Found Objects

"Did you find anything special," Blackie asked.

T. nodded. "Come over here," he said, "and look."

-- Graham Greene, Shock!

Found pink rubber bracelet 11-30-14

"And isn't the whole point of things -- beautiful things -- 

that they connect you to some larger beauty?"

-- Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch

On the windowsill in my mudroom is a collection of random objects.

A purple plastic magnetic number "2." A small wiffle ball. A feather. The plastic trailer from either a toy train or a toy truck advertising Leikeim (a German brewery) "Limonaden" (lemon soda). A miniature bobble-headed toy cat.

I found each of these things on my walks. 

I often find interesting things on my walks, sometimes on bike rides. 

Lost things.

Discarded things.

Fallen objects.

Sometimes I pick these fallen objects up and put them in my pocket and bring them home. Yesterday was particularly bountiful. By the time I returned home, I had a pocketful, and a handful. It was like a treasure hunt.

In a four-mile trek around my town I'd found:

a deflated balloon bouquet
a rusty razor blade
a cheap silver bracelet
a broken rubber bracelet
a rock painted pink
a theater ticket
a pinwheel
a gold star
an Easter egg

Sometimes I photograph the objects. Some I photograph here at home. Others I leave where they are and return later to photograph them in situ.

Yesterday's collection got me thinking.

I've been on the fence about whether I want to do a 365 days project for 2015. Mostly because I've been waiting for an idea to strike, an idea compelling enough to get me excited about sustaining my streak for yet another year.

I think I found it.

I found it in the stuff I found. 

I was photographing this dirty, broken pink cancer awareness bracelet imprinted with the word "strength." It's just cheap rubber. A bit of trash. Found on a roadside. Nothing special. Broken. Useless. 

But the image of it struck me as somehow lovely. Beautifully tragic. Ironic and incongruous. Hopeful? Hopeless? All of the above. I look at it now and this simple, fallen object tells a story.

Artists make art from found objects all the time. (It's the best kind of recycling. It's also a helpful way to clean up the neighborhood.) So for next year, I think maybe that's what I'll do. 

Who knows? It might be a good idea.

Look out for fallen objects!

Good Traction

"The slippery slope was everywhere."

--Paul Russell, The Coming Storm

Boots and a banana peel in the snow 11-29-14

"I like the crunch sound of snow under my boots.

Better than stepping on knuckles."

-- Jarod Kintz, 

Seriously delirious, but not at all serious

"Life is slippery.

We all need a loving hand to hold onto."

-- H. Jackson Brown Jr., Life's Little Instruction Book

It's slippery season, when sidewalks and roads are more like skating rinks, and when walking and driving can get awfully treacherous.

There's a saying that I abide by that goes like this: "Never skimp on anything that goes between you and the ground." That means always buy good footwear, good tires, good furniture, and good mattresses.

Your body will thank you.

I've been walking a lot lately, and with the snow and ice it can get pretty dicey. That's why I have several pairs of boots with nice deep treads to keep me from sliding off the sidewalks, and with supportive uppers to protect my ankles from twisting and turning.

I went for a walk after dark last night, and my boots definitely saved my ass a couple of times.

I like to ride my bike in the winter sometimes too. But that can be really dangerous. That's why at this time of year I ditch my road bike with its skinny little tires and jump aboard Leo's mountain bike, with its fat, nubby, grippy ones.

If you enjoy walking in a winter wonderland (the activity, not the song), please tread carefully and do what you can in order to stay on your feet.

If you drive or ride in it, take care.

Check your tires. Make sure you have a good pair of boots. Hold onto someone's hand.

Shapely Buns

"When you build your buns ... to their maximum potential,

you won't think twice when someone calls you a hard ass."

-- Karen Sessions, 

"Buns and Thigh Exercises! Get a Firm and Shapely Booty," 

fitnessatlantic.com

Butt buns 11-28-14

"I don't think you ready for this jelly

I don't think you ready for this jelly

I don't think you ready for this

Cause my body too bootylicious for ya babe."

-- Destiny's Child, "Bootylicious"

Butt buns 11-28-14

Hey, I just call 'em like I see 'em.

I baked some dinner rolls for Thanksgiving yesterday.

I was going to make them into three-sectioned cloverleaf rolls. But the balls were too big to squeeze three into each cup of the muffin tin. So I could only manage to fit in two.

