…England, where, as the poet once wrote, autumn is the “season of mists and mellow fruitfulness” (as seen in the pic below, taken three days ago):
Oh okay: here’s the whole thing:
Art, music, whatever
…England, where, as the poet once wrote, autumn is the “season of mists and mellow fruitfulness” (as seen in the pic below, taken three days ago):
Oh okay: here’s the whole thing:
From Reader Joe Donuts (probably a pseudonym):
“Your wallpaper got me pondering as do many of your posts about what used to be Great Britain. I spent most of my 20 plus years in Uncle Sam’s Traveling Air Circus stationed in East Anglia. Miss it terribly and shudder at what it, and the rest of Europe, has become.
“Fall left here last week. The snow has been on the ground since Monday and is here to stay until late April. I’ve woken to single digit temps the last day or two; they’ll have a negative sign soon enough. Call me odd, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Nor would I. Possibly the strangest thing is that as much as I wouldn’t live pretty much anywhere in the North that I used to (Chicago, New Jersey etc.), I do miss the seasons thereof.
I loved the spring: the way that one day it’s brown and ugly after the snow has melted, and a week later the trees are in full bloom and the grass has somehow recovered after being buried in snow for a few months and is now green again; the joy of a warm, occasionally-hot summer when it feels good to be outside and life just seems more worth living after the February-April dreariness; of the fall, where the trees change from uniform green into a kaleidoscope of many colors and the sweaty heat of summer is replaced with cooler temperatures; and finally, that first snowfall, the beauty of the white covering over everything and the incredible hush that falls after the snow has fallen…
I miss it all, terribly.
And yes, I know that raking the leaves is a pain in the ass, that shoveling snow every morning at 6am in sub-freezing temperatures can become tiresome, and that after the snow has more or less melted away in the late winter/early spring that everything looks dirty and ugly.
As the man said: “Show me paradise and I’ll buy us the tickets.”
This doesn’t count as a post, but I thought I’d share my Fall wallpaper with y’all. I think it’s somewhere in England, but it could equally be somewhere in New England. Whatever. Right-click to embiggen and/or save for yourself.
“Why Fall wallpaper, Kim?”
We had our first cold-ish snap of the season last Wednesday… 49°F when New Wife went off to work. Sure as hell beat the 85°F at the same time during the week before.
Brits were polled recently on which song they’d like to hear in their dying moments, and oy vey:
…and all I have to say is: FFS.
Actually, the last song I’d like to hear is September Song. And yes, Willie’s version. I can think of no better way to slide into oblivion — and if I could be greedy, his entire Stardust album.
Okay, here’s a place that for some reason has taken my imagination:
Another view:
It’s in England — it could only be in England in that location — and in the chilly north (York), which would make it even less desirable. Also, from its description it’s in terrible shape inside, and in typical Brit fashion it has only one bathroom, but ignore all that for the moment.
Like I said, for some reason it has a strange appeal for me. The “no neighbors” thing is one attraction, and yes, there will be terrible traffic noise so having a garden is not that much of an attraction. But it’s surely a better deal than one of the houses / apartments across the main road, which have all the same noise but not any privacy, with two shared walls and cramped living conditions.
Could you live in such a place, or is it the stuff of your nightmares?
I meant this to be posted yesterday, but in my sickened state I cocked up the date, so here it is.
The RUD [ rapid unscheduled disassembly] got started last week with Israel’s three-part virtual decapitation of Hezbollah’s organization. That is, if “decapitation” is the correct word when exploding pagers removed Hezbollah bits a bit further down than their large heads. That was followed up, as I’m sure you know, the next day by exploding walkie-talkies. When Hezbollah’s remaining leadership began to meet in person to overcome their crippled comms, the Israeli Air Force bombed the meetings.
Also: