Taking on Teotihuacan


Tenochtitlan 07

We had a gradual beginning to our next outing, and were glad to meet our driver in late afternoon for a night outing. What would have been a forty minute drive outside of the city was at least an hour, due to the usual snarl of traffic, but we eventually saw a massive pyramid thrusting up against house-laden hills. As we got closer, we could see that there were people on top… which our driver said was all very well, except that myriad people climb the hundreds of stairs each year to the pyramid tops… and then get sick and dizzy, and fall. He advised us, if we had any altitude sickness, to stay on the ground, and we didn’t need to be told twice.

Tenochtitlan 09

Before we got to the pyramid, we stopped at a tiny workshop where a man in a respirator mask was carving obsidian. We were met by a guide who explained how maguey – or agave – was central to the life of the pre-Mayan people; from using the thorns on the tips of the plant as needles, to using its fibers for thread, to using its peeled skin as soap. We were especially intrigued by the fact that this village weaves maguey fiber and cotton to make gorgeous tablecloths, etc. It apparently can be washed and dyed just like cotton.

Tenochtitlan 15

The guide introduced us to pulque, the fermented sap of the agave, and as we looked into the middle of the plant, indeed we saw a stretchy sap with little bugs in it… Mesoamericans drank pulque as part of sacred ceremonies. It looks like milk, and they mixed some with coconut milk for us, to help it be less slimy and yeast-flavored. Still not something we wanted, so we politely wet our lips and left it.

Tenochtitlan 31

You’d think that, being in Mexico, we’d have chips and salsa every day… and you’d be wrong, because that’s Mexican American food. You (omnivores) can get a taco anywhere, but definitely burritos are nonexistent, and beans aren’t as prevalent as meat and vegetables. So, we were excited to see a molcajete bowl on the menu for supper. A molcajete is the lovely volcanic rock bowl in which one makes guacamole. So, we were serenaded – loudly! – and enjoyed our first guacamole in a week. It was one of the best meals we’ve had here, and there have been some great meals.

And finally – after waiting about twenty minutes for it to be dark enough, we went to the night tour of the Teotihuacan pyramids.

Tenochtitlan 36

We imagine it must have been pretty dire to be on your way up one of the pyramids as an unwilling sacrifice… first, the stairs are so steep that T thought seriously about crawling down them backwards. Next, Teotihuacan is still an active archaeological site — so there are piles of rubble off to the side, and though there’s a path that has been there since 100 BC approximately, it’s not exactly smooth, and a moonless night means that you may stub your toe and trip. The guides – and the guards – all carry flashlights or wear them, but it’s still deliciously dark and slightly spooky – or at least it clearly was to some people. We found ourselves smiling a great deal.

Tenochtitlan 38

We walked a long way – all the way up the Avenida de los Muertos – Avenue of the Dead to La Pyramid of the Moon and then came back to the Plaza del Sol to sit – fortunately with cushions – on these high stairs in front of the Pyramid of the Sun. It’s dark, and you’re sitting with strangers in the cool darkness, huddling together… and then the light show, projected onto the pyramid, begins. It was the history of the 125,000 person city that in 300 BC was the center of civilization in Mesoamerican times. It was… dramatic and cheesy, in spots, and we rolled our eyes over the mystic blether. But it was still just amazing – and amazing to be there. This valley is very hot during the day, and there are no trees – at all – and just these rocks and and pyramids on the plains. We chose the night tour for just that reason, and it was really magical.

-D & T

Cuernavaca and Taxco

Cuernavaca 05

One of the temptations of any traveler, aside from overindulging in the name of “But, we’re on vacation!” is to assume one knows a people or a culture because one has spent time in a country before. Both D and T have been to Mexico repeatedly, but… can honestly say that they still don’t really know it.

For D, the reasons have involved being at a remove from most people. Staying in hotels with mainly Europeans and Americans, the traveler rarely goes outside of their comfort zone; staying at a university, one only interacts with students and faculty. For T, one of the reasons is that previous trips have involved a mission focus. Being taken to a country solely to “help” its inhabitants can have a limiting and narrowing effect on one’s view of that people. The things one is told, in an earnest effort to be helpful, can come from a racist and classist place, she is realizing. This remains a real problem with the cultural leaching that religion as an institution can do; in an effort to instill a particular set of values, it’s all too easy to erase everything in one’s path… but to get on with the day:

Yesterday was mucho cathedrals, which isn’t difficult when touring small villages established by taken over by the Franciscans. It was about a two hour drive out of the city into increasingly pastoral areas – we saw all the roosters and burros and horses and fields our little hearts desired (also: hand-cleared roadsides, with guys swinging actual sickles, and hand-stacked hay!). It was a relief to get out of the chaotic traffic and enjoy the relatively clear highways, made so by the holiday and people being elsewhere. The roads – toll roads, constructed by the government (and, apparently, with much in the way of scandal, kickbacks, bribes, etc.) – were in very good repair for being so far from the capitol.

