People say that what we’re all seeking is a meaning for life. I don’t think that’s what we’re really seeking. I think that what we’re seeking is an experience of being alive, so that our life experiences on the purely physical plane will have resonances with our own innermost being and reality, so that we actually feel the rapture of being alive.
Joseph Campbell
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How dearly, indeed, I loved my pit, my dusky room, the area of my desk with its piles of books! How I enjoyed introspection, shrouded myself in cogitation; with what rapture did I listen for the rustling of frail insects in the thickets of my nerves!
Yukio Mishima
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I don’t suppose, after any sort of absence, that it is surprising that I would highlight food. Our daily “bread”, if you will. So here we are. Unlike the legions I assume are purchasing every manner of pumpkin spice product I spy on offer at the local grocery, because ’tis the season, my fall and winter tastes lie firmly in turkey and cranberry land, even more particularly, jellied. I can, to be quite crass, eat a shit-ton, joyfully, unapologetically.
This is a turkey meatloaf (I initially typed “meatlove,” and damn, the accuracy!) topped with a glorious, mushroom with a dash of sherry, gravy, to state the obvious. I was deeply saddened when I realized I had no jellied cranberry in the house (rectified forthwith!) but made due with a little tart apple jelly I made earlier. Heaven on a plate, my dear peeps.
Further evidence of our very high-low tastes, a little snack plate of favorites, including, the sharpest of cheddar, cheetos, and slices of american. We take our cheesy products any which way.
In the olden days, I would nearly hack my fingers to pieces in order to peel and dice a ridiculously hard winter squash, bits flying hither and thither, and generally making a mess. Until, one brilliant light bulb afternoon, I decided to put the whole thing in the oven at 400 and bake until tender. The downside to this, I suspect, is not having cute cubes drizzled in olive oil, but a nice puree with said oil or butter(!) is equally tasty. My fingers are happy and Greg, too, as there is no angry cursing involved, either. Plus, how beautiful to photograph!
A few highlights from earlier ambles about. How lucky we are to have such lovely views in walking distance.
Speaking of easy on the eyes, this is my desk immediately before posting. Actually clean and tidy! For a relatively small surface, it took nearly two hours to sort through the mess. Our life has been a little upside down, as of late, and I kept robotically moving piles of this and that, in helter skelter fashion, on and on and on, until the piles became their own chaotic entities, sliding about the desk. Madness. Fingers crossed I can keep it together for a bit.
Also, a quick note about Ducky, who has been one of my best loved toys for fifty years! How cute is he, keeping company at the keyboard.
Hello to fall, my fellow beautiful humans! I have long ago memory of reading, and chuckling in bewilderment, about being able to gauge the age of a human by their inclination to discuss local weather and bird sightings. No longer bewildered, off I go to prove a point. The weather, of late, has been utterly superb, a true Indian Summer of sixty and seventy degrees warm, of shorts and cardigans on sunny morning walks, of juncos returning for the cold months ahead, and most of all, the incredible leaves on display.
For the first time in memory, we didn’t have a frost in September, nor an early snow, so the full ripening of fall color has truly been a wonder, and most especially in our back garden. Aside from the photo above, this is our yard, at this very moment. Behold the beloved rainbow of acid yellows, pumpkin oranges, rich reds, and even a hint or two of purple.
Oh, and one sleepy-eyed pup taking it all in. Happy Monday!
Tags: Juniper Beulah
Words! Mere words! How terrible they were! How clear, and vivid, and cruel! One could not escape from them. And yet what a subtle magic there was in them! They seemed to be able to give a plastic form to formless things, and to have a music of their own as sweet as that of viol or of lute. Mere words! Was there anything so real as words?
Oscar Wilde
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