A long drive through the hot California country to visit large-scale agri-business. I love how the airport codes on my baggage claim remind me to eat well and exercise. Sioux Gateway Airport's FAA code is still my favorite: "SUX".
Back home in Boston...
On Charles Street, the local market always offers some great oddities in their freezer.
"Excuse me, is your turtle meat free-range? It is? Great. I trust that the rattlesnake is also?" Yuppies are predictable.
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A drug store that lasts several generations is hard to find these days. The owner told me that the only reason they survived is because they stretched themselves decades ago to buy the building. Like our local hardware store, it paid off. I had to reglaze an ancient window when I replaced the rotted sash-cords. The locally owned hardware store did the panes for under $30 and delivered the window.
My neighbors, a husband and wife duo are both surgeons, and they seem to be "on-call" every weekend that I break out the saws, hammers, and planers. Somehow, the sound of me hand-planing a window stay is always too loud for them when they are trying to sleep on a Saturday afternoon. One of these days, I'll stand outside the operating room and shout at them to keep the noise down.
Family-owned and operated since 1939. They deliver as well. No minimum.
At a dinner with Mrs. and two dear friends, the waiter handed us this. I love it. We need more people like this.
An early stroll across the bridge to Cambridge as the sun rose. Some days start and end perfectly.
A lobstah olive spear for my martini in Portland, Maine. Hat-tip to the old stomping grounds of friend-of-the-blog JKG.
Taken in the final hours of Labor Day by the longest-enduring cocktail party guest for the night. A final hurrah for white pants in the continental US until 2013. Notice the shoes.
September 3, 2012
As autumn slowly pulls up the driveway, the altered reality of summer bliss winds out. The salt sea-air of the summer/autumn 'tween decks is strangely sweet and perfect, but it has the half-life similar to the flawless tone from a tuning fork. As soon as you comprehend the its pleasure, it's gone. Walking past an open window in the city hearing a voice practicing its aria, or a piano or cello, sweet and unseen several floors above the sidewalk, the surprise moment lasting only three or four strides.