I don't mean maybe
This Thursday was actually OK. Exhausting, but OK.
I started the day by cutting my hair. There's a lot that goes into this experience.
I was taught how to do this by my cousin-in-law Kristen, whom I first met more than two decades ago, when she moved into the big old apartment on W. 102 and Broadway where I lived with my cousin. Kristen came on the recommendation of a mutual friend, who ended up usurping my boyfriend (in what was already a complicated and nontraditional relationship).
Kristen has always had amazing hair. It is one of her defining features. That and her love of good food. One of my foundational memories of her is of her sitting at the kitchen table dining on nothing but a bowl of roasted beets that she had bought on a whim at Fairway on her way home. She taught me how to cut my own hair a year and a half ago when we were on Nantucket baking lemon poppyseed cake for my Aunt Linda's memorial.
Reading: NYer piece on Scotch whisky made me want to go to Scotland.
More Hopkinson.
And beginning on the plays I am reading for a women's playwriting competition.
Writing: Nada. And I am feeling disgruntled with myself and the world as a result.
Dinner: I put polenta in the slow cooker in the morning. When I came home I spread it out in a baking dish and let it set up. Then Sarah and O and I worked in shifts over the course of the evening to top it with sauteed onions, pepppers, and garlic, roasted tomatoes (from a can), black beans, green chilis, corn, and cheddar cheese. Then is was baked for 20 minutes or so and served with sour cream and salsa.
Soundtrack: When I was a young child, we lived in a house on N. Lancaster Street. In my closet I found a box of old 45s. Everly Brothers, Buddy Holly, The Beatles, The Hollies, Chuck Berry. I played them on my plastic fisher price turntable over and over again. It was an early, totally independent, almost magical immersion in early rock-n-roll and rockabilly, and has probably done a fair bit to shape who I am as a person. In that box was this song, your 2/7 lovesong installment, which captured me in a way few songs ever have and has never let me go:
Random thing: Going out to Orange for violin, we pass a golf course or some other expanse of tended nature, and I keep thinking we will see deer. Tonight we finally did. Tons of them, grazing in sociable groups. One of them, a large regal male, seemed to have a goiter. Do deer get goiters?
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| Mmm. Webcam makes me look so good. |
I started the day by cutting my hair. There's a lot that goes into this experience.
I was taught how to do this by my cousin-in-law Kristen, whom I first met more than two decades ago, when she moved into the big old apartment on W. 102 and Broadway where I lived with my cousin. Kristen came on the recommendation of a mutual friend, who ended up usurping my boyfriend (in what was already a complicated and nontraditional relationship).
Kristen has always had amazing hair. It is one of her defining features. That and her love of good food. One of my foundational memories of her is of her sitting at the kitchen table dining on nothing but a bowl of roasted beets that she had bought on a whim at Fairway on her way home. She taught me how to cut my own hair a year and a half ago when we were on Nantucket baking lemon poppyseed cake for my Aunt Linda's memorial.
Reading: NYer piece on Scotch whisky made me want to go to Scotland.
More Hopkinson.
And beginning on the plays I am reading for a women's playwriting competition.
Writing: Nada. And I am feeling disgruntled with myself and the world as a result.
Dinner: I put polenta in the slow cooker in the morning. When I came home I spread it out in a baking dish and let it set up. Then Sarah and O and I worked in shifts over the course of the evening to top it with sauteed onions, pepppers, and garlic, roasted tomatoes (from a can), black beans, green chilis, corn, and cheddar cheese. Then is was baked for 20 minutes or so and served with sour cream and salsa.
Soundtrack: When I was a young child, we lived in a house on N. Lancaster Street. In my closet I found a box of old 45s. Everly Brothers, Buddy Holly, The Beatles, The Hollies, Chuck Berry. I played them on my plastic fisher price turntable over and over again. It was an early, totally independent, almost magical immersion in early rock-n-roll and rockabilly, and has probably done a fair bit to shape who I am as a person. In that box was this song, your 2/7 lovesong installment, which captured me in a way few songs ever have and has never let me go:
Random thing: Going out to Orange for violin, we pass a golf course or some other expanse of tended nature, and I keep thinking we will see deer. Tonight we finally did. Tons of them, grazing in sociable groups. One of them, a large regal male, seemed to have a goiter. Do deer get goiters?
Deer that had a goiter.
ReplyDeletehttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5GDi9LZYlAU