The Dead Body Show

Today, on our way to visit my mom in Portland, we saw a sign in front of a church advertising Vacation Bible School and I said something about vacation and bible school seeming like an oxymoron when Max announces:

"I would rather be hit by a bat than go to vacation bible school."

Dammit, I love my kid! We were laughing all the way to Portland after that.

My most recent DVD obsession is CSI New York. The dialog is decidedly cheesy. I mean, the characters are constantly cracking the kind of puns and "jokes" that generally make me want to hit them. When a victim has had his head sliced off they make jokes about him "losing his head". The only reason I couldn't see that one coming was my completely misplaced faith that NO ONE writes such cheesy lines anymore.

Having said that, I admit that I am transfixed by forensic science. It is important to me, since they are portraying very brutal crimes, that the perpetrators are nearly always caught. Otherwise I would not be able to watch it. I am glued to this program partly because ever since I was very young I was always aware of the places that one might find dead bodies and it is one of my deepest seated fears/beliefs that it is my fate to find one some day. Every CSI New York show begins with someone unexpectedly finding a dead body.

I estimate that at least once a day I see a spot, or a corner, or a landscape in which a dead body seems inevitable and I think to myself "don't look too closely or you will uncover something". Every time another baby is born my chances of finding a dead human being somewhere increase. It's a creepy way for a mind to work and I don't really like it. Why does my mind fixate in such a way? Who can say? Is it the mental illness? People often reveal an attitude that being mentally ill is just a question of mood swings and a kind of linear problem. My experience of it is that everything is turned upside down and even when on the optimal level of medication and under the best possible care, the mentally ill mind goes places that other minds try hard not to go.

Sometimes my mind feels like a camera snapping negatives of what might have been, what lives in a parallel universe, or what will happen soon. It isn't exactly reality. It's near reality.

Crime shows in which crimes are actually solved using really cool fast-forward science is magnetizing to me. Cheesy dialog or not, CSI is filled with crazy in-situ death scenes that their deluxe grasp on science inevitably tears apart into digestible facts. I wish I was in a lab finding out all the facts because it might feel like the universe was careening out of control a little less.

I will rent the whole CSI Miami franchise next, because my movie rental place has about ten seasons of it, but I wanted to see the NY ones first because I don't like warm weather and the Miami ones all look over heated.

You know how book stores sometimes have a resident cat? If I worked in the coroner's office doing autopsies I'd want Pippa to accompany me every day in the morgue just like she does when I write. She's in my lap right now and I love that every time I come to write a post she camps herself in my lap like a little familiar.

I'm suddenly remembering the year everyone died. During the time I worked at Wendy's (1988) I used to stop by a donut shop on Kearney Avenue on my way to work. I didn't often eat an actual donut since they always make me feel kind of sick but I would drink the appallingly cheap coffee and convince myself that all young fashion designers start off working at Wendy's. There was this incredibly sweet older lady that worked most of the hours I came in. She and I would chat, sometimes she would give me free donut holes. I don't even remember her name which makes me so sad.

One day she wasn't there anymore. She continued to not be there for several weeks. Her name might have been Vickie. I finally asked the person who was there what had happened to my sweet older lady friend and the person went almost white as a ghost and informed me that she had been stabbed to death while working her shift.

That kind of thing, even when you're a hardened urban chick with work boots on, can really cut you to the quick. Standing on the spot where someone died a violent death has a psychic impact.

The same year I had befriended (0r was befriended by) a cafe worker named Sean in my favourite coffee shop "Les Croissants". Sean was one of those amazing high energy guys that was living life to the fullest. My room mate James and I both loved him. I didn't love him in a blushy girlish way. Sean was obviously gay. And I have always avoided falling for gay men as it's a pretty useless exercise. He was wonderful though. He once took James and I into the cafe basement where his bosses were letting him store a bunch of crap he bought from locker auctions where you buy the entire contents of abandoned lockers. For Sean there was a thrill in bidding on unknown contents. You were allowed to see what was revealed in the locker by opening the door, who knew what treasures the rest of it might house?

He had tons of microscopes from his locker auctions, some ratty fur coats, and a lot of other junk. I didn't really see it as a great hobby but what I loved was Sean's great adventure. He talked about "Land's end" sometimes and I can't remember what that was about. It's just a fragment of memory floating into my mind right now, late at night. A fragment that made the events that followed seem somehow more poignant.

Just like the donut shop lady, Sean just wasn't in the cafe anymore. After a couple of months I got up the nerve to ask about him and the person I asked went a little ashen and asked me in hushed tones if I hadn't heard already? Heard what? Heard that Sean had died. I just froze inside. I asked how he died and I got some enigmatic answer so I pressed for more detail.

In painfully secretive tone, I got the information that Sean had died of erotic asphyxiation.

When I looked it up I couldn't pretend to be shocked. The weirdest thing is that that wasn't the last time that subject came up amongst my acquaintances. A person who approaches all of life as an incredible gamble is looking for a thrill. All I can say is that at least he went in the middle of a kind of joy. In the middle of the pursuit of excitement. No one who was honest could ever claim that he died a miserable old sod.

And no one can say he didn't leave something positive in the world behind him. He always made me feel seen and heard. He always made me feel hopeful and enthusiastic and his own joy was infectious. If I die soon, I hope to leave some of that behind too. In spite of all my down moments lately.

I won't die of erotic asphyxiation though. If a coroner claims that as my cause of death you can be 100% certain of foul play. Please remember that.

I'm pretty sure that was the same year that my friend Carrie* and I were doing some make-up gigs and we were riding with some band members to a biker bar on 14th avenue (possibly called Zeitgeist) when the driver of the car we were in crashed into the back of a van. It was very sudden and I remember worrying about getting busted since the drivers had certainly been drinking and so had under-aged Carrie and I. When the cops arrived it became clear quite quickly that the driver of the van had suffered a heart attack and died which is why we hit him. No one got busted and we went to the bar and had some mixed drinks that involved some more under age drinking.

I keep wondering if it counts that I discovered that the traffic obstruction near Philip's and my laundry mat fourteen years ago was a dead Asian guy in a car at the stop light. We would have called it in to 911 if we hadn't already heard sirens approaching. Somehow I suspect that the universe has a queer way of keeping score and I keep hoping that I have already paid my dead body dues.

Yet I know I haven't.

[[[ (That was a special message from Pippa)

All my life I have been a cat person. Then I got Chick. Chick is pretty much the most amazing lab mix dog that ever existed and having her is one of the biggest ironies of my life (having been afraid of dogs in general and black labs in specific my whole life). I used to consider myself a cat person. Now cat people are calling me a dog person. Can't one be both? But truly, if I could only identify myself with one camp? I will always need to have a cat in my life.

Or two.

Does that make me a witch?

I may not always need a dog in my life. Though I will always need Chick in my life.

We still miss Ozark.

But we also love our new (healthy) baby girls. It's so late. Time for bed. Some nights I just put it off. But tonight I can snuggle with my man, my dog, and two baby cats. Like a den of maladjusted sleeping thieves.






*Carrie, have you got any memory of this? Did I hallucinate this experience? Who was the band? It was one that played at "Uncle Charlie's", right?

Speak Up Crafting Friends

I'm interrupting my regular programming to ask all of my crafting friends (both online and offline) to speak up and help me brainstorm for a moment or two. I just received an e-mail from Lark Books inviting their contributing designers to submit book proposals. There are a few of you out there who have been nagging suggesting that I write books and what I need is to know what kind of craft books you wish were out there that you haven't yet seen. Is there a special slant on a sewing craft that you would love to read about and learn from? Is there anything you've seen here on Dustpan Alley that you wish you could have in a book at home?

Something to keep in mind: I am specifically asking about crafts that I do myself since I'm trying to brainstorm what I might have to offer Lark Books. This isn't exactly a chance to make a million dollars. I think any book writer (besides Stephen King) will tell you that you don't make much money. But that's not important. I can work at Safeway or the Library (once they realize how much they would love working with me) to pay the bills...but would I love to write a useful, exciting, and fun craft book? HELL YES!! If I don't keep doing semi-famous activities like landing myself in books, then Monica and Pam might get really tired of me.

So, to refresh everyone's memory, here are the crafts that I am particularly skilled at:

Sewing- clothes, quilts (simple), curtains, aprons, potholders, bedspreads, etc.
Apothecary bath and body products
Paper crafts- packaging, card making, and collages.

Obviously there's the whole urban homesteading angle but Lark does predominantly craft driven books and while they do have some cooking and gardening titles, that's not what they seem to be asking for right now.

I have never in my life been invited to submit a book proposal and while it wasn't sent to me personally the invitation includes me. There's no way I'm going to let this slip past me. Because that would be the most idiotic thing I could possibly do. There's a 99% chance that I wouldn't get a proposal accepted but I'm keenly aware that those are good odds for me.

So, let's hear it guys! I need some brainstorming help. You've had to* sit here and listen to me whine, cry my eyes out, be generally disagreeable and negative this week, it's time you get to participate in something here that doesn't involve attempts at keeping me from throwing myself in a river**. No matter what happens on the job front I want to whip up enough energy to make at least one strong book proposal. It will be my first one.

Alright, I'm off to a farm for some cheese making supplies with my friend Lisa B. from The Tardy Homemaker.

*Technically not true.

**Which efforts, by the way, were very affective! I've been feeling the love in the comments and it has had a very uplifting affect on me. Thank you for dishing out the support. I really needed it.

Cheese
(and the importance of controlled rot)

I cleaned my kitchen just for you.

Curds and whey, the real thing.

Low technology food prep.

I had the presence of mind, in the middle of feeling droopy and pathetic, to make cheese. What better way to remember why I never killed myself than to awaken my inner food geek? If there's nothing else that can be said of life, I think that there are three things that make it really worth living: bread, cheese, and booze.* It is no coincidence that all three have one very important thing in common: they are made using a process of fermentation.

In other words: controlled rot.

Fermentation is the process by which we invite certain yeasts and bacterias to set up camp in our food, altering it's structure and taste, so that we can turn it into nutrition that will last long into hungry months. With dough we want yeast to eat the sugars in the grains (or the small amounts of sweeteners used to tantalize them such as honey or malt) and basically wait until they fart up a storm which adds air to the dough so that when it cooks it has a pleasing texture and loft. Some yeasts shack up with bacteria symbiotically to flavor bread distinctively, as they do in sourdough starters.

With beer the entire process is more complicated, but essentially the same. First grains are germinated and then dried in a kiln, sometimes roasted; a process that creates enzymes which will then be able to break down starches into sugar. There are a lot of steps to making beer, and each one is taken to convert grains into a nourishing liquid that will sustain humans and prevent their excess grain crops from going to waste. We don't generally think of beer as a nourishing drink (unless you're Irish and trying to convince Americans to drink Guinness) but people in the medieval times drank beer instead of water when water wasn't potable, and monks drank beer when fasting because it could give them a safe source of sustaining calories along with some vitamins. Some beer history sources claim that monks received daily rations of beer and that beer was used as payment.

Cheese is not very different in principle. Making cheese is a process by which you first separate the solid milk fats from the protein whey, then press as much of the whey out of the solids as possible to help the solids last longer. In addition to curdling agents, enzymes are used to add or alter the flavors of different cheeses. Enzymes break down proteins into smaller molecules which is a lot like digestion. We invite enzymes to predigest our food which is fairly gross if this is the first time you've given this thought.

The cheese I attempted to make is panir, a type of fresh farmer's cheese that doesn't melt but adds a very nice protein punch to Indian food such as Saag Paneer (or "Panir"). My attempts were foiled by three factors: a misunderstanding I had concerning my substitution of a citric acid solution for the more traditionally used lemon juice; my misunderstanding resulted in having to reheat my milk three times so that I could add more coagulants (that word almost gets you in the gut, doesn't it?) because I hadn't added the proper amount. So the curds got stirred much more than is appropriate; the final factor is that I hung my cheese to drain but didn't press it. Pressing helps the curds to adhere to each other in a solid mass and creates a firmer texture.

The result is that I have a nice tasting thick ricotta-like cheese, but not panir. So instead of making saag panir with this batch I will make lasagna. I can't complain about that at all! I am not daunted. I've made panir successfully before, it's one of the easiest cheeses to make. I have three gallons of whole milk in my fridge right now, so guess what I'll be doing today? I'm going to try a quick mozzarella, ricotta salata, and a farmer's cheese using Lipase, an enzyme used in making feta cheese in the hopes that I can create something similar to feta.

If you are interested in making cheese it's best to start with the simple cheeses such as panir, yogurt, ricotta salata, quark, or cream cheese. Feta, as you may have guessed, is an intermediate cheese which requires you to carefully monitor the temperature of the milk at different stages. I'm not ready for that kind of micromanagement in my kitchen. I plan to work my way up. Who else is going to make cheese this week?

Five tips on cheese making for beginners:

• Use only fresh milk. As with all preserving, the idea is to preserve your food at its peak of freshness, once food is in a decline it will only get worse.

• Use either unpasteurized milk if you can get it from some under-the-radar raw milk renegades, or use the next best thing which is regular pasteurized. Check carefully to be sure the label doesn't say "Ultra pasteurized" because it won't work.

• Choose an easy recipe to start with such as panir, cream cheese, or chevre.

• Use great instructions. The book I'm using right now that is really great is "Home Cheese Making" by Ricki Carroll. I have another book whose instructions are not very clear so I won't recommend it. I can't emphasize enough the importance of starting off with a really clear guide when learning new kitchen skills.

• Sanitation is very important because you want to invite very specific bacterias and enzymes to play around with your milk. But for crying out loud- don't let any chemical substance such as Lysol get near your food. Use soap and water, or if you have it (I guess) you can use a sanitizing solution such as brewers use. Was there Lysol available to people 8,000 years ago? Don't be a paranoid over-sanitizing freak.**

*In the very real world of Celiac's disease, lactose intolerance, and our national negative views on alcohol, I realize that there are some people who might deeply contest this opinion. I think it's interesting how many people have developed intolerances for wheat and milk since both have been consumed by humans for several thousand years (some evidence suggests that cheese has been around since sheep were first domesticated 8,000 years ago, but not everyone agrees on this).

**It really freaks me out that there are commercials in which parents are invited to wipe down their children with Clorox Bleach wipes all day long. On their skin. This is wrong, this is evil, this is abuse of the most insidious kind. SOAP AND WATER IS THE ONLY CLEANSER THAT SHOULD TOUCH YOUR CHILDREN'S SKIN, EVER.

Job Clarity

(Wiping JoAnn Fabrics off the table for good)

I may love roses because of their similarity to books: they have to open up to unfold their story.

This rose is called "Variegata Di Bologna" and is a sport of the old rose "Rosa Mundi". Cultivated roses have traceable parentage, like people. Sometimes enormous spiders lunge out from the layers and give me heart attacks. People have been known to do the same thing.


Yesterday I applied for a job at the local cookie factory: graveyard shift cookie packager. I realized that I keep holding JoAnn's fabrics up as the bench mark for how low I've gone and how desperate I am. I thought I was already there. Then I realized that I would rather work the graveyard shift shoving cookies in packages than work in a fabric store.

I've spent the last twenty years making use of my $20,000 education and I'm done. I didn't become a famous designer. I didn't become a career swatcher. I could have. But I didn't. I've worked in fabric stores, done costume design, been a production artist, and had my own business. I can't say I made a success of many of those ventures (I was a kick-ass swatcher though) but I don't still have the same dreams I used to have. I'm not looking to break into fashion design, or fabric design, or pattern design. If I haven't done it in the past twenty years of working my ass off, it aint gonna happen.

What I found out in this big adventure of my life is that what I really want is to stay home, be an urban homesteader, and write about it. On my terms. In my way. I am happiest and healthiest doing and learning all those homesteading activities like baking bread, making cheese (a cheese post is coming soon!), and growing food.

But that's not in the cards right now. At thirty eight years old I know exactly what I want but I have to reframe* those desires somehow into a scenario that will pay the bills until Philip can make enough money that I have the choice to stay home again. That day may never materialize. Working at a library is the one career move left to me that I could get up every day and be excited about- it's the kind of job where my enthusiasm, my skills, and my passions would be well used. If I get an opportunity to work at my local library I will snatch it up. Maybe another position will come up and if it does I will try again. It's the one job that might make me change my mind about coming back home when the money situation is no longer dire. I feel in my bones that I would love it. Thrive on the challenges it would afford me.

But that is not an actual opportunity for me right now. I didn't get an interview. End of story. It's time to look at what I don't feel willing to do for work, what would destroy my spirit, and then look at what is left:

• I don't want to work at JoAnn's. (The only fabric store I would work at- because it is AMAZING- is our local quilt shop. I will see if I can put in an application there...but they rarely seem to hire new people because the employees like working there and rarely quit. That's a good sign in a business.) So, today I have decided that I simply WON'T work at JoAnn's.

• I don't want to try to crab a living together with freelance jobs. Either hire me or don't hire me. Having to spend fifty percent of every day trying to convince people to give me a scrap of work is depressing and wears me down. Some people can be very successful this way. I'm not one of them. It depresses the living crap out of me to have to convince people of my capabilities, my skills, and my worthiness. It taps into very dark places in my psych and isn't healthy for me. So no freelance.

• I don't want to write articles for magazines. Again, the freelance life isn't a good fit for me. More than that, I've been spending hours and hours reading submission guidelines and most of it is a load of self righteous crap. I'm not interested in distilling information into easy bites or taking on a journalistic tone. I could do it. I'm an excellent researcher (again, perfect skill for a librarian) and I could mimic any magazine's voice, but then I'd have nothing left to give to my own writing. I would like to write useful informative pieces on urban homesteading, but I want to do it my way. I am the ultimate self righteous editor. I edit Dustpan Alley and I'll use swear words like real people do.

• I don't want to work in a retail store. I have no patience for pandering to the whims of the spending public. I wouldn't get benefits, I'd barely make enough money to make it worth all the hard work, and I can't sell crap to save my life. Being a cashier in a grocery store is a whole different potato. More on that later.

So where does all that land me? There are two camps of options, as far as I can tell. The first one consists of possible serious career moves. The difficulty in this camp is convincing someone to take my excellence on (see Monica, you slap me around enough and I start listening) because I refuse to go deeper into debt to return to school for a job that, once I have the proper education, will require that I have already put ten years experience under my belt. I need to find an employer who is smart enough to recognize the trainable, intelligent, powerhouse of potential that I am.

Here are careers I would be willing to put my heart into and to work my ass off for, the list is short:

• Librarian- The environment is one I love, I am already adept at using library computer systems, I am an excellent researcher, I am great at helping people find information because I love doing it, I would love to be buried in books any day of the week, and I have EXCELLENT organizational skills. Not a skill I've applied to my own home very often...but in my work experience I have excelled in any part of my jobs requiring organization.

