Eggs For The Fox

 

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As good a time as any for taking stock.

 

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First, my gratitude for this abundant life. And central to that, for me, is the woman on the verge. I am absurdly blessed to have had any time at all with her, and she’s given me more than twenty years so far.

A strong mind in a strong body. That’s nothing to sneeze at. Hard work to do that I am good at.

Lots of problems to work out. Lots of shortcomings to chew on.

A family full of lunatics who all love each other.

Good food. Art. Dogs.

The universe which is trying to seduce me into loving it.

The fact of my impending death, without which none of this would really matter.

 

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This year I learned a lot about letting go. And behold, it was good.

You know that one of my favorite images is that of the monkey riding on the back of a tiger, used as a metaphor for how the conscious mind interprets the input of the senses and the unconscious. The tiger is the unconscious and the raw input of the sensory apparatus, and the monkey is the conscious mind. The tiger is running this way and that, and the monkey is perched on his back, holding a toy steering wheel in his hands, pretending to steer.

Oh, and the monkey is facing backwards.

 

 

It seems an apt metaphor.

 

At any rate, this year I’ve learned to let go of the steering wheel and just kind of enjoy the ride. I’m a guy who has put a lot of energy into grabbing hard onto the wheel and turning it with all my might, certain that if I steered hard enough and with enough skill I could keep from driving off a cliff or smashing into a tree.

But that’s illusory.

It’s ill, and it’s for losers.

 

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You’re going to hit the tree, dude.

 

Might as well sip a martini and just kind of hold the wheel in one hand, like Bond would do, looking all suave and unconcerned.

 

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The other bit of philosophical wisdom I got via Jim Halpert.

Jim says that one of his hard and fast rules is that whenever Dwight asks him if he will join in on one of his crazy conspiracies, his response is always the same:

 

“Absolutely, I will.”

 

I just replace Dwight with “The Universe” and follow Jim’s lead.

 

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So, letting go, and saying “yes.”

 

Those are the lessons for 2011, children.

 

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Namaste.

 

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At Play In the Fields of The Lord

 

 

 

 

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I got this guilt about not holding up my end of the conversation. I feel like I can’t make the effort of it. I know I’m supposed to, but right now I just won’t.

 

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But I’ll still say my piece, and trust you’ll understand. Maybe you won’t leave out of here  , although I am sometimes a poor host.

 

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Life. Last night the woman and I had one of those nice long talks, late into the night, lying together in our big, white bed, under fresh sheets, as moonlight came in through one of the windows in our sanctuary, and it was a long, tender moment that held everything that is most precious about a marriage. That intimacy that has no equal. The unburdening. The warmth and trust. The wrestling with the big and small problems, and the doing of it together. Untangling the knots in the twisted fabric of our lives, smoothing out the wrinkles, taking a moment to look at the big picture.

 

As we were talking there was a moment when I felt my body just evaporate and I didn’t feel any boundary at all between my self and the limitless cosmos. My problems were just my problems, my victories and failures just my tiny victories and failures, of no importance to anyone else or to the vast machinery of the void, but neither was I alone in it. All the little conglomerations of atoms are busy doing something. Doing what’s called for in the moment. Getting smashed, or turning into fuel, or falling into a black hole, or drifting alone in the cold silence of empty space, or going to the store for more milk.

It lasted only a brief moment, but it sent chills through me.

 

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We were talking about how it used to be that things were good, or things were bad, but now it seems that things are all jumbled up and the good things and the terrible things are all happening at once.

 

The streams are crossing.

 

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And we talked about this scene from American Beauty:

I had always heard your entire life flashes in front of your eyes the second before you die. First of all, that one second isn’t a second at all, it stretches on forever, like an ocean of time… For me, it was lying on my back at Boy Scout camp, watching falling stars… And yellow leaves, from the maple trees, that lined my street… Or my grandmother’s hands, and the way her skin seemed like paper… And the first time I saw my cousin Tony’s brand new Firebird… And Janie… And Janie… And… Carolyn. I guess I could be pretty pissed off about what happened to me… but it’s hard to stay mad, when there’s so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I’m seeing it all at once, and it’s too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that’s about to burst… And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can’t feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life… You have no idea what I’m talking about, I’m sure. But don’t worry… you will someday.

