Having been driven to a Starbucks™ on account of my dozing off while reading in the park, I wondered for the three hundred and twelfth time what the hell a macchiato was. I am happy to find that it is of legitimate origin via Italian baristas (baristi?), and not some nonsense invented by the McCoffee chain. Whew!
Now that’s taken care of, on to other topics.
August is nothing more than a wisp of memory now, it seems, the leisurely day of Labor having passed and September already teething, but in these recent times of Global Warming we do seem to enjoy what used to be called Indian Summer, back in less politically correct times. I know I’ve been enjoying them. it certainly makes up for the dour and long, wet springtimes that seem to preceed them…
Rambling– so many words and so little said!
Tara Lynne and I rode our trusty wheeled steeds again to the Isla del Coney on Tuesday. A different route- McDonald Avenue, of elevated train tracks, double parking, mechanized shadows and angles unexpected. A zigzagging whir of helmets and red metal fleck gleaming and disappearing into shadow alternately as trains passed over our heads and traffic kept us guessing… A hot, still day and us riding fast, as we’d lost time and got a late start– by the time we reached the boardwalk it was time to swim, and we didn’t even bother with finding a stair to the beach, just climbed through the fence and raced to the ocean.
Riding bikes in this kind of atmosphere, and for such a purpose as “emergency swimming” (as T.L. put it), makes me feel very much like a kid again.