• Editorial job- working for a magazine as an editor or an editor's assistant, working for an online website or actual magazine makes no difference to me. A place with energy, quality work, great team, and great pay. I believe I would enjoy this work but would love to hear from the two editors I know who sometimes visit my blog (Mary and Cindy) to find out what their take on that is. I am great at streamlining work methods. In an editorial capacity I can offer my writing skills without being the author pleading for a listen...I'd be on the other
  

• Professional Blog Writer- only if it pays well, is full time, and is a blog I care about. I would be excellent at this. In fact, ideally I would have loved my own blog to be my career. Like Heather Armstrong's "Dooce" which pays all her bills. I won't spend time beating myself up over not being Heather because she's way too skinny anyway. Plus it must be obnoxious to be a person who's always so funny.
  

Then there's the other camp. It's the camp I'm more likely to land in. And really? Maybe that's just fine. It's the unglamorous world of jobs for the everyday Jane:

• Grocery store work. Grocery stores, especially large corporate ones, have great benefits and often pay well. There are quite a few of them in town and I'm at the very least qualified to be a stock person or a cashier. It's not a creative job, but the kind of work you go to, do it to the best of your ability, and then leave it in the parking lot when you go home.

• Office work. I am qualified for some office jobs and could easily train for most of them. They are plentiful and although not all of them pay well, there are some good paying opportunities in this field. I'm great at filing, organizing, greeting people, and I have a very good phone manner.

• Factory jobs. Let's face it: I've always wanted to learn to drive a fork lift...why pass up such a chance?** Or how about picking bad cherries off the fruit conveyor belt? How about stuffing cookies in packages? This is the kind of work that legends are made of. Great writer's fodder. It's like working inside the very heart of our nation because when it comes right down to it America isn't really about lofty ideals like freedom and happiness, it's about the dollar and the pillar that holds that dollar up is our great tradition of mass producing crap.

*Mom and sister- see how I'm using your lingo? See how I'm using the methods on myself?

**Although the truth is, no one wants to train anyone how to use a fork life...they always want you to already know how. Bummer.

Jobs and Whores
And what they have in common

This is my eye candy for today. Kaiserin Fredrich rose.

I'm swimming with words tonight. I am pretty sure I have become the most lost and ill fitting person. I think it may be time to get arrested in a brand new red Porsche for picking up a prostitute. Because I've tried almost everything else. I'm not good at much. I heard my fortune told when I was very small, over and over again, how I wouldn't ever find success because I'm too undisciplined, not smart enough, and as though that wasn't crime enough I'm a god-damned bleeding heart liberal. I'll never be good at business, my fortune teller accused me, because I'm too soft.

I feel pretty hard right now. The fortune teller turned out to be correct. Trying to get a job is the best way to find out how much you suck as a person and to find out how much more education everyone else has, how much more experience they have, and how good they are at writing resumes. It's a demoralizing business to know how perfect you would be at a job and then not even get an interview over and over again. I am only at the beginning of it. I saw Philip go through it for a year. I understand better why he was so deeply depressed all that time.

Trying to write a tantalizing resume is like a whore trying on the tightest shortest skirt and wondering if she should go with the leather cutouts or the see-thru lace? Should she go for that MAC lip gloss that makes her look like she's got wet voltage for lips or go with something like dark velvet smoke? What will shimmer and attract the most prospects? It feels dirty. Come and get my nectar...I'm really good at following orders directions...

It's got me wondering what the hell I'm doing. I'm too tired to really hike the skirt up for job prospects. I'm too tired to prove myself. I've never gotten the dream job without selling my soul first. Why should it be different for me now that I'm older, fatter, and apparently just as unqualified as ever?

I keep trying to make my blog into some recognizable success. Maybe if I get enough traffic I could make enough money to stay home? People do it all the time. I have a very smart and helpful friend who keeps giving me the recipe over and over again on how to get more traffic. She tells me everything I need to know. I've followed some of her advice and thanks to her I have been enjoying taking photos more than ever before and they are improving in quality all the time. But there is a wall between me and taking the steps to do what people do to get more traffic. Single topic? Yeah, I do that really well. Don't lure people in with pretty crafts and then shock the crap out of them with deflating posts like this one. Eye Candy!! Optimism! Focus!!

It is thanks to her that I got an opportunity to fund much of my trip to Scotland by doing some technical writing.

It's easy to get sucked into the desire for a high traffic blog. I've been looking at writing jobs and all the professional blogger ones want (obviously) a writer who has already written for high traffic blogs and knows how to play the search engines like a high rolling gambler in a Vegas casino. I can say that I have some very loyal readers but the most I've ever had in a day is too embarrassing to report.

Everyone wants what I haven't got.

Now I'm afraid to go to JoAnn's Fabrics to ask for an application because it's the one job I have been certain I could get. Why should I be so sure? What makes me so special that I should automatically qualify for a minimum wage sales job in a fabric shop? I'm terrified to find out that I can't even qualify for a job there. The place it all began. My professional life. Fabric store sales clerk. I was hopeful then that that's not all I would achieve.

I'm going to pick up an application tomorrow.

I'm crashing fast. This is American life. In case anyone was curious to know, I spent $20,000 dollars to get an associates degree in Fashion Design so that I could end up jobless and penniless at forty. All the extraneous things in my life are going to have to be shed. Hopes, passions, community service. I will have no spirit left for anyone but myself and my family. I won't have time to give to others. I think about all the commitments I've made and I feel regret.

I think I can't breath.

I'm peeling off a layer right here. I don't care if I get traffic on this blog or not. I can't keep trying so hard at everything. It hurts too much. I'm full up with disappointments in myself. I don't need one more thing to make me feel like a loser. I don't care if anyone comes here. This is my club. My secret fort. I will eat cheese and I will tell the truth even if it drives every last person away. I almost always feel alone anyway.

There is no air left.

I suppose better days are ahead. That's what everyone likes to say. I'm not so sure. I kind of think this might be it. I had a tarot reading once that said I would never get rich or famous. I would possibly have just enough, maybe even an adequate living, but I would never lead a couture life.

I'm going to go watch as many episodes of CSI as I can before I fall asleep sitting up with a beer in my hand and don't bother telling me that this isn't the answer to my problems. Of course it's not. But until the answer presents itself in very clear language I am going to do what I can to salvage my very tenuous grasp on my sanity.

Here are a few things I'm thankful for:

• That I'm not missing all my limbs from a freak accident with a weed whacker.

• That lettuce is in season and available to me again.

• That I'm not dying of cancer, yet.

• That I haven't stuck my hand in my food processor.

• That my friend Chelsea is still my friend and seems able to put up with my crazy.

• That Sid and Dennis will always sit down to dinner with us.

