Rob and I took a morning walk along the river trail, down near the lake. The trees have turned wintry looking; the fallen leaves were all blown off the path and turning to mulchy meal. The water birds were all fluffed out; we came upon some ducks taking a break from the chilly water and warming their feet on the sunny pavement. We stopped and threw rocks to break up the thin layer of ice already formed at a little bend in the river. Ice already? Really? We climbed down the bank and walked out onto a mini-peninsula, because we could. Rob found me a new pair of sunglasses, which he said make me look hip. That's me, hip. We heard a strangely familiar sound—the one you always hear in old westerns when there's a shot of an Indian in the wilderness: an eagle's screech—only this cry came from a starling, the poseur. Funny to think of the grandiose thoughts that might have been going through that bird's head; maybe he wants to make movies, is hoping to be discovered. We all have our dreams.
We also had some nice encounters with other creatures walking the path. We met an old man and his two happy, companionable border collies. I adore that breed—so intelligent and sensitive. Really beautiful. I sometimes joke with Rob that he is a sheepdog—that's very much his nature in certain respects—so I'm already accustomed to the interpersonal dynamic; maybe we should get one after Izzy dies. The smaller of the man's two dogs attached herself to me and wanted petting and eye contact—oh, those copper eyes! I wanted to take her home. The man said the dogs had been a pair for more than nine years and he figured they'd had only one or two disagreements in all that time. For some reason, maybe just to have something to say, the man asked if we were going to church today. After a funny little discussion on that subject, he told us: "I'd rather be out on my horse wishin' I was at church than in church wishin' I was out on my horse." I hear that.
Near the end of our walk we met up with one of the horses whose pasture is adjacent to the river trail. We stopped and pulled up tempting grasses that were out of reach, and the horse gladly accepted our gifts. Munch, munch, munch—I hate the word munch normally, but it's exactly what a horse's grinding teeth sound like, and I don't mind it when I'm there in person. Such powerful jaws. This was a young horse. Once in a while the horse would turn its hay breath and rubber lips on me and sort of breathe with me and kiss on my nose, or take friendly nibbles at my shoulder. That was all sweet and delightful until while nuzzling my forehead the horse found a hunk of my hair to yank and chomp, like a clump of weeds, and I very nearly got scalp bangs. I managed to pry my hair out of his jaws and come away with most of the hunk roughly intact, but had to wear a slick of slobber till I could get home and wash my hair out. Ew.
Three more beautiful things about this day:
1. Rob's love and care.
2. Chris & Amy's first anniversary. I'm so happy you two found each other. You're a beautiful pair, and I love you so much. Congratulations on reaching this incredible milestone.
3. An early Thanksgiving pot luck with my terrific Bowen cousins. Nobody plays Apples to Apples like you guys. And having Marsha sing me her "Glitter Power" song was almost too much joy to experience and still survive.
Here's a sweet read: a nice short essay about horse love.
Thanksgiving started today
Paradox: In spite of its underlying melancholy, my day has been one of joy.
I got a Facebook message last week from an old friend Rob and I knew and loved when we were first married. We lost contact eons ago, and I've tried several times to find him over the years. What a happy surprise it was to have him just show up and want to reconnect. But as if that wasn't enough, he shared some news today that made me whoop loud, smile long, and cry a little. It came in parts: (1) he's decided to be baptized into our faith (and close enough for us to attend), (2) he's got a plan in the works to marry a friend he knew in high school way way way back when, and (3) he's moving back to Utah, and will be only half an hour from us. SO FABULOUS. I almost can't stand it, it's so beautiful.
And then. AND THEN. I find out THIS: La Yen is preggers! So so so so so so so so so very glad for her and hers. You just never know when it's going to be your turn for a miracle. I love that La Yen is now a Fertile Myrtle. I love that Jooj is going to have a baby Waldo or Walda (or both!) to teach some tricks. I love that La Yen and W get to pass on their superior genes to some lucky hatchling(s). They've got the Nurture part down pat as far as I can tell, and now they get to add Nature to their repertoire. Lovely every way you look at it.
So now I'm on a roll and since my friend who's getting baptized, hitched, and relocated has always been deeply connected with Thanksgiving in my memory (I will offer photographic evidence of why when I can find the pictures), I hereby declare that the holiday has begun. Tomorrow I hope to find some black olives to wear on my fingers to really get it started right.
Heidi Egan, if you're reading this, I'm talking about STEVE MIKE. (I know!)
