I'm a little surprised to find myself blogging at Dewena's Window again but life has a little something missing without it and September 1st seemed a good time to try. Maybe I can hit publish by midnight tonight even though it's been around Robin Hood's barn to pull it off after my Mac Pro decided to punish me for ignoring it all summer.
Back in May I made like a flying squirrel who lost her footing and glided to the ground a tad bit harder than intended, which was not at all. Majorly bruised from broken toes to not broken shoulder, my knee taking the brunt of it, I spent three months visiting my favorite physical therapist. Thank you, Patrick!
But late spring and summer compensations were plentiful, as when our firstborn brought me enough beautiful yellow roses for the whole house.
And even trimmed and arranged them for me!
Our lives have been quiet here this summer but many joys are constant. There's always the fun of cookbooks and cooking.
I'm so sorry for poor picture quality! Not only do I have shaky hands and worsening eyesight but BeFunky decided to make changes too that I can't figure out.
Judith Huxley's Marinated Olives with Citrus and Fennel (seed) lured me into making them even though I felt a little guilty because I usually only make them when a certain daughter-in-law comes to town.
I think there's a recipe for this in my Judith Huxley label but I'll never hit publish on this post by midnight if I try to find it and link it. After the olives chill in fridge for a week or two I make Alison Roman's Vinegar Chicken with crushed olives. I shouldn't have skipped crushing the olives this time but it was still delicious.
There have been meals to cook and pretty tables to set and I kept taking pictures of them even though I wasn't blogging. And there have been good books to read before bed and books to listen to on my free library app while I wash dishes and fold laundry.
Right now it's Edith Wharton's The Buccaneers, an old favorite about American heiresses hunting for husbands among the financially strapped British aristocracy.
Quite a different recent one was Playin' Possum.
It's about the Possum himself, country music star George Jones. The early chapters were frankly depressing due to his cocaine addiction and domestic violence, the book written by Nancy Jones, his fourth and final wife. If I had been actually sitting down reading the book I would have returned it to the library early but listening to it while I worked I kept on listening and was glad I did because it was good to know George and Nancy were happy in his later years.
You see, we old timers here in Nashville love George Jones who was a mighty sweet guy when he was sober. And that voice still gets to me and I agree with writer Julia Reed that George's "He Stopped Loving Her Today" is the "Best Country music song ever made."
I miss George Jones and I miss Julia Reed.
And now that I'm 81 and no longer wish away my least favorite month, August, I'll probably even miss the summer of 2024.
Still, I am more than delighted to welcome September and the hope of cooler temperatures. There's just something promising about September, isn't there? If I could remember how to embed, is that the word for it, videos from YouTube here I would end with a link to Walter Huston singing "The September Song."
Do you know Walter Huston, Canadian actor of silent films and the talkies? Father to director John Huston, grandfather to Angelica Huston and Danny Huston? And I think there's an uncle somewhere in the mix.
"The September Song" that we love sung by so many wonderful singers was actually written for Walter Huston and he sang it in a play on Broadway and if you go to the trouble to find it on YouTube these September days you might see, as I did that he can tear your heart out with his poignant interpretation.
I recently fell down the Walter Huston rabbit hole after watching a 1950 movie called September Affair with Joan Fontaine and Joseph Cotton. With dresses by Edith Head! And Walter Huston sings The Song!
Sorry about the length of all this. Rabbit holes are my favorite pasttime now in my 80s and I give myself permission to indulge but I do feel sorry for any reader here.
A long long time from May to September,
September. November.
These few precious days I'll spend with you!
And I'm mush. Every single time.
