Went by the Hop dairy bar today to say goodbye. The owner was sitting out front leaning up against the guardrail. "Things have changed," he said, "we're goin' on. New and improved." Apparently he owns the property and the name; I guess he found somebody to run it. The downtown box people are calling their place the Hop Diner. "That seems kind of sneaky," I observed. "That's what we think," said Mr. H. So now there are two Hops. But only one is the diary bar where my grandfather gave his grandchildren state capitol domes on their ice cream cones every summer.
The Cox Center had no Masie Dobbs, the recommeded mystery series I had in mind for the beach. I'm still not sure what to do, but I have some of my own un-read candidates. Black Narcissus? PD James mystery? Kate Chopin's At Fault? The blurb says "... against a backdrop of economic devastation and simmering racial tensions." It's the 2008 election season! And I've already got my election reading covered. Beach reading selection crisis looms.
Finally, resisted watermelon buying but had to take picture. I'm going to buy one out of a roadside stand tomorrow.
1 comment:
I am glad you resisted buying a watermelon. Let them live full and productive lives safe from your neglect. For those of you who don't know, when L. buys water melons they tend to slowly suffocate to death in the outdoor refrigerator.
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