Yesterday at work I succeeded in suspending time; 1 to 2PM lasted about three head-nodding-towards-your-chest long hours. A rare slow period for me these days. Boss was away, (thank goodness, because for a couple of days I had been seriously considering emailing his wife to ask if he’d been concussed over the weekend. I also began sniffing about him, subtly gauging his pupil size—could be drugs making him act so amazingly, well, stupid.) it was comfortably warm, my tasks were completed and I entered into a period of near-numb boredom, which naturally leads to surfing a little on the Internet. After a quick look at boots for women with ‘curvier’ calves (quotes mine—no quotes sounds so much kinder and sexier, not just a soft synonym for beefy), and exploring various over-the-counter medications for wart removal, I cleared the history, (chah!) and carried on with a work project that managed to make its way to me during that Molasses Time.
Today it finally feels like Fall is really on the way, and I was wishing I’d brought a sweater to work. This morning the air was crisp and clear from last night’s rain, and I shook a couple damp yellow leaves off the newspaper before carrying the dripping bag with two fingers into the office. I saw kids trudging to school laden with backpacks that threatened to topple them over backwards, where I imagine they’d struggle, legs and arms flailing, like a turtle on its shell.
I just hope we have a couple more decent sunny days to ripen the last of the tomatoes—the only vegetable that’s been even close to prolific in our garden this year. Last weekend I cored a bunch of them, sliced them into rounds, tossed with olive oil, garlic, salt and fresh basil and roasted them for 25 minutes or so in a 450-degree oven, until they were just starting to blacken around the edges, filling the house with smells of earthy goodness, and our mouths with a burst of sun-ripened salty-sweet flavor. The cooler weather fans my desire to cook, after avoiding anything hot all summer, and I look forward to standing over a steaming pan of sweating onions, maybe some chopped artichoke hearts, pearls of rice, dreamily stirring in the stock, the wine, perhaps some Manchego cheese instead of parmesan, for a mouthwatering risotto. My kind of comfort food.
It’s supposed to rain in Seattle this coming Labor Day weekend, and while we might shun the drops with typical Northwest aplomb and attend a day at Bumbershoot, I know for a fact for at least a portion of it I’ll be snuggled down in the cozy chair, my Obama-stockinged feet hanging over the arm.(Tangential sock-i-dote here: My niece just gave these socks to me as a gift upon her return from teaching in Korea for the last year–I love that they have our president’s face on socks over there! They’d met us at a restaurant directly from the airport, and my rummy jet-lagged niece started pulling little presents out practically as she sat down. When she gave Joe and I each a pair of the Obama socks, unwrapped, her mother, Ssin—Snarky-sister-in-law, remember her?––says in disgust, “I know you didn’t get those for me!” Whereupon Gift-giving Niece pulls out a pair of cutesy cow socks for her– you know how some people say something is ‘so ugly its cute?’ Cutesy to me is something so cute it makes me want to puke. – which made all involved happy. Especially me. I then felt compelled to put them on my hands extending them from the sunroof of our car for directional aid as we led them out to I-5 after dinner.) I’ll have Nick Harkaway’s The Gone-Away World, propped on my thighs, one cat behind my head on the other arm of the chair, one on the back of the chair, trying to block my reading light, Joe up in the loft on his snazzaphone, the Japanese dwarf maple in the front yard changing from dark dusty maroon to an ambiguous lighter color soon-to-become red every time I glance out. Ahhhhhh-tum!