Yesterday's grey bluster has turned to liquid gold, and overnight all the trees in my new neighborhood have started turning color. I hosted this month's Girlfriend Breakfast* with my dear Jovie this morning, and after stuffing ourselves silly we went for a walk in this glorious autumn weather. So, so good for my soul. I'm telling you - almost nothing beats deep conversation with a heart-friend over a spinach and mushroom scramble, bacon, apple pie cookies, and french press coffee on a gorgeous fall morning.
* Jovie read a book about a group of girlfriends who started a secret
society of ladies who drink martinis - or something like that. We spent a
good part of our morning trying to think up what our secret society
would be. We decided that ours would be the Ladies Who Eat Big
Breakfasts with Bacon. It is very exclusive. And tasty.
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Fall, falling, fallen. That's the way the season
Changes its tense in the long-haired maples
That dot the road; the veiny hand-shaped leaves
Redden on their branches (in a fiery competition
With the final remaining cardinals) and then
Begin to sidle and float through the air, at last
Settling into colorful layers carpeting the ground.
At twilight the light, too, is layered in the trees
In a season of odd, dusky congruences—a scarlet tanager
And the odor of burning leaves, a golden retriever
Loping down the center of a wide street and the sun
Setting behind smoke-filled trees in the distance,
A gap opening up in the treetops and a bruised cloud
Blamelessly filling the space with purples. Everything
Changes and moves in the split second between summer's
Sprawling past and winter's hard revision, one moment
Pulling out of the station according to schedule,
Another moment arriving on the next platform. It
Happens almost like clockwork: the leaves drift away
From their branches and gather slowly at our feet,
Sliding over our ankles, and the season begins moving
Around us even as its colorful weather moves us,
Even as it pulls us into its dusty, twilit pockets.
And every year there is a brief, startling moment
When we pause in the middle of a long walk home and
Suddenly feel something invisible and weightless
Touching our shoulders, sweeping down from the air:
It is the autumn wind pressing against our bodies;
It is the changing light of fall falling on us.
~ Edward Hirsch
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Seriously, those apple pie cookies are freaking awesome. Smitten Kitchen is one of my favorite sites. I am inspired by her cooking in a tiny space.
For two years I made a home in a tiny studio apartment - less than 150sq feet. Studios can be very depressing (a dingy overhead light, and a futon, and a TV), and since this was a season of healing, I needed to create a cheerful little nest to come home to. Apartment Therapy and IKEA helped me with layout and storage, and Smitten Kitchen helped me with food.
I had a tiny fridge, a 2-burner hotplate, a microwave, a toaster oven, a 4-cup coffee pot, and a crockpot, and a "kitchen" that was basically 1/2 of a closet, but I managed to cook real food during a time when I especially needed home comforts. I even hosted people. And I am not the most organized person in the kitchen, or a foodie by anyone's stretch of the imagination, so I don't mean to brag on me. Rather, I just got good advice from lots of sources (there are toaster oven cookbooks!), and inspiration from a gal who had a tiny kitchen too. Thanks to Smitten Kitchen, I could put on a full spread - dessert included. :)
View from standing in the kitchen looking toward the sofa bed. I had a table and four chairs off to the left.
View of the tiny kitchen from in front of the black cabinet.Tiny.
I wish I had known about the apple pie cookies when I lived in that apartment, cuz they are the perfect size! I will make up for lost time, by making lots of them this year. If you come to my house this year, chances are I will try to feed these to you.
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The lawn guys just finished mowing our lumpy lawn. Yowza! But we can feel a bit better among our neighbors now. We already live in this garish house. The least we can do is keep our lumpy lawn mowed.
I've met a few of them, and they are all funny. They usually say something like, "So, she won't paint it, huh?" I guess a few years ago, they approached the property manager with an offer to all pitch in and pay for it. No dice. She loves the color.
And several neighbors commented that they worry about who will move into The Pink House, "Who will be drawn by that color?" but when they saw us put up our porch stuff, and plant flowers, they figured we were ok. (Heh heh - that's just cuz we haven't plugged in the amp yet, or hosted a sword event in our yard. Just wait, Neighbors, we'll freak you out.)
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And I've taken up enough of your time. Happy November, folks!