Cabinspiration

This time of year more than others, I find it worth remembering that I have enough, I am enough.

Still, I've often pondered a world where a small woodsy cabin, forever in evergreens, was part of my life. I'd imagined it to be a humble, utilitarian place, built simply out of natural materials, and I'd go there to quiet my mind, live honestly, be outside.

In fairly breaking news, I'm here to report that I'm in the process of purchasing a small plot of land in the woods of Central Oregon. This modest half acre, shaded by Ponderosas, will in all hopes be the site of said future cabin.

I'm spending all my money on it—my retirement, and any and all savings. Fear-inducing? Yes. There is no safety net. But what's our money doing there, in the bank, anyway? Why do we work, if not to bring daydreams to right here, right now? And banks, well they don't always do the best things with our money, do they? So this is a plan to sort of take that money back. It's a retirement plan I can actually use until I retire (which, let's face it, will prob be never!).

This year, more than any I can remember, has an on-the-cusp energy. I turned 39 in September. It's very tipping-point-y. I feel an awful lot like I better start making that ideal life happen right now. If not now, WHEN?

So—I'm on the hunt for tips and cabin-spiration. I was thinking A frame. But now I'm not so sure. Maybe something more modern? I dunno. What do you think?

Joseph, Oregon Population 1052

In the past weeks, I've found myself equal parts angry/depressed. I've found myself giving my money away to charitable civil-rights-oriented institutions. I've found myself writing letters to my senator like they taught you to do in grade school—but you never, ever thought you'd have to, because you thought that while, sure, there were differences amongst folks' beliefs and experiences, that humans as a whole were generally sane enough to do the right and good thing.

ANYWAY, when it seems like the world has gone bat shit crazy, I would argue that a road trip to a very quiet place in the mountains is just the thing. This is why we journeyed many hours into Eastern Oregon on Friday afternoon, where we found, among the rolling farm lands and rugged cliffs, little cabins strung up with colored lights. We slept deeply, although the puppy was restless, and woke up on Saturday morning to hike up high into the steep hills.

We climbed till our faces and fingers were freezing, and our legs dragged. We didn't talk at all, just listened to the wild wind in the trees. Gusts of cold air, well they can scrape your mind clean, can't they? Hours later, dog tired and hungry, we loaded the pup in the truck and drove into town in search of warmth. The streets were quiet—not dead, just peaceful, and we wandered into a wood-fire pizza joint to thaw ourselves with the heat from the oven, with the pizza, with the pints of beer. Outside the window, swirls of snow rolled like tumbleweeds down the street, as the darkness of a late-November afternoon descended, and I'm not overstating this when I say that it was quite possibly the coziest couple hours I've ever spent in my life.

The world, yes, it's crazy. Scary, even! But mark my words, turn off your phone/Facebook. Get away! Navigate on nothing but intuition for a while. Move yer feet, meditate. You see new stuff. You drive. You eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. You watch the setting sun break though the rain clouds over the open road, and you come home tired, and you are glad. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

November To-Do List

1) Teach the puppy to come when he's called, and to walk on a leash without resembling a kite caught in a windstorm, and to not be dead-scared of the trash truck on Fridays, and to let the cat walk through the room quietly with little-to-no accosting, bouncing, or otherwise carrying on, and, and, and ...

2) Unlock the mysteries of the Aeropresse coffee maker. I got one for my birthday. It seems like it should be simple—but it isn't. Beakers. Tabulations. Temperature gauges. It's overwhelming to someone who hasn't had their morning coffee yet.

3) Strip the various linoleums and other ancient subfloors off the stairs leading down into my basement, and then paint them crisp, shiny black. OCD-wise, I get loads of anticipatory satisfaction when thinking about this project.

4 ) Locate, as well as purchase, a new automobile. You see, Volkswagen's buying back my lemon of a diesel Jetta (within the month, one hopes—as several sensor lights have blinked on in the last couple days and money-pit orientated service appointments loom). Wherefore art though, fuel-efficient wagon of my dreams?

5) Pursue enlightenment through brisk outings in the cold.

3 Things

8 a.m. rain with the sun out: The act of being outside in your sweats with a hot cup of coffee on the kind of morning that will disappear forever—as all mornings do—should always be occasioned by an ominous purple cloud, a freak shaft of sun, and a resplendent shimmering rainbow off in the nearby distance. Right???

Cooking along with old-timey music on the radio: Soundtrack-wise, I'm gonna argue here that the sound of sizzling onions and a half-glass-of-wine buzz click in naturally with something warm and crackly, say Django Reinhardt or, like, Sam Cooke?

Charley Countryman: Currently streaming on Netflix. A fairytale, if such a thing can exist amidst the hardcore Romanian mafia. Which, hey why not?

Birth-Day In The Life

When you're not really in a celebratory mood, I find the best place to celebrate your birthday is far away. That way, the simple act of living is a kind of observance, both unique and memorable. As it happens, we'd planned a trip to Portugal a few months ago, and that's where I was on Friday—the anniversary of my birth.

Upon arrival, we were in another world, a sunny, serene place where the people are forever in sandals, forever tan, forever gesticulating happily during conversation and forever ready to laugh with you, at you.

All I did on my birthday was slow down. The things I enjoyed most were as follows: The fairytale peach nectar we spread on our fresh-baked rolls as we drank coffee with the sun streaming down. The empty beach with the perfect aquamarine barrels. Mesmerizing. I could watch them forever and ever—the deepest, truest meditation. A respectable glass of cool, bubbly wine on an a modest wooden deck. The prettiest pink sunset—a little show just for me, as far as I'm concerned.