everything is soft and sweet

Three indelible images of Oregon's strange winter beauty.

Sunday night a few weeks ago, I walked through the sodden backyard to the alley, arms weighed down with two bags full of recyclables. We tend to take care of trash-night chores late, and it was a misty, quiet night lit with the eerie purple glow of city lights smothered in low clouds-- the kind of light that, to me, is a visual representation of saying the word "hush."

It's already a bit magical to have an alley behind the house. They're rare in this young-built city, a little dangerous and ragged, a semi-hidden no man's land. The alleys of my neighborhood are byways for local dog-walkers, feral cats, and homeless people trolling for redeemable cans. I imagine their unpaved potholed lengths and unkempt verdant thorny borders to be the modern equivalent of myth's shifting paths to faeryland.

At any rate, the view down our alley often mesmerizes me, but this evening went above. Bent over the bright yellow rain-slicked recycle bins, a sense of blooming movement made me raise my head. In the eerie purple sky-glow, great cottony cumulonimbus issued from just beyond the end of the alley. The birthplace of clouds, I thought, in awe. Then came the soft hoot of the special steam engine train, whose gentle lowing we had heard all evening from within the house. It's a much warmer sound than the other trains, and between that comforting sound, the hush of low-ceiling clouds, and the issuance of great clouds so nearby... I was reluctant to turn inside, despite the steady rain. Indeed, when I returned ten minutes later with the trash bag, no trace remained of the steam train.

***

My first day back at work after my illness, I was still a bit in that far-off headspace. I parked my car and walked through the parking lot. At the edge of the lot, the wind picked up for a moment, and the sound of winter surf poured through the bare tops of the stand of birch trees there. I stood stopped still, and gaped. The sound, the movement, the sway of waves. It was so beautiful in the barren grey of winter that I knew I would remember the moment for a long time to come.

***

Driving up the west hills on the day after xmas, on the way to work. Suddenly visible through the mist, the top spread branches of tall fir trees are dusted with snow. On up the hill, this snow cover creeps lower and lower down the trees, so that in effect there is a horizon of white, an altitude line past which everything is shouldered in white. A literal snow line.

Long winter holiday weekend

It has been such a relaxing weekend, despite social obligations. Friday night we went to Vault for a coworker-friend's birthday. We left after about two hours, using my recent stomach flu as an excuse. We walked to the video store and stopped on the way back for tea at Palio. Through miscommunication it was served in mugs, so we stayed and read the weekly papers while sipping tea. It was so relaxing and quite an enjoyable change of pace.

Saturday morning I went for breakfast with my brother, prepped the bathroom ceiling for painting, and tried to do all of the grocery shopping for xmas cooking. That night was a holiday party at a running buddy's house, at which we also stayed for two hours. We barely left the house on Sunday. Instead we stayed home, took care of chores, and ended up drinking tea and hanging out in the kitchen nook listening to jazz for a few hours. I read Veganomicon and Erik played WoW on the laptop, while Kenard lapped up affection. We dinner with Erik's parents at Lauro, now that they have a bit more time to themselves.

Monday I went out to buy sequins, and candy for gingerbread house-making. Fred Meyer was so parked up that I went all the way out to Target-- where no regular-sized candycanes were to be had. I also painted the bathroom ceiling (second coat) and made a pumpkin (not technically a pumpkin, but a winter squash, okay?) cheezcake with grahamcracker crust for xmas dessert. Erik and I went for a run, and I think we watched a movie or two. Maybe that was Sunday. It starts to blur together, doesn't it?

Tuesday we went over to Erik's brother's newly completed house for gift-opening at 9am. Our 4 year-old nephew had awoken at 4am to open all presents featuring his first initial on the gift tag, and when one of them had a note from Santa he woke up his visiting maternal grandmother to read it for him. Consequently, his mother had to wrap a number of gifts back up. Despite threats that he wouldn't have anything to open, however, there were tons of presents. I think everyone was pleasantly surprised. I really enjoyed seeing my one-year-old nephew hug the stuffed animal I bought for him at Crafty Wonderland.

Back home, of course, I finished making No Knead Bread (with oregano, lemon thyme and rosemary from the garden), roasted green beans with garlic and lemon zest, and a kindof sortof attempt at seitan wellington. Whatever it was, it turned out awesome. Onions, leeks, Italian tofurky, seitan, all sauteed in my biggest pot, with red wine to deglaze, soy sauce, parsley and herbs from the garden, and my spice trinity of coriander, cumin and powdered mustard, all wrapped up in puff pastry. Leave it to puff pastry to make everything _that_ much better.

