In The Old Days

In the old days, we drove
beat-up cars that could
barely make it up these hills.
We pressed hands to the dash, grimaced
push, with gritted teeth, and cheered
when we sputtered to the top.


In the old days, I patched and
stitched, drove needles through layers
of fabric, to get one more winter out
of that favorite pair of pants, the ones
I’d coveted and saved for. Whirled thread
in patterns, fanciful and practical; the two
whose twain could just so meet.

And now those hills are just hills
easily negotiated, though we pay
through the nose for the ease
of our existence. A life of leisure
that we work our existence for, each day
a little sleepier by sun’s set, each day
our minds wondering a bit at our excess.

I want to be poor with you, dragged down
by hard work and battered hands. I want to feel
full by what we can and cannot accomplish.

Tonight the sun has set beneath sparkling lights
and chesire grin, a view afforded by this devil’s
deal with what we are. It is so pretty here, but what
are we reckoned for, a year of fullness, a decade of
cushion, a lifetime of wonder at what
we have become.

Maybe Peter Will Soon Stop Trying to Dance Like Jemaine

Because seriously, he has been, and singing this song. Which is a little disturbing, even when Jemaine does it.



It's still brilliant though. If you're not watching Flight of the Conchords yet, you need to be.

Also, FYI, I grew up in the folk ghetto, too.



And here's the refined version of that live performance, from last season.

Gathering Ideas

These Be The Hills

The other day I mentioned how hilly our hood is. So, to give those of you an idea of how hilly it actually is, I offer you this.

Yep, hilly all right. But man, the endorphin rush when you walk up this thing is pretty great.

This Is the Cover of My New Prog Rock Album

While my mom gave us many, many amazing and loverly things for the holidays this year (I will posting about one sometime soon), this was Peter's favorite holiday gift, and it came from Roger, my stepdad (also, only about five years Peter's senior, ah, family). It is a clip-on hat light, obviously. It is very convenient, though it makes you look a bit like an idiot, yes?

I had to wear it to take out the grotesque compost (to the new compost site, sweet!!), and to pick a handful of these.
So I could make some delicious gremolata for eatings. Yum, gremolata. I made it to stir into some chicken-veggie soup I made. Because parsley alone is boring. But parsley stirred into a moosh with garlic, olive oil, and lemon. That is something to write home about.

In other really, really big-ass news, I met my new equine friend Henry. I got on his back and rode him around. This would normally not be a big deal for me, but it's been a year since I nearly split a fine line all the way through my L1 vertabrae after getting bucked off a massive Thoroughbred whose owner claimed was loving my technique. Until he gathered his haunches beneath him and kicked me on my butt. Ouch. So even though I've been doing natural horsemanship for three months with this kick-ass Parelli instructor, I hadn't gotten up on a four-legged beast for a year.
And damn, did it feel good. Henry my new horse friend is a blue roan who is about as gentle as a kitten. A big kitten with hooves who happily licked my hand when I rubbed his muzzle. Oh pony, I am in love.

I'll Just Pee Off The Deck Then

In our house, we have one bathroom. It has a pretty swanky dual-flush toilet, and I installed the Water Pik Ecoflow showerhead in our bath. I love the subway tile floor, the loads of storage space for such a tiny room, and my tendency towards blocking up the back of the toilet with pretty flowers. Flowers. Ugh, I can't get enough of you, ever, no matter how many rooms I put you in.

Still, it's only one bathroom, and when Elka spends the evening with her sister and comes home at the ungodly hour of 10:30, Grumpy Sleeping Bear Peter rumbles out of bed, eager for his time in this most petite of spaces. I, meanwhile, am too busy reading about fat cells in the current issue of Self magazine, which someone has mysteriously mailed me. (Who sent me a subscription to Self magazine? This stuff is like crack to me, these lady magazines. Anyway, thanks.)

"How long will you be?" asks Peter outside the door, his sleep-craggy voice interrupting my newly discovered knowledge that babies are born with brown fat cells, and women can retain them their entire life in their necks and chests.

"Um, a few minutes." I flip the page idly. I have no reason to be in here, really, except that from an early age, I escaped my family through sitting in the bathroom reading books and magazines for up to an hour at a time.

"I will just pee off the deck then," he informs me.

"No!" I yelp, clapping the pages of the magazine together.

I open the door quickly. "You can't pee off the deck when Tom and Chelsea are home," I tell him. (Tom and Chelsea are our charming and beautiful and lovely downstairs neighbors/friends/tenants.)

"I know," he says. "But it got you out of the bathroom.

Damn him.

On The Weekends, I Enjoy Wearing Profoundly Stupid Outfits

Today we started the day off right with a walk to The Sunny Side Cafe for brunch. The Sunny Side is the tastiest walking-distance cafe in our hood, at about a mile and a half each way. It's pretty eco, and Albany's first certified green business. Also, most importantly, they have outdoor tables, which means Ozzie can sit under my chair and I don't have to feel rushed that the poor dog is being subjected to unwelcome hand pets from overly solicitous strangers.

I love the walk to Solano Avenue and back, but the back part always takes a little getting used to, since it's all on an incline, and for a few blocks at least, a pretty steep one. By the time I got home, after the last two blocks on Marin, I had to take my pants off because I was a little too sweaty.

Which led to this outfit. (Shoes: hand-me-down Adidas trail runners (Thrift Town); pants: saffron-colored wide-leg weirdo bloomers (Anthropologie); top: infamous cut-off ducks-on-ski-lift sweatshirt (Bargain Hut "By Seniors For Everyone").

You see, I take great joy in wearing profoundly stupid outfits on the weekends. I once wore this sweatshirt to one of our fave restaurants, and one of the two guys who owns and operates the restaurant gave me a stunned look, as if perhaps I'd sustained a head injury rendering me incapable of making sensible sartorial choices. There's something very freeing about wearing a sweatshirt with ducks on a ski lift printed upon it, after working all week in an office of women who look amazing, and loop thousand-dollar-plus purses over their thin and perfectly tanned forearms. Since getting my insulin pump, dressing myself has become even more of a chore; I hope this goes some way towards explaining my backyard weekend clothing choices.

The garden is looking better, and I'm taking advantage of the good weather to do some well-needed maintenance. I've also started using these very cool loopy metal garden poles for trellising the peas, which were a holiday present from Lyne and Otto (thanks so much!).

Thus far this weekend I have:
*planted more greens, peas, and flowers
*transplanted potted herbs into second garden box, and transplanted big-ass pepper plant to terra cotta pot, so it can come inside and hopefully form bigger pepper nubbins.
*pulled up a shit-ton of ivy from the hillside
*laid down more drought resistant grass seed
*moved compost pile to a more sensible spot
*taken measurements of backyard, made video of shack contemplations, and contemplated placement, materials, etc.

We've also been drying clothes outside, since the weather's so gorgeous. Many of our wedding prayer flags are up permanently, and you can sort of see them behind the clotheslines.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again, sometimes I find domesticity compelling.

The Initial Video

This is for my brother, who will (fingers crossed if financing comes through) be building us a small backhouse.



I hope this can happen! Ian, here's a version of what we'd like to have you build (and help you build). It's a KitHaus, and can you believe it — the 9x13 version costs 32K! Holy moley dude. Peter and I both like the looks of these though, and I dig the paneling on the exterior.