So here are a few other items for the gratitude list today:
• I managed to squeeze myself into some long-disabled cords, thanks to the ol' elastic band trick. I may get my wardrobe back this year after all, and even ditch the elastic bands.
• Got half my mountain of laundry done. Kilimanjaro, just for reference.
• This post. And this one. I love those girls.
• Said no to ranch dressing.
• Saturday music: Anna Moffo singing "Summertime," Derek & the Dominos covering "Little Wing," and an hour of bluegrass on Pandora
• Still eating black kale from the garden.
• My hair's beginning to grow back and fill in some of its crop circles.
• Had an unlooked-for chance to help Rob make an activity successful for a regional gathering of single adults which was held at our church meetinghouse.
• Got a nice big kiss planted on me in front of said singles after whispering to Rob that I'd been getting heavily flirted at by several of the fellers present.
• Pumpkin chocolate chippers.
• Goose down comforters.
• This.
• An at-home date: eating in, working to figure out details for our shadow puppet theater, and going for a chilly downtown walk.
• Table talk.
• Tony in the east, and Tony in the west, and the gift of their communications.
• Midnight biscotti.
I got a Facebook message last week from an old friend Rob and I knew and loved when we were first married. We lost contact eons ago, and I've tried several times to find him over the years. What a happy surprise it was to have him just show up and want to reconnect. But as if that wasn't enough, he shared some news today that made me whoop loud, smile long, and cry a little. It came in parts: (1) he's decided to be baptized into our faith (and close enough for us to attend), (2) he's got a plan in the works to marry a friend he knew in high school way way way back when, and (3) he's moving back to Utah, and will be only half an hour from us. SO FABULOUS. I almost can't stand it, it's so beautiful.
And then. AND THEN. I find out THIS: La Yen is preggers! So so so so so so so so so very glad for her and hers. You just never know when it's going to be your turn for a miracle. I love that La Yen is now a Fertile Myrtle. I love that Jooj is going to have a baby Waldo or Walda (or both!) to teach some tricks. I love that La Yen and W get to pass on their superior genes to some lucky hatchling(s). They've got the Nurture part down pat as far as I can tell, and now they get to add Nature to their repertoire. Lovely every way you look at it.
So now I'm on a roll and since my friend who's getting baptized, hitched, and relocated has always been deeply connected with Thanksgiving in my memory (I will offer photographic evidence of why when I can find the pictures), I hereby declare that the holiday has begun. Tomorrow I hope to find some black olives to wear on my fingers to really get it started right.
Heidi Egan, if you're reading this, I'm talking about STEVE MIKE. (I know!)
So here are a few other items for the gratitude list today:
• I managed to squeeze myself into some long-disabled cords, thanks to the ol' elastic band trick. I may get my wardrobe back this year after all, and even ditch the elastic bands.
• Got half my mountain of laundry done. Kilimanjaro, just for reference.
• This post. And this one. I love those girls.
• Said no to ranch dressing.
• Saturday music: Anna Moffo singing "Summertime," Derek & the Dominos covering "Little Wing," and an hour of bluegrass on Pandora
• Still eating black kale from the garden.
• My hair's beginning to grow back and fill in some of its crop circles.
• Had an unlooked-for chance to help Rob make an activity successful for a regional gathering of single adults which was held at our church meetinghouse.
• Got a nice big kiss planted on me in front of said singles after whispering to Rob that I'd been getting heavily flirted at by several of the fellers present.
• Pumpkin chocolate chippers.
• Goose down comforters.
• This.
• An at-home date: eating in, working to figure out details for our shadow puppet theater, and going for a chilly downtown walk.
• Table talk.
• Tony in the east, and Tony in the west, and the gift of their communications.
• Midnight biscotti.
In the key of see
Several entertainments I enjoyed after a difficult day of brain therapy:
• I heard the last snatch of an incredible traditional gospel tune that I MUST learn to play (heard it on KBYU-FM).
• I spotted a group of about eight teens on the walking path that parallels a main drag—they were waving at cars like aliens trying desperately to make contact. No one on that trafficky road seemed interested, so I honk-honked and flapped my arm. The bunch came alive, all grins and arms. A girl the shape and color of a prize-winning pumpkin completely defied the pull of both gravity and good taste as she lea-ea-eaped into the air in excruciatingly adolescent nerd joy, screamed, and did a few juicy rounds of "YESSSSS!" arms. Beautiful!
