Saturday, August 22, 2009

22, 23...

There is always a day that becomes an endpoint (or a beginning, depending on which side you take) – a day from which you move forward. Of course, it’s always forward, because last I heard no one is able to step back. From August 22, the only way to move is toward the 23rd.

This morning was so poignantly bright that again I brought out a thinly strapped sundress to wear. This became a topic of conversation as people would nudge me and ask – aren’t you cold?

Am I? No, the sun is out! But it does feel more like fall…

No, no, don’t rush the season for me. Just because tomorrow is no longer the 22nd and the next day is the 23rd and so on, still, it’s August and some people haven’t even taken their summer vacations, I’m sure of it!

But I have.

The Westside Community Market has been neglected by me this year – I’ve been away so many Saturdays, that I never even noticed that my old baking friend Mary has a stall here (Honeybee Bakery). And she has been here the entire market season. Remarkable!

Mary used to be the head baker at L’Etloile, at the same time that I did my week-end baking stint there. She now has her own ovens and I was told by another shopper that I must buy her peach cake, but by the time I got to the stand, her peach cake was history. So instead I admired the tarts. They look exactly like the freshest homemade tarts should look.


I was nudged also to the Edelweiss Creamery stand, because they were, for the first time I think (or is it because it is the first time that I noticed?) selling butter. You have to sample it to understand that there’s butter and then there’s their butter. Great butter is like a cheese – something that can stand alone on a slice of bread.


But I think these heirloom tomatoes, sliced thickly, would add another dimension to a slice of bread and butter. Yes, I picked up three.


And a head of cauliflower, because just this morning I was reading about how good cauliflower can be when sliced lengthwise and roasted.


And corn. You don’t walks away from corn in August.


And of course flowers.


By the way, you know what the saddest moment of the day was? When I realized I had to put away the extra bike until next summer.

But, the morning begins gloriously. Or at least half of me believes it is absolutely splendid.

Even as the clock moves forward, closer toward the 23rd. And the closer I get to the end of this day, the emptier the house will be.

Ed, coud you run upstairs and get me my yellow sweater? It feels too nippy for the sundress after all.

In the late morning, my little girl (okay, not that young) and I, together with Ed, go to the downtown market. Both daughters have such a sentimental attachment to that place that it’s impossible to focus their attention on the splendid market just across the street. Yes, yes, do your shopping there if you want, but can we also walk around the Square? They have such magnificent pan fried cheese curds there to sample!


The downtown market is crowded – is it that it’s the week-end before the university wakes up from a summer nap? Is it that everyone has really returned from vacation?

At the shop where I work tonight half the customers are parents with university bound offspring. At least I'm past that now. This day is memorable in that it is the last time that I am sending my child back to school.

Did I mention that my daughters live too far from home?

It's dark now. Late. My shop hours are behind me. I take out an ear of corn, an heirloom tomato. I put them back. I turn on the TV, I turn it off. Music? Nah. Maybe a quiet listen to the clock move closer to the 23rd.