With our currently plummeting temperatures, am thinking about “the next thing” which is Halloween. I have always loved Halloween and always mean to do something “special” for it. Sometimes it happens. This year, cool candy strikes me as appropriate. Back in the day when the children were little and I seriously investigated the idea of dancing poodles for Neon Moon's third birthday party, I would have channeled this impulse into individually carved and hand painted marzipan frogs on imported chocolate lily pads but, as they say, times change, people change. Mona Lisa claims that giving out candy cigarettes for Halloween is in poor taste. I am certainly opposed to smoking but have government studies linked candy cigarettes to later addiction? I am not so sure.

I love to shop for certain things—shoes, hats and vegetables rate the highest. I can see, really, why Carmen Miranda chose to combine all three. It makes sense. Well, to me anyway. Alas, it seems that I spend more time shopping for vegetables than for fashion these days.

When I was a kid, my parents and grandparents all believed that fresh is best and it doesn’t get any fresher than if you pick it yourself. As a result, we spent many a Sunday afternoon in orchards and fields, then having a picnic [My favorites being the veal cutlet sandwich, Paul’s Pies and Vernor’s variety] before taking our bounty home. Bounty is the only word to describe the vast quantities of produce that we acquired. The trunk would be full and there would be bushels on the floor of both the front and back seats.

With the exception of the occasional apple or cherry picking foray, my children have not experienced this sort of intimate relationship with their meals, in pre-meal state. It just doesn’t work with our current lifestyle to drive one hour each way to Olcott to get six apples for a pie or two bulbs of garlic. Now that I think of it, it would take me just as long to get to the Bryant Park greenmarket, my absolute favorite! Hmmm. Thank you, JetBlue! A new tradition may just be brewing.

I had breakfast today at Amy’s, one of my favorite eateries. Good for breakfast, lunch or dinner. Best kibbe around, great pancakes, too. Aunt Bea would have loved Amy’s, especially if she had blue hair and pierced her tongue. Well, ok, Aunt Bea actually DID have blue hair but not that shade of blue. I remember hers as more Lady Clairol than turquoise. As for the pierced tongue? We may never know.

I just finished reading The Kalahari Typing School for Men. I thoroughly enjoyed it and found myself saying the names of the characters out loud just because they were so much fun to say and felt nice in my mouth. Not at all like the Russian novels. Sorry, guys. Anyway, I borrowed this book from our local library and found, mid-way through it, a notation to indicate what was obviously a typo. What struck me was the tentative quality of the correction--tiny, penciled and followed by a question mark. Clearly this was someone who was well brought up, knew it was wrong to write in books and yet felt compelled to assist the next gentle reader. Now I will be peering at everyone through the stacks, trying to figure out just who is responsible for this. I am fairly sure that I will never know whose note this was but that is just as well. Now I don’t have to decide whether to thank them, scold them or just stare at them in disbelief.

Fall has arrived early. The heat has come on the last few mornings and it is time for baked apples and potato leek soup.