winterish

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SONY DSC SONY DSC SONY DSCAndy Goldsworthy: Stop playing in our forest. Or wait, actually don’t stop at all.
SONY DSCThis is a painting in progress of Venice by Sylvan, as part of his report on Italy. So far, so beautiful.
SONY DSC SONY DSCI love these dreads and this girl: Now your twinkles come with a halo.
SONY DSCSquash side dish for Thanksgiving: pureed butternut squash with a little bit of butter and cinnamon, with roasted pumpkin seeds. I also sautéed apples and onions with curry and cardamom and boiled cider.
SONY DSCAnd we got all this snow! Cold and crisp and sparkling! We are so grateful to be in our new house this holiday season.

Here’s a poem, an ode to my favorite month:

November

She is the most elegant of months,
sixty-something,

though she’d never say exactly,
with her dark eyes

that are a little sad.
She used to smoke
Gauloises in her youth,
when she was in Paris
and it was trés cool.
You can see tiny lines
around her mouth.

She’s not taken in
by fashion fads:
she knows quality when she sees it,
she knows how to shop the sales.
Her colors are woodsmoke grey,
the black of wet bark,
inky shadows under the moonlight,
the russet of oak leaves
against the white sky.

Her coats are her signature,
long, heavy,
made of fur or wool
with classic lines;
she swishes by
and there’s that hint of her perfume
that you can never quite place.

Of course she’s taken lovers,
but never a husband.
She doesn’t need October’s abundance
or December’s frivolity:
they’re really just too much.
She’s better off alone,
walking silently
along the edge of the lake.
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~thanks~

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Wordpress
:

What on earth is this center-everything nonsense? The way my photos came in was in this interesting collage approach, which was also a surprise. But I can live with it.
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This 3 seed porridge, above, is absolutely lovely, from the good folks at Nourished Kitchen.

I know that everybody thinks we should all be eating protein for breakfast, but I am much happier with a delicious bowl of cozy, nutty, delicious wintery porridge. (Sorry, but I am just that sort of temperament.)

With sautéed ginger and frozen berries, almond milk, splash of maple syrup, and pecans.
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I had an occasion to vist a hospital recently and it was the most fascinating 40 minutes of people watching

that I felt the only way to really process what I had seen and heard

was with a poem.

This is the second of four.

II. Waiting
New waiting room.
The receptionist had a tattoo on her neck
and a smoker’s mouth.
Mostly old people were waiting.
And three young
loud-spoken
men,
some kind of marine contractors,
who were talking across the waiting room
to another guy.
They were big and muscled,
waiting for lab work.
One of them had a cough
he wanted to have someone look at.
All of them had some kind of military background.
They talked about Kuwait, KMB,
and someone’s cousin who took a test,
then got fast-tracked to be a warrant officer,
and now flies Apaches,
at only 19.
“Is that a real thing?”
Their boots were big;
that plus their outsized voices,
made the room feel small.
Did they think we all wanted to listen?
Were their ears ruined by loud machinery?
Being yelled at in basic training?
I wanted to read my book
about a French woman,
disappointed by life,
about to win the lottery.
I looked over at the old man
two seats over,
his old man sneakers
were like anchors,
and I noticed his ball cap.
Something military,
maybe USMC.
Was he able to hear the jackasses and their loud conversation?
Nothing on his face gave an indication.
Would he have wanted to join them?

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These guys, above, are not that kind of jackass at all.

They were the two quietest in nursery school. Two quiet, shy boys who watched everything. One day they spoke a few words to each other.

Thank goodness they found each other.

Now, as then, they don’t have to say much to have a conversation. They recently ventured into the big city together: taking public transport, contra-dancing, thrifting, sitting in Cafes, even getting a little lost. Perfect!

Here, they were willing to help me stage a photo, for a work thing I was making.

first+first

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first fire in the wood stove
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first footprints in the first snowstorm
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Mike, our hero who installed the chimney
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chard realizes aspirations of spiral form
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first power outage: now in day 2
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dedicated Latin scholar does homework by flashlight
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meatballs by headlamp!
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Sylvan made buns in our wood stove’s bake oven
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out on an adventure
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heavy, wet, HEAVY snow

SONY DSC SONY DSC SONY DSC SONY DSCSo, the great news is that we have a wonderful set-up in our new house. We have water from our springs to do dishes! We have heat from the wood stove! We can bake in the little bake oven in the wood stove,  and we can cook on our gas range! We can flush our toilet with water in the tub! It’s like Laura Ingalls Wilder!

Right now, however, we are on a little adventure into wifi world, catching up on email and Internet stuff, taking hot showers, and enjoying the experience of flushing the toilet with just a single push of the handle.