Endings

And just like that I thought it was fall and I turned nostalgic, thinking of warm clothing (C. has on his navy-blue sweatshirt) and down comforters and hours and hours of darkness and good books and tea--and no mate. Not that I have to have a mate, I mean there are plenty of folks who seem perfectly happy living alone. I, on the the other hand, have been married most of my adult life. I believe in marriage, of cooking together, sleeping together, crying together, figuring out the tough things to get through, going through the births and deaths together. Now I must go it alone. Woman pioneer. And even though I have friends, the married friends infrequently invite the singles to the table. Why? is my question. Is the ending so obvious and painful in a single person that it's not a feeling to introduce it to the couple? Or is it some old policy, the matron, the old-maid, the...

But it isn't fall. The temps are supposed to surge into the 80s. More high pressure and I will take a trip to eastern Washington and get cooked to the bones. Hot! Dry! Spicy smell of pine pitch. And the garden--arugh! The beans are yellow, the spinach and chard munched off and two of the tomatoes--the other beans never sprouted. Arugh! And again the bright side--the spinach was fabulously delicious, as was the broccoli raab.

So a plan for the fall--when it eventually arrives, tons of manure. Now to figure out where to get it. I know I can't do the wheelbarrow work myself. I'll have to have it delivered. Or buy bags. Lots of bags of chicken manure. Once I used pigeon manure--oh it really stunk--but it really worked. I have a neighbor with chickens, perhaps I'll go knock on her door. Get busy amending in the areas that are lying fallow.

Okay then, do things end or just compost and make things richer. I'm voting for the second one. Things don't actually end, just change form.

Ciao!