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Photo by Gail Harvey, no reproduction without permission
Squash Patch What a crazy and lovely day. Honestly, Mondays are so surreal and fun, and to also notice that it's OCTOBER already is likewise surreal.
The wind is driving the trees wild as I type this. County music, I call it. A distant shout, a coyote scream here and there, and all my cats safely at my feet.
The season is winding into this absolutely gorgeous mellow thing that must be like pre-post-partum, if that makes any sense. A woman named Marnie asking me to sign my novel when she found out my name is also Marnie. FUN. To Marnie from Marnie: the novel was to be a gift to her daughter, also named Marnie. I have little attachment to my name, somehow, but this was a hilarious moment. In the garden of the cafe, and so I sat down on the grass and signed books [her friend kindly bought one too] and sent them off with scones.
And then after we closed, which sometimes is a sad moment and other times, a huge relief, I decided to drive out to see my friends at Honeywagon Farms on Sandy Hook Road to buy squash. They are squash experts, it must be said, and chemical-free farmers too. I was sent to walk in the squash patch, 5:30 pm, when all the light out here is fair and fine. I walked and I was amazed. The silence: the rotund pumpkins still attached to their vines: the myriad shapes and sizes of squash. They reminded me of humans: we are all so varied, yet so linked by a basic vine, too. And birdsong and bugs: my day was perfected as I laughingly walked back to my car hauling a squash for soup that honestly should have been in something lewd. A film or poster, you know, terrifying to behold but apparently it will make the best ginger garlic squash soup ever, so:) And I bought two spaghetti squash as well because nothing is better for pasta-type dining.
On the week-end we cracked open the sacred [signed] copy of Cover Me, Jann Arden, though we made sure to spare the fantastic and most-treasured signature from the flying olive oil. I had already bought Ms. Arden's cd but this copy came to me special d from my former boss, Chris Moloney. None of the damned cds [and we have everything you could ever need aurally] in the cafe are spared the olive-pawed treatments since the cooks are also the resident djs [addicted to Jann and Al Green and covered in burns/cuts, hello: Aries!] so few of them work past 3 tries. Cover Me had the ladies who lunch tilting in their seats and that's why we play it non-stop all day. Thanks for your scribble.
Bring me my ipod, Mercury retrograde bedamned, I need to run, and hard.
Countdown to a Bush-Free World: approx 399 days: no doubt he is counting them too, but thanks for nothing, Bushie.
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