Couldn’t decide whether to go dark or light today.

I’m reading William Manchester’s ’The Death of a President’, published in 1967 and purchased then, but only read in a drastically abridged version serialized in LOOK magazine in the day. Onto the bookshelf, into a moving box, onto the bookshelf… un-thumbed, un-loaned, just yellowed with age.

Having experienced the assassination of John F. Kennedy, this month in 1963, at 16 years-old, and now reading this densely detailed account of the days preceding and following, it’s mildly disorienting in part from being reminded of early Sixties mores via some of the author’s unapologetic terms.

Now the ’light’, the last of the ginger lilies, a small cluster of blossoms saved from the cold in a sequestered spot in our postage stamp-sized front yard/courtyard. (One of the men delivering our new washing machine last July asked me if we planted ’all this stuff, or did it just grow up’. Sometimes I wonder.)

Followed by the only ’Fall Color’ we get anymore in these parts, mums from our friend Rick’s plant nursery.