It seems I get later and later but for good reasons. This morning it was a long library board meeting to choose officers. The length of the meeting had little to do with the election of unopposed officers. No, it was mimosas and pastries and conversation which kept us late.

I’m running out of adjectives to describe this gorgeous weather. It is in the mid-70’s and sunny with a breeze strong enough to swing the chimes. Tomorrow they’ll be downpours and over 3 inches of rain according to the weatherman. Not a single person is complaining. We need the rain, and we have had our share, more than our share, of beautiful fall days.

Where I grew up, we called it tonic. Down here they call it soda. By either name, we seldom had any in the house when I was a kid, ginger ale maybe for an occasional highball, my parents’ favorite drink when I was young, but nothing else. We drank milk, a combination of white milk and chocolate milk, both delivered by the milkman. My mother used to drink Tab until Diet Coke came along. My father was always a milk drinker. He loved a cold glass of milk with his Hydrox cookies or his Pilot crackers topped with butter. He’d be devastated now as both his favorites are no longer made. He’d probably start eating Saltines but never Oreos, maybe Newman-O’s which remind me of Hydrox. My dad was most particular about his snacks.

We called my mother the seagull because of what she ate. Leftovers were her favorite breakfast, and sometimes she ate them cold in a sandwich, including hot dogs cut in half and down the middle. She’d rummage in the fridge, pullout the covered dishes and build herself a sandwich. Cucumbers were a favorite topping. She was also a mayonnaise fan far more than a mustard fan. My mother liberally applied the condiment. Even with toast the butter was slathered. Grilled cheese, according to her, was best at its messiest.

I eat all sorts of foods and will try almost anything when I’m traveling. I think that’s the seagull in me.