visionary

I finally know the secret of the man across the street.  It happened that the town librarian gave me the answer.  I went to ask about getting information on houses and properties and told her which one I was interested in.  It turns out, she grew up in my house!  My room used to be hers when she lived there.  She even saw things through her window.  She told me, in an even more hushed voice than she normally uses in the library, that she saw a family sitting at a kitchen table, eating meals, playing board games, having talks.  Nobody believed her when she told them what she saw since the house was empty at the time.  After a couple of years of having these visions, or whatever, her family moved to another neighborhood and she forgot all about the family in the window.  Years later, she met a man, fell in love, and started her own family.  It actually took her over a year of marriage before she realized - he was the husband from the family in the window!  And she was the wife, and their two children were the children in the window family.  It was a window to the future, but only the viewer's future since she never saw anyone else.  So I've been seeing my future.  I'll be alone and lonely, sitting by myself in ratty old clothes.  Now all my fantasies about the man in the window hang over my head like storm clouds ready to unleash a torrent at any second.  I don't know why I saw my future when it seems like nobody else is seeing anything, but I do know I'll do whatever I need to do to change it.

and now for something...

...well, a little different.

Ah, cider.  Clear and bubbly, cold and refreshing.  While IPAs certainly have a snap that's appreciated in warm weather, a sweet cider is a nice change from all the hoppiness.  I was actually looking for something dark when I spotted Aspall on the shelf, and was drawn to its distinguished bottle.  It's been a long time since I've had a cider.  I don't think I've ever bought a bottle; my imbibing has only been in the Irish pubs.

It's a light golden color, much lighter than the apple juice I'm used to, and pleasantly fizzy.  It certainly tastes apply, just a little sweet without being overwhelming.  It doesn't take long to get sticky on the back of the tongue, unfortunately, but it's still tasty and when cold, a fine drink on a warm summer night.

observant

Wait, wait, I think i'm going overboard again.  People don't need to be ill or in serious danger to be isolated.  Maybe he retired from his job, or got laid off, and all his friends were there.  Now they don't have time to get together with him, so he just sits up there alone.  He never cultivated any hobbies, or he's just too shy to meet anybody through them.  He's always been a solitary man, polite but not friendly, mostly just saying hello.  Never gets too close to anybody, afraid of rejection or afraid of losing them after getting close or something.  So who could the day visitor be?  Still could be a social worker, I guess.  If he's been laid off, maybe he applied for benefits and she checks up on him to make sure he needs them or they're being used appropriately.  Now I feel a little bad for staring at him through my binoculars like he's an animal in a zoo.  Well, I guess you don't need binoculars in a zoo, but I feel ashamed for thinking of him as entertainment.  I tell myself stories.  Nobody seems to have facts and I think that makes it OK to make a fantasy world for him.  Maybe I can never imagine his life, or what happened to make him the way he is today.  In fact, i think I'll do the easiest thing.  I'll go knock on his door and introduce myself, and try to find out about him.  Yes, I'll go right now.  Put down the binoculars, go downstairs.  Out the door.  Look both ways.  Street clear, crossing.  Around back, up the stairs to his door.  Hmm.  They look kind of run down.  I knock at the door.  No answer.  Knock again, harder.  I'm seized with curiosity.  I try the handle.  It turns, and the door opens.  It doesn't occur to me that I'm trespassing, although that's really what I'm doing.  It's not breaking and entering if the door's open, is it?  I push open the door and a hot, stale breath of air oozes around the creaky wood.  I call out hello and receive no response.  I look around and don't see anybody obviously observing me.  So, in I go.  It's empty.  Dusty.  I go towards the window facing mine and stop when I see there's no table or chair or anything.  I have the sudden need to be out in the fresh air and I leave, remembering to close the door firmly behind me.  I try to resist the desire to check that night, but my curiosity wins out in the end, and I turn off my light and draw back the curtain.  There he is!  The same as always.  Sitting and brooding.  The table and chair have reappeared and now it dawns on me that there wasn't even a lightbulb this afternoon, just the bare wire dangling.  I don't know why I'm not more afraid or more frustrated at my not understanding.

nothing sells like mutants

Anderson Valley Hop Ottin' IPA has their beer (bear-deer) standing placidly on the label and calling the attention of passersby with his clam and pointy antlers.  Although the company explains he's a fortuitous portmanteau, the mystic in me wants to believe he's some spirit animal, protecting those who imbibe.

Upstairs too

The IPA has a sour-sweet smell, typical of craft ales.  The bitter hops explode on the tongue; I appreciate it after those kind of wimpy beers.  It's still heady when I refill my glass, with a fluffy, smooth foam.  The beer is a real pick-me-up, good to begin an evening with, or to relax at the end.