Cuernavaca 01

Cuernavaca 32

We visited Cuernavaca, the capital of the state of Morelos, which is just a couple hours inland and south of Mexico City. The lower elevation allowed us to leisurely explore the tiny village and its beautiful walled monastery, with well kept grounds and gardens, and an outdoor chapel where today kids still learn their catechism. This church has been in continuous use since its inception in the 1500’s, which is kind of astounding.

We visted a faux silver mine in the state of Guerrero, in the village of Taxco, to the Southwest of Mexico City. It was a wild drive up into the mountains, and the village is embedded into the mountainside all the way to its very tip-top. We climbed many hills but still didn’t get anywhere near all the way up there. There are about four thousand Volkswagen Beetles used to get around the steeply mountainous, narrow roads, which were originally made for travel by burro. There was an overwhelming amount of silver goods for sale, and we were grateful that we hadn’t gone into a real silver mine – they’re still in use, it’s dirty and dangerous, and it was SO unexpectedly warm. We brought jackets and hats, and finally abandoned them in the van. We might have wished for shorts and sandals, but the cobblestone road made for chancy footing, and amusingly, this was “mild” weather to everyone else. 80°F is “mild.” Well, all righty, then.

Taxco 08

Despite the piñatas hanging from every doorway and the cheery bunting hanging above the street, it was easy to forget in Cuernavaca that it was anywhere near Christmas, but the carols being blared from the loudspeaker in the center of town in Taxco definitely helped us remember… there’s nothing like hearing Burl Ives soaring over the imploring of small children trying to sell you chiclet, women and men hawking hats, Aztec calendar plates, placemats, huaraches, hammocks, jewelry and more. Oy.

We had lunch included in our jaunt and went to a family restaurant which had the requisite murals all around. We ran out of time to do the wall murals any justice – the historical one began with Adam and Eve (and a very bizarre serpent which had a human head and torso and body as tail), moved directly to the Aztecs, the Conquistadors held pride of place on the next wall, and then Mexico’s independence wars. The ceiling murals… were a bit more whimsical, depicting angels bringing food. Topless angels, for some reason. You cannot make this stuff up.

Taxco 47

D had a nice time chatting with our fellow tourists, a family from Costa Rica who told us we ought to come and visit their country next time. They tried out their English on T, and she …smiled a lot. It was amusing that the most attention paid to her on this trip so far was in the silver shops, as people assume the woman is the main buyer for all jewelry. Earnest gentlemen following her and actually speaking English to her was unnerving… but for the most part, she only has to say the odd “Que tal?” or “Buen dia” to get by – even though she can eavesdrop on conversations and pick up quite a bit more than she can speak. D, meanwhile, had a long conversation with the tour guide on linguistics, while T got treated to his bad “Spanglish” joke, told in a broad American Midwestern accent: My wife’s name is Conchita, we live in a casita…” ::sigh::

Taxco 72 Taxco 71

It was a long day, with variable temperatures and a long drive home through burning sugarcane fields, only to be stopped by horrendous traffic getting back into the city. We didn’t get to the hotel until nearly 8, well after our promised return, but we survived, and since we’re two hours ahead here, weren’t even too starved fro dinner quite yet. Today’s adventures promise to have shorter times on the freeway – and we’re looking forward to the Mayans, Aztecs and all the mystical junk some tour guide is going to tell us about the pyramids. We have a special tour with an archaeologist to offset the nonsense, which will be helpful. ☺

-D & T

P.S. If you want to get an idea what it’s like to look through one of these cathedrals, have a look at this 360° photo sphere.

A Change of Latitude


Mexico City 008

Two weeks ago, we hadn’t any real intention of dashing off on an actual vacation… but it seems like a good time to go, as D’s contract in Vacaville is 98% over, and new directions seem to be pointing north… so this will be our last change to go South for a while.

