Boat: Nine Americans and Their Epic Quest for Gold at the 1936 Berlin Olympics, by Daniel James Brown
 There's a lot of information about rowing, but if you can plow through it, you'll hit gold yourself when you practically sit in the boat during the Olympics. The story follows all nine boys in the boat from their early years to college, through their training, and on to the Olympics, then afterward. Lots of good photos. And if you know anything at all about history, you'll appreciate what they did in a difficult time. Olympics in 1936 Berlin? 

-----
Mysteries are from my own bookshelves: W. J. Burley (Supt. Wycliffe series); Agatha Christie (Miss Marple); L. A. Taylor (various stand-alones); Josephine Tey (also various titles); Jacqueline Winspear (Maisie Dobbs series).

-----
Here's an update on our local library, damaged by fire on July 2nd:

Restoration has begun. Restorers have estimated 95% of the furniture can be restored. Paintings also. Books will be treated in special rooms of ozone (there may be other treatment as well).

In the meantime, a temporary library location is now operating out of a retail store area recently vacated. All new purchases by the library (they are constantly purchasing new materials in all media) will be catalogued and then available at the temp library.

In addition, Evergreen Indiana--God bless them!--makes it possible for patrons to visit other nearby libraries who are also in the Evergreen program--to browse, check out, and then return either to the library where the material originated or--easy-peasy--to our own library system! What I miss most of all is browsing--actually picking up a book, reading the covers, the inside flaps, starting the first page (if the author doesn't catch me by page 3, I'm probably not going to be caught later on). Now--browsing is back!

Last I heard, estimates for restoration of the original facility extend to around 12 months. That's next summer. Something to look forward to!

-----
Autumn is slowly arriving in all its usual garb--not so colorful this year, at least not yet, so there's hope for a little while longer. We're hovering around the 50-degree mark, with frequent periods of rain--then whole days of sunshine and wind--then back to clouds and, eventually, rain. The last of the summer flowers are having a final fling, and the chrysanthemums are taking up the slack. In the meantime, the rain keeps the grass green.

Have a blessed week!

Last year's beauty

HOME AGAIN . . .

Returning from vacation--arrived at the airport about 7 PM, was picked up by my driver, and 45 minutes later I was home. Luggage inside, door shut, shoes off . . . .

I was hungry--had good meals the day I left my daughter's house (and every day prior to that); she fixed a generous bag of cheddar cheese slices and apple chunks to go with my rice crackers so I wouldn't faint from hunger on the trip home. Didn't get to eat anything until after 4:30 while I waited for my connecting flight in Chicago. And then I could eat only half, not because of any time crunch, but because a few crackers, a couple slices of cheese, and half the apple chunks satisfied me. After all, I wasn't getting real exercise flying in planes. I don't count getting from one gate to another as exercise.

But walking through an airport can be tiring, especially when pulling or carrying luggage. And because I'd had breathing problems on the outward bound trip while schlepping my carry-on through the endless corridors of Chicago's O'Hare, I made up my mind to ride in one of the carts.

And what a ride it was!

Our driver was fairly young, Hispanic (I christened him Ricardo), and apparently his pick-up schedule was over-booked. He kept getting requests from his dispatcher to go to Gate __ to pick up one or more passengers. It would have been comical in a movie--we in the passenger seats of the cart, practically glued in, definitely not moving out of that cart. Looking at each other. Give up my seat? Absolutely not! What a suggestion!

Meanwhile, Ricardo is rapidly rising to greater heights of emotion--he's batting along at a great rate, calling out, "Excuse us! Excuse us!" to get walkers out of the  way. He runs down a dog, a whale, and a giraffe (all stuffed) and sideswipes pink kiddie luggage, sending it skidding to the far walls. I expect to hear him scream, "Incoming!" any moment. But I am disappointed.

Back to reality . . . . We start at Gate K with four people--go to Gate H to leave one and pick up two more--back to K to leave one we should have delivered previously--again to H for three more the dispatcher has conned Ricardo into (by this time we are at full capacity). My expectation is that we'll begin shedding our load at K, then H, then on to G (my gate, and that of two of my fellow riders). However, one of us is delivered somewhere else, so now we're down to two--both of us panting for G Gate. 

Then--not in the script--Ricardo is flagged down by a gaggle of women just off a plane and looking for baggage claim. (Little do they know they have a 3/4-mile hike ahead of them.) Ricardo explains he has passengers he has to get to their planes (still me and a woman headed for Springfield, MO). Finally he consents to take one woman who claims to be ill and about to pass out; and he explains, as we careen down the concourse ("Excuse us!") that he can take her only as far as an escalator down to baggage claim. Which he does. 

My seatmate and I are gallantly hanging on, not complaining (we are both seasoned women with enough sense to conserve our energy for travel--complaining might relieve our feelings and keep us from boiling over, but it wouldn't change the situation--except, most likely, to fan the flames).

So we sit quietly, talking from time to time. We share info: books we are reading--hers is sci-fi, mine historical mystery. Dogs--TSA K9 personnel walk ahead of us for a time, sans dogs); she tells me her little dog, never a cuddler, began jumping up on her and licking her neck under her chin; when she told her doctor (or was it the vet?) about it, she learned the dog was responding to changes/drops in her insulin levels, and thus saved her life.

We pass a Starbucks and she says, wistfully, "I could use a Starbucks right now." We both inhale deeply as Ricardo weaves through the crowd. She tells me she has lost 100 pounds over some period of time, maybe a year.

Our conversation is in snippets, small paragraphs, until we reach Gate G--I am first off, wish her safe travel, and check with the gate agent to see if I have time to go to the restroom. Learn that the plane is just arriving--I have loads of time. So I get to eat some of my crackers and cheese and apple slices.

And that's where you came in.

I still think it would make a good movie.