As a result, while they were rising, the rolls struck an uncanny resemblance to a dozen, shapely little bottoms mooning me.

They had smooth, squeezable little cheeks.

Butt bun 11-28-14

They had cracks.

Some even had tiny anuses.

We affectionately referred to them throughout dinner as the "butt buns."

And even though they weren't cloverleafs, the butt buns pulled apart beautifully at the cleft into two separate, smaller pieces of ass.

They were bootylicious, and steaming hot.

I'd have eaten more, butt they were full of glute-en.

Sam Is Home!

"You have my whole heart. You always did.

You're the best guy. You always were."

-- Cormac McCarthy, The Road

Queen and Jack of Hearts 11-27-14

"Catelyn wanted to run to him,
to kiss his sweet brow,

to wrap him in her arms so tightly
that he would never come to harm ..."

-- George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

My oldest son, Sam, is home for Thanksgiving. He got here yesterday.

He's a busy guy. He hasn't been home since returning to college in August, and I was really starting to miss him. 

We're having a very quiet, very small Thanksgiving Day at home. 

No travels. No company. No biggie.

It's what Sam requested. He has been working very hard at his grueling and relentless academic load and needs a chance to chill out and catch his breath before he goes back for the final stretch of the semester and exams.

So last night I cut his hair. He made a pumpkin pie. We went to a couple of stores for a couple of things. I bought him a tire gauge. We ordered pizza. We watched crappy television. Right now he's upstairs, sleeping in.

He's only here for a couple of days, but I'll take what I can get and try to give him what he needs and not bother him with what he doesn't. 

Having my whole little family home under one roof is what I'm most thankful for. My house is full, and so is my heart.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Sharing My Food

"We should look for someone to eat and drink with

before looking for something to eat and drink."

-- Epicurus

Squirrel with nut 11-26-14

"If you really want to make a friend,

go to someone's house and eat with him ...

the people who give you their food

give you their heart."

-- Cesar Chavez

You know what makes me sad?

It makes me sad that schools now have rules prohibiting students from sharing their food in the cafeteria at lunchtime.

I even read a story recently about a kid and a friend who were both served detention for swapping lunches. 

Say I wanted to trade you my Doritos for your Moon Pie. We'd both be fucked.

Or say you forgot your lunch and I gave you half of my sandwich. Again, both of us, fucked.

Maybe you don't have money to buy a school lunch, so I treat you to a tray of hamburger gravy. Both. Fucked.

School officials say the strict rules and penalties are only an effort to protect kids with serious food allergies from unwittingly ingesting something that could kill them. You know. Foods like shellfish or peanut butter.

The rules also protect the schools' asses from lawsuits.

The USDA says the rules help ensure kids will eat lunches that comply with the National School Lunch Program's nutritional protocol.

Well, I've been in my kids' school cafeteria at lunchtime. I've seen the school lunches up close. You know where I've seen them? Uneaten, in the trash can.

Maybe the USDAs tactic for fighting childhood obesity is to serve food so disgusting that even fat kids lose their appetites.

On the other hand, I also read an article about a study that revealed how sharing food actually makes us better, less selfish, more altruistic people.

I agree.

I did it yesterday.

My incredible friend Jill stopped here on her way from Chicago to Cleveland, so I baked her a delicious, bubbly cherry crisp for us all to share. Jill's vegan, so I got some vanilla Tofutti ice cream to make it a la mode. And when she left for the next leg of her journey, I gave her an extra dish of cherry crisp to take along for her breakfast.

Giving another person some of your food is extremely intimate gesture of love. It's not quite as intimate as sex. But nevertheless, it involves one person offering another person something to put inside their body. It's about filling an emptiness.

Sharing food is absolutely essential to human togetherness and relationships. 

It's primal.

Take away that elemental urge and you take one more step toward isolating people from one another. 

If we persist in punishing kindergartners for sharing their Gogurts and Teddy Grahams, we'll create a selfish, isolated, love-starved generation.

Aren't we already selfish, isolated and starving enough?

Anyway.

All of this is by way of saying, with the Thanksgiving season upon us, I believe sharing good food is a good thing.

Go ahead.

Make extra. 

Pass it around. 

The Art Of Good Taste

"Cooking is an art,

but you eat it too."

