The Start

First of all, are there any two friends who are more glorious than these two?

No. No, there are not. Mom and Mrs. C. get it done day in and day out, and have for almost 60 years, the first 40 as nextdoor neighbors. True blue, these two.

Second of all, Mistah declared, on his first trip to the Dutch in like two years, that the Friday after Thanksgiving is the official start to Guinness Season.

And who are we to argue?

Hey, it's the official start to a lots of things . . .  

. . . college basketball season . . . 

. . . fire season .  . . 

. . . and of course, the start of the ever-popular and ever-hyped Holiday season . . . 

. . . which started with a lovely Thanksgiving.

Thank you, Mom.

We're off to a good start.

Fiyah

Sometimes you need to have a fire on a November afternoon.

Fires make everything better.

And so do rakes.

You know how it can be this time of year. The earth is calming down for the season ... but the peeps are ramping up.

It can be disconcerting.

But fiyah makes everything better . . . 

. . . especially if you get a few gorgeous lovelies stop by . . .  

. . . and if you have gorgeous foliage . . . 

. . . and if you yell out to the MIstah, "Well you know the first line of Little Women, don't you?" And he responds, "Well, no, but I can put my hands on it and bring it out in 12 seconds . . . "

Yeah, he did.

It's the best.

It's fiyah.

The Maple

It's been gorgeous around these parts lately.

 

Our maple is spectacular these days, but we still have summertime ferns, and of course . . . The Tree.

We're in the middle of all the seasons . . . 

. . . and it's glorious.

But in the meantime . . . 

Mistah and I had Hair Challenge.

I totally won.

Interlude over. Back to the trees. 

How I do love the trees.

The red maple seems faraway, but she's ours, and the poor thing has a claw-like branch which seems to be acting unkindly toward her . . . 

The non-red maple has no such intruders . . . 

She was my backdrop to a family zoom yesterday . . . 

I got to see faces. And they liked our tree.

This maple of ours . . . 

. . . she gets lit up by the sun and every single time I look at her from any angle, she gives me joy . . . 

. . .  great maple joy.

The Dark Part of the Day, Redux

The perfect day -- nay, season -- to repost this.

Happy four pm!

It is, according to me a few years ago, still daytime at four pm. Just, you know, not the light part of the day . . . 

MONDAY, DECEMBER 12, 2016

The Dark Part of the Day

It is dark around here, this time of year.

Like, four o'clock-getting-dark.

It's anathema to those of us who, in the summer, go to the beach at four o'clock because that's just when it starts gettin' good.

But Mistah and I learned a long time ago that we cannot accept four o'clock as nighttime. It's black as night, yes. But four o'clock is notnighttime. It is, instead, the Dark Part of the Day.

And before it gets dark? Well, it's light.

I mean, it's not light light, but it's a little bit light.

And that light -- as fleeting and tenuous as it is these days -- does pretty and dramatic things to the world . . . 

 . . . to the last of the leaves . . .

. . . and to the clouds in the big blue sky.

It's a challenge these days, when four o'clock comes around . . .

. . . but when night does fall? And sticks around for hours and hours and hours?

Well, at least the Big Dipper come out to play . . . 

The Halloween That Wasn't

Mistah and I argue every year -- in front of the poor trick-or-treaters, bless their greedy little hearts -- about how many candy pieces to give them. I always say three of four; he votes for one or two.

One or two.

I know, right?

But this year? 

We should have given each munchkin four or five. Or seven or eight.

On our dead-end street, it was the Halloween That Wasn't.

But I will always be thankful and glad and proud that I was part of the one, the only . . . 

. . . The Halloween that Was . . .