While Mexico City is only four hours away by air, it is a world away in culture. A lively city with a chaotic traffic experience of humans-vs-cars, it provides a colorful backdrop to an immense artistic sensibility. Whether the decorations are murals or spray painted greetings, tiles or wrought iron, there’s never a dull or boring spot on which to rest the eye. A big city isn’t exactly a restful spot for a vacation, but D has wanted T to experience the trip, as he spent a few days in the city when he was a tween, and remembered its frenetic pace and unique sights.

Mexico City 023
Mexico City 022

Today’s fun discovery was an old vegetarian restaurant called Yug which opened in 1965. Delicious and cheap, and you can order anything on the menu, even “carnitas,” which contain no actual carne. Another new thing we learned about Ciudad de Mexico? It’s at a higher altitude than the Bay Area. Predictably, T. is having bouts of nausea, and we’re taking it slooooowly as we’re a bit headachey and out of breath, but fortunately nobody minds the slow walkers here.

We have tours booked for the next 4 days, visiting Cuernavaca, Taxco, Teotihuacan (for an evening light show), Chapultepec (for a before-opening tour), the National Muesum of Anthropology, Coyoacán, the Frida Kahlo Museum, Xochimilco (by boat!), and the National University. All that, in the next 4 days. After that we’ll have to see how we feel, and maybe consider whether we want to do more touristy things or to do some shorter things on our own.

-D & T

Mexico City 021

Eating the Resistance: Poland

Cabbage Rolls 1.03

After Warsaw fell in 1942, it seemed that Poland was pretty much done for. They decided otherwise.

We all know what the word “resistance” means, but Merriam-Webster’s secondary definition is also pretty much apropos. It is, “the capacity of a species or strain of microorganism to survive exposure to a toxic agent (as a drug) formerly effective against it.” We are the microorganisms – small and previously disorganized – who will survive the present toxicity. Poland’s resistance was successful because it involved virtually every member of society – men, women, children, from professionals to laborers and religious people. And, though it was shut away behind the Iron Curtain for fifty years, Poland’s resistant spirit reignited in the days of Solidarity under the leadership of Lech Wałęsa.

Obviously, we need to eat some Polish food to fuel ourselves for the winter ahead.

Cabbage Rolls 1.17

In another example of America’s melting-pot culinary tradition, many people from the South grew up eating cabbage rolls. T’s mother sometimes fixed them when she was growing up, but not frequently. Cabbage rolls are a lot of work, as we discovered. The nice thing about this recipe is that though some people add a couple of eggs to the filling, those can be left out with no terrible consequence. Ground chuck and pork is the original meat for the recipe, but it’s easy enough for the veg/ans to substitute a meat-analog in crumbled form, like Tofurky sausage and Quorn or Morning Star’s Griller crumbles. Avoiding all carbs? Leave out the rice and add chopped tomatoes. This is flexible comfort food, and can be as healthy as you like. Cabbage rolls are pretty much a meal within themselves, though a traditional side is noodles in mushroom gravy, or boiled potatoes. We ate them with baked cauliflower, because some days one must double-down on the veg. Some Polish Americans eat cabbage rolls browned in butter, with a bit of sour cream, but they’re also perfectly reasonable as is.

American Variation on Gołąbki

  • 2 tablespoons butter or oil
  • medium onion, diced
  • ¼ c. chopped parsley
  • 2 garlic cloves, smooshed and diced
  • 2 chopped mushrooms, optional *we used dry porcini*
  • 2 tablespoons tomato paste
  • 1 pound ground chuck + 1 pound ground pork OR 2 c. veggie crumbles
  • 2 eggs, lightly beaten – OPTIONAL
  • 1½ cups white rice
  • ½ tbsp. salt
  • ½ tbsp. paprika
  • ¼ teaspoon black pepper
Cabbage Rolls 1.04

Choose a solid, good-sized green cabbage and core…
Cabbage Rolls 1.08

Add a 1″ slit to the bottom of the cabbage leaf …
Cabbage Rolls 1.11

Don’t forget parsley; shredded carrot or tomatoes.
Cabbage Rolls 1.14

…and now it all gets just a bit messy!


Cabbage Prep: With your newly whetted knife, with which your husband obviously intends to gut a cow, carefully core your cabbage from the bottom. Fill a large pot of water half-way and when it comes to a boil, put in your entire head of cabbage and let it boil. After about ten minutes, we fished out our cabbage head, leaving the water hot in case the core wasn’t quite soft enough, and gently begin to peel apart the leaves when it was slightly cooled. We made a pile of “reasonable to use” and “others” and set them aside. Some people prep the cabbage leaves by thinning the thick spine with a paring knife, and making a slit along it to make rolling easier. Be careful that the slit is only an inch long; cabbage leaves can be delicate.