• That Philip is learning to brew beer.

• That George Bush Jr. will be out of office in seven months.

• That my old rose "Kaiserin Fredrich" is so beautiful.

• That I don't have a bladder infection right now.

See, I'm still capable of seeing the bright side. I just need to put an end to this prolonged (just about three years now) period of extreme stress. It's really worn down my kid, my husband, and me. I can work a sales job like the rest of this country, be glad my hand hasn't been pulverized in a blender, and live out the rest of my life just working the forty and losing my teeth like the rest of America.

Life reminds me of reading Steinbeck novels. That is why I stopped reading Steinbeck.

Happy Things

Yesterday was a major cleaning day and today is going to be one as well. Right after I update my resume and send it out to a job prospect. Looking for a job requires a surprising amount of time. I'm not waiting to hear back from the job I really super duper want because:

a) I know there's a tremendous amount of competition for the job
b) They may need to hire the wrong person before they hire me

and c) A watched phone never rings

Some things that are making me really happy right now:

• Even though all the algae in the pond has died and turned the pond water black, the tadpoles are thriving! I am so excited to see them getting large. Now I'm really afraid of the pond being toxic and killing my little army of frogs-to-be. I need to read up on how to clean a pond without killing the wildlife in it. I love frogs. Seeing tadpoles reminds me of running around Diamond Lake trying to catch frogs and running into a snake under a bush by the lakeside mid-breakfast with a frog inching into it's jaws. It reminds me of taking tadpoles home to watch them develop legs.

• The bouquet of roses my friend Ericka brought me from her garden.

• My living room which doesn't look like a trash heap anymore.

• The fabulous thirties reproduction prints I found in the boxes of fabric. I haven't even finished going through half of them and already I have found some amazing treasures. I'm hoping to uncover the perfect fabric for slip covering my couch and my armchair. I did find some floral upholstery fabric which reminded me of classic English sitting rooms doused in floral homage.

• The strong rainfall I woke up to. It means I don't have to water my yard today. I don't have much planted but my roses were thirsty and I need them to grow strong and bloom for me. My "Crested Moss" is developing buds which makes me want to shriek with excitement! I've been wanting a moss rose for a few years. The rain smelled so refreshing.

• Having my chickens home with us. We love the sounds they make and missed them so much when they were still at the old house. Philip built in a little door into the the porch that opens up into the run so I can walk out the kitchen door and dump kitchen scraps down to my girls without having to leave the porch. I used it yesterday and it was BRILLIANT.

• That everyone loved my fake cover letter so much! If only you were all employers around here I'd be off to work right now. My real one wasn't so very different than the fake one in tone, but I did include more concrete reasons why I'm the perfect candidate for the job.

• Pippa, who sits in my lap purring every morning while I answer e-mails and write my posts. She is very keen to show us her hunting chops by bringing down one of those queer caged bird-beasts she discovered in the yard. She and Penny were so entertaining stalking the hens.

Well, it's time to get dressed, clean the kitchen, and make some farmer's cheese.

Hope you all have a fabulous Tuesday!

Daily Eye Candy

It is so easy to overlook the naturally occurring vignettes in my own home when so much of my house and garden frequently looks like a great big snake pit. We are not tidy people. I'm in the middle of cleaning right now but wanted to post this eye candy that caught my eye as I was putting bird netting on the chicken run to keep Dot from getting out.* This climbing rose is sprawling around the "pond" and would love to climb the garage. I am going to put some wiring up to help it. It doesn't have scent but the flowers seem to be prolific and the color is delicious.

I am going to look at my space as a bunch of pleasing vignettes waiting to rise out of the slovenly mess. Perhaps I should look at my house as I hope that an employer will look at me: great bones, a little cleaning up, a little training and she'll be perfect for us! Sometimes you have to give things a chance to shine.

*She got to the top of the run where Chick was waiting to sniff her feathery butt. Honestly? I was expecting that to be a bloody situation. My dog finds new ways to surprise me every day. Apparently all she wants to do is run free with all of nature peaceably. I love my dog.

Ocean

There is no better natural pedicure than the beach. My feet get so rough and dry and callused that they are generally not too pretty. When I was nineteen I lived on 27th Avenue in San Francisco, within walking distance of China Beach. I used to walk there every week by myself and I would walk in the freezing cold water and through the sand until my feet were nearly numb. I would climb the rocks like a mountain goat and sit with my eyes closed listening to the crash and roar.

When I would return home my feet would be so smooth and soft, as though they'd been pumiced by an expert hand. Sea water is also healing.

We went to the ocean yesterday and the tide was out pretty far so I got to see the tide pools! Tide pools make me feel like a kid. There's so much of the underwater world revealed temporarily. The textures and colors are incredible. Philip, Max, and I had so much fun finding starfish, anemones, and fish.

Old big barnacles looked like ragged fossilized bones.

The anemones looked creepy and kind of perverse when curled into themselves. The colors were wonderful light teal and light pink. I love how all colors harmonize in nature.

Everywhere I looked there were patterns and textures that I could imagine being reflected in human design.

Just a little tweaking of contrast and splashes of color in a randomly organized fashion could be produced into fabric, or rendered in oils, or even just reimagined with the photographer's eye and tools.

My kid was alive with discovery as well. The ocean is a tactile place: sand between your toes, barnacles scraping your hand as you brush past exposed rocks, beetles with ridged shells land on ledges close to the deep crevice where small fishes are trapped until the tide comes in.

Things get washed to shore from deeper places. Things that look like other things and like nothing else at the same time. Sponges, pom poms, mops, and vegetables come to mind.

What a marvelous place a tide pool is.

Pretty Kitchen Corner

I am not quite sure how the hours of every day get sucked into oblivion without my having accomplished much at all. It's possible it could be because of all the experimenting I've been doing in photoshop. It might also have something to do with how much time I've been putting into looking up all the job listings for my area even though there's really only one of them I actually want. I've done all I can for that one job and now I just have to wait and see if I get sifted to the bottom of the pile or if I get put in a brand new optimistic pile. Time to let go of it and see what happens.

There is a heavy distraction factor at work in the universe where there is so much to do, and most of it is stuff I actually want to do, that I don't even know where to look first. A strange miracle occurred yesterday that all my crafting/quilting friends will recognize as wonderful... my fairy Godmother (whose name is Joni) dropped off about ten or so boxes of fabric. FABRIC. Fashion fabric, quilting fabric, crafting fabric, old fabric, new fabric, and patterns too. I hit the fabric jack pot and it has made me believe that I must have some redeeming qualities because no one dumps that kind of treasure on the completely undeserving!

