grapes and wolfsbane

Late lunch at Harry's Roadhouse in Santa Fe. We sit outside. The day is hot, but it's comfortable in the courtyard where bunches of grapes spill over the weathered fence, flowers bloom in clumps in corners and old trees cast moving shadows. I love courtyards and the best ones I've seen are in Santa Fe and Capri. Okay, that last exotic location was just a glimpse many years ago that I haven't forgotten - behind wrought iron fences and steps decorated in yellow and blue tile. I took pictures but couldn't enter.

You many have noticed on my reading list that I'm entering the fourth (and last) of the twilight series, breaking dawn (lower case titles are the publisher's decision, not mine). Even though I asked nicely, my friend would not reveal the outcome after I finished the first two volumes (I'm reconsidering our friendship). She was right about the third one being better than the first two and according to the email I sent her this morning hinting for an intervention, I have taken a vow to stop reading about vampires, adolescent love and giant wolves for 24 hours to return to knitting and editing - a vow conceived before my husband subtly (he thought) began to talk about how, when he was teaching psychology, they discussed people who read about real life rather than participating in it. "Not you," he quickly added (not realizing that what I'm reading has absolutely nothing to do with real life). But, hey, I've lived with this guy for decades. Because then I mentioned (subtly of course) something about how he often turns on the TV in his studio and clicks it to TCM for a stream of old black and white movies flickering in the background while he works. He answers, I'm a visual person, you are a word person and heads out the door.

The great and frightening thing
about being adults is that
by now we know
we can't save each other.
                 Joan Logghe ("Brevity")