I am always dazzled by coincidence, the latest being Frankenstein, so very much of him, here, there, everywhere. We watched a fantastic Spanish fil-um called The Spirit of the Beehive a few weeks ago. I won’t say much about it, save that it is well worth your time. Gorgeous and on the sad side, with windswept, honey-laden landscapes, and the appearance of Frankenstein, first via a mobile cinema and then metaphor (a writer’s dream!). I was especially struck by the mobile cinema itself. It just seemed so quaint and special, nearly the whole town bringing their chairs to the meeting hall to watch a movie.
Frankenstein made a second appearance when I saw a picture hanging while out and about. The third happened when I realized that Boris Karloff was the narrator and The Grinch in How the Grinch Stole Christmas! Finally, on Friday, Lori and I went holiday shopping, complete with breakfast fortification. A plate of biscuits with mushroom gravy made me ever so happy. What did not make me happy was our very handsome server mistakenly giving me a cup of caffeinated coffee. I only drank half of it, but it revved my engines for nearly the whole of the day. Poor Lori and the hubster witness to the madness that is Colleen hepped up on stimulants, yippity-yapping practically non-stop, complete with wacky non sequiturs and me absolutely giddy to see a most exquisite Boris Karloff as Frankenstein tattoo on the forearm of the aforementioned caffeine server. I asked him if I could touch it, and he obliged, “It’s only skin.” Very smooth is all I can say about that. Frankenstein!
As for the photos, this is Friday night, mostly post-caffeine madness. The band is Califone (currently listening to Roots & Crowns) and they played a stellar show at Mississippi Studios. What struck me most was the economy of the players, for such a still stage presence (everyone seated the entire time, rocking, strumming, singing, and drumming), they make a lot of sound. A wildness to it, earthy and playful, too. We talked music (Radiohead, Motley Crue, and the Scorpions) with the nice bartenders at Bar Bar pre-show, the hubster enjoying some Guinness and me finally coming down from the caffeine with whiskey, sweet sigh.
But that was only Friday! On Saturday we walked, feeling cabin feverish even after a late night night out. Sometimes there is no explaining the soul’s stirrings. We headed to Division for a Little Big Burger. Have you tried their veggie version? Deep fried and delicious, my friends. We strolled further, buying matches at the hardware store and tea at Townshend’s, the Circulatory blend (such cold hands and feet!) for home and a coconut bubble for the road.
Fresh air and stretched legs gave me a kitchen itch. I scratched it good and proper, with yeasted pumpkin bread (recipe coming soon), walnut fudge, and biscochitos (Squirrel!). It was a Proustian time of reminiscing. Of Mom, singing along to Johnny Mathis. Of Daddy, sitting in the twinkle of tree lights. Of Maren, making squirrel shaped cookies for Valentine’s day. Of my grandparents, because it was Nana (my grandpa’s mom) who got us all eating biscochitos and her recipe I used. I made phone calls and left messages and spoke to Grandma, excited about the cookies and eager to wish her a happy birthday, too (ninety on Sunday). We caught up while Grandpa watched college football and the hubster made software magic.
What a hodgepodge of love, silliness, and sweetness, made and felt through my whole being, that I nipped into bed early and slept, heavy as a stone, no dreams remembered. This mad life I am living is just so good! I don’t know that I could love it any more earnestly, feel it more fully. Fresh air and the sweet scent of cedar, the squeak of guitar strings, a raindrop on my cheek, sun dancing on the pavement, the words of a loved one, the hubster’s lips on mine, one great cup spilling over and over again.
I can’t tell you how many times we’ve driven past the Maple Leaf Restaurant, hundreds, at least, over the course of fourteen years, yet the week after Christmas was the first time we’d ever actually eaten there. Corrupted by the less than stellar opinion of our former mail man, Karl (Hello!), we were kind of afraid of it, despite the cool neon sign, and the fact that it is a diner.
