In which the ingenious hidalgo escapes again and, in a battle without the hope of victory, triumphs.

The fuming volcano Popocatépetl and his sadly deceased dulcinea Iztaccihuatl both wore sombreros today on this glorious day that marks the closing of the cycle 2010; as did I. My forgetful squire Sancho Panza, on the other hand, left his in town, leaving his great bulbous head scorched by the searing Winter sun.

I, the ingenious hidalgo don Quixote de la Mancha, set out secretly on foot before dawn, unseen and unheard by the sleeping don Tomás who would rather have me burning books than defending los campos of Tepetlixpa. Suprisingly, Sancho was already awake when I arrived at his door, and had already in fact saddled his burro and groomed my beautiful steed Rocinante. "¿And what of our companion noble Fidencio who pledged upon his honor to join us in our daring march to el Cedro, where we shall surely encounter adventure, danger, and amorous maidens while we topple these giant cornstalks and castrate their seed?"

"Sleeping, sire. ¿Shall I go to wake him?"

"¡No! Though it only increases the risk of our day, we shall continue without him. If he follows, we will delight in his company but his laziness, stolen from you I suppose (making him not only a sloth but a theif), has already diminished his reward and the esteem with which I hold him." And with that I set Rocinante off on a brisk trot that suprised me so that I nearly fell. "¡Sancho!" I cried, "¿What Devil has thus posessed this nag such that it no longer responds to my command? ¡Whoa! ¡Whoa!"

With Rocinante only increasing in speed I glanced back in fright to see Sancho's bowed legs flopping wildly on either side of his burro's flank while his hands urged the ignoble beast onward. With both animals huffing and puffing, he finally caught up and calmed my frightened mare. "Pull the reins, sire. ¿Have you forgotten how to ride a horse?"

A half an hour later we crested the hill to see below the amber waves of el Cedro. From our point of vantage we could also see Fidencio trailing behind and behind him the star-crossed and sombrero-bearing lovers Popo and Izta watching over the valley. We dismounted.

All day long we slew the stalks and shucked their treasure, filling burlap sack after sack with the beautiful blue, gold, and white grain. Several hours into the pixca I heard Sancho's stomach let out a lion's roar and I, too, felt a pang of hunger. But on this day I learned yet another lesson of el campo: never hang your satchel within reach of the burro.

"¡Pinche burro!" shouted Sancho in vain. "May your mangy hide, filled with our tamales, itch and itch so that you repent what you have done." Though angry as I was at the burro, it delighted me to see Sancho cringe at the taste of his own medicine.

This being the third subsequent day of labor, the end was in sight. The last ear of maize was in my hand when we heard a rumble. From the path whence we came there burst a machine more fearful than any knight I have ever defeated in battle. My lance missing, I ripped a cornstalk from the earth and mounted Rocinante, ready to counter whatever force the metal menace had. Rocinante and I charged in one direction, Sancho and the burro retreated in the other; the rumble ceased. From the bowels of the beast stepped forth the man from whom I had ecaped that very morning.

"Don Quixote de la Mancha, you gave me a fright. I have been looking for you all day," said don Tomás as he extended his hand in greeting. "It is well past mid-day and you must be starving. Come, eat with me and then we shall return." And with this he spread a cloth on the earth and began to remove delicious food from the bag he carried: beans with nopal, a can of chiles, a stack of tortillas, and... ¡pulque!

I forgot whatever grudge I had, tore a husk from the corn for my cup and a leaf from the stalk for my spoon, and tried to calm my ravenous appetite.

I am now returned as a captive in this castle, but now with a full belly.

El Cacomixtle

"I may not be a civet, but my stomach still ferments the coffee beans I eat and my poop is worth a pretty peso."

-El Cacomixtle

No Sleep

At first it was great. Despite my inability to sleep, I would rise feeling perfectly rested. I could lie supine in imitation of this holy rite & after only several minutes start up refreshed and ready to take up the pursuit of my choice. Unaccustomed to this new liberty from Slumber's shackles, I passed the first night itinerant in aimless and haphazard wanderings. Soon, however, I began to use these extra hours productively: I independently invented calculus and devised a feasible model for a helicopter-prototype.

But gift horses seldom come with pearly-whites and often they have fangs concealed behind their freakish chops. For although after several days the entire household had adopted my happily insomniacal behaviour and in these endless hours of productivity devised some of the most wonderous inventions that a person could imagine (since digested by the bowels of the peste de insomnio), it did not take long before we had trouble to remember. I couldn't tell the days but soon it was this:

One of the few to resist el peste de insomnio

Grandma, the last to resist the plague's effects, with characteristic lucidity, devised this ingenious means to circumvent the inconveniences of memory-loss. But this is palliative. We all know the only cure is raw-garlacke but have been thus far simply unwilling to accept the consequences of this panacea's application.

