3 Things
Mini Ramp ism: As mentioned elsewhere, we tore down Bracewell's dilapidated mini ramp and built a fresh one. It took way more work and time than any of us imagined—but hey, all the best things take both work and time.
New Built To Spill Album: Thinking about this band takes me straight back to an era of corduroy pants and black studded belts, when I cared deeply about such things as indie-rock record labels. I haven't followed BTS since Keep It Like A Secret, and in general, it's tough to return to a band you were very emotionally tied to in the past. The music's too mixed up with memories—you just can't be objective about it. If I had to pick, though, Doug Martsch would prob be one of my favorite guitar players ever, and so I'm gonna give this a listen and see if it goes. I haven't formed any opinions yet, have you?
Vegetable starts: There's a romance to growing your own food. Sadly, maybe—it should be normal, not novel. But fuck—everyone can't live in cabins and chop wood all day. Anyhow, way back in February, I sprinkled some tomato and cucumber seeds in empty tin cans and sat em in a sunny window. Stems pierced the soil, broad leaves unfurled. A few months later, I just plopped the little plants in the ground. See ya in August, guys!
Favorites 3.26.15
Chilled Sake: Not hard alcohol, but not really wine, either. Crisp, austere ... it's cold but it warms you up.
How It Smelled Yesterday Morning In Portland, Oregon: Damp, really rich, drenched in deep forest mysteries. If you inhaled and closed your eyes, you could see little white flowers and fauns prancing around.
Acupuncture: It doesn't matter why you're getting it. Just let ’em stick you with the tiny needles, and then lay back and sail away on a sea of endorphins. It's dreamy.
Listen Up Phillip: The movie a meaner, angrier Wes Anderson might've made.
February-ness
I'm almost 100% positive that nothing good ever happened in February. The days are generally bleak and the ground smells rotten. You're all stir crazy—ready for something new but you don't know what. Fuck, I mean February—what's this month even FOR??!!
I guess it's a month for planning, and for planting seeds. Figurative seeds—but literal ones, too. Which is what I did a bit of this weekend. The planning and planting of the following: lettuce (spring mix), herbs (cilantro, dill, basil, arugula), kale, tomatoes (yellow pear, red cherry, red beefsteak heirloom), pattypan yellow squash, sugar snap peas, and cucumbers.
As I've said elsewhere, I’m interested in getting to the beginning of things. How much closer to the beginning of food (which is the stuff of life, yes?) can you get than this?
Traditions/Habits
Christmas holiday in Colorado where my fam lives. It’s a tradition. Do you have those? I don't really, just habits. But “traditions” sounds nicer.
Seems like there’s always a good reason to go home this time of year, although sometimes it’s not to celebrate. That’s okay. Just gathering together with the people who gave you life and share your blood is a kinda powerful observance on its own.
Everything was irrefutably caked in snow.
I took nephew Pat to the ski mountain, and we spent the day lost in winding tree trails.
I got a sturdy pair of kitchen sheers, for snipping the shit out of chives and such.
I smelled salted caramel.
I ate toasted pecans.
I watched the dog eat scraps of shiny paper.
Now won’t it be grand when all this holiday crap is over??
Wild Hunts
Hi from the solstice. Not that "the solstice" is a place ... it kind of is, though. It's the heart of winter, an auspicious day back in pagan times, for, you know, cosmic reasons. Me? I think the sparkle of today is just the promise that life will return.
Isn't that why we drag green branches into our home when there's nothing green outside?
It's interesting, actually, to remember why we do all the shit we do this time of year.
"The symbolic use of plants at Christmas effectively transforms the modern-day living room into a place of shamanic ritual," reads Pagan Christmas: The Plants, Spirits, And Rituals At the Origins Of Yuletide.
Saturnalia and the Wild Hunt. Yule logs, the cult of tree worship, and magic mushrooms that let your mind soar the sky like it's on a sleigh. That winter holiday, the one we forgot about, sounds a whole lot rowdier and more darkly magical. And I'm down for that ... I can't speak for you, of course.
The mistletoe I hung—for kissin' season. The Druids would be proud.
Ye olde Christmas ficas tree.