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, September 19, 2013
Moon man moment
I heard it beckon and I chased it to the edge of the continent.
Tonight is my Esteemed Companion's moon gathering there in the valley. I had my own a moment ago, right up at the edge of the sea.
I was sitting, well, not comfortably at my kitchen table, cat under one arm, writing a letter, juggling a cup of tea and bowl of oats in the other, when I noticed, not for the first time that night, the moon in all it's majesty, staring regally through my window. My bedroom was flooded with a glaring bright white light last night and this morning the kitchen lamps were fairly outclassed by the last of it's shine.
I said enough to the cat, who's constant nudging was making a mess of my letter to mi novia and set my repast down. A quick pressing, a fast bath and I was out the door, and just in time, I might add, as the moon, fractured and split by clouds, mist, mayhem in the atmosphere and the rising of the sun, was just about in the drink when I arrived at the beach. Others, few and far between, were out there to witness what I was anxious to see, but there was no race in their steps, no sense of urgency to make it to the coast. I made my way down to the softly crashing surf, stood among the sea weeds and bits of cast off foam and watched as the tail end of the evening's light finally dipped into the far end of the ocean.
I called my dear on the phone who let me know in her sighs that she was with me there. What a time we live in to be able to bridge the distance in the way that we do...the timelessness of a moon set, the immediacy of the shared moment over the miles with the help of modern technology. A moon gathering ala mode. The druids would have been scandalized! No stone monuments, no glowing gowns, just two minds, two hearts, one celestial body, one moment of time across the ether.