• I noticed a car parked in front of a large apartment complex, next to a very tall, very naked tree. The car was wearing a swath of leaves at least six inches deep from front to back, but there was not one leaf anywhere on the ground around it. Or anywhere else in the parking lot. Or on any other car. The tree leaned over it slightly, like it was inspecting its very funny practical joke. I suspect tomfoolery, but I blame one of the kids in the complex, not that wintry tree.
• While waiting to turn right at a busy intersection I suddenly saw all these microcosms whizz past me—people having quiet moments alone or with others, arguments, laughter, distraction, even a non-traffic-friendly romantic encounter—half a hundred little worlds being hauled around, whipping through the air on four wheels each, a great rush of situations. Everyone in a private universe.
• A fresh headful of songs written and performed by friends. The Great Salt Lake Guitar Company is a super little venue for an intimate concert. Congratulations to Brian and Steve and . . . what was the opening band's name? . . . Raccoon Colons? Anyway, thanks for the fun evening. You made me want to strum my guitar and get better acquainted with my accordion. And your P712 song made me hungry.
Lovely, funny life.
• I heard the last snatch of an incredible traditional gospel tune that I MUST learn to play (heard it on KBYU-FM).
• I spotted a group of about eight teens on the walking path that parallels a main drag—they were waving at cars like aliens trying desperately to make contact. No one on that trafficky road seemed interested, so I honk-honked and flapped my arm. The bunch came alive, all grins and arms. A girl the shape and color of a prize-winning pumpkin completely defied the pull of both gravity and good taste as she lea-ea-eaped into the air in excruciatingly adolescent nerd joy, screamed, and did a few juicy rounds of "YESSSSS!" arms. Beautiful!
• I noticed a car parked in front of a large apartment complex, next to a very tall, very naked tree. The car was wearing a swath of leaves at least six inches deep from front to back, but there was not one leaf anywhere on the ground around it. Or anywhere else in the parking lot. Or on any other car. The tree leaned over it slightly, like it was inspecting its very funny practical joke. I suspect tomfoolery, but I blame one of the kids in the complex, not that wintry tree.
• While waiting to turn right at a busy intersection I suddenly saw all these microcosms whizz past me—people having quiet moments alone or with others, arguments, laughter, distraction, even a non-traffic-friendly romantic encounter—half a hundred little worlds being hauled around, whipping through the air on four wheels each, a great rush of situations. Everyone in a private universe.
• A fresh headful of songs written and performed by friends. The Great Salt Lake Guitar Company is a super little venue for an intimate concert. Congratulations to Brian and Steve and . . . what was the opening band's name? . . . Raccoon Colons? Anyway, thanks for the fun evening. You made me want to strum my guitar and get better acquainted with my accordion. And your P712 song made me hungry.
Lovely, funny life.
To Eggplant, with love
I gave my Master Gardener presentation today—on Eggplant. After learning much more about one of my all-time favorite foods, I realized that it's one of the most under-appreciated and misunderstood veggies of all time. It's been called many bad names, like Mala Insana or "Apple of Madness," and has suffered a badly marred reputation just because it's chummy with toxic cousins like Jimsonweed and Deadly Nightshade. But think about it. What has Eggplant ever done to you? And what could be nicer than a perfectly ripe, deliciously prepared Eggplant? Admit it, you can't live without Baba Ghanoush. I know I can't.
I dressed nicely for my presentation this afternoon—herringbone skirt, cabled sweater, chunky heels. I really should have worn my punk rock Docs instead, to show my solidarity with Eggplant.
If Eggplant had a soundtrack, this would be it:
I dressed nicely for my presentation this afternoon—herringbone skirt, cabled sweater, chunky heels. I really should have worn my punk rock Docs instead, to show my solidarity with Eggplant.
If Eggplant had a soundtrack, this would be it:
Heave-ho!
[If you're feeling urpish or are easily impressionable, read on at your own risk.]
Firstly, we'd just finished supper ten minutes prior to the incident.
Secondly, I was doing some laundry for a neighbor who's on post-partum bed rest, and just happened to be dealing with a particularly disturbing towel. (Don't judge.)
Thirdly, the dog was four feet away. Maybe three. He's really old and he really smells.
Fourthly, the dog huked up a Horrible Something, three and half feet away from me. Maybe two and a half. Something that was never intended by Mother Nature to project from that end of a dog. (TMI already, or should I be more descriptive?) I screamed and opened the back door and out ran the dog, to huke some more, alone, in the cold.
