Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.
How do you define your world? In my case I use to depend on culture and tradition to tell me that the year had ended, the season had changed or that the vacation season was over and the serious time for work would now begin. Luckily I have allowed myself the freedom to define my world as I see it and not as others do. Possibly that is due in part to the fact I am no longer bound by a workday, scheduled vacations and the like. But I think it is primarily due to my outgrowing the need to live within conventional time boundaries.
What got me thinking about this freedom was the fact that this weekend I found that summer had really ended by my measurement. While others may see Autumn beginning after the US Labor Day holiday or the equinox or maybe even the beginning of the leaves turning color in my part of the world, in my case it is when the gifts of summer are no longer available. I hate to admit it but I have an addiction, I am addicted to summers Indiana grown produce. This is especially true of the world’s freshest and tastiest corn on the cob grown in Tipton, Indiana by the Baird family. They cut the corn late Friday and rush it to Central Indiana farmers markets early Saturday mornings where a family member sells it under the name of My Dad’s Corn; when it first comes to market I buy it and then do so almost every Saturday thereafter. The Baird’s stagger their planting and harvests so they have corn for me and hundreds of others all the way up until the first frost. I usually accompany my corn purchase at the market by also picking up some locally grown real tomatoes, some bread and rolls from some local bakers and even meat on occasion.
And now it is over, I bid fond farewell to Jennifer, one of the Baird daughters, on Saturday as she closed down until next spring. Now I must live with pleasant gastronomic memories and move to winter foods. I will miss summer and all it has to offer but I love autumn as well. I find the sweater weather exhilarating; the changing leaves inspiring and returning friends heartwarming. I know those of you who live below the equator will love your spring and I know you are not bound by the calendar but rather by your own appreciation of time as well.
The Mist and All
by Dixie Willson
I like the fall
The mist and all
I like the night owl’s lonely call
And wailing sound
Of wind around
I like the gray
And dead, bare boughs that coldly sway
Against my pane
I like the rain
I like to sit
And laugh at it
And tend my cozy fire a bit
I like the fall
The mist and all
It is better to wear out than to rust out.
Man goes to see the Rabbi. "Rabbi, something terrible is happening and I have to talk to you about it."
The Rabbi asked, "What's wrong?"
The man replied, "My wife is poisoning me."
The Rabbi, very surprised by this, asks, "How can that be?"
The man then pleads, "I'm telling you, I'm certain she's poisoning me, what should I do?"
The Rabbi then offers, "Tell you what. Let me talk to her, I'll see what I can find out and I'll let you know." A week later the Rabbi calls the man and says, "Well, I spoke to your wife. I spoke to her on the phone for three hours. You want my advice?"
The man anxiously says, "Yes."
"Take the poison," says the Rabbi.
Conscience is what hurts when everything else feels so good.
The loaded mini-van pulled in to the only remaining campsite. Four children leaped from the vehicle and began feverishly unloading gear and setting up the tent. The boys rushed to gather firewood, while the girls and their mother set up the camp stove and cooking utensils.
A nearby camper marveled to the youngsters' father, "That, sir, is some display of teamwork!"
The father replied, "I have a system; no one goes to the bathroom until the camp is set up."
Women don't make passes at men who are asses.
O'Brian loved to play golf and would go out alone to a course and get paired up with any group that needed a fourth. One day he went to his favorite course and the pro said, "I'm sorry O'Brian, but the only group I can put you with is one with three Hassidic rabbis."
O'Brian says, "That's fine with me."
He joins the group and tees off. His shot is about 200 yards out and off to the right rough. Reb Moshe tees off 300 yards straight out into the middle of the fairway. Reb Yitzchak's shot is about 290 and Reb Yaacov's is 300, but slightly off center.
O'Brian has trouble getting out of the rough and four-putts, while the rabbis' approach shots are right on the pin, and each two-putts for par.
The rest of the round is the same, with the rabbi's scores either par or under par, while O'Brian has a 95. He says to them, "You guys must play and practice all the time."
Reb Yitzchak says, "No, we study all the time and only play once a week. But, on our Sabbath, while we are in shul, we say a prayer asking God to give us one good round of golf each week."
O'Brian is so impressed that he goes home and tells his wife that they are converting. They study, convert, join a shul, and go to services every Shabbat.
About a year later, O'Brian runs into the threesome of rabbis at the same course and they invite him to play with them. The game is exactly like last year's. O'Brian is doing nothing
right, and the three are perfect.
At the end, O'Brian says to the rabbis, "I don't understand it. I converted, I joined a shul, pray every week."
Rabbi Moshe says, "You joined a shul? Which one?"
O'Brian says, "Beth Shalom."
Rabbi Moshe says, "No, no, no! Beth Shalom is for tennis!"
No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace
As I have seen in one autumnal face.
Stay well, do good work, and have fun.
Management is not responsible for duplicates from previous dailies. The editor is somewhat senile.
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