the last week, still experiencing fallout from the Libre Libra party Saturday with morning

and afternoon visitations before – ah, the social whirlpool! – a last dinner that night with Michael and Nancy.  Most excellent and, for once pacing myself regarding the cheeses, no ill effects.  Except, what the foot, I somehow managed to strain the nearly recovered foot in a whole

other direction stumbling around in the dark.  Ah well, plenty to read while staying off it as the weather turned dark and cold[er], which necessitated an all day fire in the wood stove.

Sun, if not the foot, was back Monday, but wearing boots seemed to improve things

as L. began documenting her season’s work

while I continued

variations

on the

themes,

all chillier than they look. Prescribed burns continued, blackening Black Mountain, and

we spent a mellow last evening with Bill and Muriel, Japanese-ish dinner, lots of wine and local

lore…home late for us but well-satisfied; we most likely won’t reconnect until summer.

Subsequently I even made it, cautiously, up Fossil Hill; hoping for Dry Creek before we go…

and the laundry became friendly as Wednesday warmed.

Thursday saw a Last Trip to the Burg, slowed by local creatures on the way in,

mild enough weather but with a last visit to the dump, Safeway, First Choice for bubblewrap

and an hour and a half of stoop labor in the Habib dismantling a heater while L. packed glass

and bronze, all pretty exhausting.  Age or long Covid, who knows, but quite wasting so

home

after the P.O. to recuperate, a small walk in late afternoon and much much more

to do.

Saturday, day before we might, but for Weather, have left*, we went to Dean and Sibylla’s to drop off a print version of the stellar review John Yau had written on Dean’s show in New York

even though Mike Metz had already read it to him on the phone right after it came out as well as say goodbye, catching them just as he was about to head down to Atzlan for their weekly

sweat lodge, something he hadn’t done since everyone caught Covid at the Sun Dance in July.

We then took off up the creek

where the oaks, lacking an autumnal freeze, had faded to brown and the

aspens’ brief golden flurry was long on the ground.  Nonetheless a good effort, even if only partway up, as we don’t expect to pass that way again for some time.

Despite departure being delayed a day the Things to Do do overwhelm; age or long covid,

whatever…a week where not only Peter Schjeldahl died but also, and more important to me – “Wendy this is something different” – Billy Al Bengston.  Meanwhile the fast-moving and *first winter storm predicted to bring freezing temperatures and snow to the peaks and passes

Sunday certainly appeared to be doing that; good reason [as well as general mutual

exhaustion] to devote yet another dutiful day trying to exit gracefully…Monday, well, we’ll see;

it’s supposed to be gone by then, though maybe slightly snowing here, or maybe not.