end_of_season xuan i feel that i must suck all the goodness out of this fleeing summer sunshine... so here's what i do: big chunks of squash (round pale green zucchini or the yellow starburst variety) and bright sweet peppers lightly cooked in a sip of olive oil, then an addition of onions, tomatoes, black pepper, basil from my garden, all brought together in a creamy red broth (roast pepper and tomato soup), finally treated with a handful of crumbled feta cheese. or, there is a generously full bed of spinach with baby tomatoes, sliced egg, parmesan cheese, black pepper, balsamic vinagrette (garlic vinegar olive oil)... last night: one whole eggplant sliced, lightly salted and oiled, then broiled -- some pieces sacrificed to the tomato soup, some savored alone, fingers to mouth. and i still have a bag of tomatillos, two sweet potatoes, a butternut squash, and four anaheim peppers to go. if only my love-life could be so rich and vibrant. I ended Things with j yesterday, and if I weren't so emotionally numb I'm sure i'd be regretting it right now. shouldn't i be worrying about the fact that i'd had a very significant crush on him before our night-in-the-tent, and consider that if one night of intimacy makes all that evaporate then perhaps it is my own stability that must be scrutinized? but i'm so afraid of telling him about my uncertainties -- that's how the horrible on-again-off-again cycle begins, a certain downward spiral of accumulating pain and co-dependency. meanwhile, i'm waiting for my body to signal that there will be NO BABIES this month. (jesus, wouldn't that be the ultimate irony?) 030917 ... mcdougall Your soup sounds magnificent, but summer’s end means the rapid advance of the fall season a new plethora of delicious dishes plus a change of ingredients from those of summer foods to those of autumn. It is true that you will not be able to enjoy your soup, but there are other soups and such waiting for you in the nearly-present, beautiful and colorful, autumn. 030918 what's it to you? who go blather from