Too Soon

I know that tomorrow is the Autumnal Equinox but I found a small drift of colored leaves in the gutter when I mowed the lawn today.  I wasn't ready for red leaves to be on the ground yet.

Then I looked up the street and here's what I saw.  A big tree with its leaves half turned.  Gah!  Too soon, I'm not ready, not ready at all.  I know that the tree in the neighbor's yard will hold onto its leaves until the rest of the trees have shed their leaves and then it'll drop them into a deep carpet covering the side yard.  Which I will have to rake or blow and I don't want to.  I don't even want to think about it.

 

Dad's rose is still blooming.  There are a half-dozen buds just ready to open on there.  And not a beetle in sight.

I went downstairs to find some yarns to use to knit some charity hats for the Seaman's Church Institute Christmas at Sea program, cast one on, and realized that it was going to be enormous.  So I frogged it.  I'm going to look up another pattern to see if I can't make a couple hats before the deadline for mailing them in October.

A Downy Woodpecker paid a visit this morning.  First it checked out the patio umbrella, then it investigated the birdbath pedestal, it pecked around on the platform feeder, and finally landed on the suet for a snack.  There were two Nuthatches too but they're so zippy that they're impossible to photograph.  Just before I went out to mow there was a Red-bellied Woodpecker on the platform feeder but it got away before I got the camera up and ready.  *sigh*

 

21 September--Barbara Malcolm, Better Than Mom's. 

Shortly after being hired at Better Than Mom’s Fay made it a point to learn about the regulars.  She figured that the better she knew her customers and the better they knew her, the better her tips would be.  She was right.

During that first week, every time Fay walked down the length of the diner she could not help looking at the lone man in the last booth.  He sat with his back to the end wall of the building and had pads of paper, pens, and pencils spread all over the top of the table.  When she approached his booth to offer him a coffee warm up he would either hunch over the paper in front of him or, if he saw her coming nearer, he would flip the page so that all that was visible was a blank page. 

The next time she leaned into the pass through to slide an order into the carousel she motioned Brady closer.  “Who is the geek in the back booth that is always writing?” she asked. 

“Oh, that is Steve.  Stevie the scribbler some of the regulars call him.” 

“What is he writing?”  

“I do not know, and you should not ask him.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because it is nosy and what he is writing is none of your beeswax, that is why.”  

“Humph.”  Not very happy about the turn of events, Fay went back to making sure all her customers were well fed and watered, even Stevie the scribbler.  Stevie stayed until noon almost every day.  Fay started to watch for him to arrive and she was surprised to see him come in right on Raymond’s heels.  Raymond was always waiting in the parking lot in his car if it was cold out or if the weather was nice, he would be standing right outside the door, one hand on the handle, tapping his foot as she walked toward him with the key. 

“About time,” was his usual first sentence. 

“And a good morning to you too, Raymond,” was Fay’s usual retort. 

At the dollar store, Fay bought herself an atomic clock guaranteed to have the correct time to the millionth of a second and set her watch to it every morning so she could remind Raymond that six o’clock meant six o’clock and she was scrupulous about opening the door at six o’clock.  Not five-fifty-eight or six-oh-one, but exactly bang on the dot of six o’clock because she was a woman who valued punctuality.  She was not all that concerned with being on time, not really, but it got Raymond’s goat so it was worth the blot on her immortal soul for telling the lie. 

Once she began watching for Stevie she realized that on most mornings she had barely turned around from serving Raymond his first mug of coffee before the bell on the door jangled and in he walked.  It was funny she had not really noticed him before.  He always wore a plaid cotton long-sleeved shirt buttoned right up to the neck, with the cuffs buttoned too.  His pants were old man pleated wash pants in either khaki or navy hiked to somewhere between his belly button and his nipples and cinched real tight with what looked like a brown plastic belt.  There was a good-sized flash of white from his feet where his socks peeked out between his high-water pants and his low-cut black Converse All-Stars. 

He carried in his left hand, clenched much tighter than Fay imagined a courier transporting secrets would carry his bag, an old fashioned accordion bottom brief case with the locking flap, you know, like the ones the nerds carried in high school.  Stevie’s case was worn on the edges to a pale gray color but the metal corner caps were still on it and Fay was amazed to see him pull a key on a chain from under his shirt to unlock it once he reached his favorite back booth.   At first Fay would hurry over to deliver his glass of ice water, turn over the mug in front of him, and pour his first mug of coffee.  But she realized that if she dawdled a bit he would begin unpacking his papers and pens and then she might have a chance to see what he was writing.  She tried and tried to engage him in conversation, but he always answered her openings with either monosyllables or he ignored her completely.  She was getting frustrated.  

Today's toss was a box of disposable razors.  It'll go to the homeless shelter tomorrow or Wednesday with the shampoo.

I mowed the lawn this afternoon.  I'm getting better at controlling the mower on the hill.  I'm not as nervous now.  Whew.  It's only taken the whole summer to get used to it and mowing season is almost over.

--Barbara