Rice Prep: While the cabbage is boiling, prepare rice according to package instructions, BUT, only boil for ten minutes. Drain, rinse in cold water, and set aside.

Brown Veggies: In your butter or oil, brown the chopped onion for about three minutes. Add mushrooms and garlic and turn off the heat, continuing to stir so it doesn’t burn. Stir in paprika and black pepper.

Preheat oven to 350°F

Roll ’em: In a mixing bowl, combine rice, meat, parsley, and your onion and spices mixture. Don’t forget your salt. This stage is a lot like making meat loaf, and most people advise you to use your hands. Using an ice cream scoop, scoop about a quarter cup of filling per cabbage leaf, cross the little triangles formed by the slit toward the stem end, fold over the sides, and roll them. Place them in a pan seam-side down.

Cabbage Rolls 1.12

You will need 3/4 c. of some kind of liquid to complete cooking the rice inside of the rolls, and to allow the rolls to plump. The two tablespoons of tomato paste will dissolve well in water or broth to fill that need. Some people just pour a little V8 in the pan, but cabbage is a watery vegetable that needs intense flavor, so don’t be afraid to add some. NB: If you’re not using meat, cook these rolls for 45 minutes. If you’re using meat, 1.5 hours is your baking time. Meat eaters, let your rolls rest for the same half hour you would a steak. Conventional wisdom is that cabbage rolls are better the next day, and they also freeze very well. And they’re good for you.


John Stuart Mill, in an address at the University of St. Andrews in 1867 said, “Bad men need nothing more to compass their ends than that good men should look on and do nothing.” While you may be uncomfortable with the labels of “bad” and “good” here, the point is to do something. Eat well. Sleep well. Do well. You are not defeated, not by winter cold nor war nor work nor worry. Decide otherwise.

Cabbage Rolls 1.18

“Where Do We Go From Here?” – by Martin Luther King, Jr., 1967

I must confess, my friends, the road ahead will not always be smooth. There will be still rocky places of frustration and meandering points of bewilderment. There will be inevitable setbacks here and there. There will be those moments when the buoyancy of hope will be transformed into the fatigue of despair. Our dreams will sometimes be shattered and our ethereal hopes blasted. We may again with tear-drenched eyes have to stand before the bier of some courageous civil rights worker whose life will be snuffed out by the dastardly acts of bloodthirsty mobs. Difficult and painful as it is, we must walk on in the days ahead with an audacious faith in the future. And as we continue our chartered course, we may gain consolation in the words so nobly left by that great black bard who was also a great freedom fighter of yesterday, James Weldon Johnson:

Stony the road we trod,
Bitter the chastening rod
Felt in the days
When hope unborn had died.

Yet with a steady beat,
Have not our weary feet
Come to the place
For which our fathers sighed?

We have come over the way
That with tears hath been watered.
We have come treading our paths
Through the blood of the slaughtered,

Out from the gloomy past,
Till now we stand at last
Where the bright gleam
Of our bright star is cast.

Let this affirmation be our ringing cry. It will give us the courage to face the uncertainties of the future. It will give our tired feet new strength as we continue our forward stride toward the city of freedom. When our days become dreary with low-hovering clouds of despair, and when our nights become darker than a thousand midnights, let us remember that there is a creative force in this universe, working to pull down the gigantic mountains of evil, a power that is able to make a way out of now way and transform dark yesterdays into bright tomorrows. Let us realize the arc of the moral universe is long but it bends toward justice.

Let us realize that William Cullen Bryant is right: “Truth crushed to earth will rise again.” Let us go out realizing that the Bible is right:

“Be not deceived, God is not mocked. Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.” This is for hope for the future, and with this faith we will be able to sing in some not too distant tomorrow with a cosmic past tense, “We have overcome, we have overcome, deep in my heart, I did believe we would overcome.”

The Southern Christian Leadership Conference Presidential Address
By Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr., 16 August 1967

And, after Tuesday…


Tony Hoagland

HARD RAIN

After I heard It’s a Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall
played softly by an accordion quartet
through the ceiling speakers at the Springdale Shopping Mall,
then I understood: there’s nothing
we can’t pluck the stinger from,

nothing we can’t turn into a soft drink flavor or a t-shirt.
Even serenity can become something horrible
if you make a commercial about it
using smiling, white-haired people

quoting Thoreau to sell retirement homes
in the Everglades, where the swamp has been
drained and bulldozed into a nineteen hole golf course
with electrified alligator barriers.

