On the Map of Me (see last week’s post), under the heading “Favorite Food That I Like The Idea Of But Would Never Actually Eat Because I Don’t Care For Fruit In General”, that’s not a lemon. Although it certainly LOOKS like one, and I thank Marvelous Reader who wondered about that. It’s a quince.
I live across the street from a wild quince tree which, when I first moved to Long Island, I took as a good omen. I like quince trees. Maybe life wouldn’t be too bad after all, in America’s First Suburb. Can you believe that that’s the new official motto of Long Island? As if that would make us sound any less like Levittown-and-Mall-Land.
And just about now is when they are getting ripe and turning into bright yellow baubles. So, on the one hand, I’m delighted to see these jolly yellow polka-dots on the tree across the street. But on the other hand, it reminds me that Summer is over and gooooooone.
By the way, that quince tree that’s across the street from me? It belongs to this house:
This reminds me of that short story (To Esme With Love and Squalor) by J.D. Salinger about the little 9-year old girl named Esme who said to one of the Glass brothers, “I love squalor.” And that reminds me of how I went through a big J.D. Salinger phase when I lived in Paris and was so depressed (it rains every day in Winter in Paris) that it cheered me up to read those sad short stories about the Glass family (because you always knew that Seymour was going to kill himself) and listen to sad songs: Joni Mitchell Last Time I Saw Richard, Carly Simon Haven’t Got Time for The Pain, Veronique Sanson Amoureuse. But I digress.
Some days, all I do is digress. I think this is one of those days.