AN EXTRA LAYER OF UNDERWEAR

According to the weather reports great chances of inclemency will mark the next four days. With lower temperatures, which means I might want to bring out the Canadian winter coat. One of my coworkers will be in a sad-sack depressed mood, making little whimpering sounds all day. Which I mostly ignore, because that is their natural state anyway. At such times I am deliberately and offensively upbeat. Cheerful even.

"Nonsense, this is just mildly bracing Autumn weather!"
"Just put on an extra layer of underwear."
"You didn't bring any?"
"Thoughless!"

The person in question is much younger than myself and has far more insulating body fat.
For myself, I am a joy to be around. Far less so, conceivably, for some other people.

Facebook memory from a few years ago: "Just in case any of you forgot, I'm still an irritating unlikable person, not socially suitable for your friends and family, and I smell bad."

THE FALL GLORY OF THE SALTFLATS IN BOONDSNORGLE, MARIN COUNTY

There is a persimmon tree in the yard downstairs which is glorious at this time of year. I can see it through the blinds of the television room windows. Further uphill gingkos are golden yellow, and in various areas there are drifts of crispy leaves. Perfect weather for pipesmoking, lots of tea, and vast rolls of thermal underwear.

Me and my vast rolls of thermal underwear will be heading over to Chinatown later today for lunch at a slightly seedy place with sticky tables. I'm looking forward to that. Pipe afterwards.

To be honest, I do not enjoy cold weather much. But smoking a pipe means at least half an hour outdoors, and with fewer people about it's quiet time. Centuries ago you could do that inside, but the world has changed. The fairer sex does not approve of the smell of tobacco, and little kiddies now wrinkle their tiny button noses while whining pointedly about the stinky man, or sometimes throw rotten fruits in my direction.

Back in the stone age, as I rememember it, I'd be comfortably ensconced in the living room of the house in Berkeley with tea and a loaded briar, while rain blattered against the French doors, and the cats quarreled with raccoons outside.

Nice. Bookshelves, and a full set of the encyclopedia.
Steaming cup of Russian Caravan.
Very comfy.



Disapproving little kiddie puritans were quite rare in those days, and one did not need vast rolls of scratchy thermal underwear to enjoy life.



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================