-- Marcella Hazan

Portrait (tomato paste on paper) 11-25-14

"You don't have to cook fancy or complicated masterpieces --

just good food from fresh ingredients."

-- Julia Child

"The preparation of good food is merely another expression of art,

one of the joys of civilized living."

-- Dione Lucas

A new specialty foods store opened here recently.

They specialize in Mediterranean ingredients imported directly from Greece, Spain and Italy. 

My little Italian nephew Marco loves olives, so I buy him several jars a year for Christmas and for his birthday. 

So yesterday, Mackenna and I braved the extreme winds to do a little Christmas shopping and to check out the new store and to to explore some new tastes and possibilities.

We came home with two large grocery bags stuffed to bursting with not only several varieties of delicious olives, but also sardines, and pastas, and rice, and pastries, and wine, and coffee, and pickles, and cheeses, and meats.

I was especially excited to find tomato paste in a tube. I fucking love tomato paste in a tube. It's genius. None of it goes to waste. You just dispense it like toothpaste, or oil paint, just a dab at a time. I bought some with basil in it.

When we got home I used much of our tasty bounty to prepare supper. 

I made thick, crusty sandwiches with salami, melted smoked provolone, and roasted wild goose (Yes, goose. Canada goose. Leo shot it on Saturday.)  

I made Orecchiette pasta -- small round pasta that looks like little ears. Mackenna picked it out. I tossed it in a sauce made of butter and olive oil infused with herbes de provence, along with some wine, lemon, fresh parmigiano reggiano and a few squirts of that basil-y tomato paste. 

I popped a bottle of a wine I've never tried, a Pinot Nero, from northern Italy. 

For dessert we bought a bakery box filled with a sampling of decadent cakes and cookies.

I live in an area driven primarily by amusement parks, water slides and tourism that caters to families with children and other people who like chain restaurants and familiarity, whose tastes are mainstream and boring and predictable. 

Around here, anything new or different or a little bit exotic -- anyplace that doesn't serve chicken nuggets or have a kids menu -- eventually atrophies and dies because people just want the same old shit.

Not me. This store is like a culinary wonderland. It's like an art supplies store for people who like to cook and eat and experiment and expand their palettes, er, palates. 

Palates?

Palettes?

I happen to believe that food is art, so let's just go with both. 

A Good Day For Hanging Christmas Lights

"In the right light, at the right time,

everything is extraordinary."

-- Aaron Rose

Bird nest with Christmas lights 11-24-14

"When we recall Christmas past, we usually find that the simplest things -- 

not the great occasions -- give off the greatest glow of happiness."

-- Bob Hope

We had a little warm-up over the weekend, so we grabbed the opportunity to get some stuff done, including hanging the outside Christmas lights.

I'd like to say that we had an unusually early burst of Christmas spirit and goodwill, but truthfully, our motivation was more self-preservation than anything.

Hanging Christmas lights in the freezing cold is a bitch.

You can't hang those pesky little fuckers with gloves or mittens on. You have to go at it bare-handed. So if you get a warm enough day close-ish enough to Christmas, do it then and save your fingers from frostbite.

Quite honestly, it was a good day to do it. So we did it.

I must admit, though, our little house looks pretty fucking adorable. And it felt good to feel good about decorating a little bit. For the past couple of years I haven't given a rat's ass about Christmas, period. As for Christmas decorations -- Fuggedaboutit. 

Of course, our strands of lights were all tangled and not lighting up right. So we decided to start fresh. We even strayed away from the typical tiny white twinkle lights and went retro.

I rode my bike over to our local ACE Hardware and bought two strings of lights that remind me of the big old glass-bulb kind from my childhood.

Except, unlike the flesh-blistering glass bulbs of yore, these lights are plastic and cool to the touch and won't burn anyone's fingers. They also won't burn down the house.

They look pretty cool too. Looking at them outside makes me feel happy inside.

Chickens In A Window

"Walking is the perfect way of moving if you want to see into the life of things.

It is the one way of freedom.

If you go to a place on anything but your own feet 

you are taken there too fast,

and miss a thousand delicate joys that were waiting for you by the wayside."

-- Elizabeth von Arnim,

The Adventures of Elizabeth Rugen

Ceramic chickens in a shop window 11-23-14

"It is good to collect things,

but it is better to go on walks."

