These photos were taken one right after the other, with an accidental shift of the focus. On their own, neither of them particularly speaks to me, but taken together they work. I like the metaphor invoked by that. As the great A.A. Milne wrote, “It’s so much friendlier with two.” Or, in modern-pop-rap vernacular, “It takes two to make a thing go right, it takes two to make it out of sight.” Hit the beat now, Mr. Bass.
When given the choice between red or white wine, I almost always choose white. Unless I’m having duck. That’s the one exception, and a rare one at that.
It looks so strange to be open at this time of the season. No stranger than it looked after last year’s snowstorm, which surrounded the blue water with a blanket of white, but odd enough in the Fall light. Tinged with sadness, it’s almost worse than if it were covered. Fall, like the Spring, moves too quickly, shuffling by before we really get to enjoy it. Only the oak trees hold onto their carriage a little longer, the brittle brown leaves hanging tenaciously on almost into winter. Theirs is a noble, if futile, effort.
There’s a dirty limerick waiting to be made out of every childhood rhyme, but I’m not up for it today. Instead, let’s make a concerted effort to rise above the gutter until the next Hunk of the Day rears his head. (See, I can’t even write up a nice pumpkin post without a ‘rear’ and some ‘head’.) The best I can do is offer this seasonal picture of some pumpkins. It sets the scene better than a Witch’s tit.
The art of reading tea-leaves is one of those mystical things in which a very small part of me sometimes, somewhat believes. I put as much stock in it as I do in the Ouija board or Tarot cards, but if everything happens for a reason, perhaps there’s something to be said in the way the universe designs its spent tea leaves, some story to be told in the arrangement left behind. When a bag of green tea suddenly split open the other day, instead of throwing it out, I finished it (and the few tea leaves that made it into my mouth), turned the cup upside down, and then righted it, looking for the pattern that remained. Here it is. No clue what on earth I’m supposed to see in it. Any tea-leaf diviners out there?
This weekend we’ll be making our inaugural foray into Sharon Springs, checking out the American Hotel for the very first time. I’ve heard nothing but raves and accolades about this upstate oasis, so I’m quite looking forward to it – and a necessary bit of relaxation before the next few months shift into holiday gear. Owners Garth and Doug rescued the hotel from certain ruin about eleven years ago, and it marked the beginning of a revitalization of the entire area. A number of my friends have stayed here, all highly recommending the experience, and I’m hoping we’ll run into Garth and Doug, as well as whatever ghosts happen to descend upon the town on this pre-Halloween weekend. As much as I’m anticipating the cozy accommodations, it’s the four-course dinner that I’m most excited about. I’m already saving space in my belly for that main event.
Behold the autumnal glory of the red bark maple. Its current sunny yellow disposition is almost matched by its Spring show, in which the earliest leaves are a bright chartreuse, but I think this has the slightest edge, especially in the low angle of the Fall sunlight. If you look closely, you’ll notice that even the stems of the leaves are red – not only the bark – a whimsical detail that escaped me until this year. Even at this late stage, there are still surprises to be found in the garden – and beautiful ones at that.
Andy’s birthday was marked with this beautiful bouquet of red roses from our friends JoAnn, Wally, Carolyn, Laurie, Ali, & Kim ~ and a dinner cooked by yours truly.
The simple pepperoni Italian sauce was a variation on a basic tomato sauce recipe taught to me by an Italian friend almost fifteen years ago. It’s something I used to cook whenever I felt down, and was the first dish I ever made for Andy. Here it is, in rough form:
This colorful panoply of leaves is the seasonably ceremonial garb of the Chinese dogwood tree. While this particular specimen in our front yard has yet to flower with any real exuberance, it makes up for such a drawback with this autumn display of foliage. Sometimes the trade-off is worth it.
On Columbus Day, the crowd departs, and I’m reminded of the low-key scenes of our first few visits here a dozen years ago. One some of those nights it was tough to find a cup of coffee after a certain time – a far cry from today, when most businesses stay open until November at least – if not beyond. Personally, I like it when it gets quieter like this – when the noise and excitement subsides. It’s at odds with what a lot of people think of me, but when you get down to the nitty-gritty, the undressed core, I abhor pomp and circumstance. This is not something that translates well to a website, or print for that matter – and it is one of the conundrums of all that I’ve done – and all that I continue to do. Yet it is a delicious juxtaposition – such contrast and contradiction are what keep life from becoming too unbearably boring. The quest for survival is sometimes as simple as a fight against stagnation. Tonight – and this extra-long weekend in Ogunquit – we have won the battle. The war, however, rages on.
Were you really expecting something else? You need to look into that.
