Friendship

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I spent Saturday with two of my favorite people: gazing, driving, eating, and enjoying every single second. We went to the Portland Art Museum to see the Mark Rothko show, which, as a pretty big fan, I thought was amazing. It was cool to see work from his career arc, not just his iconic pieces. Though I need to be better about remembering the names. Save for Nude, which I hope is obvious, I cannot recall any. A little help? Anyhoo, I got all giddy looking at brush strokes and drips (the last one is a detail of a larger piece for this very reason), those bits that make this observer really appreciate the fact that there was a live-person on the other end, with thoughts and ideas about execution and final products. Is this what he pictured in his mind’s eye? Did he look at it with the same sense of awe and excitement? I sure hope so.

After the Rothko, we went upstairs to the John Frame exhibit, one I could not initially give a whit about since I didn’t know any better. Then I saw the first photo of a bespectacled monkey, and knew something magical was in store. Indeed, it was one of the finest artistic endeavors I’ve witnessed. EVER. They asked that no photos be taken, and it nearly broke my heart. His work is so detailed and beautiful and evocative that I remained in a state of wonder and probably would have cried were I alone or with the hubster. Strangers leave me alone when I blubber in public, afraid it is contagious, I suppose. But friends not yet accustomed to my weeping ways I spared, saving my tears for home and the viewing of this fil-um with the hubster. He liked it, too.

John Frame makes everything. Sewing, carving, growing, composing, filming. Beautiful music. Sweet figures. Ever-so-tiny articulated hands. Everything. It is magic and madness and reverence done with an unfathomable love for the craft.

One of my companions, enjoying the Milton Avery on display. They are among my favorites at the museum.

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Meow…

 

 

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It’s a rather happy and chill Sunday, my favorite “soft” Radiohead tunes playin’ on the hi-fi, singing, typing, the hubster working next to me, the cats on their respective cushions. We’re all fine here; how are you? Even a little nod to Han Solo. Indeedy.

So, photos. I’m a little snapper, like Pecker, maybe, but not quite. John Waters is an odd bird. I’m doing our weekend back to front, Memento style, maybe, with less confusion, at least I hope.

First, two minutes ago. The office/yoga studio, though you’ll see below that I am not afraid to bust a move in the kitchen. You’ll also see that we need to remove some bolts from shelves long gone and get a new layer of paint on the walls. No worries though, we’re on the fifty year plan. Chipping away.

That’s a Checker hood emblem, a 1978 to be precise. The owner of said automobile came out for a chat, hollering “Yoo-hoo!” after I snapped my photo. I don’t know which was better, spotting the car or having someone holler yoo-hoo like it was the Fifties. I told you it was an awesome day.

We saw this magnolia a few blocks before the Checker, and it wrapped us up in its scent, happy as Christmas.

Moss grows everywhere in these parts, everywhere.

Just in case you need a direction.

Or to feel safe. I’ve got you covered.

Our walk brought us here, two hungry bellies to magnetic north.

It’s a fine place to find yourself on a Sunday afternoon.

Right after you’ve gone bowling.

Or taken flight.

Or heard some siren song.

After an old school fill-up.

It’s all about balance, after all.

And not kicking the dishwasher.

While protecting your bacon from predators.

After a fine evening with friends and their adorable children, epic eating and catching up on the little bits that make a life.

And mixing their chalk art with ours.

Sitting in the warmth of the sun, listening to birdsong and a purring cat.

 

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How-dee-do to you this fine Tuesday, with chocolate on top, Guinness Chocolate Cake, to be ever more precise. This was part of our St. Patrick’s Day feast. Normally, I do not pull out the big guns for this holiday, but we were having our friends Matt & Kelly over, so I dove right in.

I corned some beef, which turned out dee-licious, despite not being in its marinade for ten days (I thought I was pretty on top of things with four), roasted potatoes, made red cabbage with apples, and the aforementioned cake. We were stuffed to the gills and that doesn’t even count the lovely conversation and my wild peals of laughter, of which there were many. I was on a roll, to say the very least.

Now to the cake because my Grammy asked. I adapted this from Smitten Kitchen’s Chocolate Stout Cake, which tastes nothing like beer, just chocolate heaven. The reason for the post name is that I bought half and half instead of the whipping cream she calls for, so a ganache was turned into a sauce, and I gilded the lily by adding Bailey’s. I could not have been happier with the result!

Cake

1 cup Guinness

1 cup unsalted butter

1/2 cup cocoa powder

1 cup whole wheat flour

1 cup flour

1 1/2 cups sugar

1 3/4 teaspoons baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

2 eggs

2/3 cup Greek yogurt or sour cream

Sauce

6 ounces milk chocolate chips

5 tablespoons half & half

1 tablespoon Bailey’s Irish Cream

 

Preheat oven to 350. Butter a bundt pan really well. Bring the Guinness and the butter to simmer in a saucepan over medium heat. Add cocoa powder and whisk until smooth. Cool slightly.

Whisk flour, sugar, baking soda, and salt together in a large bowl. Whisk the eggs and yogurt together in another bowl until combined. Add this, along with the Guinness mixture to the flour until completely combined. Pour batter into the bundt pan. Bake until a tester comes out clean, 35-45 minutes. Cool completely in the pan before turning onto a pretty plate.

Sauce:

Melt the chocolate, half & half, and Bailey’s over low heat until smooth, stirring constantly. Drizzle over individual slices of cake.

Enjoy!

Me, Matt, and Kelly about a year ago. We need a new photo, one with the hubster. Love you guys!

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Lucky

My friend Maren was in town the week before last, and we spent Valentine’s together. A day worthy of shiny red shoes, eating scrumptious banh-mi with cock sauce, sipping steaming and belly warming beverages, dancing, making cookies, and, of course, talking up a storm. How lucky I am to have her in my life. Lucky we can be of different generations, yet cut from the same cloth:getting jazzed, funky, and silly; laughing at our foibles; sharing secrets and dreams; and loving wholeheartedly, that best of all.

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