Fall Friday

"Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns."

-George Eliot, Letter to Miss Lewis, Oct. 1, 1841

Back in Corning after a very long, nonstop flight from Panama City yesterday. It takes an extra twenty minutes getting here from ECP, compared with Perry-Foley, which means both fuel quantity tapes were very much in the yellow when I landed. A fierce headwind that cropped up over Pennsylvania had me wondering if I'd need to stop and refuel.

A muddy-headed morning for everyone in our household. Even Dean, passed out on the couch after an evening of being passed out on the foot of the bed. What a life.

For two folks who never have a spare minute to read, we sure have a lot of reading materials strewn about. I've been reading Paul Fussell's 1983 rant, Class, in which he observes that one of the markers separating upper class from prole is the presence of books in one's home. Proles don't read, especially not books. But that was 1983, and as near as I can tell no one reads now. It is my great luxury on these long flights back and forth between NY and FL to break out a volume for sometimes a couple hours a pop. Of course, yesterday I brought homework for an upcoming jury trial, and my pleasure reading time was pretty limited.

I just ordered an iPad case, and iPhone case, and a sink dish-draining rack from Walmart.com, and it says those things will all show up today. Remarkable. I wondered how we'd adjust to our post-Amazon existence, and so far it's been pretty painless.

Last night P and I celebrated my return with a trip to Tanino's, our favorite Italian place in Horseheads. Corning Glass's early workforce included a huge contingent of Italians at the turn of the last century, and their descendants have ensured we have a surfeit of good Italian restaurants. Tanino's is our favorite, maybe not because of the food, which is hit-or-miss, but because it feels like a late 1970s Italian restaurant inside, with naugahyde booths, 70s tunes or maybe Tony Bennett wafting out of the speakers, and of course Frank Sinatra's mugshot staring back at you on the wall. The staff all know us at this point, and Tony R. himself, now in his 80s, often sidles up in the booth next to Peg, beguiled by her charms as am I.

So that was last night. This morning we're sort of paying the price for all that wine and eggplant and more wine, but we'll muddle through. P's first case wasn't until nine, so she slept in an extra hour. I have a couple phone conferences, a lot of tax homework deferred from during the week, and maybe a trip to the gym if I can squeeze it in. Not a bad way to end a hard week.