Grocery-store Caviar.

Eating standing up in the kitchen over the island with a teaspoon of what turned out to be super decent caviar (sturgeon, don't eat the salmon) on double-toasted grain bread triangles with a bare swipe of sour cream, one drop of lemon juice and a single ring of green onion. I will eat five or eight of these before Caleb cuts me off, if for nothing than simple manners and not being a little pig about an expensive dish. It's akin to sitting down at a seafood place and eating all of the oysters that come out instead of sharing them with the whole table and only having two or three. I don't like oysters though so that's easy. 

What would you like for dessert tonight? His eyes twinkle. The blue is black today. Fall is coming. The monsters come out at Halloween and boy, don't I know it. 

An espresso martini or three. I laugh. I'm not going to get any of those. Dry champagne it is. Maybe a scoop of sherbet in one of the good ice cream bowls. I've broken so many over the years so maybe in a plastic bowl though we don't have any. We got rid of most of the plastic we used ages ago. Now it's glass, wood or ceramic. So breakable. 

Like me, I think as I drop a triangle face-down on the counter. 

 Oops. I scoop it up and use the side of my finger to collect all the tiny little eggs without crushing them to return them to the bread. The sour cream is gone. The onion ring persists and Caleb rolls his eyes as he turns to get the bottle to refill our flutes before I start cutting myself off. Sometimes you need a silly champagne night. We tend to be a little hedonistic this week as the nights get sooner, cooler and longer and Burning Man rages south of the border, which again we did not go to and I'm glad. 

So why not accept a dinner date from the devil even if I think I'm never going to be invited to sit down this evening unless I break protocol and just do it without waiting. 

I haul the stool over close to the plate and climb up onto it. He laughs. 

Feral girl summer. 

You betcha. I wink and answer quietly. When was she not feral? How wild did they want to pretend I wasn't? Does that even make sense gramatically or am I delusional still? She'll ALWAYS be that dirty little princess running down the path to the ballfield in her costume gown, caviar or not. Some apples don't fall far from the tree, even if they're grown on fumes and expensive treats alike. 

The sunset is at eight thirty. A swim and a bonfire tonight?

Swim yes, fire no. Maybe a sauna and then swim in the ocean? 

Nightswimming with the sea lions seems like a real rager of a plan, Neamhchiontach. 

So does inviting your ex-girlfriend to have dinner under the nose of her husband. 

So you're salty enough that we can skip the rest of this. He holds up the black tin. A laugh escapes him but it's softened to a ghost chuckle. Just happy to be here, as always. We're not fighting. We're not physically fighting. We're not lobbing threats or promises today, we're just enjoying an early dinner for two on a random cloudy Thursday evening by the sea. 

What about after the swim? Would you like to watch a film?

Can I bring my friends? 

Sure. He knows he stepped just a little too far and was just a little too nice and we had a little too good of a day date to push his luck but Caleb will always tell you the only way to get what you want is to ask for it (or take it) if need be.

 On Saturday then we'll see if we can find some of those martinis you're so fond of. 

Oh, I can't on Saturday. The party, remember? (Ruth and Lochlan have a joint birthday party every year). 

Ah yes. Save it for another time then. And he shoves the last triangle into his mouth without offering it to me first, probably in order for me not to eat everything before he gets anything at all, while I pour the remainder of the champagne into my glass for it to act as anaesthetic against life itself. 

One Monday left after today.

It's always been a countdown to empty beaches in the fall, even long after I sort of have my own beach these days though it's Pacific, and as I've always said, not even remotely the same. Lochlan will tell you I'm never happy. Caleb will tell me anything I want to hear, like he'll buy me any beach I want, as if that's a thing that can be done, and Ben will just tell me to breathe. 

A fighter, a yes man and a puppy dog. What more could a girl ask for then that? 

