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

Friday, September 11, 2009

Independence Day in the South of France

Mi Novia said that I must look at this time as one filled with gifts, and that I should remind myself daily of the power and complexity of those gifts, and to be sure to thank those who gave them to me. That's just good manners, much better manners than my betters practice, so let this note be a lesson onto them.
So, to that end, after my long period of house arrest, I just want to say "thank you" for your gracious option, the one that gave me the key to the lock on my door on Cellblock 708, the key that has allowed me to once again sip the sweet air of freedom.

And rest assured that I know that this taste of freedom comes with a mighty high price tag affixed to it. Maybe finally understanding the value of time and money, of what it means to have one but not necessarily the other at the same time, was one of the gifts you gave me, a lesson that I've learned the hard way over the last couple months, one that now allows me to truly appreciate what I have before me, and made oh so clear the price that I am willing to pay for my supposed sins, not only up front but over the course of my lifetime as well.
So since I'm paying up front for this dear bit of freedom with a large chit of socio/economic statistical poverty I suppose I can boast about my lazy day, about this absolutely lovely "weekend" kind of day I'm having right now, one built into the end of my work week. This morning it didn't feel so much dear as sinfully wonderful. Once again, thank you for the gift of time, which goes far beyond the benefits of whatever I could hope to buy with money. Oh, and the pink bow you wrapped it up in was the best.

I felt that this morning was the first actual "vacation day" I've had all summer, one completely devoid of guilt trips and anxiety, unlike that faux "vacation" I was on the first part of July. Today I gleefully lounged in bed until almost noon with Mi Novia. This morning we watched the sun come up, laughed at the antics of Darth Vadar's mythical brother Toledo Vader, ate toast and scrambled eggs off of a Japanese serving tray, planned a trip to Portland to see the Vaux Swifts, plotted the end of Western Civilization as we know it and generally relaxed in a way that only a fox who has escaped the hounds can do.

The best part of the morning wasn't sipping press pot coffee and resting seaside in the South of France but knowing that the machine elves were dutifully swapping out all the steel and chrome parts that were indaintily shoved into my torso over the past couple months with real flesh and blood components. I must tell you, of all the indignities I've suffered through recently, it was the hardening of my heart and spleen and the shredding of my gut due to fear and uncertainty that I rail against the most. Hence the late night flight to this beachside villa on the edge of the Med with Mi Novia in tow. I needed medical help and needed it badly so betwix Laurel and Hardy tapes, a good pot of Chili Verdi, a nice bottle of South African wine and the loving ministrations of Mi Novia I am now on the road to recovery.

Work? Not today. Hell, the rest of that paint job can wait till Sunday. Pink walls, wow. I love them. And even she said, begrudgingly, that they looked good in the morning light.

Oh, yes, and speaking of gifts, peace and love and a heartfelt thanks to all my friends out there who supported me during my time of trials. Your friendship and loyalty was the biggest and best gift of them all.


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