Warm day. October 3 and it was 85 degrees. I walked my daughter up the hill to where her
school bus picked her up and bid her farewell.
On the way down the drive I marveled at all the fallen leaves and fallen
pine needles that formed such remarkable patterns on the ground. The maple, behind the house has started to
turn. The poison ivy vines that pull at
some of these cypress trees are now yellow and red. But most of the trees have yet to turn though there are many now here on the ground.
Listened to some
Caetano Veloso and savored his rich vowels, imagining I could understand all
that he was saying. I spend the mountain
bike down the hill and remembered to put into a low gear, before breaking and
lifting the front wheel and then the rear, over the fallen tree, there in the
yard, so that I can pedal up the trail after I’ve crossed. Soon I’ve wound through the deer trail and
have plopped down onto the rail trail.
Leaves, again, the
theme. I head south towards the town on
Gardiner. Someone from South Korea is
going to call in forty-five minutes so I can’t go too far. The path is generally grey gravel. But today, most of the path is completely
blanketed in yellow leaves and the patterns are extraordinary, like some
infinitely complicated Persian rug that continues to dazzle with each pass through
a new canopy dropping.
Later that night I
visit the Tops grocery with my niece. I
have it in my mind to make pizza for everyone tonight. There’s no such prepackaged dough available to do that with in
Beijing, and at the new place, no oven.
I buy peppers and eggplant, and decide they need to be cooked before
they go on the pizza. But they become
moist. And the dough has been stretched
too thin. I take them out early and the
crust isn’t done yet. Later, it is clear
that the toppings are too moist, too heavy for the crust and it turns into more
of stew than anything you can lift and eat as a slice. My last pies had been perfect, but these are
pies I publicly apologize for.
Wednesday 10/02/19
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