Favorites 10.16.14

Planning a faraway trip: Yes, yes, live in the now ... but what about the excitement/discovery of planning—planning a wild foreign adventure, to be specific? (Pic by Bernhard Lang).

Toasted pumpkin-seed oil: I'm pretty meh on pumpkins (most Thanksgiving food, really). But toasted pumpkin seed oil! Nutty, pungent—it's a cappella of flavor. Pour this forest-green elixir on fresh bread and sprinkle some salt. Please. Thanks.

Beginner violin practice in the house across the alley: When you have your window open for maybe the last time of the year, and instead of sirens or birdsong, what you hear on the thin fall air is a 4th grader stumbling through violin scales—this is profoundly comforting.

Friday Night Lights:  Not about football. (A little about football). About the human condition. About brotherhood. About adolescent upheaval. About dignity. Also, the filming's gritty, and the music's great. (Disclaimer: I'm talking the TV show—not the movie—which I haven't seen but DEF will so don't spoil).

First World Problems Of Mine

Look, it's October, and you and I both have gutters to clean and those juice-bursting, perfumey Asian pears to eat.

However, last week my refrigerator broke and I was forced to put everything in a cooler to wait five days for a repairman, and the cooler being small, I had to throw away a crap ton of food like the Heinz relish that's been chilling since 2008 at least.

Also? Instagram's (only) cool because it makes you think creatively (maybe), but I realized recently that I'm too lazy to take out my phone and snap pics of cool shit anymore—instead, having fallen into this slovenly habit of just screen-grabbing other people's shots who were in attendance to repost in an "I was there" sort of way. Pathetic,  huh? Or maybe ... maybe I'm just living my life?

This Time Last Year

This time last year, it was a lot stormier. Remember?

There were torrential downpourings that caused almost-floods in my basement (thanks for helping me bail water, Nick!)—leaves and tree limbs littered the streets.

The days were cooler. There was already an acceptance of fall, an acceptance that longer, darker nights are restorative—that “rest” is allowable, that sitting on the couch under a blanket under a cat is a more-than-fine way to pass an evening, that all the “going” and “doing” you did this summer is somehow JUST NOW catching up with you and maybe that’s why you are suddenly so FUCKING EXHAUSTED every night at 6 o’clock …

My birthday weekend passed in a blur of cake and candles—candles on the cake, and candles for the darkness of a 9-hour power outage in SE Portland on the very eve of my birthday fete at Commonwealth. Remember? We all sat there in the dark, talked, drank wine.

In the early days of October, I cooked a big soup out of tomatoes and potatoes and sage. I dipped toasty bread in. I thought about all the life things that needed doing before 2014 would come barreling through.

And one day, I climbed up Dog Mountain with Tricia and Lisa amidst spooky billows of fog. As we neared the top, the clouds split open and we found ourselves staring straight into the vacuum of space—dark purple faraway mountains cut by silver river waters, the promise of a golden sunset off to the west ... Remember?

I do ... but only cuz I wrote it down.

Belonging

Stayed up late on Friday night on account of our pal George Cutright had a photo show. A lovely occasion! It was a warm night, and everyone rode bikes. There was much wine and beer drunk, and thus plenty of drunk talk. Also? A basketball kept bouncing perilously inside through the open roll-up door, finding unsuspecting heads to hit and beer cups to tip over.

Now, George's show: a collection of half-frame pictures of "people and the skateboards they belong too." What he did was he took out his camera (read: not phone) and pressed down on the shutter button once while pointing at a person, and then again while pointing at their skateboard. He then went into the dark room (remember those?!) and created each print using an ages-old method called film developing.

Skateboarding might not be what regular 30 (and 40!!) somethings choose to do on a daily basis. But here in our circle, it is. It's how we maintain fun in our lives and give meaning to our days. It's how we keep the angst at bay. It's how we find our place and our people. It's how we keep our bodies healthy and remember that sometimes, strangely, falling down feels good.

Getting hurt can suck it of course.

Pic by Brooke Geery.

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.