Winter is coming and I know this because my lizard brain, the primitive part that regulates breathing, balance, coordination, and survival has kicked in.
The Second Street owls are already thinking ahead to mating which typically happens in January and February. Ordinarily solitary creatures, last night they sat side-by-side on a bare branch at the top of the elm in Father Dan’s yard. Every night they call – not a Halloween hoot – not a territorial screech, but a dovecote coo. Back and forth the lovers bond dueting endearments.
The sound is as hypnotic as surf. My ears prick – I can’t get close enough. I want them in the bedroom with me. The sounds calm and comfort me. They sooth my soul at night.
(If you read nothing else this year, read Our Souls at Night by one my favorite authors, Kent Haruf who died of lung cancer past November. The book was published posthumously. Six people have checked it out of the library, and I- one of the six- have checked it out twice. (I need to buy it. I need to sleep with the book under my pillow.) The story, set in a small town on the eastern plains of Colorado, involves a widow and a widower who find solace in the widow’s bed where they talk the night away. Their talk is like the owl’s cooing – a sound breaking through the lonely dark.)
I’ve rambled. I’m off-topic. But not really. The previous paragraph was just a round-about, circling back to the lizard brain and the coming of winter.
So yesterday I drove down the mountain to Canon City where I had a luncheon meeting with the Fremont County/Valdai Russia Sister City Association. People-to-people, town-to-town, we focus on individual Russians of like-mind and ignore international politics.
Before I returned home, I stopped at Goodwill – not that I needed anything but I love the hunt. Who knows what treasure lurks? Living in a time and place where wearing a dress has fallen by the wayside and already having more dresses than I will ever wear… my looking at dresses is more about the thrill of discovery.
And discover, I did! OMG! (Please note that I am trying to keep up with text-speak.) The 1930s-style, black dress with beaded detailing was to die for! I checked the size. The dress was an eight. One look and you know that I am not an eight. Typically I’m a 12, but often (thanks to vanity sizing) I’m a 10. And depending on the cut… I had to try it on.
I was not disappointed. The dress fit beautifully… above the waist. It was a bit too snug around the hips, and I had difficulty buttoning the cummerbund. Wearing it would have called for buying a foundation garment. I DON’T THINK SO!
So I left the dress and vowed to trim my hips and waist. I returned home, and I walked down the street to a house concert. Amy Gerhartz was in town singing in The Second Street Back Room. Give this singer/songwriter a listen. Check Amy out on her website, amygerhartz.com or find her on YouTube. In particular, listen to her singing “It ain’t you, it’s the whiskey” and “Fame.”)
At the concert, I drank only water. (In case you forgot, I was working on my waist and hips.) However, I was force-fed one brownie. (Note the passive voice.)
And then I went home where I ate three homemade biscotti (made from a recipe calling for three squares of dark chocolate and one cup of semi-sweet chocolate bits); brown rice topped with toasted coconut and peanuts; and chicken braised in soy sauce, brandy and anise. I was too full for salad. (I was also too full of self-loathing.)
Yes, I know. I had already forgotten about my waist and hips. But I am not weak! My lizard brain has me in survival mode.
Winter is coming: I need to stock up and feed the fire.