THANK YOU JONI!!!!

I haven't even gone through it yet. I want to. I want to do it right now. But I also need to finish building my garden beds. I also need to clean my kitchen and make food. In addition to that, I need to make cheese. I could have put the cheese making off for another week except that there was a sale on some local milk by the gallon and so I bought two gallons. We don't drink much milk around here so either I make cheese or I waste five dollars. I can make the cheese tomorrow. But dang...so much to do! Good God! I just realized I have a marathon of laundry to do too. It's almost enough to make me want to adopt a naked lifestyle.

I know I saw some thirties reproduction fabrics in there. There's a baby quilt top that Joni made but never finished which is so exciting! There are some patterns and buttons and some really amazing wool as well.

I'll bet some of you out there are dying for pictures so you can live vicariously through me. I think I should: clean the kitchen, start cooking but as soon as everything is going I need to sit down on the steps in the Williamson ghetto and start sorting through the riches. With a beer.

Are you all having a good Friday? Anyone making Challa bread or fish?

Cover Letter
The unwritable letter

To Whom It May Concern,

I have to figure out how to tell you, without sounding the least bit desperate (or insane) within the scope of one page, why it is that I am the ideal person for the job you are aiming to fill. I have to tread that delicate almost impossible line between modesty and confidence. I have to hit a note just south of arrogance with no hint of mousy retreat. Nothing lands me in a hopeless word stew like trying to say something without seeming to say it.

I propose to come right out and say it: I am the person you are seeking for this job. I have never worked as a librarian though I have developed all the skills that seem to be desirable in one such as the research capabilities of a blood hound: give me the subject and let me hunt, I have a tenacious need to find every last shred of information I can from a variety of sources such as books, the Internet, and from experts in the field. I once needed to know all about the fault line my house was built directly on top of because I didn't sleep for three weeks after we had a "mild" quake and I didn't rest until I had actually contacted a geologist at the USGS website. Needless to say, the information I received was disquieting and I had to move to Oregon.

I have spent my whole life dying to get behind the reference counter of every library I've ever been in because I feel sure that if I could only get my hands on all those sources of information I could uncover more than anyone else. I have spent so many hours of my life in libraries because I am in love with them. Public libraries are the ultimate source of attainable knowledge. For no money at all (if you don't incur late fees that is) you can learn about almost anything. you can visit almost every corner of the world. You can crawl into almost every human mind that has cared to imagine the world as it might have been, might be in this minute, or as it might become.

I have a deep respect for education through college, but I don't think anything compares to the knowledge you can uncover for yourself amongst the shelves of a public library under the steam of your own hunger to learn more.

I have been breathing words since I was a very small child. My Grandma Shirley actually scolded my mom for teaching me to read before Kindergarten, saying that my teacher would be displeased to see me getting ahead of myself. I don't remember life without the written word. I have been writing since I was ten because it fuels my body as well as my mind. I don't have a formal education but I have a feeling for language and through an extensive reading habit from the time I was small (most of the material coming from my public library) I have an instinct for language both formal and colloquial.

There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that if you set me to the task of learning the dewy decimal system I will do it. I will meet all of your expectations. I will exceed them because if you hire me you will be hiring my passion for information, books, and making it accessible to the people who come in on their personal missions of curiosity. I will learn everything you need me to know and I will come in with impossible enthusiasm because I will be released from my financial worry. I will be free to live my life swimming in words.

You will not regret hiring me because I am smart as a whip but there is no moment in the day when I am not acutely aware of the fact that someone always knows a little more, that I always have more to learn, that I am far from perfect. You will not regret hiring me because I will shine for you.

I have always secretly wished I'd studied to become a librarian. It is as natural to me as breathing. Teach me this discipline and let me draw more people in with my enthusiasm and my friendly nature. If you hire me you will be inviting me to come home at last. I will come full circle with all of my lives.

Sincerely,
Angelina Williamson

Strawberry Season
The Easiest Recipe In The World

It is finally strawberry season here in McMinnville. It's also rhubarb season. Obviously my mind is full of the possibilities...

Rhubarb/strawberry crisp
Vanilla custard topped with a compote of rhubarb and strawberries
Rhubarb/strawberry tart

I keep buying pints of strawberries, taking them home with the full intention of making something really fancy so I can post it here and have someone tell me I'm a genius (us humans really are pathetically fragile) and then I eat just one to see how good it is.

The insides are red, as strawberries should be, they are juicy, they are strongly perfumed, and the flavor bursts open like fireworks over a bank of snow. The flavor says the winter is truly behind us. The spring is nearly behind us as well. Straight ahead lies all the flavors and textures that make the summer so worth the wait!

Needless to say, before I know it the pint is empty, my fingers are red, and I still have rhubarb to use. I'm not ready to eat rhubarb without strawberries. I'm still vaguely suspicious of rhubarb, a vegetable that is still quite new to me.

We've been doing our version of the eat local challenge for six months now. Although there have been plenty of transgressions with items like condiments and Max's snack foods (I am having trouble not eating his packaged food when I'm really hungry and don't know what to make), we've really stuck to our guns with the produce which was the main goal anyway. Onions got scarce, garlic is nonexistent, and I haven't had salad at home for weeks. I still only get salad when I go out to eat (which is allowed in the rules of our making). No citrus but what was gifted to us. Not a lot of fruit for us this winter. Apples and home canned pears and peaches.

So the tangy sweetness and huge flavor of these small local strawberries (not the kind you can ship, they are very tender and exactly as a strawberry should be) is fulfilling a need for vitamin C foods. I feel thirsty for them like I haven't had water in months. When my body has been without fresh sources of vitamin C it feels dry and parched. I could eat a field of these berries. I am excited for the real season to begin- when I can go to the fields myself and gather u-pick strawberries to freeze and can. I didn't have my freezer in time last year to freeze any and all winter I wished I could chew on frozen chunks of strawberry or add them to muffins.

So for now, here is my recipe for enjoying the first local fresh strawberries of the season:

Rinse off the soil
Eat as many as you can at the kitchen sink

It doesn't get fresher or easier than that.*




*Unless you have a patch of them in your own garden...that is the ultimate way to eat them. Right in your garden with the dirt still clinging to them.

Hire me

(I'm the one you want by your side for the Apocalypse)

The best way to find out if your local economy is strong or weak is to try to get a good job in it. A job that will cover all your bills and leave you with a little extra for emergencies like shoes for junior and underwear that you wouldn't be embarrassed to be caught dead in, which is the kind of predicament I just might end up in if I don't get work soon.

