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All weekend (cool and jacket weather yesterday, humid and warm today) there's been an autumnal tinge of woodsmoke to the air, either someone illegally burning leaves or the new Texas smokehouse at Christie and Dupont in the former and much-missed Starbucks building. Tempting, except for the lines out the door and down the street Friday. And closed Monday and Tuesday and at 4:30 on the days they're open.
Meanwhile have filled a garbage pail with linden seedlings and got it on the porch against the forecast rain. There's still lots more by the house but those can wait. Saturday I ran across J down the street and her two kids mowing the front yard of the house next door to them, which belonged to an Italian grandpa called Rafi. Rafi died recently aged 96 and quite ready to go; his grandkids have the house now, is why there's been stuff for the taking on the sidewalk these past few weeks. One of these was an ancient (ie about as old as I am) lawnmower which tiny O was using to decimate the weeds, which picked up a stone and flung it 15 ft/ 5 metres in my direction as I was coming up the street. Missed me by a bit but would have made an interesting obituary, as J said. But she also mentioned that she grinds the leaves to mulch and puts it on her own front yard, and I must ask her how. Rafi's house is detached, a downtown rarity, and probably in need of renovation if mine is anything to judge by, so not sure if the grandkids will in fact hold on to it. What amazes me more is that J and the kids were on close terms with him, because I always assumed he spoke no more English than Signora does, or my former next door neighbours the Pisanis. Which is why you shouldn't assume.
The gardening only got done thanks to a couple of Black Russians + cream, because back is not happy with me doing anything. I continue with my core-strengthening exercises but not with any noticeable effect.
Meanwhile have filled a garbage pail with linden seedlings and got it on the porch against the forecast rain. There's still lots more by the house but those can wait. Saturday I ran across J down the street and her two kids mowing the front yard of the house next door to them, which belonged to an Italian grandpa called Rafi. Rafi died recently aged 96 and quite ready to go; his grandkids have the house now, is why there's been stuff for the taking on the sidewalk these past few weeks. One of these was an ancient (ie about as old as I am) lawnmower which tiny O was using to decimate the weeds, which picked up a stone and flung it 15 ft/ 5 metres in my direction as I was coming up the street. Missed me by a bit but would have made an interesting obituary, as J said. But she also mentioned that she grinds the leaves to mulch and puts it on her own front yard, and I must ask her how. Rafi's house is detached, a downtown rarity, and probably in need of renovation if mine is anything to judge by, so not sure if the grandkids will in fact hold on to it. What amazes me more is that J and the kids were on close terms with him, because I always assumed he spoke no more English than Signora does, or my former next door neighbours the Pisanis. Which is why you shouldn't assume.
The gardening only got done thanks to a couple of Black Russians + cream, because back is not happy with me doing anything. I continue with my core-strengthening exercises but not with any noticeable effect.