one of my very favorite things
is to wake up 2 minutes early
just before my alarm goes off
and find that the light is barely grey
and the sound of rain is pattering on the roof
and to turn off the alarm
and roll over
and put my arm around russell
(his tummy is best)
with the kitty leaning against me
(because she's just realized I'm awake)
and lay still
and listen to the rain
and imagine the petrichor
when I finally get up
and just be
the rain sounds on the roof
from your beautiful soft bed
and how you would sigh
when I shut off the alarm
and roll to you
for some extra cuddles
in the rain.
Nov 29, 2005
This afternoon, driving home from Noe fretting and sad, I stop at the 25th street light on Valencia in the Mission. (The light was red. I wasn't that fretful.)
An elderly Missionite, short, latino, tufty white hair, sunwrinkled and raisin'd full of laugh lines crosses the street in front of my car. I'm used to the small smile as people glance at the car and notice the checks on the roof, but I don't expect the full-face glow and grin that appears as he crosses in front of my car, and sees the plates. I can see where all the smile lines around his eyes and cheeks and chin come from. He SMILED, with everything he had, turned and gave me a thumbs up, and continued slowly across the street.
I know I'm still here because of the mirrored grin that filled my face and heart. It's the small things, even in the middle of the big hard ones. 'Tis.
The morning has been full of dark and grey and thunder and lightning and gusting wind.
I'm exhausted, and much of me hurts. But I am weary with the exhaustion of the righteous.
The candles are lit. We've had some coffee. Brunch is toast with tofu spread, Fatted Calf toulouse sossiges, and truffled eggs (scrambled soft with salt we brought back from Paris). I'm planning dinner for tonight with my Leckmans.
There is a blankie. And while I'm not getting much crossed off my to-do list, I'm enjoying the storm.
What are you doing with your stormy Sunday?
'zines and music
Tataki, Zuke, Tartare, Bottarga and Mojama
“Lissa’s Staff Meal” Cuttlefish Noodles Tossed with Sea Urchin,
Quail Eggs, Wasabi and Soy Sauce
Japanese Egg Custard "Chawan Mushi"
with Maine Lobster, Sea Urchin and Mitsuba Sauce
Ravioli of Liberty Farm Duck with Confit Of Giblets,
Water Spinach and Chanterelles
Hot Chocolate and Churros
My dates with Heidi are full of bliss and beauty.
(Ame, if you must know.)
Things I was supposed to do this weekend (in no particular order):
--Pay the bills
--Clean the house
--Enjoy Mo & P's chill day
--Go ballroom dancing
--Do some holiday shopping (I am trying to drown my inner grinch. Really.)
--Have a crab-tastic dinner with Beca
--Post a bunch of stuff to Gastronome
--Wine & drawing with Tammy
--Acquire holiday card ingredients
--Prototype fleur de sel caramels
--Make lots and lots of cookies
--Get a tree
--Convert Sunday Supper into the Tiniest Treetrimming
What I did:
--Watched a lot of Lost.
--Made 3 pots of soup (turkey with noodles & garlic, ajiaco, and roasted carrot, if you must know.)
--Slept on Russell.
Clearly, AJ's blankie and Beca's clafouti are the big winners this weekend.
My status messages are piling up in iChat - I was looking at them, and they amuse me. In the order in which the appear in my pulldown - which have you seen? Which can you ID?
received in bad shape at cupertino
11am and i need a drink already
let the bad packets out
devil is my sous chef
call me chef borogove
rewriting bastards as contenders, sight unseen
i won't be afraid
to be taken out of context
think you're evil but you're not
no act of grace
puts the 'cute' in charcuterie
i'm nobody's little gas station
pork: the other white verb!
no hay drama
a factor of lots
free of the digital leash
hat shaped hat
i swallowed a bug
victim of jetlag
i need houndstooth tights
big ups to dj cho-beri-ba
there's a glow in my living room
(on mornings like this)
with the sun crisp and bright and cold
streaming gold and red through the curtains
bright but soft
(all at the same time)
and I am warmed
by the thought
that you are bright and soft
(all at the same time)
like the light in my living room
on a bright cold quiet morning
just a bit after the sun rises
What I did yesterday:
Whipped cream. By hand.
Folded pastry cream into said whipped cream.
Marvelled at (and helped monitor) proto-buttercream.
Peeled shallots. (But not as many as last year.)
Sliced cukes and matchstick'd jicama.
Put together a lime vinaigrette.
Stuffed and 'picked 40 quails with Mark.
Assembled mise for dueling souffles with Mark. (Oh man, did Wm's mussel components smell good.)
Diced red onion.
Turned squash into gnocchi-sized diamonds.
Knife + basil = chiffonade.
Cleaned bags and bags of wild mushrooms with Mark.
Made hazelnut gastrique.
Made mustardy spaetzle with Derrick.
So. Many. Dishes.
Finished hazelnut buerre blanc. (All hail the mighty thermos.)
Seasoned & mounted soup with Derrick.
Dressed salad with Derrick.
Put together mussel souffle batter.
Whipped a billion egg whites.
Plated & served individual souffles, assemblyline-crazy-style. (Damn, Tom's kitchen runs smooth.)
Fired herb gnocchi with Derrick.
Grilled quail & smoked asparagus outside by flashlight.
Did I mention dishes?
Helped Derrick plate green beans.
Fired mustardey spaetzle.
Helped put together two clafoutis.
Smiled and laughed and ate & fed bites of tastiness and giggled at the paparazzi and celebrated the birthday of a dear friend with joy. Happy Birthday, Tom!
(I'm sure the menu and photos will be up later in the week.)
addendum: LeeAnn's photos are up.
There are few things as good for a stressed meriko as dancing hard to good clean industrial music. (And I'm not talking about that shit the kids listen to now and call 'industrial', either. Even though that sentence totally brands me as the old man in the club.)
So. Affliction. Tonight. DNA lounge. The Russell will be dancing the meriko. Come join us?