The sun is rapidly setting on April. Holy fuck, how did that happen? Fast, is how. For about ten years I wrongly believed that I dislike spring. It might’ve had something to do with the devastating mud season that constitutes spring in Colorado. The raw gray days like a sink full of dirty dishwater. The ugly yellow grass matted with dog poop that was once suspended in the snowbanks. And then, just when you thought things were on the mend … Another. Foot. Of. Snow. Curses!
But I live in Oregon, now. Yay for life in the Northwest.
We spent a stormy evening at the Nike warehouse. The clouds broke up for a second, the building was all backlit, and Derek noseslid through graceful squares of sun.
This park is in the old warehouse district near the river and has premium views of downtown. And as you can see from the photo, it rained and was sunny and then thundered and blew, all at once.
In other news, it was Eric Attleson's birthday the other night, and so I went down to the Red Flag and bought him a shot of Old Crow. Above is what his arm currently looks like. I tried in vain to get a portrait of him and his bionic arm on birthday night, but I forgot my camera and no, friends, I don't have an iPhone. Suffice it to say that this contraption is disgusting, as is the story about how Eric's tendons snapped and let a bone from his wrist slowly cut off the circulation to his hand. Eww. At least he can carry his arm like a lunch box now. Get better soon man!!
Also big news, a new computer! 12-inch Macbook Pro. Good stuff. It's shiny.
And sometimes, just sometimes, a sunny spring Sunday means doing nothing at all. It means laying around squinting. It means baking a black bean shepard's pie. It means reading in the garden and listening to the bees humming in the rosemary. Sometimes, that's what it's all about.