Apples and asters

Apples and asters are the enemies of summer. They are here, nonethless, and they always win. I just bit into my first apple of the season, and it is stunning: crisp, tart, spectacular. And if it means summer’s over, well, summer never really came this year anyway. The last couple of days were hot and humid. That’s about it. It’s been so wet that every additional drop brings flood warnings — there’s just nowhere for it all to go. The Hudson’s been brown for about half the summer.

Also, the ragweed is out, as my bloodshot eyes will attest. This year I got the pleasure of two ragweed attacks, because in northern California it’s more of a spring thing, and when I was out there earlier this year I was treated to an extra dose of misery. I can’t even look at goldenrod, knowing that ragwood is lurking somewhere nearby.

I love fanatics, as long as they don’t get close to me. Luckily, this group of fanatics promoting travel to Mars seems to have focused most of its energy on getting its message to presidential candidates over the last couple of years. It’s kinda spooky. Imagine being a candidate and having every fringe group in the country trying to get to you on issues like this. No wonder we weed out all the good ones.

No, of course I’m not watching the convention. Puh-leez. Just because I have to stay awake during surgery doesn’t mean I’ve gotta look inside the wound. Know what I mean?