Saturday, November 17, 2018

Some other time...

Where has the time all gone to
Haven't done half the things we want to
Oh well, we'll catch up some other time

This day was just a token
Too many words are still unspoken
Oh well, we'll catch up some other time

Just when the fun is starting
Comes the time for parting
But, let's just be glad for what we had
And what's to come

There's so much more embracing
Still to be done but time is racing
Oh well, we'll catch up some other time

Some Other Time by
Songwriters Julie Styne/Sammy Cahn

Some Other Time

It's not difficult to get sentimental here, after an afternoon of lying in the sun by the pool or just wiling away the hours doing whatever comes easy, then at the end of the day having to face the glowing orb as it sets over the horizon. During the entire seven years we spent on Hilton Head Island we never once had a barbecue.  So when I spied the Weber equipment in the back yard on Longboat Key I thought it might be worth a try.  Note the calculated use of the pluperfect subjunctive!

Naturally it turned out to be a great deal more work than anticipated. My experience with barbecues began and ended with the Hibachi. That was at least thirty years ago - at a time when a whiskey-'n-soda was de rigueur and no doubt accommodated far more shortcomings than I care to recall. Current reasoning compels me to advance that I graciously relinquished any cooperation in the culinary department by deferring instead to He Who Knows Best!  Besides it would never do for me to have trod upon territory which so patently is foreign to my particular vernacular (which is to say, swimming in the pool and sunbathing).  I did at least expiate my guilt sufficiently to undertake the necessity of driving to the grocery store and securing the provisions required; namely, filet mignon, hamburger patties and buns, potato chips, Cole Slaw, potato salad, seafood salad and - as a special compensation for the Chef - a pecan pie.  Decency doesn't begin to describe my boundless altruism!

Except for an undignified tumble onto the grass when my motor skills failed me while attempting to collect a dropped article, the heathen cooking ritual transpired much as hoped.  In keeping with my relentless commitment to the subordinate though seminal duty as sous-chef I transitioned from the heat of the kitchen to the apartment where I laid the table and co-opted the electronic imperative of connecting Bluetooth to the portable Harman/Kardon speaker so that we could relish the always satisfying Jazz Romance: A Night in with Verve. Nothing is more exceedingly nostalgic!

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