new drawing

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some festivities and some triumphs

christmas came and went. big deal for those who celebrate it, somewhat of an anticlimax for those of us who don't. there is a common misconception that channukah is the equivalent of christmas for a jew. not so. it is not a holiday that lights us up, or one to which we look forward all year. merely it is an opportunity to exchange gifts and meals (should we choose to) or, more commonly, to light up the sparklers for the wee ones. not having any wee ones proper we spent one day this weekend exchanging practical things (merino socks, mittens, shearling lined boots) and drinking out of every available fancy glass in the house. cheers to mum who can assemble a party quick as a bunny, we were all more than satiated.

one thing that happened was something i have truly been yearning for my whole life. something cast iron, with an enamel finish and a very blunt little name tag

yep. it happened. a covered french masterpiece with a myriad of uses. i had to keep creeping into the living room to peek under the lid and ensure it was really there.

it was!

after we ate too many lovely things, and drank early in the morning and so of course had to allow ourselves a nap just for posterity. (well, some of us. others of us (ahem) had to go to work and serve christmas dinner to strangers.)

cava, orange juice, stovetop espresso, steamed milk, kahlua, b & b (to each their own, not all at once of course.)

and then after, the dutiful ingestion of the cleansing food. a shot of orange juice mixed with a tablespoon of the most green spirulina (tastes just like it sounds) with a grapefruit chaser. smoothies with rice milk, chia, hemp, kale and bananas and, newly, water kefir! it is an experiment i have been working on for a few weeks. milk kefir grains (who subsist on lactose) can be transmogrified (or transmogged) to ferment juice, morphing into something very close to (although completely different than) water kefir crystals. this is done by training the milk kefir grains to switch their eating habits to sucrose or dextrose (not ideal, the dextrose.) once they are used to sucrose they are left with a fistful of raisins to ferment the basic sugars into a beverage with an astonishing probiotic load. (similar to kombucha). truth be told the process scared more than a few folks away from the counter

and understandably so. but it worked! huzzah! this morning the first fizzy (indeed, these guys give off some substantial carbonation) throaftful of water kefir, flavored with a clutch of raspberries from this years pick frozen to hold us over until something vital occurs. like this!

cheers.

comforts

feeling a little flat today, admittedly. i think it is because of the anti climax that always follows the hectic surge of energy to make deadlines happen for Big Deal Things. i've kept myself busy, but such busy-ness lacking Consequential Outcome has really taken a toll on me. it's a good thing, though, for these kind of low things to lull one into a stupor because then one can take stock of proper coping. my mum, professional grade therapist calls this self-soothing, which i love! we are the most fit individuals to nourish and soothe our own savage breasts so why are we so bad at it sometimes?

because there is nothing serious at stake besides a blue kind of dullness, i made it a point to be vigilant in understanding what i craved and why.

firstly, being surrounded by growing things. cacti especially.

this because their kind of quiet ferocity is something i wish i could kindle for myself. if they can forge on, barbed to the teeth in spines but filled, nevertheless, with a luminous soft green pulp what's to stop anyone else from doing the same?

also, always on the list serious comfort food. not in the traditional sense- rib sticking, butter laden crazy richness, or sweet and indulgent things fished discretely from the refrigerator. but comfort food in the literal sense- food that physically nourishes and so is a balm to the senses. my backward comfort food is the kind that does not necessarily taste indulgent. but i'm certain that it makes my insides ring, scrubs out the backed up places and makes all my cells sigh contentedly. (sick, right?)

so there was

and

a green smoothie made with: one bunch spinach, one banana, handful of chia and hemp seeds, a small cup of whole milk plain yogurt and a clutch of frozen raspberries. and a fillet of wild alaskan sockeye with green cabbage, red kale and fried onions over buckwheat groats. (oh heyyyy buckwheat, you lookin' so good.)

stoic and stodgy and absolutely perfect.

also reading the lovely The Living Annie Dillard's novel (eep!) about battling shreds of fog, log jams and berry tangles during the frontier days on Puget Sound. lovely and bracing. 

tack on a few extra eyefuls of light today, the days are only stretching further and further out. 

solstice

flurries today in honor of the solstice. very fitting. we went out into it, soaking up the faint blue light that abounded.

after a celebratory breakfast of course. whole milk yogurt, bitter orange marmalade, chia and hemp seeds. shirred egg with thyme asparagus and gruyere topped with a challah crouton. whole wheat and foraged raspberry scones (raspberries held over from a summer-end-pick.)

