It’s cold and gonna get colder. Going from flip flops to draft stoppers makes for a strange contrast. Meanwhile, leaves, leaves, and more leaves fall, including the giant ones from our two catalpa trees. I’ve saved up some of their knobby fallen branches for the mantle. What do you think — spray them silver or gold? Leave them natural?
Too much to process every week. One hundred and four texts with son number two yesterday. Fortunately NOT about his trip to the ER earlier in the week (strep has blossomed into scarlet fever. BTW, did you know that no one gets rheumatic fever anymore and no one really knows why? When I was eight, I was ordered on bed rest because of a rheumatic fever scare. I remember my mother carrying me to the bathroom and being pissed that I was missing the games noisily unfolding in the back yard). He is okay by the way.
A dinner with my Indivisible group. Heartening elections. Legs that hurt for no reason. A relative who was in her car in Manhattan when the terrorist yelling out to Allah ran right in front of her. And the recent church slayings? Nothing. I am numb.
Meanwhile my allegiance to cuteness becomes necessary. This little critter needs arms and a name.
She has her eye on Thanksgiving and models casual flair. With a starchy, perfectly pressed apron and a smile, she will somehow manage (without a moment of hand-wringing) to get a good-enough meal on the table.