 I'm so freaking tired. Two nights of no sleep but I got to see Mammoth live before the rest of the country and most of the world, technically. Got all of the t-shirts and a cool pilot hoodie. Got to rock my face off for his super short set and then Ben asked me if I was excited to see Tremonti live because we went to Creed's tour on the weekend and I forgot he was back in the band. Ditto Scott Philips so now I have also seen exactly half of Alter Bridge which is a bucket list but frankly I'll take Mammoth any day over most other bands because every single song one on every single album is good. So good. 

I also drank house wine until it was coming out my eyes at the stadium and I don't call it a mistake, just an expensive choice but sometimes you have to just go with it. It was packed and it was a good witnessing crowd, if you know what I mean. We counted religious tatttoos for a while and had a big public debate on whether or not my angel wing tattoos were religious or just cool. I vote cool but also religious. Jacob would have really loved this show, though it was my sixth time seeing Big Wreck and something was off about the whole set. I think Ian Thornley does better in a much smaller venue. I am ashamed that the crowd didn't really know That Song. It's a classic. His sound was a bad mix too but he's so talented does it matter? Another show in the books. Next up is the Who. Why am I going? Why not.

It's cold today and about to rain and I love it. I love the cold breezy nights. I love the fact that all of the loud kids around town are going to be locked in their classrooms in two weeks flat and I love love the end of summer, did I mention that already?

The airshows are done, the fairs are dwindling out and the farmer's markets are packed with root vegetables and end of growing season potatoes. Our tomatoes are an endless gift here in the yard and I've been working diligently at overhauling the perennials that stopped growing or don't work where they are and finding or propagating replacements. I rooted a whole bunch of hydrangea, since the boys seem to love them and I ripped out all of the columbine and the ummmm potentilla? Fuschia? Whatever failed to grow the past two years but had a prime location right on the main path. 

 We have nothing planned for this weekend. I think I'll spend it in the kayak. 

Four Mondays 'til September.

 The perpetual popsicle box is still the most popular thing in the freezer and today I learned that I can still knead pizza dough (looking forwards towards dinnertime) with the big Kitchenaid mixer after cutting my finger quite badly trying to use a recently sharpened paring knife to separate frozen slices of Russian pumpernickel bread for my breakfast, with apple jelly, butter and a new takeout coffee because it's Friday and someone went into town and got us all some. 

I would never volunteer. I can't manage three trays of hot coffees but that's just me and I have more coffeeshop experience than all of them combined. 

Anyway, so pizzas for dinner. I'm a purist and I like to wear myself to smithereens but now finger so no. I need to change the bandaids because to my surprise and delight the fat brown squirrel that showed up to help himself to everything in my garden, from the suet feeders to the end of the cherry harvest to all of my bean plants left me a gift. 

An acorn that has become an oak tree. A Bur Oak. Do you know how hard it is to grow a tree from an acorn? I do and I only found this because he tucked it in between the hydrangeas that I propogated earlier this summer and I was weeding and tried to pull it out. It now has it's own little pot on the step and in a few years I will find a permanent spot for it but only once it's big enough to survive. 

I watered everything (again by hand, not machine. Forest fires and water restrictions keep me doing as little as possible, just to keep my perennials alive but like I said there are ten days left in the dog days of summer and so everything looks yellow and crispy and then everything will bulk up again and become lush in the fall.

We're watching Andor (the new season) and I started The Last Showgirl last night with Dunk but we turned it off a half-hour in due to the time. I don't sleep so I'm always low-energy. I want to sleep all day in the breeze but I can't and then at four I crash and then at midnight I'm wide awake and prowling the house again. Is it ever going to change?  I doubt it. 

I'm reading Braiding Sweetgrass. I'm eating avocados and zucchini and strawberries until I fear I might become a plant, only to be dropped into the earth in someone's yard to grow into a mighty tree to stand through strife and drought and natural and political disasters until someone woefully decides I need to go in favour of a glass and steel highrise. 

I think I'd rather be a seedling in a pot never to grow or advance from the place I'm in right this very minute. It seems safer this way.