The jig is up. I have done everything I have the energy to do, am capable of doing, and know how to do to not have to get a job in the outside world. I had a great five years of staying home, first as a housewife with no baby (total heaven!), then as a mom (also pretty great...though I can't say it wasn't really hard work), and then the last four years running a part time business which morphed into a full time business with the one theme running through the whole endeavor: I consistently made no money.

It's time to take stock because I have got to convince someone out there to pay me enough money so as not to lose my house, my dignity, or my happiness...or at least my house, now that I'm finally in one I completely love.

Let's take a look first at the job experiences from which I may draw in order to find a new job:

Babysitting- I was really good at it since I never did drugs or had boyfriends.

Underage nail salon slave- in exchange for gross manicures. Not my best job.

Salesperson- New York Fabrics. My first legal job.

Cashier- at Wendy's. What can I say? I was doing my laundry with bar soap in the sink, eating my room mate's government cheese, and no one in the fashion industry would hire me.

Salesperson- Radio Shack. It was next door to Wendy's on Market Street in San Francisco. It paid about ten cents more per hour and I didn't have to smell like thick meat grease.

Shipping Manager- Weston Wear. I loved it. One of my favorite jobs ever. It was very industrial, I had to wear boots and lift 50 lb boxes and I got to fill out UPS papers and feel very important. This was my big break in fashion design.

Costume Designer- self employed. I fancied myself in business but really I turned out to just be a contract worker for my good friend. Two years of barely making rent while sewing couture quality historical garments made anything else sound like better work.

Barista- we didn't call it that when I had the job. I was either a "coffee jerk" or just a jerk. I loved this work too. Very freeing to just make coffee for a lot of idiots and feel very smart and undiscovered behind the scenes. Hard work. Early burn out.

Stockroom Person- Loved this job. Again, had to wear boots and got to smash boxes and be generally a great ass kicker. I got to interact with the UPS guys and be the first to unpack merchandise, steam clothes, organize the chaos, and generally avoid customers except when doing them the fun service of beautifully wrapping gifts for them.

Design Assistant- Mulberry Neckwear. I loved this job too. Seriously loved it. I found I didn't want to be one of the designers because they weren't my kind of people except for a couple of them who became good friends of mine. I liked being in the thick of the action, doing the nitty gritty. Keeping all the designers organized, cleaning up their messes, and being necessary to the rest of the department. Production art is really satisfying.

Swatcher- Mulberry Neckwear. Aside from staying home to be a housewife and a mom this was my all time favorite job. I was the liaison between the pattern designers and the printers in Korea who had to print the colors the designers generated. I sat at brightly lit tables of color swatches matching them to computer print outs. I was speaking in color which was exciting. Everything is essentially language. I was very good at this job. I really had to speak up for myself to get it. The only reason I left was to go to community college. They wouldn't let me reduce my hours, so I left to learn math and French.

Barista- Copperfield's. Again?! Why did I come back to this? Good God, I still wasn't done being burnt out working in a coffee house. Why are people so rude to the underpaid people serving them snacks and caffeinated beverages?

Salesperson- Copperfield's books. I did really enjoy this job. I love putting books away and finding books for people. I was very good at it and it was obviously gratifying being completely surrounded by books, talking books, recommending them, ordering them, and breathing them.

Housewife- I have to be honest here and say that this was the single best job I've ever had in my entire life. I loved it. I blossomed and grew and came alive in ways I never expected and I found the heart of my self through finding joy in keeping my home. No one is ever supposed to say this but it was better than being a housewife with a kid. I got a lot more sleep and my house was actually kind of clean for the first time in my life.

Stay At Home Mom- Being a mom is pretty wonderful but it is way more work than being a housewife without a child. You are still expected to keep house, but you are now living with a little human whose entire purpose in life is to destroy order and keep you from sleep. Being a stay at home mom is harder work than any other job a person can have. Stock market? Oh give me break- that's total cake in comparison.

Business owner- Dustpan Alley. Started with handmade cards. Part time gig. Fun. But I can never just go a little distance. This became the obvious full time effort when we lost everything and moved to Oregon.

Store owner- Dustpan Alley. Seemed I had to do it. Spent all our money trying. Oh crap. Still kind of smarts. If you want to get to know a new town, opening a store in it is the fastest way to meet all of the movers, shakers, and the blood suckers in the shortest time possible. Closing your store down is the fastest way to find out what real friends you've made.

Blog Writer- the pay has been close to nil until I count all the friendships I've made and the very loyal same group of readers I've had for the two years I've been writing, not to mention that the discipline it has taken to write a post nearly every day that is good enough to be read by others has honed my writing skills.

Technical Writer- for Studio Mongo. Excellent job. I got a chance to sharpen my writing wits to the specifications of others, which meant not using swear words or making fun of Paris Hilton for a change. Technical writing is not quite as lively as blog writing, yet it is so necessary there is a thrill in writing something so functional. I found myself getting into it and my boss said I was very good at it.

Total Waster. This is what purgatory would feel like if I believed purgatory was a real place. Wanting one thing, knowing that I can't have it, dragging my feet towards a future I don't want, a life I didn't expect, a path I have no desire for. I got a taste of what the ideal life for me is long enough to want it with every cell in my body but it is now like a treasure set adrift in a rough sea.

At some point you've just got to get on with it and make the best of life as it presents itself that you can. Maybe you can't make a silk purse out of sow's ears but you might be able to make some super funky moccasins and convince a bunch of really foolish rich people that they're really stylish, if this wasn't true then there is no explanation for Ugg boots. So I'm moving on to the part where I stop whining and grow a pair of balls. Because that's what you need to look for work these days.

Here's what's generally on offer here in my little corner of the world:

Cashiers
Baristas
Line cooks
Office Clerks
Salespeople
Seasonal fruit workers
Waiters
Medical workers

This wouldn't be such a bad line up really, except that you must read the fine print and find out how qualified employers expect you to be:

Cashier: full time hours for bright, honest, non-junkie. Pays minimum wage. Must have 10 years experience working on our own register system, have a bachelor's degree in anything, and must submit a vial of pee to screen for excessive vitamin B12 shots.