-- Anatole France

Ceramic chickens in a shop window 11-23-14

"Many people nowadays live in a series of interiors ...

disconnected from each other. 

On foot everything stays connected, 

for while walking one occupies the spaces between those interiors ...

One lives in the whole world rather than in interiors built up against it."

-- Rebecca Solnit, 

Wanderlust: A History of Walking

I'm bored with exercising indoors, so yesterday I headed out for a long walk.

I saw our local fire department burning down a house for "firefighter training."

I saw hundreds of geese flying in the sky in honking, noisy Vs.

And I saw these chickens looking out from behind the glass of a closed-up shop's window.

If I hadn't taken the walk, I'd have missed seeing the firefighters.

I'd have missed seeing the geese.

And I'd have missed seeing the chickens.

It's a good thing I took a walk.

A Simple Life

"I only want to live in peace and plant potatoes and dream!"

-- Tove Jansson, 

Moomin: The Complete Tove Janson Comic Strip

A simple sleeping potato 11-22-14

"When all things spoke, the potato said,

'Set me warm, dig me warm, eat me warm. That's all I want."

-- Irish Proverb

"Life is amazingly good when it's simple 

and amazingly simple when it's good."

-- Terry Guillemets

Someone asked me the other day what I've been doing with myself.

She's a busy someone. An accomplished someone. An ambitious someone.

And her question that put me off balance, because part of me wanted to tick off an impressive list of accomplishments and achievements and adventures to show that I could match her ambitiousness.

But I didn't.

I don't have a list like that. Because I don't have a life like that.

But how do you tell someone you sometimes spend entire days photographing Barbies. And potatoes?

I went with the vague truth. It was a short list.

I cook. I exercise. I write a blog. I take pictures.

"Otherwise, not a whole lot," I said. "I'm living a pretty simple life these days."

And I swear a look of pure jealousy crossed her face.

"That can be good too," she said.

It can be very good.

My life right now is extremely and profoundly simple. The demands are small. The expectations are few. The bar is low.

And I like it that way.

I realize that I am really lucky to have the luxury of living simply. I also know that things won't always stay this simple. Complications will arise and disturb the surface.

But for now, for me, good and simple is simply good.

A Good Snug House

"We felt very nice and snug,

the more so since it was 

so chilly out of doors."

-- Herman Melville, Moby Dick

Monopoly house 11-21-14

"Some people talk of morality, and some of religion,

but give me a snug little property."

-- Maria Edgeworth

"Oh, a cottage! How charming.

A little cottage is always very snug."

-- Jane Austen,  Sense and Sensibility

"From my observation, the older you get,

the more you like the word cozy."

-- Holly Goldberg Sloan, Counting by 7s

Helpful People Who Are Super At Their Jobs

"It's easy to make a buck.

It's a lot tougher to make a difference."

-- Tom Brokaw

Superman and Batman action figures 11-20-15

"The world is moved along, 

not only by the mighty shoves of its heroes,

but also by the aggregate of tiny pushes

of each honest worker."

-- Helen Keller

I hate shopping.

I especially hate shopping during the holidays.

But I needed to buy a roasting pan to cook my Thanksgiving turkey in, so yesterday I girded my loins, grabbed the store circular and coupons, and headed to a local department store to get one.

I wandered around housewares for a while, but I couldn't find the roasting pan in the picture on the circular that was supposed to be on sale for half off. I was afraid I was going to have to ask for help.

Fuck.

One of the things about shopping that particularly stews my beef is that none of the "help" is actually helpful. Nine times out of ten, when I tell a store clerk that I can't find what I'm looking for, any number of things can happen:

1. They say it's not their department, so they can't really help me.
2. I ask who can help me, and they say that the one person who might possibly know something about it is at lunch.
3. After I've explained that I don't see the item on the shelf, they stare at the shelf where the item isn't, and confirm that the item is indeed not on the shelf.
4. They ask a manager who also stares at the shelf where the item isn't, and also confirms that the item is still not on the shelf.
5. I ask if there's any more of the item in stock. They mumble that what's out is usually all they have.
6. I ask when more might be coming in. They don't know. It could be Tuesday. It could be a couple of weeks.
7. I ask why the item is being promoted in the store circular if it's not in the store? They don't know.
8. I ask whether any other stores in the area might also carry the item. They don't know.

You get the picture.