You can’t keep beating yourself up, Billy
I heard the therapist say on television
                    to the teenage murderer,

About all those people you killed–
You just have to be the best person you can be,
                    one day at a time

and everybody in the audience claps and weeps a little,
because the level of deep feeling has been touched,
and they want to believe that
that the power of Forgiveness is greater
than the power of Consequence, or History.

Dear Abby:
My father is a businessman who travels.
Each time he returns from one of his trips,
his shoes and trousers
                    are covered with blood –
but he never forgets to bring me a nice present;
Should I say something?
                    Signed, America.

I used to think I was not part of this,
that I could mind my own business and get along,
but that was just another song
that had been taught to me since birth
whose words I was humming under my breath,
as I was walking thorough the Springdale Mall


“After Tuesday,” the pastor said this weekend, “God will still be God.”

And, after Tuesday, we will still be us, and America will still be America, for good or for ill.

And, after Tuesday, the planet will still spin. Life will go on.

Traveling abroad even briefly in the past two years, the conversation most people outside the US have wanted to have with us was our opinion about the election. And we quickly got tired of talking about it. Especially after going through the mail-in ballot so early in the process, we both have sort of pulled back from reading about politics, engaging about it on social media, etc., etc.. There just comes a limit, which we reached roughly about six twelve months ago. It is all too easy for us as Westerners – and, perhaps as human beings – to retreat into endless self-preoccupation which limits our point of view. There’s a lot more happening in the world than the bloviating nonsense currently occupying the national stage.

This poem resonates because so many of us have felt that if we disengage and claim that, “it’s not my issue,” that going along to get along is good enough; that leaving well-enough alone is fine. But, we are all connected in so many ways; every act is connected, and we are not only involved, we are complicit. This is not to say that every act of living is guilty, but that we all ultimately hold some responsibility for each other. Giving a hand-up and paying the gift of what we have forward to our communities means getting involved on behalf of others. Speaking on behalf of those who aren’t heard is our privilege. If nothing else can be learned from this national conversation it is that listening to those who are not usually heard is just so much more important than speaking.

Whatever way the world shifts, at least this election season has taught us that.

After Tuesday, here’s hoping that perspective remains, and that all sides in this contretemps can agree to disagree, and to compete again without so much rancor, perhaps. If nothing else, may we remember that we are not opponents ordinarily, but community, with many of the same goals and beliefs, and the same hopes for our future.

“Lived reality is always a muddle.”

It is a truth universally acknowledged among T’s family and friends that D. is “the smart one,” in this relationship, and, in the face of a vast body of evidence, T generally concurs… however, as she has just sent him off to work after a failed attempt to start the car without the key, she would like to herewith state the time-worn truth that it’s a good thing that “cute”… can take one a long way in this world. ::cough::


Oban to Glasgow 9

The big buzz in adult literary circles at present, from Oprah on down, is Colson Whitehead’s THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD. There’s a brilliant New Yorker essay by Kathryn Schulz this month which talks about the actual historical facts of that portion of abolitionist history, and the well-stitched (quilted, even) lies and mythologies which have generally overtaken its history. Whitehead’s novel is kind of a magical realism; the railroad – complete with cars and track – is real, in his point of view, and the novel – which we’ve not read – apparently takes into account who that would work for, and what it would cost them emotionally and physically as well as probably monetarily. Schultz’s essay has some great points about the history, and how Americans tend to view it – and mythologize it – in the general scope of today’s history and politics. Inasmuch as it caused frothing at the mouth for some to consider that slaves even built the White House, it’s obviously easier to recenter the narrative about slavery to the people who helped and healed, rather than who benefited, and to canonize them. We also like to imagine that “had we been there,” we’d have been working shoulder to shoulder with the abolitionists, ever on the side of right.

It’s such a nice fantasy.

The final statement in Schulz’s essay really stuck home:

“One of the biases of retrospection is to believe that the moral crises of the past were clearer than our own—that, had we been alive at the time, we would have recognized them, known what to do about them, and known when the time had come to do so. That is a fantasy. Iniquity is always coercive and insidious and intimidating, and lived reality is always a muddle, and the kind of clarity that leads to action comes not from without but from within. The great virtue of a figurative railroad is that, when someone needs it—and someone always needs it—we don’t have to build it. We are it, if we choose. ♦

Lived reality is always a muddle.