 

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It’s corny, I know.

 

But I am a sucker for it all the same.

 

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I hope that you are well, and happy, and that you have the opportunity to give the love inside of you to the world at large, and to do it without reservation. And I hope you go down swinging.

 

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Namaste.

 

 

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Food

 

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So, this weekend was, for me, all about cooking and eating. When we were not taking Yolie’s mom to the hospital to be checked out for a possible heart-attack, or buying diapers for the grandbaby, or going to office Christmas parties, I was in the kitchen, cooking.

Moqueca de Peixe is a Brazilian fish stew that starts with sweated onions, garlic, and bell peppers, adds some chicken broth and coconut milk, and a bunch of shrimp, tilapia, and cod, along with serranos and cilantro. Mushrooms. tomatoes.

I served it over bowls of orzo, with crusty bread, butter, and a big bottle of red wine.

 

It were good enough.

 

After that, though, we had to pack up my mother in law and take her to the hospital. Indigestion disguised as a myocardial infarction.

 

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Today, while Yolie tended to her mother at the hospital, I stayed home and made my interpretation of David Chang’s Momofuku pork buns.

 

Instead of roasted pork-belly, which is hard to come by here, I made a Chinese-style pulled pork in the slow cooker. I made his steamed buns from scratch and served them with some ginger-garlic roasted green beans. Quick-pickled cucumbers, ginger-scallion sauce, and sriracha.

Fuck me running.

 

Even the wild woman of Borneo ate her fill, and gave me a big thumbs up. For a human who mostly survives on goldfish crackers, it was a ringing endorsement.

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It could be I enjoy spending the day in the kitchen even more than hitting people.

 

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We have not a single Christmas decoration up yet, and aim to keep it that way.

 

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That grandchild undoes us all.

 

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Namaste.

 

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The Life Is Valuable, But The Deep Water is Unmerciful

 

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So, that baby got born.

 

Everthing where it’s supposed to be and nothing extra. That wild woman survived it, and so did the nursing staff around her, so good there. That baby is about as good a one as I ever saw, and you get a real nice feeling just looking at his little old face. He don’t fuss overmuch and is a generally agreeable fellow so far. My wife is over the moon on him and I guess I am too.

 

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I don’t much feel like writing now, which is how it is when life asserts itself and just now I feel as though life has got me by the lapels and is shaking my shoulders and shouting into my face real loud.

I can’t hear myself think, which makes for poor writing.

 

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I do feel like a salmon muscling and thrashing his way up a hard running stream, sometimes drilling fast in the depths, between rocks and under the deadfall trees, and at  others leaping up into the harsh light and the unforgiving air, trying to clear the falls.

 

It becomes clear to me that there is a difference between living and just waiting for the next thing to happen.

 

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I have to say that in a way becoming a grandfather is every bit as profound a feeling as it was becoming a father. I looked at that new baby that come out of my baby and it struck me that I was truly just one more breath of the universe, just an inhale and an exhale and I’ll be born and gone and it’s someone else’s turn. Not in a bad way, it just got laid out clear for me in a way that every cell in my body seemed to understand and accept as true.

Maybe when I get to the quiet waters at the head of the stream I will be battered and broken, my shining scales dulled, the light dying in my eyes and I will do one last thing and then drift off into the shallows and cease my efforts. Knowing that does not scare me, nor does it seem unfitting.

And for today I can yet leap in the air, where I gleam and throw off glorious colors for a brief moment before dropping again into the fast moving waters that swallow me from sight.

 

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Namaste.

 

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