That's today. Bright sunshine and 50-ish. I'd like to play hooky to spend the day out in the sunny and cool but I'm too dedicated--and too poor to just blow off the day's pay, plus since I'm the only employee no one'd be there to open the dive shop and someone would notice, I guarantee it. I'd also like to be somewhere silent, well, not silent as in no sounds, no human made sounds. I want to hear the wind rattle the autumn leaves and sigh in the pine and cedar boughs. I want to hear the bay shush on the rocks... oh, can you tell I'd like to be at The Clearing today? Those of you who've been there can come too (since we're only going in our imaginations), I'll drive. We can get fresh cheese curds at Renard's in Sturgeon Bay on the way up, stop for ice cream cones (has to be cones, dishes make litter in the car) at every shop we see (there're two in Bailey's Harbor), pick up some Corsica bread at Door County Bakery in Sister Bay, have soup for lunch at the Summer Kitchen in Ephriam, and burgers at Joe Rouer's in Duval on the way back home, with a Frosty Tip cone in Dykesville for dessert. (hey, this is my fantasy, I can eat all the ice cream and cheese and burgers I want and never gain an ounce, you can too, remember it's a fantasy) Those of you who've never been can come too, you just don't have the same accurate mind-pictures the rest of us have. In my fantasy car there's room for all. No shoving or poking in the back seat. I'll stop the car. (Did your Dad threaten to do that? Mine did. Did you ever find out what'd happen if he did? I didn't, maybe he wasn't sure either and now he's croaked [a long time ago, the sting has lessened so I can be flip about it, at times, when I'm not teary] so I can't ask him. Next incarnation. (gah, the guy across the street just started his pickup truck and it sounds like a semi. why does one under-tall guy need a truck so jacked up and growly?) Speaking of Joe Rouer's I'm hoping to entice Durwood to drive up there with me if not this weekend, then the next, so we can have a burger with fried onions and fries. Maybe we'll see if DS & DIL1 want to come too. Those are the best burgers in the whole wide world. When Joe was alive he'd raise his own beef cattle along with his dairy herd, have the whole cows ground up into hamburger, then Mrs. Joe fried them up in an old iron skillet in the back kitchen of the bar. The original burned down years back but they saved the skillet and still make burgers that are NOT well-done (unless you demand it) and not dry from being too lean. They use real cheese, not that plastic wrapped fake-cheese sliced stuff that Kraft calls cheese and is probably some emulsion of oil and water and powdered... something... that they call american cheese. Uck. (I'm not glorifying it with a capital letter, it doesn't deserve it) Okay, well now I've just made myself hungry. I'd better wrap this up and go find Cheerios, a pale substitute for food compared to a Joe Rouer's burger. *sigh*September 27--Switzerland, Automaton. The night was alive with the sound of frogs and crickets. Jean stood on the back porch feeling the day's heat pour out through the screen door. One of these days Grandma Ellie would let her open the house up when the sun went down so it cooled off before bed. She felt like she was about nine-years-old instead of thirty-eight when she was there at the home place. How many Stephan women had stood out there in the cool dark listening to the lovesick frogs, hoping no cricket has found its way into her bedroom. Too many times she'd been awakened by the crick-crick of a lonely insect. She'd turn on the light and prowl the dark places under the dresser and bed, loafer in hand, intending to squash it flat. More often than not she wouldn't be able to find the offender only to replace her shoe in the closet, turn off the light, climb back into bed, and the crick-crick of the cricket would start right up again almost before she had the covers pulled up.
I hate that, don't you? Oh, I almost forgot, today's Photo a Day theme is "love/hate." I love getting the magazines that Mom subscribed to and I hate that they come and she's not here to read them. I thought I could just let the subscriptions run out but I can't. Seeing her name on them reminds me monthly that she's not going to be reading them anymore and I just can't do it. Can't. I'm going to go... go... slice a fresh peach onto my cereal. It better not be mealy. Let's get back on that fantasy trip, shall we? Brrm, brrm. (starting the car, hey, I'm a girl, that's the best car noise I can make)--Barbara Sue
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