Anyway, yesterday I didn't see the roasting pan in the picture on the circular on the shelf. So I asked a clerk.

Me: Do you have this roasting pan?

Her: I just unpacked a whole carton of them. They're right over here.

Me: Awesome.

Her: Here you go. Fresh from the carton.

Me: It doesn't get any fresher than that!

I asked if it was still on sale, so she scanned the bar code with her little gizmo. It came up quite a bit more expensive than it was supposed to be -- because it was the wrong roasting pan. It wasn't the roasting pan in the circular. It was a much bigger one, a much more expensive one, and definitely not an on-sale one.

Me: (Pointing to roasting pan in circular) Do you have this one?

Her: We did. They were right here. I just sold one earlier today.

I got a sinking feeling as I trailed behind her through housewares while she looked in all the same places I had already looked.

Shit, I thought. Here we go again.

Her: (Brightly and cheerfully) There should be more upstairs. I'll go check.

She scampered off and I browsed kitchen gadgets while I waited for her to return. It took her a good fifteen minutes, and I started to wonder if she was ever coming back. But she did come back, carrying a stack of roasting pans just like the half-off one in the picture on the circular.

As I slid one from the top of the stack, she even offered to carry it to the register for me. I said I could handle it.

Her: Can I help you find anything else?

Me:  Your manager, because they need to know you're doing a really good job doing your job.

My Not-So-Smart Phone

"Never trust anything that can think for itself

if you can't see where it keeps its brain."

-- J.K. Rowling

Tin can telephone 11-19-14

"The greatest task before civilization at present

is to make machines what they ought to be,

the slaves, instead of the masters of men."

-- Havelock Ellis

"Lo! Men have become the tools of their tools."

-- Henry David Thoreau

It may look dumb, but I like my shitty old cell phone.

It's a good phone. 

It works. It does what I need it to do.

It can't access the Internet. I can't watch a movie on it. It doesn't do Face Time or Snap Chat. It can't give me driving directions or tell me where the closest Starbucks is. It can't play music. It can't remind me to do stuff. It can't pay my bills. I can't play games on it. It doesn't have a touch screen and it takes super shitty pictures. It can't talk.

If I drop it in the tub (and I have), it still works. If I drop it on the floor (and I do, a lot), it still works. If I dropped it off a cliff it'd probably still work.

You want to know what else my dumb phone can do?

It can call people and it can text people.

That's what I got it for, and that's what I use it for.

I have a good computer. I have a 54-inch flat screen TV for movies. I have an excellent camera. I have a working GPS and an iPod. If I need to remember something, I write myself a note. If I want to play a game, I pull out Yahtzee! or a deck of cards and get some people together. If I want to talk to someone face-to-face, I do it for real.

Besides, everyone else seems to have a phone "smarter" than mine. Whenever I need the services of one, everyone else is always happy to oblige.

I like that I'm not like everyone else.

I like that my phone doesn't control every waking moment of every waking hour.

I like that my phone doesn't lead me around by the nose in a trance.

I like that I am not so transfixed by my phone screen that I am oblivious to all of the real life happening around me.

I like that I don't depend on my phone for really important stuff.

I like that I never talk to anyone named Siri, because I don't want to be in a fucking relationship with a fucking machine.

It really, really bothers me -- no, it really, really frightens me -- that we've given those little devices so much power and so much control and so much importance and so much attention.

Here's the thing, though. When my shitty old cell phone dies, I am afraid I won't have any other choice but to get a stupid smartphone.

It's pretty much the only option out there anymore, and I feel super manipulated and coerced and controlled and left without a choice.

Maybe I'm just turning into an old fuddy-duddy. But maybe it's a valid fear.

Carl Sagan, the famous astronomer/astrophysicist who was a shit-ton smarter than a cell phone said this:

"We've arranged a civilization in which most crucial elements 

profoundly depend on science and technology. 

We have also arranged things so that almost no one understands science and technology. 

This is a prescription for disaster. 

We might get away with it for a while, but sooner or later this combustible mixture 

of ignorance and power is going to blow up in our faces."

Being the only person without a Smartphone is like being the only sober person at a party where everyone else is sloppy drunk. They all think they're having a great time, but they all look pretty damn ridiculous, and you know you're going to be a whole lot better off once the party's over.

Good Recipes (And Cooks Who Share Them!)

"There is nothing like a good old recipe.

