Je n'ai pas oublié, vraiment

I've resumed walking to or from work a couple times a week to get some exercise. It feels pretty good, in this mild weather. The walk takes about half an hour, and my only complaint is that it's not particularly scenic, at least not after you've done it 100 times. I've even stopped routinely lugging the camera bag with me -- the ratio of pictures to shoulder discomfort isn't worth it.

I got back on Duolingo yesterday to refresh my knowledge of French before our classes start next week. I haven't practiced all summer, so all my indicators -- showing how thoroughly I've learned various categories of words -- have slowly weakened. (The web site assumes you're forgetting if you're not practicing there.) I have to regain all my lost ground. Kind of a pain to work through a million repetitions of "Je suis un homme" in order to prove that I know what I'm talking about.

We tried our homegrown tomato last night. We wanted to really taste it, in isolation, so Dave made a tiny tomato salad with olive oil, salt and pepper. I must say, it wasn't bad, and there is something cool about eating food that came from your own dirt, in your own garden. Especially when you look at all those little seeds and think, "I could plant those and have more tomatoes!" Circle of life and all that.

We didn't plant any seeds, though. We ate them.

Speaking of circle of life, we're at the point in the garden where things are definitely dying back. The nigella is a stalk of round, dry pods, the ragwort has gone brown and shabby, the foxglove is a dead finger pointing skyward. We're considering a big fall cleanup. On the other hand, it all looks very autumnal, so maybe we'll leave it and enjoy the seasonal mood.

(Top photo: Peckham, on Sunday.)