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The days grow short
OK, OK, we're getting my brother and his wife a real housewarming present, maybe a set of Fiestaware and a bottle of hooch that we can drink while we're visiting. And I won't mention his broken disco light present to us unless he complains about our present, or if we get really drunk on the hooch.
* * *
From about age 10 on, I had a tradition in my family of making pizza on Friday nights. This would give my mom a break from cooking, plus giving me a meal of a food I loved. (Plus, it started out as the perfect accompaniment to my Friday night slate of TV shows -- Brady Bunch, Partridge Family, Love American Style, etc.) I made the dough myself -- basically a yeast bread, which I refined over the years, sometimes adding a bit of rye flour, sometimes adding some Italian herbs, etc. I kept up this tradition until I went away to college, and then started it again when I was living on my own, since home-made pizza seemed a pleasant capper to the workweek, even if I was just making it for myself.
I haven't made it much in recent years, but![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
qbear and I are starting to diet again on Tuesday, so last night was one of my last chances to keep to the Friday night tradition for a while. I made the dough in the afternoon, and let it rise while I went off to physical therapy.
On the left, a sausage-and-bacon pizza with black olives, onion and mushrooms, and on the right, a meatball pizza with green olives, onion and mushrooms.
I'm pretty proud of my pizza-making abilities, but then I have been making them for more than 30 years.
* * *
Just got back fromdacubsf's memorial service where we saw, among others, sf_luke, castrowoof, dhbearguy, boyshapedbox, downshifft, backawayslowly, fuzzygruf, double_ohsteven, cruisebear, beg1n, tonymorg, bvig01, gregorbehr, kevin_v5, kitchenbeard, bearzbub, arkanjil, pyrogeoff, poohbearjim, enhydrasf, etc. It was a pleasantly simple service, with a reading of Psalm 23, lighting of candles, and people sharing their memories of Jeff. I was tempted to get up and share my own memory of Jeff -- we'd only met twice in real life, but last fall when we were both confined and recuperating, we sometimes talked on bear411, mostly to gripe about a lack of visitors. Since I couldn't really draw an uplifting conclusion from this story, I decided it didn't really merit retelling at a celebration of his life.
After the service, I got in the car with Jack, and what comes on the CD player but Frank Sinatra's version of "September Song," which seemed like a poignant way to end the day.
Well, it’s a long, long time
From May to December
But the days grow short,
When you reach September.
And the autumn weather
Turns the leaves to gray
And I haven’t got time
For the waiting game.
And the days dwindle down
To a precious few . . .
September, November . . .
And these few precious days
I spend with you.
These precious days
I spend with you.
* * *
From about age 10 on, I had a tradition in my family of making pizza on Friday nights. This would give my mom a break from cooking, plus giving me a meal of a food I loved. (Plus, it started out as the perfect accompaniment to my Friday night slate of TV shows -- Brady Bunch, Partridge Family, Love American Style, etc.) I made the dough myself -- basically a yeast bread, which I refined over the years, sometimes adding a bit of rye flour, sometimes adding some Italian herbs, etc. I kept up this tradition until I went away to college, and then started it again when I was living on my own, since home-made pizza seemed a pleasant capper to the workweek, even if I was just making it for myself.
I haven't made it much in recent years, but
qbear and I are starting to diet again on Tuesday, so last night was one of my last chances to keep to the Friday night tradition for a while. I made the dough in the afternoon, and let it rise while I went off to physical therapy.On the left, a sausage-and-bacon pizza with black olives, onion and mushrooms, and on the right, a meatball pizza with green olives, onion and mushrooms.
I'm pretty proud of my pizza-making abilities, but then I have been making them for more than 30 years.
* * *
Just got back from
dacubsf's memorial service where we saw, among others, sf_luke, castrowoof, dhbearguy, boyshapedbox, downshifft, backawayslowly, fuzzygruf, double_ohsteven, cruisebear, beg1n, tonymorg, bvig01, gregorbehr, kevin_v5, kitchenbeard, bearzbub, arkanjil, pyrogeoff, poohbearjim, enhydrasf, etc. It was a pleasantly simple service, with a reading of Psalm 23, lighting of candles, and people sharing their memories of Jeff. I was tempted to get up and share my own memory of Jeff -- we'd only met twice in real life, but last fall when we were both confined and recuperating, we sometimes talked on bear411, mostly to gripe about a lack of visitors. Since I couldn't really draw an uplifting conclusion from this story, I decided it didn't really merit retelling at a celebration of his life.After the service, I got in the car with Jack, and what comes on the CD player but Frank Sinatra's version of "September Song," which seemed like a poignant way to end the day.
Well, it’s a long, long time
From May to December
But the days grow short,
When you reach September.
And the autumn weather
Turns the leaves to gray
And I haven’t got time
For the waiting game.
And the days dwindle down
To a precious few . . .
September, November . . .
And these few precious days
I spend with you.
These precious days
I spend with you.
Walking Tall
PS
I love your belly.
jon
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