Aspen came with us for dinner at Erik's brother's house, and then we went home to decide on gingerbread house plans, cut out and bake the pieces, and assemble the main frame. We got two sides candied up before tuckering out around 11pm, all bah-humbugged by thoughts of work the next day. I have to say, it was one of the most enjoyable winter holidays I've experienced, and I even have something to show for it.

belly of the beast

Ugh. I was up at 2am, tossing and turning until I finally got up half an hour later, took a bath, started to fall asleep on the couch, and then ran to the bathroom to puke my guts out. I eventually went back to bed, only to awake at 6am for more of the same. Luckily the second time there was nothing recognizable.

So I stayed home from work, and I've been resting on the couch all day, barely able to read. Is anything more miserable than having an entire bed-ridden day during which you can't really read?

I had an acupuncture appointment at 5pm, which I thought might help, especially since I hadn't had any incidents since the morning. I showed up, waited for my Chinese medicine specialist, Lisa, and when we sat down upstairs in her bright, cozy room, I started to sweat and feel uncomfortable. "Are you okay?" she asked, and I said, "I think I'd better go to the bathroom." There go the popsicles I had managed to keep down all afternoon.

I suspect this is a stomach flu from babysitting my nephews on Saturday night. The younger one was puking all night Friday, and his mother was reluctant to leave him into our babysitting care. The older one, who Erik put to bed, puked in his bed just after we left at 11:30pm that night.

My other suspicion is food poisoning-- Julie, Brian, Andres, Erik and I ate at Mama Mia last night, with a stop afterwards at Voodoo Donuts. My suggestion, of course. And I did eat too much.

Being such an over-committer of plans, being out today really threw a wrench into my week. I don't have any time off yet accrued at work, so I'll have to work an extra day next week while everyone is off. Assuming I am well tomorrow, I'll have to go in to the office for two hours in the morning before heading back to our holiday party, which is on a sternwheeler that boards right by my house. It's funny that for someone who doesn't like to plan-- particularly travel-- I have so many little intricate tasks and events that take a tumble as soon as one thing goes wrong.

In Thailand, I grew grateful for opportunities to exercise my patience. I wish that worked better here.

a preference

When a turn of phrase strikes an affectionate ear, where does that accord come from? What makes one tongue welcome pickled okra, and another abhor the same? Does the sound of one note strike the same conjunction against all eardrums?

Wherein lies affinity?

Is it chemical, or related to the rub of molecules as they move on their way? Do bacteria living on-site at the point of our senses filter experience for us? Is it animal, vegetable or mineral? Could a vaccine to make George Bush taste broccoli as it tastes to me be a future cure for obesity?

I want to know how and why preferences are formed.

Our Lady of the Starry Heaven

Another one kicked out the door, and in a way I'm disappointed with myself. It is the job of the storyteller to related a chain of events, to weave together ends, and to coax an amasses value from the details of lesser things.

The last two weeks have been a restless stream of small currents flowing fast right through my hands. Happy hours, birthday celebrations, a new job. Deadlines, overcommitments, races to show up on time.

So it goes.

Saturday night I made pho, went rollerskating, then to the new Green Dragon pub whose appearance is supposed to herald a new destination neighborhood: Libation Alley. Despite slate tabletops and half a dozen colors of chalk, it wasn't great. My fries never came, and there was a snippy parenthetical statement on the menu that one should by no means ask for ketchup to go with them. This, behind a misspelled aioli.

Monday night I was so exhausted from all-day orientation at work that I went home, went for a short run with Erik, made dinner, and passed out on the couch around 9pm. I think that's the earliest I have fallen asleep for years, since being very sick.

Tuesday, in the late afternoon, I plucked up the courage to use the shiny, shiny gym here at work, for the first time. It was mostly empty, quite luxurious, and the weight machines were mostly mysterious to me. Although I do have a fair amount of gym experience, nothing is as daunting as meeting a new machine like the "rotary lat" and not knowing how to adjust it for one's frame. Especially if you're smaller than the average bulky male weight-lifter.

I should go into more detail about later in the day, when Donna took me out to Siam Society for dinner and afterwards, when we ran into the girl with "So it goes" tattooed thrice around her wrist... I should, but I don't realistically have the time to delve into the layers. With Donna, there are always interesting layers and coincidences and facets lending sparkle. All of these things have been happening so fast and thick in the past few weeks; perhaps that's part of the overwhelmed feeling in which I'm immersed. At any rate, it's thought-food for later nourishment.

Wednesday. Oy. I forgot to pick up my brother at the airport. Only I didn't realize it until I was driving to work the next morning. Although I am almost always over-committed, it's rare for me to forget something that important. It's falling apart before there's time for me to rest.

untitled, unfinished

I still don't feel like writing, but there's only so much time one can go without using a limb or flexing a muscle, before the whole thing atrophies and falls off.

Today was my first day as a real, full-time employee at the place where I've worked for the past year and a quarter. The entire day was spent with other new-hires, filling out paperwork, hearing about benefits and resources, and meeting people. There were so many forms, packets, presentations and names