Indian Summer And All That Is Fall

Hello, Dearest Readers, those who know I have not vanished from the face of the planet. My last three blogs were written at least three times apiece because of unintentional erasing. I am convinced that in the back of my mind I didn’t want to suffer through that ‘oops where did it go’ for a fourth time. Well, to quote friend who is quite a character: Time to pull up the big girl panties and go on.

This has been a delectable Indian Summer. I remember them from my childhood in Indiana as a Siren song from True Summer that made you forget the heat and sun burns, remembering only warm days of filtered sunlight and running through the last of the long grass. Here in the South the leaves are turning crisp colors in browns and golds with faded orange and wistful spots of yellow. The storms that I thought would be from Hurricanes have come and gone across the state and were indeed powerful storms but just not Hurricanes. Such is the precarious nature of long range forecasting. Luckily my area here in the Piedmont has been mostly spared from devastation and flooding. When the rain has come it has been days put together of rapid drizzle mingling with drenching downpours.

The God-baby is now wearing adorable coats and sweaters in varying shades of pink, looking like a fairy princess of cuteness. My mother always said that we grew fast but that statement is rather hard to understand unless you have watched a baby grow. It is as though one day she is barely toddling across the floor and then the next she is racing with the dog around the island in the kitchen. My Dear Friend is doing wonderfully at her scientific job and is an amazing combination of scientist-lady and wonder-mommy.

I missed another trip to Diamond Hill and felt a part of my rock hound heart cry. My migrains are back to three days every two weeks and there is almost nothing more miserable than laying in your tent on the hard ground, cold and racked with pain, knowing that to go to the “cedar house” means getting out of your sleeping bag and crossing a camp in the dark with 38 degrees of cold outside. Yes I have done this and find little to recommend it. I dearly hope that all my MAGMA friends found wonderful crystals and sang several songs around the campfire for me. The owner of Diamond Hill, Chet, is a great guy, whose wife is a dear, and runs a top notch little operation. If anyone wants to get into rock hounding in North or South Carolina look up Diamond Hill in South Carolina and talk to Chet. If his place doesn’t hook you I don’t know what will.

I have shared my frustration with you about furthering my studies into gemology so let me tell you of some almost nearly really great news. First off I have been volunteering with geology department at my Science Museum. I have been helping to start a catalogue of wave graphs from an IR machine with an ATR attachment. In the cold hard truth of the matter I sit in a grey room and click on the computer mouse every three minutes or so and then carefully change out another mineral and start the clicking over again. The exciting part is watching the graphs of each gem or mineral appear and discovering the unique patterns and subtle differences that form. This somehow just thrills me and I cannot wait to go through the next tray of specimens.
The Second piece of almost nearly great news is the discovery of a fully on line gemology school that is actually respected in the community of gemologists, which can be rather prejudicial and opinionated. The school is The International School of Gemology. The ISG is apparently a combination of my beloved Gem-A London and the prestigious GIA here in America. It looks as thought the answer to my year, yes a year or more, of depression and fretting may have appeared. The best part is I wasn’t even looking for schools in gemology when I did the Google search: Thank you Oh Great Google Searcher in The Sky.

Besides the wondrous blog site , which I highly recommend for all kinds of scientifically bizarre and fantastical reading, I would like to guide people to a web site called The Three Graces. Yes this is a retail site that is far above my budget but if anyone wants to shower me with gifty-ness I like Baroque and Edwardian emeralds and Art Neuvo moonstone. Just to gaze at the items offered in a computerized form of window-shopping is to feast your eyes on rare displays of art that just happen to be jewelry. (Of course I assume they are trustworthy and noble retailers, and because as I stated they are almost beyond my imagination in price I can not personally vouch for them.)

I trust that the passing of the Vernal Equinox, All Hallows Eve and the days for The Dead and The Saints went smoothly for all my readers. Fall can be such a mighty transition for some of us that it can be hard to stay balanced. Some feel the falling away of Summer with an almost saddened yet piercing pain while others can become overwhelmed by the rushing song of Fall. We have already had sporadic frost across North Carolina but Winter will not arrive until December or perhaps a week into the month. I expect there to be sleet or freezing rain before there is significant snow.

Split the firewood, ready the bird feeders, and get those recipes started for baked bread and all things yummy. This late Summer I found yet another wonderful second hand consignment store in my town and came across a bunch of The Workbasket, which are adorably old and reminiscent of middle class gentility from the 60s. They not only have cutely-quaint instructions for knitting baby hats and crocheting elegant doilies but there is a recipe section in each one that is a treasured peak into bygone delights for the stomach: Homemade fondants and Easter cakes or summer salads and Spicy Pecan Pudding Cake. I encourage anyone who enjoys the thrill of discovering forgotten recipes and amassing an eclectic treasury to delve into the corners of thrift stores and to leaf through seemingly outdated ladies magazines.

The hour is late now, Dear Reader, and because I have still not become used to the end of Daylight Savings Time, the time seams even later. I must still post this to the blog and hope it does not disappear on me after I have just yelled “No, wrong button. Wrong button!”
Be Well.

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