>As a little kid, I used to spend Thanksgiving in New England. While most of the leaves had already fallen off the trees, it was still starkly beautiful at my Aunt’s house high on a hill dotted with granite boulders. When the sky was clear, through the barren trees, I could see the stacks of the local mill from the giant window in her living room. It was at her house that I first learned about mincemeat. I still haven’t been brave enough to try it.
It seemed like it would always snow the day after Thanksgiving. Nothing blizzard-y, just enough to hint at Christmas. Back then, there was no Black Friday madness. Sure, we went shopping sometimes, but we were civilized about it. No one would have been able to get up before 7:00 am anyway. It was all about eating, drinking and being merry well into the night…also known in my family as playing cards.
>As I walked into the bar, the smell brought back memories of the Bay Area. I think it was a mixture of stale spilled beer, worn out leather, and drying sweat. It’s been a long time since I watched a local band rock out on a tiny stage. I was attending a quasi-work function, so it wasn’t like the old days of going to a show. It was a lot less crowded, just as hot, but way more mellow.
Maybe I’m going to have to shove aside my fears and just go see a show on my own. Staying cooped up in the house alone can’t be good for me.
>sounds like…Old Ironsides? Except for the "mellow" part. I've never seen a laid-back show there.