I know it’s not Christmas yet, but we’re in the right month. Besides, I like the sound of Christmas Picnic. It is a phrase that asks to be repeated.If you’re not from here (or around here), you may want to stop reading now. I warn you only because you might become jealous: of this glorious weather, of the park, of the olives and cheese we destroyed. Mostly the weather: mid 60s, sunny, and breezy. I wore a striped 3/4-sleeve shirt and a knitted cowl + sunglasses. Later, a jacket, but that was only much later, after we’d been sitting out for a few hours and the sun began to set.Quarter to noon, we met for a picnic: crusty bread, salami (Genoa: Applegate Farms), olives, red grapes. Some old favorites, too, in the form of Darrel Lea’s Soft Snacking Liquorice and Triscuit (pronounced with an over-the-top French accent). Beer and champagne, but not mixed together. Jasper molded the licorice into a pony, which looked more like a Dachshund than a pony, but was a quadruped nonetheless. We watched tiny dogs comingle with large dogs; we witnessed small children contemplating hill descent.In three weeks, I’ll be back in MN, where I’ll bundle to the nines. I’m glad that, pre-departure, I can enjoy this weather (balmy, placid), nibbly treats, and friendship. Cheers to low-key picnics.