Saturday, October 03, 2015


It gets dark in Yamhill. Not as dark as we'd like, but still, we see the stars. Many many more than Portland gets. Now that the arbor vitae (juniper) are gone, at night, there is a long stretch of blackness from our backyard to the highway. At night, I pretend we live on the edge of a lake and I can see the headlights of the cars that drive around the lake. When the wheat starts to grow -- or whatever it is they planted, the VanDuyck's who own the field -- there will be swishing and waves on my lake and I will lean back in my Adirondack like an Appalachian queen. Yep.

We made the mistake of going into Portland today, a semi-tradition for us, to the Greek Festival. Paper bowls of soulvake and loudema-somethings-- little balls of deep-fried dough soaked in honey, spanikopita and baklava. Too much honey for me. I couldn't finish but a bite of the baklava and tossed it -- a greek sin, I'm sure. We tried to make a quick getaway, but had to visit a sick friend in the hospital and Kurt left his phone so had to turn around and go back. Argh.

And, I had to get bras. New, smaller, shinier, foamier. What are these things? Do they hold their shape? Will they hold mine? Laundering tips? I had to get sized, thanks to Sylvia at Macy's, and I bought a handful of new ones. All my life I have been relegated to the beige white black of triple-D dom. Now, as I think I have mentioned, the choices are endless. I don't trust the mechanics as I have been accustomed to armor-like construction, but I no longer need support, just socially appropriate coverage.


nina said...

I deeply dislike wearing a bra and think that bra burning should have led to a revolution.

someone said...

Well, it sure seemed like it was leading to something back in the day... sidetracked by sexual politics if you ask me.