Like Winter

Through the north windows of the house, the day looked cold and unwelcoming. I almost didn't go for a walk. When finally I did, late in the afternoon, the air was still, there was water laying everywhere, it was beautiful out there, and I thought, "I almost missed this!"

Remember not to judge the day by appearances, I said to myself; get out here and find out for sure, no matter how things look. (Kind of like not judging people by their relatives ... or their friends ... or their shabby clothing ... or their houses without siding, like ours.)

It seemed as if, the moment I was back indoors, the wind picked up and started to beat against the house and blow the last of the leaves from the three oak trees edging the front lawn.

On Saturday I waited in the truck while Scott went into the post office, then held the door for an elderly gentleman and stood chatting for a few minutes. 

Today is another cool one, or so it appears, so I'm going to make a batch of bread. On Saturday while Scott attended a funeral I spent several hours with Everett, who is my regular customer. He can make it himself but prefers to buy it if I'll make it, so I try to keep both our households provided.

"How many loaves have you got left?" I asked, and he checked his deep freeze.

"Two," he said, "but I like to have some in reserve. I could use another batch."

And then we watched Sausage Party, which I'd expected to be a family film that could be viewed with Emil. NO. It wouldn't be good to hear Emil repeating some of that language; not that he would be likely to, but why put it into his head in the first place?