New This Week
I don't really buy nice things for myself because I'm hustling to pay for my mortgage and my lifestyle, but now that I think about it—my lifestyle is a nice thing that I buy for myself. I'm lucky. Life is good. Etc. Etc.
However, I did just acquire this new table/bench set, custom built for my tiny kitchen nook by a talented pal named Brock. Do you know him? A wizard of woodworking; a master of maths, saws, and impact drivers.
So, this table, it's more than nice—it's magnificent. Made from Douglas Fir, or doug fir to the layman. So warm in color, you think it might be warm to touch. I plan to keep it forever and have it always piled high with stuff—like open dog-eared magazines near cream-filled morning coffees, like glasses of wine, like games of dice, like notepads filled with lists, like cutting boards of bread and cheese, like pumpkins being carved with a cookie sheet to save the seeds.
To: Me
Oh hi! I turned another year old again. It happened this week on a quiet Tuesday of no particular import. There was rain upon waking and afternoon sun, followed by pizza in the evening.
Also? There was a party on Sunday eve. All of my friends (well, most—I think I forgot to text some of you? Gah, I'm sorry) came over and sat in the golden light that was beaming my backyard. It was exceptionally fun and made me feel all happy and sad at once (emotional, I think it's called) because, I dunno, friends really are why life is good.
For instance: All of them showed up carrying bottles of wine or good beer tied to chocolate bars with pretty colored string, or they came carrying champagne, or they came carrying bouquets of gerber daisies or hydrangeas, or they came carrying handmade houseware crafted from an old skate deck, or they came carrying a bunch of balloons they stole from a child's birthday party.
Obviously, these are good people we're talking about here. Love you guys!
The coolest coasters for keeping Pinot stains off the coffee table—handmade my Marsha and Jasper.
Lefty ate a cupcake wrapper and got a modest proposal. He partied, in other words.
New Best Ever
Tomatoes-wise, the cherry one has my heart. The sweetest garden morsel in a manageable pebble size—you can put a handful in your mouth, which I often do.
Now is when I tell you about my new cooking jam: the galette. Kinda like a pie, but messier and lazier and incendiarily delicious. The dough, which bakes up all beautiful and buttery, is slapped together in a big bowl. The innards are whatever you want them to be (I did cherry tomatoes, goat cheese, and pan-fried leek). Rolling pin the crust flat, pile wonderful food stuff in the center, and then lovingly fold it all up like a baby in a blanket. It's the oven, really, that does all the work.
But there is freedom to the galette. Fuck the recipes. Make whatever kind you want. Peaches and blueberries? Squash, pine nuts, and pecarino? Yes and yes. It's all good.
Just know that if you have flour/butter/something in season to put inside, then a brilliant meal is always achievable.
Not pretty looking, necessarily—but pretty in your mouth!
Ancient (Garden) History
I'm not writing this from the table on my back deck ... but I could be. It's where I spend a lot of time—sometimes reading, most times doing nothing. Just sitting there, being human.
I'm able to do this (i.e. nothing), because I know what the yard looked like before I moved in 8 years ago, and what I'm really doing (besides nothing) is just kinda savoring what's become of that gloomy dirt/weed patch. Something green and vital. Something that hums.
Yes, yes, I've done a lot of work. But now the garden runs itself, I swear. I am particularly proud of how much the bees love it in there. Those guys work hard—it feels good to make them happy. Also? There's still an excitement every time something comes into bloom. That's fun.
I don't think modern folks feel much of a bond with where they live. We travel too much, and we move all the time. But I was thinking today, when I came across a couple ancient house pics on my hard drive, that propagating my garden—it's how I've connected with my land, primordially speaking. Cool, huh?
Circa 2006, when pulling weeds was my life.
Spring 2007, when my mommy came to visit and helped me plant some starts.
Spring 2014—a horticultural bonanza.
