Follow Rt. 95 south, take the Van Wyck, then the Belt...I'm in Brooklyn

Heidi is a marvelous cook. I arrived at her home, and after she picked Bob up at the airport, their son Michael appeared, and we all sat down to a typical Sunday evening meal in their home. This is the time to make Ratatouille, oui?  And a side of chicken a-la-wonderful.

I left my dropped-jaw prints in many a farmers market in my short time in France last year. This year I observed our local markets with new eyes. The colors, the freshness, the wholesome smell of fruits and vegetables that are naturally ripe -- it mesmerizes me. I can stay there forever, wandering around and watching people being happy, choosing food for their evening meals.

Today I prepare for a consult on dental surgery and have an appointment for a mammogram. Is this too much information? And why would I travel to Brooklyn from RI, one might ask. It's a legitimate question.

I leave you with this quote from Thich Nhat Hanh: "Every twenty-four hour day is a tremendous gift to us.  So we should all learn to live in a way that makes joy and happiness possible. We can do this. I begin my day by making an offering of incense while following my breath.  I think to myself that this is a day to live fully, and I make the vow to live each moment of it in a way that is beautiful, solid and free. This only takes me three or four minutes, but it gives me a great deal of pleasure. You can do the same thing when you wake up. Breathe in and tell yourself that a new day has been offered to you, and you have to be here to live it."

Good morning, all!

Following the fog

Two weeks ago, it was premature snow. Today, an appropriately seasonal soft fog envelopes us, and stays a good part of the morning. Sweet air carries an earthy scent of leaves turning to mulch around the shrubs; fat chipmunks skitter around, purposeful and serious. In spring they fall all over each other, looking like cartoons of themselves, making us laugh.  In fall they mind the omens, pack up reserves and prepare to hunker down. As do the tubby squirrels.

I do the same, after looking toward the kayaks, yearning for one last paddle before darkness takes over. I clear out old food from the kitchen, gather squash and eggplant from the farmer's market, some re-energized arugula and bok choy from my little raised garden. I bring down the storm windows while autumn breezes blow lightly, preparing to bar the howling wind of winter from entering my kitchen.

The last task today is finished: winter savory, thyme and tarragon are potted and sit on the sill, will soon be in stews and on roasted fish and fowl. My cat, amazingly, likes to eat the stevia leaves. That can be a problem. I'll figure it out later. It's time for a walk before I leave on a small journey, to Brooklyn.  More later...

When October journeys softly toward November on the cove...

Readings from Rumi

Extraordinary

This is a page; I'm starting pages

Now I have to figure out what to put in the pages.

Starting from where I began

I am here  on Bissell Cove in Rhode Island where I look out the window at cormorants skimming over the top of the water, where egrets hang out in trees, looking like Christmas ornaments, where herons glide in as soft as a sigh and hover just before dropping down to poke around for a meal. It's home to me and my neighbors, waterfowl and human, four footed wildlife and birds of every color and size. Yes, this is home. Why ever would I leave it?