Apples and Consent

The weather the last few days have taken a decided turn towards the autumnal.  This is of course tremendous news for at least half of my household (a little more if we count Buddy).  The crisp air brings back a lot of memories of growing up in New England and yesterday I was dogged by apples.  One of the most enduring memories of family outings prior to my parents' divorce was the annual apple picking expedition which took place around this time of year.  Every year the family loaded up the car and journeyed to Vermont because my mother, a native Vermonter, opined the apples were significantly better there.  My father, a dyed in the wool New Hampshirite, would disagree but we always went to Vermont.

My sisters and I would careen around the apple orchard doing our best impressions of migrant workers on some sort of mild altering substance.  We would spend the better part of the day harvesting apples (Macintosh only please) and drinking cider.  I don’t think there’s a better way for a kid to spend a fall day (or any day for that matter) than climbing trees; even though I wasn’t supposed to.  We ended the day with several laundry baskets full of apples that took up residence in the basement and became the go to snack for the next month.  There was always a bruised bottom layer that we didn’t get to.  I remember several spring cleanings where I was charged with cleaning up the paste these unfortunate bottom dwellers had dissolved into over the winter.

The South Lawn Yesterday

I was fortunate enough yesterday to spend a good portion of the day outside on the fabulous south lawn of our facility.  We hosted the annual Retirees Picnic where employees past and present gather to reminisce.  I know I’m nowhere near being ready to fully retire based on the conversations I had yesterday. It was interesting nonetheless to talk with some of the older gents who stopped by.  I was particularly interested speaking with a guy who related that he sold newspapers at a nearby corner with his brother in 1937.   

I finished my latest Vince Flynn book yesterday as I continue my mad dash through the Mitch Rapp series with Consent to Kill.  This one was a little different as Mitch wasn’t called upon to save the world this time.  This was a much more personal book as someone close to Mitch is taken out when some Saudis try to assassinate him.  Mitch Rapp is not someone you want pissed off at you in any way shape or manner. 

Rapp, though hobbled in the aftermath of the assassination attempt, is soon strewing bodies connected to his would be assassins at various compass points around the world.  As with all of Flynn’s work the pace is almost as relentless as his hero and I fell victim to the same problem I’ve experienced with all of his work – I couldn’t put the book down after the half-way point.

Wife and Friend in Boston Yesterday

Despite the cooler temperatures my wife linked up with members of the Worcester Chapter of the Panamanian Mafia yesterday for a day trip into Boston.  She wasn’t’ sure what the objective was but they ended up spending the day just walking (and talking of course) around Boston.  The cool air must have some remarkable medicinal effects because I get chewed out regularly for not parking close enough to a store and here she was spending an entire day walking. 

She didn’t get home until well into the night and was gushing about the good times she’d enjoyed with her compatriots.  I don’t think you can underestimate the amount of pleasure a day spent hanging out with good friends provides.  It was exactly the kind of day needed and she gleefully recounted her adventures, including some fairly ribald conversations they  reveled in.  Panamanians are nothing if not bawdy.  I know it helps keep me younger than I appear (or I could just be immature – either way – I’m going with it). Some more photos from yesterday's Bostonian adventure: