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 ofliving." 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,
Ex-railroad man, homeless guy and library patron. He loved Westerns, biscuits and gravy, his cigarettes and old cars. More than anything, he loved to laugh. Laughing wasn't always easy to do, but he laughed alot. Dammit, Patrick, you're going to be missed.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
I got into my car today to go off to shop for books. Always more books, must take advantage of the times and the cash flow, make sure that all the good will I have been building up with my local merchants over the last year isn't lost in the ebb and flow of professional political maneuvering. What I noticed, more than anything else, as I made my way up and down the aisles of all my local bookstores and thrifts, books in hand, was a certain scent coming off my shirt, something soft and fragrant and floral, light, promoting almost a sort of dream sequence, a kind of waking memory that went along with one the concert pieces that my Esteemed Companion and I heard last night.
It was accentuated by Lucinda Williams and Car Wheels on a Gravel Road as I made my way back to the branch. It was once again brought to the fore when I worked over all those incoming books, when I broke down boxes in the overcast afternoon sun, while I sat at my desk handling packing slips and information about reference questions and Friends newsletters. That scent, one that continues to conjure up happy smiles, delightful memories, has lingered and for that I am happy as you have been with me all day long, my silent companion, my source of joy, even its only been in the folds of my soft brown shirt.
Something great to be said about how a good linen chemise, heavy threaded, hard to press, a hard to handle piece of fabric that wrinkles easy, makes for a delightful transport system and how that delightful shirt made my heart soar and my day light all day long.