Tonight was soft taco night. Soft taco night has come into being because it is a dish that all the people who eat at this house can agree on. Spaghetti used to be a dish like that. But my son, who came up in a family of spaghetti eaters, is no longer playing ball. I would like to say that there are other bi-partisan dishes around here, but maybe not.
Am I the only one who feels like this election might kill her? Literally kill? I will say no more, but I think you can tell I'm not very happy right now.
This afternoon, I bought a watermelon. It's that time of year when you start thinking, I better drink all the lemonade, or This may be the last watermelon of summer. And while it doesn't sound particularly poignant, I felt a little poignant as I thumped around the watermelon bin, looking for a good one to play the part of the Last Watermelon.
Because our early summer was so travel-ish, I didn't get around to planting very many things, not until later in the summer, and there wasn't very much I wanted to plant that was still sitting around in pots in the Garden Shop at Smith's Marketplace. I hate when that happens. All that's left are sad, leggy marigolds and bedraggled petunias. But there was heaps of basil and lemon verbena, so that's what I planted. I have picked the flowers off a hundred different basil stems, to keep them going. In the heat, they look a little wilted, but every morning, there they are, leaves green and glossy, and casting forth yet another purple flower. I hear that flowering makes the basil leaves bitter. I run my fingers over the leaves, or pinch off another blossom, the fragrance on my skin.
Walked early, walked late. Finished my novel, which was good but too sad.
is how old I will be this week. What is good about fifty-five? maybe a lot of things. This week, I will be on the lookout for these good things.