Today I’m back in the wheelhouse, after a long Labor Day weekend and wonderful visit with sis-in-law Judy, who drove over from Denver. We walked. We talked. And now it’s time to return to . . . labor. In this case, the labor consists of a lot of research about Hollywood back in the day when stars were STARS.
As I walked the dog yesterday evening, I noticed the first hint of yellow on an aspen about forty steps from my front door. Fall, or autumn, will soon be upon us. Already the mornings are crispier than they have been. One can hear the sound of chainsaws and wood-axes felling trees, and wood-splitters kathunking the large rounds into smaller pieces that will fit wood stoves. Gregg, from up the hill, is busy back-and-forthing in his ancient truck hauling wood to people who don’t gather it themselves. As I type this, I sit in my sweatpants, two-layers of thermal tee-shirts, and a hooded sweatshirt, waiting for the heat to kick in and warm these old bones. It’s time to crack the books.