If it has lasted, then it is good."

-- Yotam Ottolenghi

My grandma's cookbook 11-18-14

"I hate the notion of a secret recipe.

Recipes are by nature derivative and meant to be shared --

that is how they improve, are changed, how new ideas are formed.

To stop a recipe in its tracks, to label it 'secret'

just seems mean."

-- Molly Wizenberg

I don't use recipes a lot. 

Recipes are rules, and, well.

Recipes 11-18-14

Anyway. When I cook, mostly I just wing it. I follow principles as a general guide, but after that I like to wander off the trail and explore the landscape on my own.

Unless I'm baking. 

Baking is an exact science. It involves chemical reactions and precise measurements and combinations of ingredients and heat and cold and time.

So when I bake, I definitely stick to the recipe.

I have a shelf loaded with cookbooks full of recipes and a shoe box stuffed with hundreds more. Some of them are hand-written from friends and family, others are printed from the Internet or taken from television chefs or ripped from magazines. 

You can tell easily which recipes are my favorites -- the trusty old reliable ones that I return to again and again -- because that's where the pages in the books stick together. They're the ones on the food-stained and spattered recipe cards. They're the ones copied onto sheets of notebook paper that's been handled and folded in half so many times that the paper is soft and delicate as tissue.

One of my favorites is a recipe for Madeleine cookies that a French chef jotted down on an order ticket and sent to me via our waiter.

Anyway, all of this is by way of saying I popped my pecan pie cherry yesterday.

I baked an absolutely perfect pecan pie using a recipe from a Food Network cook after watching her bake it on TV.

Pecan pie 11-18-14

Pie crust has always been a bugaboo for me. Because if the pastry isn't good, then the pie isn't good. I make fine, serviceable pie crust. But I've always wanted to be able to make a crust so tender and flaky and buttery that it makes your eyes roll back.

It finally happened. I made a perfect crust. 

That fucker was as tender, golden, flaky and buttery as shit.

And it wouldn't have happened if someone else wasn't generous enough to share her time-tested recipe.

A tender flaky crust! 

True confessions, though.

I didn't follow the recipe exactly. 

It called for a cup and a half of cold shortening, and I'd only chilled a cup. So I added a stick of cold butter instead, and it worked beautifully. And I'd venture to say my tweak made the recipe even better, because it made it buttery.

Thanksgiving is around the corner. And Thanksgiving is a time for giving thanks, sure, but it's also a good time to do some plain old giving.

Good recipes will be trotted out and prepared on dinner tables across the country. If someone asks you for your recipe, don't be a Selfish McStingy Pants. Cough it up. Share it. Write it down for whoever it is. Let them know where you got it from. 

Good recipes have history. And that's part of the appeal -- knowing the path a recipe has traveled, whose hands and kitchens it has passed through. I love using a recipe that someone else gave me, especially if it's in their own handwriting. It's like looking at an old photograph. It's nostalgic and special. It makes me think of that person and evokes memories of a time and a place and the food we shared, and that feels good.

It tastes good too.

**(For the pecan pie recipe I used, click here.)**

Browns Fans

"The Cleveland Browns are ennobled by their fans.

Their fans are the only reason they matter."

-- Will Leitsch,
"The Fans They Don't Deserve," sportsonearth.com

Polymer clay Cleveland Browns fan 11-17-14

"Their devotion in a very one-sided relationship is undeniable."

-- Cliff Pinckard, cleveland.com

"Cleveland Browns Fans Best in the NFL?"

We all bundled up and drove to Cleveland for the Browns vs. Texans game yesterday.

Our section was right next to the Dawg Pound -- the bleacher section at the stadium's east end where the most zealous of the zealous Browns fans congregate.

You may be able to beat Cleveland's team. But nobody can beat Cleveland's fans.

They're passionate and colorful and foul-mouthed and desperate and loyal and ridiculous and often disappointed.

The Browns lost.

The fans gave them shit for it.

Good times.

The Courage To Keep Trying

"We shall play every game to the hilt

with every ounce of fiber

we have in our bodies."

-- Vince Lombardi

Statue 11-16-14

"Defeat is not the worst of failures.

Not to have tried is the true failure."

-- George E. Woodberry

"A bruise is a lesson ...

and each lesson makes us better."

-- George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

Leo's football season ended last night.

