In the 30’s here. I look out the window and the trees have made the full transition to bare branches, which means the beginning of the five months of finding images in their interlacing black lines. Yesterday I managed to make black bean soup (figuring out a last minute way of rescuing it from some blandness that I’m especially proud of), go to the gym, and drop off my favorite boots for new soles. It’s a little perverse when you pay $30.00 for a used pair of busted up boots and then $50.00 to get them resoled. They’re just too comfortable to give up on.

Whoa – Just too a closer look outside and it’s snowing. Nothing substantial, but still. I’m glad it held off for the rallies.

Which means that there will be no thimble full of tropicana with my breakfast special at the diner. Toomey’s Diner that is, a block and a half away and my local hangout. They make a fantastic plate of short ribs, and somtimes the french toast is all I could ever wish for. And I get to go in and yack with the other locals, which is one of the things that reassures me that I’m a New Yorker at heart. It’s one of the things that I forget about when I’m weaving my elaborate “gonna live in a self built shack in the woods upstate” fantasies: I like being the jovial fat guy in the booth reading Newday and The Sun and bantering with the staff (Iris, Shane and Shanda) and the owner (Chris, who, truth be told, I have a bit of a crush on)
And I have to go pick up the laundry.