Fifthly, I started to heave. Hard. So I ran. I ran to the bathroom to oust its present occupant and grab the Pine-Sol so I could (a) sniff it, and (b) gather my courage to deal with the Horrible Something.
Sixthly, the former occupant of the bathroom sympathized when I said the word "awful," responding tenderly, "Oh, I believe it was awful . . . ," and before he could finish his sentence I had a terrible vision of the the Horrible Something my dog ate while hiking with said former bathroom occupant, earlier in the day. "No more words!" I said, and heaved.
There you have them, half a dozen reasons why:
—Why I put my head in a waste basket and kept it there for almost ten full minutes, heaving.
—Why I called the s.f.o.b.* on the intercom and begged him to do the wretched clean-up job for me, since I couldn't take my head out of the waste basket.
—Why I felt a little miffed that the s.f.o.b.* let the dog eat the Horrible Something in the first place. (It was a passing irrational grudge. Don't tell me you wouldn't have held it for a second too.)
—Why I sequestered myself in the library (with my head still in the waste basket) until I knew s.f.o.b.* had finished the dreadful job and it was safe to come out.
—Why I suddenly found myself on the floor, my head still in the waste basket, heaving and gagging, and laughing (my guts out, nearly) at the ridiculousness of the situation.
—Why I decided I needed my little jar of Vicks Vaporub to sniff, but dreaded walking past the huked-on landing to go downstairs for it.
—Why I found the only somewhat distractingly fragrant item in the library—an Aloe chapstick—and practically shoved it up my nose (to stop me from heaving).
—Why my stomach really, really hurts!
—Why I love my s.f.o.b.* for doing the dirty work tonight.
*said former occupant of the bathroom
Firstly, we'd just finished supper ten minutes prior to the incident.
Secondly, I was doing some laundry for a neighbor who's on post-partum bed rest, and just happened to be dealing with a particularly disturbing towel. (Don't judge.)
Thirdly, the dog was four feet away. Maybe three. He's really old and he really smells.
Fourthly, the dog huked up a Horrible Something, three and half feet away from me. Maybe two and a half. Something that was never intended by Mother Nature to project from that end of a dog. (TMI already, or should I be more descriptive?) I screamed and opened the back door and out ran the dog, to huke some more, alone, in the cold.
Fifthly, I started to heave. Hard. So I ran. I ran to the bathroom to oust its present occupant and grab the Pine-Sol so I could (a) sniff it, and (b) gather my courage to deal with the Horrible Something.
Sixthly, the former occupant of the bathroom sympathized when I said the word "awful," responding tenderly, "Oh, I believe it was awful . . . ," and before he could finish his sentence I had a terrible vision of the the Horrible Something my dog ate while hiking with said former bathroom occupant, earlier in the day. "No more words!" I said, and heaved.
There you have them, half a dozen reasons why:
—Why I put my head in a waste basket and kept it there for almost ten full minutes, heaving.
—Why I called the s.f.o.b.* on the intercom and begged him to do the wretched clean-up job for me, since I couldn't take my head out of the waste basket.
—Why I felt a little miffed that the s.f.o.b.* let the dog eat the Horrible Something in the first place. (It was a passing irrational grudge. Don't tell me you wouldn't have held it for a second too.)
—Why I sequestered myself in the library (with my head still in the waste basket) until I knew s.f.o.b.* had finished the dreadful job and it was safe to come out.
—Why I suddenly found myself on the floor, my head still in the waste basket, heaving and gagging, and laughing (my guts out, nearly) at the ridiculousness of the situation.
—Why I decided I needed my little jar of Vicks Vaporub to sniff, but dreaded walking past the huked-on landing to go downstairs for it.
—Why I found the only somewhat distractingly fragrant item in the library—an Aloe chapstick—and practically shoved it up my nose (to stop me from heaving).
—Why my stomach really, really hurts!
—Why I love my s.f.o.b.* for doing the dirty work tonight.
*said former occupant of the bathroom
Wonderful roses
This one's for my everything—
Thanks, sweetheart, and you know the what-fors. At least some of them.
One deadline down, one to go. But no end to us. xo
(Doncha just love Ben Abraham?)
Thanks, sweetheart, and you know the what-fors. At least some of them.
One deadline down, one to go. But no end to us. xo
(Doncha just love Ben Abraham?)
Wearing out my muse
Some writers just can't take a hint, I guess.
But I've simply got to make that screenplay competition deadline!
Don't you have anything else for me?
But I've simply got to make that screenplay competition deadline!
Don't you have anything else for me?
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