Today, I uprooted the tomato plants. We’ve had a couple of overnight frosts, and it was time to say good-bye.
I’ve put this off much too long, figuring I’d be depressed to see the empty planters. Instead, the bare soil is not so much a bitter ending but more of a promise for next year.
I also put fall arrangements in the flower boxes at Edgewater and even mowed just about all of the back yard. The cleanup was a lot less work than I’d figured. There’s still more to do, but at least the yard is useable in the unlikely event that my grandchildren decided they wanted to go outside to play.
James and I were joking about this the other day. He’s the only one who cares to join me when I’m doing yardwork, and we were speculating that maybe the other two stay inside because they’re scared that an elephant is going to appear out of nowhere and trample them.

Yesterday’s good weather provided an opportunity to start Fall cleanup, one of my least favorite chores, but being outside is always better than inside, no matter what.
I removed most of the gone-by’s from the flower boxes and the garden by the fence, and did some raking and lawn mowing.
It was the first time in about two months that I felt confident enough to put my bad leg to use, and it did very well.
I put the wrong kind of gas in the lawn mower, but Peter was able to clear it and get it running. James kept me company for a little while, offering water and conversation while I swept the street.
The back yard at Edgewater needs serious blow-down raking before I can do the lawn. The oak trees in the front still have a lot of leaves.
It’s raining today, but supposed to be better tomorrow.

I learned this past weekend that my grandchildren are members of the Millennials, that generation born between 1980 and 2000.
Opinions about the Millennials are almost universally rhapsodic: they are family and team-oriented, patriotic, confident, hopeful, goal-oriented.
In the workplace, they look for learning opportunities, the chance to work with friends, fun, flexibility and respectful treatment.
Millennials are lucky, employers are “desperate” to hire them, and will continue to be so for years to come because of my generation’s hypothetical upcoming retirement from the workforce (as if most of us could afford to retire).

We learned with sadness that Norman Mailer passed away this weekend.
I heard him speak several times in the last few years at the home of friends of a friend.
Sunday mornings were reserved for “Norman”, and he was consistently ferocious, urbane and irreverent: at his presentation last year, he growled, “Organized religion is the citadel of Satan.”
His passing represents the loss of yet another member of a unique generation of intellectuals and activists whose like we will probably not see again.
A singular confluence of events created them, and in my view at least, our modern Weltanschauung – frightened, tepid, vulnerable to the marketing of idiot politicians and neurotic rock stars, hostile to true inventiveness, competence and insight – is incapable of producing the kind of astute, idiosyncratic avant-garde of which Norman Mailer was a part.

The boys slept over, and Bob asked me to write down that this is James’s overnight, not his.
So, there you have it.
James is a good guest, as usual. The only bad thing about having him stay over is that he insists on sleeping on a foam chair/couch in the living room rather than the trundle in the guest room.
As a result, when I get up at my usual 5 or 5:30 and make coffee in the kitchen, no matter how quiet I try to be, I always seem to wake him up.
I’ve tried putting the coffee maker in my room, but even that doesn’t work. James has a knack for sensing the slightest noise and movement, even when he seems to be sound asleep.

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The forecast is for more wind gusts today, of less ferocity than last weekend, but enough to cause more tree damage and possibly power outages.
Two birthdays today, John’s and Carolyn’s.
Thanksgiving is less than two weeks away, and gas prices are already on the increase: paid over $3.00 a gallon last night – at a Hess.
Why isn’t there a Saturday brunch?

My granddaughter helped her class win an contest at school by coming up with a clever name for a cart that holds containers of fluoride solution: “Swish Utility Vehicle”, or SUV.
Guess they won toothbrushes or something equally utilitarian.
Well, the dental hygiene people at her school wouldn’t have given them candy, would they now?

Occasionally, I get drafted to stay with my grandkids at supper time, especially when Peter and Bonnie have early evening meetings.
Last night was one such occasion, so I dragged out my little slow cooker earlier in the day to make stew.
I’d also picked up some bread and defrosted brownies for dessert, and had supper on the table by 6.
My son has figured out how to get his crew organized for late dinners, but I haven’t mastered the knack. I’ve found it’s easier to feed them earlier than later because it gives them time to take their showers, do their homework and (most importantly) play their gaming type before they go to bed.
I haven’t used the slow cooker much, but was pleased with its performance and shall plan to put it to work more often. I bought it at a very deep discount years ago; in fact, I had to seize it before a well-meaning friend, who wished to curry favor with a mutual acquaintance, tried to grab it, excusing my capture of the appliance with a condescending smile that after all, I needed it more because her other friend was married (and, thus, had more money).
Rub it in, skank*.
The kids are fussy eaters, and I tried to engage their interest by telling them the stew had a secret ingredient: wine. They started giggling and their eyes widened to the size of silver dollars: “Does Daddy know you are trying to get us drunk?!”
We finished off with hot mulled cider; thus, a reasonably pleasant evening was enjoyed by all.
*I absolutely love this word, which has its origins in the mid-70’s, and am sorry in a way that “byotch” seems to have replaced it as a female pejorative. It’s a thoroughly nasty word, and I’ve applied it here to my friend with affectionate chagrin.

Last year it was November 12, so we are about on the same schedule.
That means Indian Summer is on the way.
Seems like the foliage around here turned very late. We still have a lot of Fall color.

The property on Edgewater is only about 1/3 of an acre, but in the last four years, I’ve had at least thirteen trees removed, about half of which were quite large, some 50-60 feet high.
The last two trees to be taken down were so severely damaged in last weekend’s storm that they were left with maybe 30% of a normal crown.
The arborist told me that he’s seen a lot of sick oaks this year, a combination of attacks over the last couple of years by moth caterpillars and a cold spell this past February following a mild early winter.

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