What I Should've Brought

Woke up yesterday to sun-washed rooms and that sweet, pine-sap smell that tells of an Oregon summer. I had big plans to spend the second of the two 88-degree days forecasted this week rambling through the woods to a miraculous beach on the Sandy River. But first! I had like a million things to do. So ... I drove all over town, I sold something old to a stranger and bought something new to replace it, I tamped down work-related fires as best I could, and then, then I got a piece of bad news right around lunch time—and this news was all I could taste as I ate a bowl of boiled eggs and potatoes.

My point? I was distracted—frazzled if you will—when departing on my preordained adventure. And so I forgot everything.

Here's all the stuff I wished I'd had with me as I hiked down a mountain to a river and then back up again.

-An ice-cold can of grapefruit Perrier. For sitting on the beach. With hurty feet and hot sand all around.

-Another dog to entertain my dog while I snoozed face down on my towel (instead—I spent the entire time throwing sticks as far as I could across the bright, glassy water).

-The best thick white zinc-oxide sun screen for my pasty, Oregon, sitting-in-front-of-the-computer skin (instead, today, I have sun burn).

-Salty chips to crunch on. Fruit, cheese, and bread to make it a meal. You get hungry wandering through woods—and I have long believed that sitting near a river listening to water rushing over rocks is a best-case scenario for eating a good meal.

-A panama hat to block that slanty late-afternoon sun, which dips at such sneaky angles that my current foam-mesh deal is rendered powerless.

I love these mossy tree trimmings—like pearl necklaces for the ancient creaking pines.

Northwest good luck. You can pick this stuff and pop it in your mouth—it tastes bright and lemony.

Happy Lefty Birthday

I'm not sure that a pet's birthday warrants celebration? But it's a time marker. And like all time markers, it just means the world goes ’round.

Then again, I'm not sure I'd classify Lefty as a "pet." Not like a hamster is a pet. He's more like a confidante. One who concerns himself with my doings at all times and who, best of all, sends me constant love beams without an ounce of guile. He's always on my team—sometimes he's the only one, but, it's enough, you know, sometimes.

Anyway, I've already talked at length about my thoughts on canines and the happy friendship they supply. No real need to delve further. Maybe just a salute—perhaps with a celebratory pigs ear and a handsome new collar—to 3 years in the life of Lefty.

Thursday morning scenery.

Snow bonanza this past February. Joy! 

Posing next to his exquisite portrait by Brent Wick.

Family trip to Yosemite, 2012. 

Of Note

Confession: On Saturday night, I stayed in and listened to The Chambers Brothers Pandora while cooking black beans from scratch, then placing them in small square containers and on into my freezer—thereby ensuring that over the next week a semi-edible meal would always be in reach. I also chopped all the vegetables I own into big piles and roasted them in the oven until they were tender and sweet—thereby making me want to eat them anytime I felt like I wanted to eat something.

This was all by way of something satisfying to do while I was drinking red table wine and letting the wind of Jimi Hendrix's guitar blow over me. Also? Preparing good food ahead of time causes you to eat good food. And waste less. And spend less money. It's a simple notion I learned in this rad book by Tamar Adler.

Anyhow, the night before, I'd finished work, sat in traffic, kicked the soccer ball for the dog, and then skated the coolest backyard bowl as the light fell, talking at length with backyard friends and drinking one tall cold backyard beer. Jamie gapped to tail slide. Michael made front Smiths. Sasha caused the coping to chirp. This was all followed by a bounty of late-night drinks and grilled cheeses at a corner bar.

So, you know, it's not as if I didn't do anything of note all weekend.

Sasha, makin' that shit chirp! 

Favorites 4.21.14

Evening sun breaks after dark, downpoury Saturdays: Right when you were about to turn on the tele and chock the whole day up to sweatpants, a beam of sun spears through the cloudbank. Next thing you know, you're walking across a field scattered with miniature daisies, dog by your side, squinting into the most delicious sideways sunshine.

A pile of fresh herbs: This week, I kept a mass of fresh dill in a water glass on my countertop and sprinkled piles of its chopped fronds into everything I ate. It was the best.

Decaf: Coffee is so much more than a way to wake up. It's a gustatory delight, to be savored at any hour of the day. But! I roll decaffeinated after that first morning full caff. This keeps me from sweating and chewing the insides of my cheeks all day.

Captain Phillips: A classic nail-biter action movie—minus cheesy Hollywood-action-movie acting (you get Oscar-nominated acting, instead). Based on a true story about Somali pirates hijacking a container ship off the coast of Africa. Real-deal edge-of-seat type stuff.

Book Review: The Wes Anderson Collection

No, I haven't seen The Grand Budapest Hotel, yet—have you? I want to, I do. But no hurries or anything. We gots time, you and me.

Anyway, a cute boy gave me this book over the winter holiday, and I've been slowly reading my way through it. Written by famed critic Matt Zoller Seitz, The Wes Anderson Collection has a deep chapter on every one of Anderson's films—including chats with Wes about each movie (you'll learn SO much), as well as "previously unpublished photos, artwork, and ephemera." Tons of ephemera!

I especially love all the inspirations pages. I mean, yes—Max Fisher totally IS 80s-era Tom Cruisey and Charlie Brown-esque all at once. It's so obvious to me now.

Wes Anderson movies are fascinating things. They tend to always get better with time. And all of them are good. I'll try to pick a favorite and find that it's usually the one I've seen most recently. Right now, that's The Darjeeling Limited—it's like a perfect little poem about India (and existential confusion?).

The guy makes more than movies, though, he makes a mood—a landscape in which to showcase stuff like the hilarity of heartbreak and the futility of trying to control things. And I defy you to find a better representation of how kids are little beings with adult-sized emotions and no idea how to deal with them. Or how many (most) adults are big beings with life-sized emotions and no idea how to deal with them. It's all such good human stuff!