\

made the list, snipped the braid tassel and made a bit of indulgent cocoa. all and all a good holiday. now for the snow- come on! we're ready.

year's ends, knives and egg yolks

tomorrow the lens of the days will constrict to its smallest aperture, then, with a sigh, it will begin to open back up. this eclipse of dark has always stunned me, happening as it does at the exact moment when one loses hope about the lack of daylight. it is a small offer, yes, but not a meager one. stretched out minutes of daylight hearten everyone, especially growing things.

on a different note, today the air in the valley was so terrible it could probably be dipped through with a spoon. going down on a few errands i was stunned to see a bank of fog heave up in the canyon and slowly, sickly, turn from pearly gray to moss brown. cyclists ticked by and so did runners, i sneezed fitfully in the passenger seat and grimaced. we were grateful to escape the western smog for the sharp blue of the eastern summit but were dismayed to find the car covered in salty grime- from merely driving about.

following the ascent, everyone felt he deserved a traipse in the shattering cold.

i guess this pinnacle of the year always stirs me. for one, because it asks us to consider what we can leave behind- following the solstice there is a shift in light from stoicism to abundance (or at least, the promise). so what can we give up? give away? ignore? release? cut off? 

most years i take the tassel off my braid as an offering. i write a list of things that do nothing to nourish or embolden me. i eat sweet oranges and bitter chocolate and put my face in the light for as long as i can. and the following day i carry on. in some ways, part of the rejoicing at the widening of the light lens on the 21st of December is allowing oneself to give up on the things we clench in our back teeth during our sleep or the habits we insulate ourselves with that keep us from the bracing whip of bravery. in part the solstice is a kind of New Year's without the glitz or spangles, without the need for a date, the champagne or the pinning down of festive plans. the solstice is a quiet window opening and then closing that simply lets us let out so we make room for letting more in. what things can anyone hope for?

i have small fears about changing routines, about larger Plans for being Grown Up, finances, bald snow tires, thin ponytails and loneliness.

but, wiping my hands of them lets me open up my cache for new notebooks to fill, new books to read, new things to let rise under a tea towel in an oiled bowl, confronting the small anxieties and putting on my telemark skis.

the Universe's generosity is a mixed blessing- rather like a shattered glass pane: no more window, but innumerable spangly diamonds in the wake. how very lucky.

oh! and also it's prime fodder for doing the things that heap up on lists but never get ticked off. and so, in the honor of that approaching day we got our knives sharpened! now we must get to chopping something proper.

also, an interesting article in this month's edible wasatch: caffe latte con uovo (yes, coffee with milk and egg would be the translation.) bravery demands we try it:

1 egg yolk

1 tablespoon sugar

2 tablespoons coarsely ground coffee

4 ounces whole milk

heat the coffee and milk together in a small saucepan over medium-low heat. ideally this should take about 4 minutes and the coffee should be just about to simmer. in a small bowl beat the egg yolk and the sugar together until the mixture turns pale yellow. slowly strain a splash of coffee into the bowl with the sugar-yolk mixture [to temper] while beating vigorously with a fork. continue beating while slowly straining in the rest of the coffee to create a frothy, warming, jumpstart to a cold morning.  (-- Carole Fontana, Issue No. 7 * Winter 2012 page 43)

notes on progress

it seems like once productivity begins to roll it picks up speed with less effort than usual. see below.

as per the previously mentioned plans, jam: check. more specifically satsuma tangerine, valencia orange, meyer lemon and coriander marmalade.

bread: check. one lovely challah baked in a loaf pan for a change. and then, accordingly...

..toast! with said marmalade.
but, feeling energized by the novel new feeling of i-don't-have-to-sit-down-and-get-something-Serious-done-right-now! i split the challah dough, rolled it with butter, chocolate, cinnamon, sea salt and cardamom and made...

...babka! (both cinnamon and chocolate lovers will be appeased)

also, running: check.
sharpening the studio practice: check. (more on that later)
preserved lemons: in the making. so, semi-check.

fin.

check!

celebratory  coffee and dressed up oranges. check!

supair impractical but guilt-free breakfast (fannie farmer buttermilk biscuits, seaside cheddar, velvet scrambled eggs, bacon confetti.) check!

 introspection and pebbles for forcing narcissus bulbs. check!

plans. check!

bring it on big day off!

graduate school application do this tired lady proud!!

plans

one last day (today.) and all this craziness will be over. until march. when the Decisions come rolling in.

the whole thing has been exhausting beyond words, the preparation for the graduate records examination, the cost of said examination, the duration of said examination (5 hours?!), the infinite emails, replies, forwards, meetings, notes, lost notebooks, library materials, drafting hours, flashcards, lugging-about-of-too-may-things miles, abandoned teacups, mold rinds on coffee mugs, sleepless nights, night terrors, black circles under eyes, the lack of bikram yoga classes, the re-writing of whole portions of the applications, the put downs, the following ups, the cropping, the composing, the re-reading. UGH!

but. tomorrow. the end. thank goodness.

i am looking forward to a number of things, maybe:

1. more narcissus bulbs (hyacinth? daffodil?)