He and his teammates watched the thing they've fought for all season go home on the other team's bus.

I won't pester Leo with platitudes and cliches about how it's okay to lose and that winning isn't everything, and blah de blah de blah.

Life will teach him that, so I don't have to.

My job is to simply let him feel his feelings, honor them as such, and give him the time and space he needs to deal with them.

He'll pick up the pieces and spit out courage.

That's what winners do.

Clementines

"Orange strengthens your emotional body,

encouraging a general feeling of joy, well-being and cheerfulness."

-- Tae Yun Kim, 

The First Element: Secrets to Maximizing Your Energy

Clementine sections 11-15-14

"Oh my Darling, Oh my Darling,

Oh my Darling Clementine.

You are lost and gone forever,

Dreadful sorry, Clementine."

-- "Oh My Darling Clementine,"

American folk ballad 

Clementine 11-15-14

I just adore these little fuckers.

Clementines have a taste that's like no other citrus fruit -- indescribably delicious, so I won't even attempt to describe it.

But clementines aren't just good. They're also really good for you.

With all that deliciousness bursting inside of them, it's hard to believe there's room left inside a clementine for all the nutritional benefits. But Mother Nature found a way to cram 'em all in there somehow. 

Did you know that one little clementine only has about 35 calories, but is literally bursting with vitamin C, calcium and potassium? Plus, they have a whole gram and half of fiber, and only 8 little grams of carbs.

One teensy weensy clementine is a perfect snack. But two or three is even more perfect-er. 

I put  them in Leo's lunchbox every day in a one-woman effort to boost my child's resistance against colds and other viruses that lurk in the petri-dish called school.

They're like tiny orange health bombs.

So eat up.

We go through 'em by the crate-load this time of year.

What time of year, you ask?

Why, clemen-time, of course!

Snowflakes That Stay On My Nose & Eyelashes

"... the wet brush of snowflakes

was like your kisses everywhere ..."

-- John Geddes, A Familiar Rain

Geraniums 11-14-14

"... the endless repetition of an ordinary miracle."

-- Orhan Pamuk, Snow

Dogwood tree, statue & flowerpot 11-14-14

It snowed here yesterday.

Like, for real snowed.

My flowers are still in the ground, there are still apples on my trees, and there are multitudes of leaves yet to fall, but winter went ahead and got a little uppity.

It was one of those incongruent convergences, where one season is still seemingly settled comfortably in place, but another elbows its way through the front door, then stands impatiently in the foyer, tapping its foot and checking its watch and clearing its throat.

It wasn't just a passing flurry either.

It was big, fat snow that swirled and whirled and whited out everything for a good while.

You know. Snow globe snow.

Even though I'm not remotely ready for it to happen yet, our little snow storm was undeniably lovely.

And I figured, if you can't beat it, join it.

So I put off making supper for a little while and ventured out to take some pictures.

Maple tree 11-14-14

No shit, the snowflakes actually did stay on my nose and eyelashes.

By the time I came back inside, my hair, my coat and my camera were all pretty well covered.

Some of it stuck around overnight and is still frosting the ground and the rooftops this morning -- not quite a blanket of snow, but more like a crisp, white shirt.

Cosmos 11-14-14

"Are ye the ghosts of fallen leaves,

O flakes of snow,

For which, through naked trees, the winds

A-mourning go?

Or are ye angels, bearing home

The host unseen

Of truant spirits, to be clad

Again in green?"

-- John B. Tabb,
"Phantoms" (1894)

Leaf on branch 11-14-14

Exercising Caution

"As with many things,

hesitation is better than hurry."

-- Patrick Rothfuss, The Wise Man's Fear

Traffic light 11-13-14

"Strange, what being forced to slow down 

could do to a person."

-- Nicholas Sparks, The Last Song

"Don't ever take a fence down 

until you know why it was put up."

-- Robert Frost

Yesterday I got the green light from my eye surgeon to start exercising again.

Well, it was more like a yellow light.

Because I have to proceed very cautiously and very carefully.

He said I could "resume normal activity," but when it comes to exercise, for me "normal" can be anything but.

So I pinned him down so I'd know exactly what I should -- and more importantly shouldn't -- do exercise-wise, so that I don't interfere with my eyes healing right, and looking right.