Administrative Assistant: Full time hours. Pay starts at $8.00 p/h. Responsibilities include: data entry, bills processing, ordering supplies, making spreadsheets, pretending not to be a smart-ass. Qualifications: must have bachelor's degree in office sciences, be proficient in Excel, InDesign (in case we want to exploit any latent design talents), two years experience with Microsoft Word (2008 edition), and be not only punctual and subservient, but must also have not smoked tobacco in five years.

Gas Station Attendant: will train. Minimum wage. Bring good attitude. Must have bachelor's degree in Liberal Arts. Must not have been in prison for at least two years. No need to pass drug test.

Every employer has an impossible laundry list of requirements for their prospective employees and the only way anyone could possibly meet them all is if they've already been working for that employer their whole adult life. Since when are so few people willing to train anyone for good work? Since when must we all come pre-equipped with qualifications we would have had to be fortune tellers to have had the foresight to acquire?

Since we became a depressed economy with a whole lot more people in need of work than there are jobs, that's when.

I don't even have a bachelor's degree. You'd think I'd be pretty far buried under the trash heap of educational regrets about now. What is keeping me from regretting having followed my singular path and not getting the traditional degree is that it really doesn't matter what degree a person has these days, it won't be the right one. It will cost you every penny you can beg, borrow, or steal, and in the end your dream job will turn up on a job list and they will want you to have the degree you didn't get.

Why You Want Me For The Job:

I am unbelievably loyal to good employers, I am honest (I don't steal time or money), I thrive on challenges, I am publicly easy to get along with and tolerant of nearly all human foibles (such as religion and dim wits), I have enough optimism to face down the Grim Reaper, I learn quickly, I am the ultimate Girl-Friday, I am fantastic in a crisis, I am level headed, smart, properly afraid of breaking the law (but not enough to be annoying to anyone besides my family).

Qualifications: Worked my ass off since I was a preteen for other people with the highest degree of dedication and have maintained a spotless work ethic, have an associates degree in fashion design which is useless to you but shows that I got exactly the education I needed in order to do what I set out to do when I was seventeen (over twenty years ago now), have owned my own business, I have been trusted with fabric archives to organize, children to care for, I am diplomatic in spite of my acerbic wit, I want to thrive and I want others to thrive as well, I will get the god-damned job done!

Bottom Line: I'm the one you want by your side when the Apocalypse comes.

Hire me!

Chicken Run

I miss our hens. I miss hearing them squawk, shuffle, coo, cluck, argue, and preen. A collection of noises that I find soothing, therapeutic, and charming. It's too quiet here. It's time to shake up the neighborhood and introduce them to their new existence living next door to the McMinnville hillbillies.

Oh, totally random (before I forget again): I keep meaning to say that the owner of the Burnside B&B (Liz) was fabulous and I adore her and she cemented her charm when she asked me who Martha Stewart was. How cool is that? Yes, some people don't even know who she is.

Back to the hens...we can't just bring the hen house over and let them roam the yard because the dog will kill them. So a run has to be built first. Although I have yet to see evidence of skunks or raccoons in our own yard, we know they are plentiful in the McMinnville neighborhoods and aside from dogs they are the most serious predator of chickens. Fortifications must be built that cannot be breached by digging or unlatching or climbing in via tree branches. For this reason, building a chicken run is a little bit like building a tiny Fort Knox. Burying chicken wire down in the dirt several inches is a good tactic. Covering the roof of the run is also smart, the other threat is chicken hawks. Yep, hawks that steal and eat chickens.

Because we live in a suburban area, there are set back rules for keeping chickens that we must adhere to. This is predominantly why we are building our chicken run right up against our lovely porch. Normally we would probably find a different spot for them.

All of our animals were intrigued by Philip's mysterious undertaking. They camped out around him, got in his way, perched themselves importantly on the tools, and generally tried to be as unhelpful as possible which is cake to cats and dogs.

Even our neighbor's puppy got in on the act. Chick dug a hole for her under the fence and I didn't discover it until I saw Chick run by twice in one direction...after my double take I noticed that the extra Chick was actually a Rottweiler puppy. This forced caused me to finally meet our neighbors over the back fence. We've agreed to let our dogs be friends since none of us can honestly figure out how to stop a determined black lab from digging her way to China if that's what she wants. Riley is very sweet, super soft, and more spazzy than Angelina on a farm.

Life is good here. We've discovered that we are much too poor to have our house up on the market but much too poor to pay for two mortgages so our friends Anna and Mitch are going to rent it because they really like the house and are supremely tired of living in a rental house with raw sewage leaking into their basement. Yeah, I don't blame them. We are all super happy with this outcome, though it's been a slightly bumpy ride working this all out. (Sorry for all the ups and downs Anna!!) (They've been very kind and patient with me.)

We are also too poor for me to lounge around here all day eating bon bons (locally made, obviously) so I'm looking for a job. I was really depressed about the prospect until I saw that our local library is hiring. Don't get your undies in a bunch over it, I'm sure there's a lot of competition for the position, but I got a glimpse of how working again might actually be exciting. I was beginning to imagine the drudgery it must be to pump ever more expensive gasoline into giant trucks all day when I saw this little light. It may be a long shot, but this is a job that I am ideally suited for, that I have secretly dreamed of even doing even after graduating from FIDM with my associates degree in fashion design.

Libraries are magical places. There were times in my childhood when I spent more hours talking with the librarians than I did my own parents. There are few places that hold as much promise of attainable knowledge and no other place in which you can broaden your experience of the world without leaving town. They smell of books; they represent the ultimate in organization of information; the human imagination is represented in thousands of ways and celebrated nowhere else so thoroughly than in public libraries...all for free.

Reality is a funny thing and who can say what it will look like tomorrow, but today is Sunday and we are all going to go for a bicycle ride together and I am going to dream yet another impossible dream.

Pleasures
(six of them, right now)

1. Brand new silver sequined flip flops to open the summer season with and a turquoise watering can all floating over cool long grass; the glitter and the color like silly decorations on a green coconut cake.

2. The first local strawberries of the season; so delicate they bruise when you covet them with your eyes and the juices meet you halfway across your fingers.

3. The microcosm represented in a single droplet of water suspended for only seconds on the leaves of lupines not yet blooming.

4. The anticipation of food still growing lushly in a pot; knowing that the best nature has to offer is right on your own front porch; planning meals while watching them grow.

5. The marriage of elegance and silliness in a flower so unabashed in form that it falls over itself to reach you; like a friend tapping you on the shoulder with delicious wit.

6. The constant purring, obnoxiously cute antics, bunny hopping bow legged ravenously hungry pip-squeak and her sister are a constant source of pure pleasure.