2. more bread dough in bowls

3. nurturing my new kefir grains (eep!)

4. taking more photographs

5. chopping lengths off my hair

6. working up a good sweat more often

7. getting on some new telemark skis

8. spending more time with the Men in my life

()

9. trying to sit still with an emptier mind

10. relenting

it is true the highest standards imposed on us are often our own. for me, that is certainly the case. luckily, these things are catalogued all the time, maniacally. 

fingers crossed tomorrow will come, shining, open like a blade and then snap closed swift like.

topdresser

today condensing, taking out every other word, thinking about staff and notes and rests.

tending to everyone's need to snuggle up, eat lemon cream scones, watch a long-awaited-from-the-library hbo television show (the wire!) and making sure everything alive in the house feels loved

this is our cacti family. siblings have come and gone. today some folks had new earthy spots next to other folks they had never really gotten to know fully. i'm certain everyone will on their spiniest and most polite behavior. 

some dogs were too curious and pushed their nose into sibling quills more than once. perhaps they smell like salad.

cake and pan toggles

to be sure, the Deadline is approaching! i am of the opinion that is has winged feet, or other means to so speedily chew through what i thought was quite a bit of time.

but it seems, as with most deadlines for me, that i do the best work at the end. maybe it is rush or maybe it is a need for closure (although i am wonderful at teasing anxiety out into finite tentacles and to savor each one in a sleepless night that wrecks me.) but whatever it is, they usual strange means of doing something Meaningful are upon me: no appetite, hipbones sharp like ploughs, watery sleep (although the moon last night is to blame, really), and manic scribbling of all kinds.

secretly i live for this hysteria, i think that's part of why RISD was so good for me, it said "forgo everything in  favor of this one small effort." and so I did. we all did, really.

and as I was hunting around for ways to bolster courage of any kind, this beacon blinked on and whirred

it is The Chromatic Typewriter(!)

And it paints- and...draws...and writes i imagine. it was submitted for the 2012 west prize competition and of course, as that's not yet happened, it doesn't seem necessary to use it as a means of justifying how brilliant the whole concept is.

So, a machine- a complicated one, heavy, cumbersome, maker of delicious sound and provider of crooked letters, broken ribbons, stuck keys and frustration. But this one with paints! And with keys mapped just so (pressing shift presumably allows the typer to toggle between colors.) there is no more tangible combination of word and image. this man paints loosely as is, but the typewriter imparts a kind of control that is otherwise inaccessible to an abstract process.

so it is a metaphor, for the ever-present issues of not looking but seeing. and at just the right time.

article 3 number 2

: :

Each man and his wet fist curl fiercely around

groves of standing candles.

(they are strangers.)

Each a stranded vessel

on the white throat

of flat water

among the traveling trees.

Some seas will still themselves in this way from time to time

and the thickening water, now mostly murderous mineral, will

flense the flesh of swimming things from their skeletons.

Thirst makes amnesiacs of everything, teeth drop out.

Each man's luminous chest,

in swimming postures of restless sleep,

will sometimes share

the other's dreams.

Of drowning in the glove darkness

of silt and decay just below trailing fingertips,

or of clear water breaking through skin

and, in reflection, blinding them.

Each will sway sometimes from his watch.

Roused by a hiss of singed flesh

or the bluely darkening bloom

of a clandestine bruise

he will look down to see,

striped in ash,

that in sleep he's put out the other's flames

with his own panicked breath.

the lowest (so far) lows

today the lowest low so far! 2 degrees at sunrise and the air is like a blade. this kind of blue in  the sky is almost of an hysterical saturation, a fist rubbing of maniac color that's impossible to escape. so of course, we go out, with all of our mouths open to catch it, wind burn chafing our lips, space shattering as dogs leap through it. not even winter yet, not hardly.

article 3

each man and his wet fist

together

curl themselves fiercely around their

grove of standing candles.

these, yes, do all the ordinary things;

flicker and bow and shine through

the slats of their ribs,

cause conflagrations of

rage and sadness

to shock down their arms

and shake between their teeth.

but

tides and salt rot are thinning

the bottoms of the barges,

and the tentpoles of tree limbs,

and are forming dry standing earth

in the middle of the sea.

even in sleep united,

each man's luminous chest,

in swimming postures of restlessness

will sometimes share

the other's dreams.

of drowning in the glove darkness

of silt and decay just below trailing fingertips,

or of clear water breaking

through collapsing skin

and blinding them

in reflection.

each man, a stranded vessel

on the white throat

of flat water

among the traveling trees,

will sway sometimes from his watch.

a hiss of singed flesh

or the bluely darkening bloom

of a clandestine bruise and

he will look down to see,

striped in ash,

that in sleep he's put out his own flames

with panicked breath.