Today is a traditional Chinese holiday, the Mid-Autumn Festival. It comes at the mid-point of autumn according to the Chinese Lunar Calendar. Some folks liken it to American Thanksgiving, as families gather together in the evening for a traditional family reunion meal. (Most people work until noon on this holiday, and kids go to school until noon.)
Well, for the past few weeks, there have been roosters taking up residence on the grounds of my apartment complex, waking me up at 4 a.m., and driving my dog crazy on walks. Suddenly, today, the roosters are silent. They are tonight's dinner. I like Thanksgiving much better, when we go down to the grocery store and buy a frozen Butterball, and the slaughter of dead birds' blood isn't on the grass where my dog plays. I pity the poor roosters who were so beautiful and friendly just yesterday when I saw them. (See the photo of my neighbors cleaning the birds on the grass a few hours ago.)
Which brings me to the next topic. All my neighbors are Beverly Hillbillies. No kidding. They were all poor villagers a decade or so ago, and came into money. They moved to the big city, bought a nice apartment, and bought a Mercedes or BMW...but mentally they are still poor villagers cooking their possum soup and killing roosters for family dinner. My neighbor on the second floor is the absolutely worst, and I've called her Granny Clampett for years now. She builds fires on the driveway (I haven't figured out why yet), dries food on the driveway, cooks up potions and brews, the whole bit.
Sometimes I feel like my life is a pilot for a TV sitcom.
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