This is the perfect time of year. I can drink wine on the front porch in the evenings without getting tortured by mosquitoes, and I can enjoy my morning coffee on the lanai without sweltering. Of course, in a few weeks It’ll be too cold to sit outside, but I enjoy winter most of all… from the comfort of a window as I look out at the snow. I’m especially looking forward to this year’s first snow. Our bedroom bay window has a built-in window seat and overlooks some rolling ranch land pastures that remind me a lot of England.
But this is the time of year that I always experience a spasm of California Dreamin’—the early autumn here feels a lot like the summer in my native home. When evening falls and I take my glass of wine outside, it reminds me of happy times when my friends and I gathered around the fire pit in my back yard, talking and laughing, singing songs and, well, passing the pipe around. Sounds like a John Denver song. And I miss it.
Ville, who is a friend from that era, phoned last night and we shared a glass or two while she sat on her deck in Kansas City and I sat on my front porch here in Oklahoma. I really wish someone would buy her house so she could get her ass down here.
Later, Nettl and I took a stroll around the cul-de-sac, looking at everyone’s Halloween decorations. The house at the end of the circle is still empty so we went around peeking in the windows. Outside of the marble floors there’s nothing remarkable about it. Even the chimney we thought was a huge fireplace was a disappointment. A façade… just a closet. What’s the point of that? We daydreamed about what we’d do if money were no issue: we’d buy all five houses, give one to Debra and Beau, one to Joel and Micah, keep ours and make the one on the end into a clubhouse/guest house and put in a pool and hot tub. And I’d turn that crap into a real fireplace. My friends and I have always wanted our own little compound. We were told once by a psychic that in a past life we were a pre-columbian Native American tribe. Makes sense—we’ve always been family.
We also discussed New Year’s Eve. We want to have another Rat Pack party. The last one was so successful and, hopefully, Debra and Beau will be here. Funny how we grow up—if indeed we do. In the 80s our favorite parties were Toga Parties. Kegs, boxes of wine, and various and sundry other substances while dancing to “You know you make me wanna SHOUT!”… Now we’re happy with champagne and martinis, and dancing to Sinatra.
This is just a ramble, really. I’m trying to tie this up with a big red bow, but I can’t seem to find one, so why bother?