The Year That Was
I don't usually sweat the New Year or starting fresh, but this year I did take a little inventory and did find things a little wanting and did make a little list. Things to remember. Ways to live. Aspirations of a higher order.
1) To wait and see. Patience served me well in 2015.
2) To live honestly. It's a character thing.
3) To be there and be cool for my friends and my family. Relationships are complex, but what they require is pretty simple.
4) To pay attention to the world around me. The little things are the big things, etc.
5) To get good at getting old(er). I think this has to do with cultivating an ongoing appreciation of me, such as I am.
Aaanyway, here's a wee tour through my 2015. Salut!
Spring: Tiki-bar karaoke. Eugene for Derek's birthday. Skating in shirt sleeves under the flowered, drooping trees.
Summer: New York City skate gangs. Go Skateboarding Day hill bombs. A boozy rabbit hole of summer involving swimming spots and front stoops.
Fall: Road tripping to the American Southwest in order to bathe in the sage-brush breeze. Halloween hijinks. Piles of crunchy leaves and all the trees caught on fire.
Winter: Powder days. Arctic nights. Copious celebrations indoors—where everyone gets along because it's too cold not to.
Fire & Ice
Despite a lot of harsh, wild, and sad events happening in the world right now, December carries on, here in the Northwestern territories of the United States. It seems like every act of turning on the news is an exercise in bravery, and I haven't been very brave lately.
Really, the bravest thing I did this weekend was attempting to skateboard after eating a monster burrito that was so heavy, it almost ripped all Hulk-like through the paper bag it was carried home in.
There was a birthday party, too, featuring an arm wrestling tournament that crowned our pal Xeno the #strongestmanonearth. And the day after that, there was a slippery hike up an icy gulch (much cat-like balance came into play). The reward at trail's end was simple and austere: a veil of rushing water and a cauldron of blue ice.
There were many, many minutes tucked away in the corner of the couch. Book open. TV or radio on. Rain rushing down the windows. And so on. Plenty of quiet hours appreciating such things as the sense of peace a sleeping animal can bring into a room.
In contrast to the rest of the world, our lives are magical, lucky, impossibly charmed. Continuing to live them in the face of impermanence and death isn't exactly brave or noble, but it's something.
The Thanksgiving Report
I like a good eating event. A gathering focused on food. Potluck, I think it's called? A table full of steaming dishes magnetically draws a party close, gives it purpose, fills the stomachs of imbibers so that they don’t get wrecked when/if they take it a few sips too far. This is the magic of Thanksgiving.
I hosted at my house on Thursday, but I did not belabor the feast. I just made a simple herb salad and cooked a frozen rhubarb pie. Mark roasted a ball of reconstituted soy product, also known as a Tofurky (the best turkeys being the alive ones, of course). Toby created a platter of scalloped potatoes that billowed clouds of steam, Danielle crafted supernaturally good cornbread, and Jesse, bless his soul, showed up carrying a pink-cheeked baby and a giant fake turkey made of vital wheat gluten. (We cuddled the former and ate the latter.) Also, there was green bean casserole, candied yams, mashed potatoes, pumpkin pie—every whateverthefuck you'd expect from a classic holiday spread—and I barely lifted a finger.
Many ovens make light work, you see.
We skated before we ate, despite the kind of cold that had the trees tinkling with ice.
My pets are thankful that I continue to feed and house them even after enduring years of their joblessness and failure to contribute to the household in any other way .
What I'm Thankful For
It's the last week of November of the year 2015. How bored would you be if I talked about some things that I'm thankful for?
Not having to travel on Thanksgiving: A friend's Instagram post from an airport reminded me how little I want to get on a plane right now. Yes, yes, I'll spread all of my belongings on a conveyer belt and walk through the body scanner in socks, but only for the winter holiday. For Thanksgiving, I'll stay home and be lazy, eating in celebration of autumn with all it's crunchy leaves and it's cold.
My house. Everyone needs a spot they can go back to and recharge. Find comfort, find silence and solitude in the noise. I like the energy in my place—the house is definitely not haunted. No cold spots, no shadows, no bumps in the night. Nothing but good vibrations on 57th Street.
A few good friends. Friends take time and energy, and you can't be friends with everyone. This is okay. I don't need a bajillion friends. What I do need, what I'm actively trying to proliferate in my life are fun, joy, and meaning. If you check one of these boxes for me, then let's do this. If not, I'll see ya around.
Snow on the mountain. Not really for snowboarding, just for, you know, being there. For making the peak a pure white. For the promise of moisture, which is really the promise of life and the assurance that Oregon isn't, as was previously thought this past summer, about to dry up and blow away like a little ole tumbleweed.
The Halloween Report
In honor of an important holiday, dressed up like a jedi princess and went to a legit costume party. Short Round from The Temple Of Doom was there, along with several bearded ladies and a contingent of potted cacti. Keg beer was guzzled, and everyone danced to Drake.
Frantically bailed water off my back patio to keep the basement from flooding. It's good exercise!
Floated down to Burnside on a river of rainwater and watched approximately 4 and half minutes of the 25 Year Anniversary. A metal band riffed. A guy destroyed his knee. A mortar exploded. Then we wandered off into the deluge.
Spent most of Sunday moving very little and eating whenever possible, including a biscuits and gravy brunch on Belmont Street with Trish and Cairo. It's motherfuckin' November!
That time Leia and Short Round kicked it.
Burnside 25 Year tarp city.
Office partyin' on Friday afternoon—a very Nemo Halloween!
Joyful reunions.