Monthly Archives: September 2006

The S-word.

First the weatherman on the local television station used it—on the air. The teenage bagger at the supermarket said it, too. Then I heard it from one of my friends.

The S-word. Snow.

It was in the forecast for the higher hills and possibly for us in the foothills as well.

Snow. In mid-September, for Pete’s sake. I hadn’t even put away my sandals yet. I wasn’t ready for this. Whatever happened to global warming?

Still, faced with the strong likelihood of frost, regardless of the calendar, there was only one thing to do—cover the tomatoes.

Our tomato patch is a raised circular bed with a wire fence around it to keep out tomato-munching deer. To cover them seemed like a simple project: toss a big tarp over the whole thing and tie it down with rope.

We had just such a tarp, too. Unfortunately, it was spread out on the floor of my daughter and son-in-law’s garage, beneath stacks of boxes containing half their worldly possessions that hadn’t yet been moved into their new house. We could have bought another tarp, but that would have been silly, because we were expecting to get ours back any day. Or at least in a couple of weeks. Or next month. Or surely, at least, by next spring.

In the meantime, we had shivering tomato plants to protect. We did have two other tarps. They would just have to do. One of them would cover about half the tomato patch; the other was big enough for about another fourth of it. We scrounged in the garage and found two old blankets. Hey, good enough—we had it covered. Or at least we expected to have it covered soon.

We started pulling the biggest tarp over the top of the enclosure. The wind caught it and pulled it right back off, threatening to sail it halfway to Nebraska. We needed something to hold it temporarily while we got the ropes positioned and tied. I scrounged in the garage some more. Clothespins. Perfect.

Using them as temporary anchors, we got the first tarp positioned and tied in place. I burrowed under its edges on one side, then the other, to fasten the blankets to the fence with more clothespins. It would have been easier to put the blankets on first. Never mind—at least they were in place.

We positioned and tied the second tarp. It flapped furiously where its edge, facing the wind, overlapped the first tarp. It would have been better to do the overlap in the other direction. Never mind—at least everything was covered. Except for the little gap on that side, and the opening on this side, and the place over here where the tarps didn’t quite meet. Never mind—it was close enough. And at least we knew the knots would hold. Once a Boy Scout, after all, always a Boy Scout.

It’s amazing what a couple of college-educated adults can do with two tarps, two blankets, a couple dozen clothespins, yards of yellow string, and fifty feet of nylon rope—even, in this case, without using a single piece of duct tape.

Now, in the middle of the front yard squats a bulky blue/brown/yellow structure. It resembles a tent put up by a one-armed six-year-old completely lacking in construction skills. Every gust of wind seems likely to send the whole mess sailing into the air like an obese Mary Poppins, minus the umbrella.

Sure, it looks funny. Still, the objective here is not architecture but agriculture. The shelter, makeshift and lopsided as it might be, should still provide enough protection so the tomatoes live to ripen another day. If nothing else, they might turn red out of sheer embarrassment.

Great news this week from the world of fashion! For women, anyway, and possibly for men as well. The headline in last Sunday’s paper said it all: "Big on top and skinny on bottom hot for fall."

Don’t we all wish.

Actually, the article, by AP fashion writer Samantha Critchell, was about the latest style for fall. Apparently this new look is leggings worn under loose tops. I know, some of us remember back to the 80s, the last time leggings were the newest thing. It’s a completely different look this time, though. I know that, because Sally Singer, fashion news director for Vogue, said so. According to her, "This season is a fundamental change in how you’re going to get dressed in the morning."

Wow. I think. I don’t know if I’m ready for that. For years now, I’ve been putting on my pants one leg at a time, right leg first. I’m not sure I’m prepared to change that in a fundamental way. Maybe I could manage putting the left leg in first, though I’m sure it would take a month or so before the new approach became a habit. Any change more fundamental than that might be a problem. Such as sitting on the floor. Or putting on my pants while lying on my back on the bed with my legs in the air. When I was 20, maybe. At this stage in my life, I’m not sure such a method would be advisable, attractive, or worth the struggle.

The whole leggings look, however, must be worth embracing. After all, it’s slimming for women of all sizes, "particularly bigger women." This is the word from Stephanie Solomon, who, as fashion director for Bloomingdale’s, certainly ought to know. She says a "sweater layered over a tank top, layered over a short skirt, layered over leggings . . . makes a woman look taller and thinner." Especially if you add a wide belt to "help define your shape."

I’d be willing to bet cold, hard cash that Stephanie is a size four.

Which does not mean we should disregard her final bit of advice about the finishing touch for this new look. That is—in her own words—to "add a boot or chunky shoe, the same color as your bottom."

She isn’t specific about how exactly one is supposed to select that color. Though I haven’t tried it personally, it seems to me it would be difficult to see all the necessary color-matching parts at the same time in those little floor-level mirrors in the shoe department. Nor does Stephanie have any advice on how to explain, when the person from store security shows up, that you were just doing some crucial color-coordinating.

Still, these are incidental difficulties. I’m sure they can be overcome. Then each of us can be satisfied that, when it comes to this latest look, we aren’t going to fall behind.

Why did the chicken cross the road?

Apparently, to get to the church on time.

The other day there was an item in our paper about a wedding where one of the "bridesmaids" was—I am not making this up—a chicken. I hasten to point out that the wedding was not local. It took place in North Dakota. The vast majority of the residents of that sensible state are down-to-earth types who consider chickens to be sources of food rather than companionship. Apparently, however, there are always exceptions.

The hen in question was carried down the aisle by the fowler—oops, make that flower—girl. The same lucky child got to hold the chicken during the ceremony. Apparently she (the hen, not the flower girl) spent the time trying to eat her corsage. Which brings up the question of where, exactly, one pins a corsage on a chicken. Somewhere on the white meat, presumably. Unfortunately, our newspaper published no pictures, so we may never know.

The article didn’t mention what kind of meat was served at the reception or whether guests did the traditional chicken dance. The groom (no spring chicken himself, since the flower girl was his granddaughter) was quoted as saying that the hen was a pet and had to be included because she was "just like one of the kids."

That comparison may seem insulting. Of course, without having met the family, it’s hard to know. It does seem clear that one or the other of the two species involved in this wedding may have been the victim of a fowl slander.