it's a great life, if you don't weaken (matociquala) wrote,
it's a great life, if you don't weaken
matociquala

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see the mist it's your breath it's the air

I can tell the autumn is rolling in, because there are little piles of inside-out sweatshirts all over the downstairs, and the various couch afghans are reappearing from their summer nesting places under the furniture. As of this writing, I'm snugged into a hoodie and SmartWool socks, and kind of at a loss as to how my life could currently be better.

When I took the dog for a run this morning, I could see both of our breaths on the air, just faintly. I prefer running when it's cool; I am stocky and muscular and thick, and the square cube law keeps me toasty in brutal weather but for jogging, is not my friend.

Lunch is a sandwich made with the last of the local basil and Cherokee purple tomatoes, grilled on whole-grain oatmeal bread with four cheeses and just a tiny smear of brown mustard. My roomie appears to have accidentally bought dill Havarti twice. Oh, the hardship.

Alongside it, I have the first Macoun apples and the first apple cider* of the season. It's pasteurized cider, because I didn't drive out to the good farm stand where you can get the real stuff (the bacteria make it better. No, I'm not kidding. Like soy sauce and yogurt, you can't beat the real thing. If you have never had raw apple cider, you've only drunk unfiltered apple juice.) but it is warm and has a cinnamon stick and a grind of black pepper in it, which is pretty good amends for the pasteurization.

Outside, the trees are working, too. Peak color is a ways off, but the sugar maples have started turning their amazing crimsons, vermilions, and flame oranges. It's a fantastic, translucent series of colors. The birches are also starting to go gold, and before too long we'll have the scarlets of the Japanese maples, the reds and russets of oaks, and the yellows of willows as well.

I also knew it was cold last night because while I was tucked up in bed reading the end of a rather good first novel that I will be blurbing, I had one cat tucked up alongside me, wedged between pillows for maximum warmth, and the other draped across my chest and throat, stealing as much warmth as possible.

In other gratitude-related news, I have a big, warm, gentle, shaggy dog who likes to sleep beside my mat while I do yoga, and then at the end come over and collect a hug.

Also, I have developed the ability to nearly keep up with Rodney Yee, which makes me feel pretty good about my fitness practice, because that man is a monster. I mean, okay, I can't do the thing where he levitates from lunge to plank position, balanced on his hands only. But I can finish a 90-minute DVD and not be dead at the end of it.

And tonight, I get to have dinner at Teapot and see Peter Mulvey at the Iron Horse in Northampton. And Thursday, there's Vienna Teng.

Yeah. Not such a bad life. Not such a bad September.


*which is to say, sweet cider, which is distinct from English-style hard cider in that any fermentation is indicental, rather than standardized.
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