September roses. I don't know if it's the weather or what, but the most heart-stoppingly gorgeous roses of the season seem to bloom in September. At least in our yard.
Bloomsbury Books. And the book sellers who work there. And the hundreds of heartful townsfolk who expressed their condolences when Orlando, the beloved store cat, died last year.
The day-after-Thanksgiving Santa Claus parade. I LOVE this parade!! -- at the end of which Santa and Mrs. Claus climb the stairs to the balcony of Alex's Restaurant overlooking the Plaza, and after leading a couple thousand freezing-to-death onlookers in a rousing "Ten!...Nine!...Eight!..." countdown, flip the switch that turns the whole town into a twinkling fairyland. I cry every single year.
The U.S. Post Office on First Street and the amazing postal clerks and letter carriers. For instance: A few years ago I published a little book that sort of caught on around the country. Several people wrote me letters addressed simply to Sharon Mehdi, Ashland, Oregon. The Post Office found me. But before that, right after I moved here in fact, a postal clerk looked up my number in the phone book and called to say someone had sent me a package with the wrong address. She wanted to know my correct address so she wouldn't have to send it back. "Who knows," she said, "it could be a birthday present." I mean, who does that?!
Chilled borscht decorated with a sour-cream swirl in the shape of a flower at Pangea's on Main Street. The window table at Liquid Assets. The garden patio at Dragonfly. And everything about Pasta Piatti , especially sweet Tom Beam, the owner.
More another day.
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