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Falling

It's fall, campers, as of around 10:30 last night.  It's felt more like fall in these parts for some time, so appropriate it's now official.

And with that, I have my traditional fall cold.  I have been fighting allergies for some weeks, which is also characteristic of this time of year, but what I have suffered has morphed into a full-blown cold.  Congestion, some coughing (though thankfully not so much that I can't sleep) and general aches are its hallmarks.  How nice.  Using some over-the-counter stuff to fight back, but, as we all know, it generally just has to run its course.

We had our twice-a-year neighborhood garage sale Saturday.  I put out a few things, plus a couple of pieces of furniture that we no longer wanted.  Made less than $50, but that's better than the last time I did it, when I made about $15.  Sold a blender we haven't used in years, a weed trimmer that does not run, and a soap dispenser that clogs at the drop of a hat.  Plus a few other things.  

And as usual, folks came in asking for various stuff.  The first man who appeared said he was interested in finding some tools.  My bet is that he got lucky once and is hoping for history to repeat itself.  Not here, friend, I don't have that many tools, I thought.  

The furniture is now resting comfortably on Craigslist, until I can find time to haul it to a couple of places that buy used stuff.  Almost all of the rest of it went straight to Goodwill.  We've found that a good rule of thumb---if you're willing to sell it, donate what you don't sell, rather than returning that stuff to your other belongings.  When you live in a smallish house, important to fight clutter where you can!

Depressing times around here.  The Cincinnati Reds will NOT have a winning season, let alone participate in post-season play.  They begin their last six games of the season tonight, all at home.  May try to get up to the ballpark for one, since there won't be anymore until next April.  And that's what's depressing.  This time of year I think of the quote from A. Bartlett Giamatti, who wrote:

“[Baseball] breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall all alone. You count on it, rely on it to buffer the passage of time, to keep the memory of sunshine and high skies alive, and then just when the days are all twilight, when you need it most, it stops.”

I don't think I can say it any better than that.



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