Summer’s almost gone
First, for no better reason than that it tickles the hell out of me, from the eXiled comes this picture of a purse dog being carried by a former Russian paratrooper - the happiest-looking critter I’ve seen since this history-making cat:
I can haz vodka?
I love how the dog’s wearing the trademark striped VDV t-shirt as well as the beret.
Next, as I’ve said before, seasons in NM change pretty much the beginning of the month - in this case, Fall usually does so September 1st. If not before.
It’s also usual for the advent of the coming season to become obvious about two weeks before the month change. It’s very sensory: the length of the days, the quality of light, the feel and smell of the air.
The first harbinger of Autumn, though, is my birthday. Which happened last Sunday; I had a very nice day, thank you very much. (And a party tomorrow - email me if you’re in Burque and want to come!)
It’s a bittersweet time of year for me. I love my birthday; always have. And I feel obligated to feel an attachment to Summer, even though it’s hot, if not so hot this year, and as if to compensate, humid this year. And even though it’s been a long time since I suffered through it first-hand, the end of summer always means the beginning of the psychological and emotional abuse of school slavery. I still feel sorry for the kids who’re getting their natural, indeed hormonal, love of learning ground out of them in order to turn them into unquestioning conscripts, consumers, and corporate cogs.
Still and all, Fall is my favorite season: Summer without the heat; Spring without the winds; and charms of its own such as the leaves turning color, the air beginning to nip, the smell of piñon smoke in the evenings.
One of the greatest autumn delights for me is always the smell of roasting green chile (and also, well, fresh roasted green chile itself.) It pervades the city, at least the North Valley, for weeks.
This afternoon I went on a major supply-buying expedition. One of my stops was the Fruit Basket on North Fourth (I know two of them, the other being on Twelfth just north of Candelaria): my go-to source for fine, mostly locally-grown produce. And I got a happy surprise in the form of the awning-covered kiosk set up in the parking lot, shading stacked burlap bags and black wire-mesh drums: it means chile-roasting time is about to arrive!
Or so I thought. It turned out that it already had, although they seemed to have packed it up for the day by the time I got there. As I checked out I found waiting, cleverly by the cash register, plastic bags of fresh-roasted chiles. Which were still warm. Ooh, baby!
I bought one. You’d've done the same. If you love green chile, anyway.
Tags: green chile, seasons