red onions

The farmer sells vegetables at the door on a Friday. My kindly neighbour always lets me know, pushes me to the front of the queue, makes sure I am not short-changed. This morning she also gave me a very welcome gift, a bag of newspapers to light my fire. Very few buy newspapers here, they are not so easy to come by.

Today I wanted white onions, but happily settled for red. Everyone around the village is feeling down. One has vertigo, and fears a bad prognosis. Another fears a stomach ulcer, too much stress. The young one upstairs has the flu, aches and fever. Two elderly ladies hobble about, seeking company to stay "up". Another good friend said to me last week "Kay, winter is always sad. We need the sun".
I think we need a good helping of Tiramisu ("pull me up" - tirare = to pull, mi = me, su = up).

I guess I look very lucky to them, able to fly to New Zealand as winter approaches. But I will be back, and will share the worst of the winter with them. It wasn't so bad, last year, I expected worse. People still went walking, bundled up in jackets, carrying umbrellas.

The rapid change of seasons is affecting us, after a summer that was too long, too hot. So now, in autumn, it seemed appropriate that the onions were red, although I did reduce my order by half. We need colour, we need light, we need the sun.

I bought myself a bright pink jacket in London. I think it was to satisfy the inner child. I will wear it happily, when it is too cold for my bright vest, to scare away the gloom.

This afternoon I shall steal more golden moments, earl grey tea with Zacchi in the shafts of sunlight. We will savour the change of season, and think of things past. This morning, however, I am the lady with the bag of red onions in her studio. I like that. Who said we should always have exactly what we want? Sometimes, when we don't think clearly, we want the wrong things!
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