Quote of the Day

"To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never to forget." - Arundhati Roy, The Cost of Living

Detritus

trash swirls in our creek
a broken forty ounce beer bottle
and a discarded flash drive
perfect symbols of the have
and have-nots
opportunities vs despair
meaningful work & compensation vs hopelessness & painkilling

back to my computer at work
while the lillies of the field toil not, neither do they spin
throwing forties in the creek

Independence Pass

     I was leaving Aspen, Colorado on a lovely morning, heading out over Independence Pass. The road wound through aspen forests at peak summer green, the morning sun creating that special light through translucent aspen leaves which isn't quite as beautiful in other types of trees. A fox with a fresh kill in its jaws trotted along the shoulder. I couldn't tell what the unlucky prey was, a female mallard or a muskrat, perhaps. I had to u-turn back for another look. The fox gave me a suspicious glare, I obviously wanted her muskrat. I cruised on, not wanting to disturb a hard-won meal.
     I thought about the people I had seen at the Aspen Food and Wine Classic Grand Tasting event I'd been to the day before. Affluent people from all over the world had come to this event, and paid a hefty price to attend a week-long gourmand's delight.  My sister had gotten us passes to the Grand Tasting, a huge food, wine & spirits sampling party with hundreds of vendors trying mightily to catch the fancy of the rich opinion leaders, thereby positioning themselves for success. The first sample handed to us was a shot of tequila in a carved cucumber for a container. We had dressed convincingly tony (good thrift stores), so the vendors fawned over us liked we'd paid for it. My sister had won the tickets from the Aspen Fire Department, where she volunteers.
     The other women there looked like Real Housewives reality show stars, with tanning bed tans and many unnatural racks, beautifully dressed. Many were also unnaturally skinny, not eating the wonderful foods offered them. Gorgeous and insecure, kinda sad, really.
      Not me, I parked myself at the truffle sellers, joyously. Truffles are one of those upper crust foods that really do exceed, it's like a mushroom that died and went to heaven. They were giving out truffle brioche mini sandwiches and pieces of cheese dipped in truffle-infused oil. They were delighted with my great delight, and everyone who asked me what was good got sent there. Then I spent time with the Wyoming ranchers who were serving an incredible grilled beefsteak on crackers with mildly pickled ginger and an excellent soy/wine/ginger sauce. I drank cabernet, chianti, Averno, three kinds of Stella beer, and Patron, on the rocks, mmmmmmm. I should have been trashed, but I guess I'd eaten enough to buffer the alcohol's worst effects. Then on to my other favorite truffles, those of Godiva. They were sampling several new ice cream flavors of truffle, I really enjoyed the banana split candy. Two hours went by like nothing, then the DJ announced the event would go on an extra hour. As the vendors began to break down the well-decorated tables, my sister and I were given several lovely bouquets so as to lighten their load. Princesses for a few hours, we were all smiles.
     The fox jumped over a concrete blockade and continued uphill through the aspens with her prize, probably to a den of hungry kits. I drove up and over the pass, thinking of meals I had had to kill, render, and cook myself. They tasted better.

What's This?

     I was sitting on the couch in the living room, reading a newspaper. My dear husband was tidying up, and he picked up a pair of black denim jeans from the chair arm. He searched the pockets in preparation for throwing them in the wash, and came up with a packaged condom from the front right pocket. He looks at me and says "What's this?". Not in a "You're cheating on me, I'll kill you!", type of tone, but more of an "I'm waiting for your logical explanation of this, Darling.", semi-amused but unwilling to put up with any cuckolding situation tone. And I had one, I said, "Don't look at me, I don't like using condoms, I stay married so I can get it bareback. Those are Elder Son's jeans." We smiled at each other, Elder Son is turning 21 in a couple of months, and any sign of any sort of reponsibility is welcomed with tears of joy by us.
     I remember the day I dragged him down the aisle of the supermarket to where the sex-related products were. That was an awkward 60 seconds. I'll wager he'd already spotted them on previous trips, but I wanted to reinforce that use of these was strongly recommended and a level of reponsibility we expected of him. I think he was about 14, quite a handsome lad, and I knew it was only a matter of time that trouble would find him or he, it.
     The next year, when we informed him of his little sister's impending arrival, he burst out with, "You idiots!". He had no concept that we might actually want another kid, and that we hadn't tried to prevent one. But he agrees now that she was a worthwhile project.

Addendum: If You Let Yourself Get Dehydrated, You Want To Die

Today, ibuprofen is love.

Love is Rain, You Die in One Week Without Water

This morning I ran out to my backyard before work to find small flowers for my desk. It had rained all night and was still coming down softly. My herbs, sage, parsley, chives & garlic chives had been wilted by unseasonably dry heat the week before, but had all returned to vibrant turgidity with the blessing of moisture. I chose the purple garlic chive blooms, tearing the stems and getting garlicky juices on my fingers.  It smelled like walking past Pasta Jay's Italian restaurant.

"The quality of mercy is not strained, it falleth as the gentle rain from heaven."  - from Portia's speech in Shakespeare's 'The Merchant of Venice'

Girl's Haiku

To my daughter;

Darling curled tadpole
My breast as thy soft pillow
My highest honor

Thy name is bright light
Brilliant, difficult star
Challenge me always

Lucky Mommy me
Precious, treasured, she sleeps safe
Guard like Ceberus