The weather is gorgeous with all the best months rolled into one relativlly dry week in August. The temperature is like September, about 75, with that stunning, magnificent "Who Could Have Invented This?" bright, clear watery light. But! in place of the vaguely melancholy, Back to School, Corn Harvest, Geese Flying South, Sun not Long For this World, Hope it Comes Back Let's Build a Henge, sort of feel with all leaves suddenly a dusty weary yellow, and you can practically hear the chlorophyll in the maples and oaks breaking down (crunch crunch crunch sssssssss, or something) - it's got that Great September Light plus the leaves and flowers are still wet and crisp like lettuce in April.
I am sitting in the sun in Doe Park Courtyard. Here is a picture that says a lot: Calves the color of a toad's underbelly, or Malaysian pearls - as you like; if you look closely you can see the progress of my toenails - now the color of ink. But what this photo really shows, you'll be relieved to know is: Blue sky! Sun! Neighbor Dave's Gladioli in riotous bloooom!
I think it gotten up to 23!
Everyone I've talked to said, "Ah Donchanoo, luf, I'm goin' ta poob" which means, "Yes, without a doubt, little lady, I'm going to the pub."
The people who said were: Our Postman, Steve, Our Neighbor Dave, the Airport Baggage Inspector, and whose gladioli those are, and the man who delivered our new little car, a Mini. She is A Peach.
The man (small, wiry, big smile, bad teeth, about 40) who delivered The Peach, I learned, lived in Las Canarias, which is a tiny, sun-drenched volcanic island, belonging to Spain, off the coast of Africa, four hours from Liverpool by plane. He lived there for 7 years and Torre Viejo south of Barcelona for 5 years. He worked as a chef. "Self-taught. That's what you get when there were 11 of us, weren't there?" That's not always what you get, I thought.
In the five minutes I spoke to him, and this is not uncommon, he let me know that he was poor and hungry growing up, he liked Spain, but not the Spanish, and he was going out with the lads tonight, and his partner (which we have come to understand is a long-time girlfriend not technically a wife) is having a Lady's Night, so he's going home now (it was about 11a.m.) to shower and start so that he'd be limbered up for the night ahead.
It's not uncommon to learn about people's kidneys in the grocery line, or their seven grandsons one of whom has cerebral palsy on the bus. And often a lot about the war. They say no one in London talks on the bus. I'm happy we came to Liverpool instead. Especially now the sun is out.
