As I write this, we are leaving September,
the silly season,
when the cats, birds, and football fans,
having partaken of a bit too much of the sweet new wine,
or gigantic pretzels and huge rings of baloney,
or the locals,
seasick from too many
“for your birthday, here is your balloon fly-over ticket for Gutenberg land,
and “I didn’t know my new ski jet could go that fast on a crowded river”
that since it is September,
you have, unthinkingly,
left your car outside on a public parking lot.
At such times, take a moment to thank God
that you don’t have the money for a convertible.
September was fun.
And everything grew too fast,
and left us with as much work as bounty.
And now, thinking back,
and already planning for next September,
we leave the ides of fall behind,
lap twice around the vernal equinox,
approaching fast, on the outside track,
headed for that long long winter:
time of “Oh my goodness, you didn’t renew the tickets at the state theater?
You know what that means don’t you….
we won’t have tickets for the carnival sketch in February…
or the summer gala,
or the meet the same people we have sat with for twenty-five years
during our every Friday night season ticket.
Of course you have to go down there. And right now.
Here. Take the car instead of the bus.
It’s and EMERGENCY.”
In the unlikely case that you aren’t a carnival company member-
in Gutenberg City?….
even the pastors preach on carnival themes during the carnival season.
And are honored members of the carnival committee.
Probably because they have to do so much extra work
after the season of misrule is over.
You want to preach, you had better wear the red, white, blue and yellow-
red white and blue for the French revolution,
and yellow for the Catholic church.
(I once was asked to join a group of protestants,
who spent the “days of frolicking”
singing the Lutheran psalm book cover to cover.
Others just ignore the rose parade week
and rent out their place,
one week, for the price of three months’ rent,
and go skiing.)
But at the moment, we are still in October.
Cold, wet, soggy, no heat yet, October.
But soon all will be toasty.
At some time soon, as the time of “white feathers”
the German new wine,
and onion cake-
a Strassburg concoction of yeast dough
topped by onions and bacon fat,
finally pulls to an end,
and the last of the plums are off the trees,
Gutenberg City will settle down for a nap-
From Monday at nine am
to Saturday at 2 Pm weekly-
a quick dash through the cathedral on Sunday morning,
then out into the woods.
(October also stands for “oh, look at all those mushrooms!)
Oh, listen to all those stags roaring,
I guess I forgot to make an appointment to have the car winterized,
and now it will be the middle of a winter blizzard when they call me.
You could do as a lot of the Gutenberger, especially the older ones, do
and simply spend the winter in Majorca.
(Oh, I forgot to call to have the finka prepared….
Oh, I forgot to tell the butcher
to hold back some white sausages and sauerkraut for me….)
Oh yes, did I mention it is October?
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