The midwest grinds me down slowly. First, I stop frisking. Then I stop wearing sparkles. Then, if it’s election season, I start counting Tea Party and Republican yard signs. Some streets are entire runs of them, unbroken. I have to drive through a gauntlet of Romney signs to enter our street.
The leaves are beautiful, though, I try to look at those. It’s one of the prettiest falls I remember seeing. Lots and lots of yellow and orange and red and green leaves, all at once, leaves on the ground and on the trees.
The sugar maple we planted (known simply as “Bill’s tree”) has been spectacular this year. Note excellent Clare McCaskill sign, procured by me in self-defense last week.
I leave this weekend, and won’t be back in St. Louis until after the election, thankfully. Whatever happens- if Missouri ruins everything again, or if somehow enough people other than Values Voters™ (who mysteriously favor white oligarchs with frankly terrible values and poor math skilz) vote, if the St. Louis Cardinals annoy the baseballscenti by having another mediocre season and then winning the World Series in a blaze of Elimination Game fervour… I won’t be here to taste the dust or the joy of it.
I’ll be in Tucson, finishing the book, hoping that Arizona comes through and sends combat medic and ex-surgeon general Richard Carmona to the Senate, instead of my batshit crazy cousin Jeff.
Tonight, I’ll take a nice break from my MacBook to enjoy some fine Syrian hummus and mint salad with Evan at Ranoush, another Cardinals-Giants playoff game, and then back to some layout work in the Rick-Rack Chapter. One of my favorites!
Tomorrow night, Bill comes home. Sunday, back to the desert, and Miss Fish, and to hunt around for a sphinx moth cocoon, see if the pool is still swimmy, and further lose myself in the last phase of the birth of the book.