UnexcitingI do not have a microwave oven. I used to, a long time ago where there was a need in life for that sort of cookery, and a space in the kitchen to put the thing. I could fit one in the kitchen I have now with little trouble, but I don't really have the need for it. I've found that the things I heat or re-heat can be done in saucepans, or the oven; I would not really get a savings of time from a microwave. I have learned to spend those moments on other things. I do miss having one kicking around for re-heating the odd cup of tea, but I've found I can make do by adding more hot water, or just making another cup of tea.
There are lots of things I used to eat from microwaves. There were frozen things in big bags bought from the freezer isle of the grocery. Bags of fluffy popcorn, touched with salt and something that may have been butter, but likely not. There's a trick with Triscuits and cheese. I don't eat any of that stuff anymore, and don't really miss it. Most of it wasn't that good for me anyway.
So I clean things and peel them and lop them up, toss them with a bit of oil and salt, and then let them sit in the oven for an hour or more, losing moisture and gaining flavor, becoming crisp and sweet. It's better than anything I could get out of the microwave. It makes the house smell a whole lot better, too.
In the crate this time we got more lettuce (how do they do that?), some basil, but far more of the treasures of autumn: potatoes, beets, apples, onions, garlic. The oven begs to take them, and make them better. We did not get any tomatoes this time, but that's alright, too: the vines on the side of the house are in full end of season riot, shaking with fruit.
I consider it further strike against the microwave that it would introduce another damn clock into the kitchen, to cast eerie green glow around the place when the last light is off. I would be compelled to set it, and then again when the power took leave.
The kettle is on the stove. I should get a better kettle. One without a clock.
LingerI came home this evening to find a tableau in the back yard. Two squirrels were pensively scratching the earth beneath the maples, down the small slope. Up on the patio stones there was the neighborhood Siamese cat, laid out from the heat of the day, sampling. One squirrel eventually climbed a maple and began to chatter, and the other loped off down the yard, catching the attention of the Siamese, who began to wiggle and crawl after it. I do not think the Siamese will have much luck: the poor thing has a bell upon it's collar. The cat can sometimes move without sounding it, but not always. It lost the squirrel in the bracken, and then moped off down the alley, looking for some other thing.
It has been hot, far to hot to be October. The garden seems almost tired now; there is little left in the plants for more exertion. The walls have soaked up the heat, an it will likely be some time before I have to think about the furnace. This should probably be the day I take the hammock down, but I am not that smart. Soon enough the weather is forecast to turn, to bring us our autumn of cooler air and windy rain.
Soon, it will be time for soup.
OmbraI was standing at work in one of the rooms that may or may not be considered my office and talking to a colleague; they picked up a technical monthly, and mentioned to the air that they should probably subscribe to the thing. I've held that subscription. I let it lapse. I told them: every month I happily pulled an issue from the postbox, only to discover that I'd already read about everything in there, sometimes in more depth (far more often with less polish). A month makes that news too old, these days.
I have a subscription to the daily newspaper. I have not yet managed to work it into the morning routine. I not sure I ever will. Growing up, I got my hands on the local daily when my father came home, having picked it up moments before from a paper box. We no longer have a morning paper and evening paper in this place, so I make due and read the morning paper in the evenings. The staleness is still there a little, but not entirely. Some things I know of already: I have seen the snark on the internet, but it's usually useful to read the rest of it, if only to better appreciate the snark. Some items do not rate snark, but are yet worth reading. There is always the crossword, and the pens in the jelly jar on the nightstand.
In the evenings on the porch, I have been getting visits from a cat. It's a young thing, I think, all smoky grey except for soft white feet. It is friendly, and finds new ways to climb the porch each time. It parades around, gently marking the posts and the chairs and me. The is how we got our cat when I was growing up; I should be careful. The cat carries no collar, no bell, and it is unclear if it is a stray or simply a roamer. It is unclear if it has a family. I should be careful, for I know this to be true, too: I am yet allergic to cats.
The evenings are getting cool, though.
Essentially BreadIt is useful to have a porch with chairs on it. I am happy to have on of those, now, although it is not a community porch. It does not face the street, nor give rise to waiving to neighbors. Instead, it faces the back yard, a sheltered cloister of trees and shrubs with the occasional cat. This place used to have a proper front porch, and one of the long term hopes is to put the thing back, or at least put something in place to honor what once was.
I know others with front porches, set out by the sidewalk, within easy distance of waving and possible (if unlikely) conversation. Christopher Alexander has some good thoughts on this sort of thing. I highly recommend it on general principles; when the weather is nice, it is difficult to spend better evenings. We had a pizza, and we ate it, dusted careful with habanero pepper powder. Joggers waved as they passed, lost deeply in rhythm and iPods. The sky turned to twilight, then dusk. It is good to fill the evening with comfort foods and conversation.
Also: Shadyside is improved by Simon Postford. I did not expect otherwise.
Le CimeThe thing about living on hilltops: sometimes they set off fireworks.
All content under copyright by the author. Dancing is permitted. The strange deltic glyphs in the sand under tidal flow are a pleasure to watch in their deepening. Offer not valid in Kansas. We put it down and then we lost it. It all happens in the corner of the eye. Mail accepted for the bears in the basement. We have a dog, but we do not own it. Thank you.