snow & gunpowder

Here are the promised images of the who-what-where of my illustrious trip to the "mountains" a couple weekends ago. (All photographs were taken with an iPhone 3G. Because that's what I have.) Upon arrival: mist, 40 degrees Fahrenheit, and blustery gusts. We found a site right over the lake, which was marvelous. Setting up camp and building a roaring fire in that weather was rather fun, and less daunting than it might have been without indomitable spirits at the ready. These are the remains of a turtle: his left hand (or foot) and several chunks of his shell. This lovely lady, A , was my expedition partner and photographer extraordinaire. Vast.   This is where we cooked our meals: on a flat stone in the fire pit. See how the sparks fly? That's chili in the pot, there. We made coffee here, as well. That coffee was to die for. The s'mores were beyond anything I've ever tasted, with Scandinavian ginger thins and ...

Unadulterated musings from frozen hands on the side of a rocky cliff in the Wichita Mountains, on February 10th, 2013: Tell me how you can miss things in your own backyard. Tell me how you give up the chance to see beauties unknown, yet to be charted, added to your repertoire. Why haven't your boots gotten use in so long? (or have they ever?) Mossy greens and mossy stones. Turquoise and pale blues. Golden hazes permeate, saturate. Tell me you want to see the world, starting with your own backyard. Will you know your home when someone asks you to tell about it? Have you visited the buffalo? Do you see their tracks? You are welcomed through their door - it's open, go in. The armadillos say "hello". Chilly, damp nights remind of the important things. Does your coffee have grounds in the bottom? No? You're not doing it right. Brew with intention after those frigid nights. Take your caffeine for serious. Ash in your chili? You're doing it right. The ra...

Lavender-infused hot chocolate: a concoction of my own invention. The little herbs in my fridge are about spent, so I'm quickly using them in everything I can think of (late in the evenings, anyway, since lavender tends to bring on the drowsiness). How about a favorite lavender-highlighted recipe of yours? Dreams . I've been dreaming like MAD every night for the past few months! Waking up is exhausting, because I recall so much of the dream that I feel like I've just got done living a whole life before the day has even begun. Last night I was talking with Jamie Beck about her prodigious child, and noting how much he is like my fiance. "Is the future known or unknown?" The small child tried with inadequate vocabulary to explain the deep yearnings of his heart. How am I supposed to go to work after that? Camping.  The lovely A and I are trekking out where there are bobcats and warblers and shrews and skinks and bats and beavers and otters and coyotes and elk. ...

House-brewed doppio espresso. I can't soak in enough of this soft apartment lighting. Creating my own golden haze is a task well-suited to me. Bearing and birthing beauty is my life's calling. More on that later...still percolating. Speaking of beauty, view these of the Drisco in SF, CA: Read below - why you (apparently) should stay at the Drisco: None of the photos above are mine, but there's no reason I can't have some just like them someday. The Drisco has smoked salmon and brie on the weekends, 'round-the-clock breakfast, and bicycles you can borrow. THEY HAVE A PILLOW MENU. I've never been to California, but am told it's a whole other world. Which reminds me of Aladdin taking Jasmine on the ride of her life, which never gets old, of course.

"I want to make sure Eden doesn't have to take care of the monkey." "Monkey" is my boss' word for law library maintenance responsibility. He knows it is bogging me down and keeping me from doing my main/primary job of manning the post up front. I feel so understood as he explains to the rest of them that, whatever the solution, it needs to be out of Eden's hair (this is a feeling I've not experienced for a good while). But now that he refers to it as a monkey, I am somehow endeared to it, as if it's a rambunctious pet that I've lost patience with and given up on. I'd love to care for a monkey, like you wouldn't believe. Alas, this is not a zoo, and I am not a zoo-keeper. I'm relieved not to be responsible for the monster anymore. Now, I love libraries, do NOT get that bit wrong. But maintaining a law library is such a left-brained ordeal, and I am such a right-brained being. It's enough to make one's head fairly imp...

Unwitting breakfast for dinner at the Grey Owl (spelled with an 'e' because that's just the way to do it) over the weekend. I don't even have to try anymore, apparently. Has it truly come to this with me and breakfast? Are we really that inseparable? - peony loose-leaf tea. - americano, but only half the water as usual. - bacon bleu cheese quiche. - peach scone (the moistest perfect scone you ever knew). - one whole grapefruit. On the topic of food (it's a good topic; don't judge harshly), this weekend I discovered a newly-opened sushi bar that serves an oyster roll. I'll say it again: AN OYSTER ROLL. The count-down to the mind-blowing experience begins now. This joint even offers a low table where you can sist on floor cushions, true to Japanese tradition. Good form, Oklahoma. Three (count them) free crème brûlée s last night. Historic. It's nice to have friends who work in hotels, and even nicer when the friends are just fascinatin...

For each of (the four of) you reading, since you are likely free spirits and scouts and gypsy souls and hunters and purveyors, it only makes sense that you're looking. You're seeking out your next adventure, the journey you never expected, the breakfast of a lifetime. You are daydreaming of snowflakes landing and melting on the back of your neck. Of the rough hands of a weathered, steady sailor as he pulls you onto his lobstering boat. Of coffee that is truly deserving of the title "divine". You already know about the subway cars, the trolley lines, the Vespas for rent by the day...you know without knowing. You long for the scrapes and mosquito bites that linger fondly after a rainforest excursion. You pine for the smell of fresh earth under your nails and moss tangles in your hair. Biting wind. Wafting scent. Heated hotel blankets. Ears are aching for that foreign voice who belts at the opera house with painted sets and velvet chairs, or the one who croons in a ...