Full and happy

Los Angeleno by birth, Northwesterner by choice, Second-hander by nature. Librarian, housebound chef, father, and lowly subject ruled over by the needs and whims of a very old house.
Partial to Mexican, Italian and Vietnamese cookery but will eat damn near anything. Collector of many strange things..the result is chaos and anarchy and a very pleasant place to live.
There is pleasure in accumulation, not just "collecting": music, books and film, in all their multi-formated glory. Outsider artists and those kinds of prints you would recognize if you took liberal studies classes in college. Cooking implements and gadgets for recipes still untried or those ventured. Glasses for most types of libations. Flowers in the garden, herbs in the pot.
It's a life of the senses and a good home life reflects that. Walking helps take in all the rest. Requires no special equipment, opens up the pores, brightens the taste buds, clears the decks for further adventures, puts on the miles, widens the eyes and helps fuel the imagination.

Live boldly, play graciously and love with all your heart knowing that true love comes only once or twice in this lifetime. Speaking of which..donde estas, Empress of my Heart?


"Lack imagination and miss the better story" Yann Martel

"Life is a great adventure and I want to say to you, accept it in such spirit. I want to see you face it ready to do the best that lies in you to win out. To go down without complaining and abiding by the result....the worst of all fears is the fear of living." Theodore Roosevelt, Jr.

"Not I - not anyone else, can travel that road for you
You must travel it for yourself" Walt Whitman

And above all, friends should possess the rare gift of sitting. They should be able, no, eager, to sit for hours-three, four, six-over a meal of soup and wine and cheese, as well as one of twenty fabulous courses.

Then, with good friends of such attributes, and good food on the board, and good wine in the pitcher, we may well ask,

When shall we live if not now?

-From Serve it Forth,
M.F.K. Fisher

Wednesday, April 2, 2008

Inauspicious Spring

Today started out cloudy and went straight into sprinkles. The daffodils are up and taking it in stride but by lunch time the crocuses were down for the count. I sat on the library floor this morning, my nose in a book, and listened to the rain hit hard on the roof. I stood up and looked outside to see the sun breaking in the parking lot, then the rain came back again, unbidden yet welcome.

The seasonal cold was startling for some. I heard many times over about how cold it was outside, about the teasing sleet, about the almost snowshowers. I watched the sky from the recesses of the stacks and felt the chill roll in the door but the sun ran off with the threat and the day went back to being wet, just wet. Easter is promising to be wet again this year. I pretty much expect that to happen here in the Pacific Northwest.
The last time I had a really warm and sunny Easter Sunday was in Southern California many years ago. I suppose if I wanted sunshine I could go there but I like it here, I like the damp, I like the fresh washed skies, I like the emerald green grass that climbs up high and brushes against my pantlegs this time of year. I like to look out from my windows at home and see glistening whitecaps on the Sound, look out and see blinding flashes of red, yellow, pink and violet rising up out of the garden beds. To see that is to know happiness. Fleeting happiness, but that's the best kind.

Two years ago I remember waiting for an Easter to come. It was quiet that Saturday, almost a proper day for a nap. The afternoon started out gorgeous, then the sky took on that steely grey hue that speaks of heavy rain coming, of sleet, of snow on it's way. I was upstairs at the time, watching the tempest from my bed, books and clothes strewn about. The air grew heavy as I looked out the window, then I felt the rain hit hard against the roof, and listened as it turned vicious. I watched as the petals of the neighboring cherry trees hit the grass, listened as the songbirds turned off their songs, watched as the sleet built up high on the window sill and then, miraculously, watched as it walked away, chased over the county line and into the next region by soft winds and sunshine. Within moments rainbows ruled.

I took a long walk later on that afternoon, walking uphill against the rain water rolling down the street and into the gutters, watching as the flower petals were washed away with the residual slush of the sleet. I remembered, while I was out walking in the cold, the warm comfort of my bed and wondered how, in the midst of spring, we could go so easily back to winter. How things could change so fast.
Easter is early again this year and the cold runs late. It's springtime in the Northwest.


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