ALWAYS. A. MUDDLE. Oh, for the moral high ground which many people seem to find, and assume that their lives would have been peerless and blameless back in the day. They would have turned away from anything smacking of sexism or racism. THEY would have never kept slaves. THEY would have taken the kids out of the city for a camping trip to Jericho instead of being in Jerusalem the weekend they decided to crucify Christ. Always with the superiority complex, we humans! If it were all that easy, we’d all be swanning around in perfection, perhaps on golden streets. It’s NEVER that easy – life is also coercive, and insidious, and intimidating, full stop. This reminds me to, for the love of God, to give a bit of grace to others in terms of their follies and mistakes in the here-and-now.

We recommend Schulz’s entire essay, “The Perilous Lure of the Underground Railroad” where she considers Whitehead’s novel and Ben Winter’s alternate history novel, Underground Airlines within the context of history, historians, and how it we consider this piece of our collective past today.

Swallowed With All Hope

Greenock 04

Despite T thinking she was a bit old for it, T’s mother often sang to her a Mr. Rogers song “Let’s Thing Of Something To Do (While We’re Waiting). A jazzy little oddity from the show, Let’s Thing of Something To Do was helpful for preschool teachers dealing with Lifestyles of the Small and Antsy. Sadly, though some of us are *cough* larger now, the antsy-ness has not demonstrably decreased… – if you can’t control any or everything around you, there’s really no point in twitchiness, but astonishingly, it is not a grace that all of us receive, that ability to “possess thy soul in patience.” August is barely halfway in, and already it seems a heinously long month.

So, we wait. This poem is a slightly less catchy (?) version of Mr. Rogers’ song, which we’re holding close in the Hobbiton, in these days of waiting for phone calls, waiting for interviews, waiting for critiques, waiting to finish manuscripts and waiting for this, the summer of our discontent, and this onerous election cycle to be OVER and please God, please, please please can you give us a time machine, and we promise not to skip ahead past February of next year, if we could just miss these next eight to ten weeks???

No? ::sigh:: Okay. Waiting again, then.


Things to Do in the Belly of a Whale

Measure the walls. Count the ribs. Notch the long days.
Look up for blue sky through the spout. Make small fires
with the broken hulls of fishing boats. Practice smoke signals.
Call old friends, and listen for echoes of distant voices.
Organize your calendar. Dream of the beach. Look each way
for the dim glow of light. Work on your reports. Review
each of your life’s ten million choices. Endure moments
of self-loathing. Find the evidence of those before you.
Destroy it. Try to be very quiet, and listen for the sound
of gears and moving water. Listen for the sound of your heart.
Be thankful that you are here, swallowed with all hope,
where you can rest and wait. Be nostalgic. Think of all
the things you did and could have done. Remember
treading water in the center of the still night sea, your toes
pointing again and again down, down into the black depths.

~ by Dan Albergotti from The Boatloads. © BOA Editions, Ltd., 2008

…Otherwise, by Jane Kenyon

Wasa Stacks 2L and A Wedding 22Tanita and Ashley, in the wild

Otherwise

~ by Jane Kenyon

I got out of bed
on two strong legs.
It might have been
otherwise. I ate
cereal, sweet
milk, ripe, flawless
peach. It might
have been otherwise.
I took the dog uphill
to the birch wood.
All morning I did
the work I love.

At noon I lay down
with my mate. It might
have been otherwise.
We ate dinner together
at a table with silver
candlesticks. It might
have been otherwise.
I slept in a bed
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise.

Skyway Drive 373Skyway Drive 372Skyway Drive 375

This weekend, we celebrated a life, gathered with loud friends, argued about social movements, and played cards with a fancy deck. It might have been otherwise. We ate sweet, soft, summer fruit, wore disreputable pajamas, contemplated brushing our hair, and didn’t. We picked up and discarded books, made vegeburgers, watered the plants, ate cheap chocolate, and drank in the breeze. It might have been otherwise.

This morning, we woke up.

Grace and gratitude for simple gifts.

They’re baaaack….

Despite the perception of turkeys as Thanksgiving beasties, they’re really showing off those traditional tail-feathers in mid-to-late Spring. They’re noisy and twitchy and generally a mess, as most grooms are.

Vacaville 200

Meanwhile, the intermittent rains keep are keeping things gorgeously, almost historically (hysterically?) green — and we find ourselves torn — wanting to go outside and revel in all the color, while knowing full well we’ll end up sneezing and wheezing and regretting the whole thing. Life with seasonal allergies; life in California. Life in the Spring.

Sonoma County 187

Carpe diem.