I've been a good patient so far, staying well within the strict post-op boundaries. My doctor said I am progressing nicely and on schedule and that I've been doing everything just right.

So far.

And I sure as hell don't wanna fuck it up now.

Every safe driver knows that if you hit the gas after the light turns yellow, you're much more likely to get wrecked. So for now, when I exercise, I shall exercise caution.

Usually my insane workout mantra goes something like "bigger, better, faster, more."

But for now, I need to readjust my approach to something more like, "slower, gentler, little by little, stop if necessary."

I can live with that.

Because too much of a good thing isn't always a good thing.

Passing Time

"For I have known them all already, known them all:

have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,

I have measured out my life with coffee spoons ..."

-- T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

Hourglass 11-12-14

"Weeks passed, but my Word-A-Day Calendar

was stuck on 'motherfucker.'"

-- Colson Whitehead, 

The Noble Hustle: Poker, Beef Jerky, and Death

"... and behind them all, the quiet, deadly ticking of a thousand hungry clocks,

the lonely sound of time passing in the long Caribbean night."

-- Hunter S. Thompson, The Rum Diary

Being grounded, with strict limitations on what I can and can't do, and spending most of my time with ice packs covering my still sore, bruised and swollen eyes, means that my primary activity right now is simply passing time.

I'm growing quite content with listening to the sounds of silence. Sometimes I listen to cooking shows. They pretty much describe every step of every recipe, so I can picture it in my mind.

When I get up to change my ice packs every now and then I try to accomplish some little bit of something like, say, chop the vegetables for supper, or take a bath, or shoot some photos for my blog. 

If I do too much, my eyes start hurting. So I have to work quickly and then get back on the couch under the cold comfort of my icy blindfold.

They say "time heals."

And I am still healing. 

Which, therefore, requires time.

Fighting it won't do me a bit of good.

So it's a good thing I've got plenty.

Tick, tock.

Goosed At Twilight In The Not So Wild-erness

"But when I am alone in the half light of the canyon,

all existence seems to fade to a being with my soul and memories."

-- Robert Redford, A River Runs Through It

Twilight sky 11-11-14

"At length he reached a place where the high, arching boughs made a chapel.

He softly pushed the green doors aside and entered ...

There was a religious half light."

-- Stephen Crane, The Red Badge of Courage

Field trip!

I got out of the house for a little while yesterday.

Leo's girlfriend, Mackenna, and I drove to the lovely little town of Vermilion to buy some olive oil. She needed some for a gift. I needed some for my rosemary focaccia. And there's a little shop there that sells nothing but olive oils and balsamic vinegars.

I had Mackenna drive, because I'm still not super-steady after my surgery and I feel like my brain is working at about half speed. So I told her I'd buy her a tank of gas if she'd chauffeur me there and back in her little yellow Jeep.

Going to that store was a good thing for sure. They have rows and rows of silver urns full of infused oils and vinegars, with little plastic communion cups for tasting. We tasted them all, and bought several.

Mackenna got what she needed, and so did I. And then we drove home.

The drive to Vermilion and back on Route 6 runs along the coast of Lake Erie. At this time of year, the scenery is pretty much natural beauty on the left, grandeur on the right.

But yesterday, it was the sky that stole the show.

Mackenna is a girl after my own heart, because she goes all gaga for a pretty sky too.

Her: "The sky has been so amazing today."

Me: "Yep."

Her: "On my way to school this morning I wanted to stop and take a picture of it. But I didn't want to just stop on the side of the road. It never looks the same in pictures anyway."

She's was right. But I decided it was worth a shot.

Twilight in the Wilderness (Frederic Edwin Church)

Because by the time we got back home, the sun was tucking in for the night, sinking slowly below the horizon, sending its soft glow onto the clouds' undersides, spreading its melty palette of pinks and oranges and blues and golds gloriously across the twilight sky.

It looked a little like my favorite Frederic Edwin Church painting, "Twilight in the Wilderness," minus the pine trees and mountains and canyon and river.

But that's OK. Because I got goosed!

I was snapping pictures from the sidewalk when we heard the honking. And as if on cue, a big "V" of Canada geese flew overhead -- close enough to hear the whoosh of air on their wings -- and then swept into the scene spread out before us.

Pretty fucking glorious.

No, we weren't in the wilderness. But it was definitely twilight. And the wilderness did fly over for just a moment.

And that was good enough.