Las Posadas

Yesterday I mentioned something about Christmas and Baruc, the 6-year old, looked surprized and shouted "Christmas is tomorrow!?"

I use this anecdote to show that Christmas isn't quite as special here as it is for us Anglo-Saxons. Last night and this morning they were still selling tacos on the street and the campesinos still went to harvest their corn. Las Posadas is what redeems Navidad for me.

Nine days before Christmas groups of dedicated Catholics walk through the streets at night accompanied by a band and carrying statues of Joseph and Mary. With song they ask for posada, a place to stay at night. The pilgrims have their verses and the innkeepers theirs, the former asking and the latter rejecting. At the designated house the last verses change and the caseros let the pilgrims in. ¡Fiesta time! Tamales and atole for everyone (chapurrado is an atole/porridge made with corn dough and chocolate, frick man it's good).

The next day the parade begins at the house it ended at and continues to another one etc. for the rest of the week until Noche Buena. On Christmas Eve the pilgrims are admitted and placed in a Nativity scene with li'l baby Cristo. ¡Más tamales!

Tomás and I only caught up with the pilgrims on the 23rd after they had already settled in for the night. Yesterday we went again and because Tomás is such a charismatic flirt the old lady who has been running the posada for 32 years asked him to carry the statues. "Que tu Güerito te ayude, también." So I found myself walking solemnly through the streets of Tepetlixpa carrying a table with statues of Joseph and Mary while 35 Mexicans surrounded us singing carols and launching firecrackers. I had written the words to the main song (see below) but I could hardly sing because I lost my voice in the bacterial beetle-battle in my throat.

Check out the drums of tamales they're cooking for the pilgrims. Those are two barrels plus a pot twice the size of the biggest one we have. All that for about 35 people.

Cantos Para Pedir Posada

Los Peregrinos…
En el nombre del cielo,
yo os pido posada,
pues no puede andar,
mi esposa amada.

Los Hosteleros…
Aquí no es mesón,
sigan adelante,
no les puedo abrir,
no vaya a ser un tunante.

Los Peregrinos…
No sean inhumanos
Dennos caridad
Que el dios de los cielos
Se lo premiará

Los Hosteleros…
Ya se pueden ir,
y no molestar
Porque si me enfado
Los voy a apalear

Los Peregrinos…
Venimos rendidos
Desde Nazaret
Yo soy carpintero
De nombre José

Los Hosteleros…
No me importa el nombre
Déjenme dormir
Pues yo ya les digo
Que no hemos de abrir

Los Peregrinos…
Posada le pido,
amado casero,
pues madre va a ser,
la reina del cielo

Los Hosteleros…
Pues si es una reina,
quien lo solicita,
¿cómo es que de noche
anda tan solita?

Los Peregrinos…
Mi esposa es María
Reina del cielo
Y madre va a ser
Del divino verbo

Los Hosteleros…
Eres tú José
Tu esposa es María
Entren peregrinos
No los conocía

Los Peregrinos…
Dios pague señores
Nuestra caridad
Y os colme el cielo
De felicidad

TODOS…
Dichosa la casa
Que abriga este día
A la virgen pura
La hermosa María.

Entren Santos Peregrinos,
Reciban este rincón,
que aunque es pobre la morada,
os la doy de corazón.

¡Viva México!

¿What percentage Mexican am I now that I have my sombrero and huaraches?

Comparatively Meagre Post: Noticias de la Calle "O"

The air of tyranny is begining to dissapate after five days of formidable presence. These suffocating vapours rose from their source in the kitchen and, rolling over the peninsula & countertops, they flowed outwards to determinately permeate all recesses of the residence. There they persist, though now without their erstwhile meanness--the robotic ring of the magic oven marking the completion of the last batch of Christmas cookies disengendered these lurking clouds of their malice. They linger as a reminder of former times, no longer a  threat to persons of vigour.
We concluded that in such repressive environments, it is best to sublimate one's own urges into an instinct of unalloyed servitude. It is said that "Pines that bend not with the wind won't last the storm." A mighty will is a commendable quality. But to embrace subjugation oftentimes does one the best service in the end. In these cases, self-sovereignty still glitters as a shining jewel in the magnificent halls of thought, but for those of us who must dirty our hands with life in the world, it is prefereable to entertain this concept only as a diversion of fancy. We are emperors of our dreams. Otherwise, we mix, sift, & measure as bidden.

This entry shall be updated presently...

Los Siete Guerreros

I've been thinking about this one for a while.

1. MaíIz

Foods made principally from corn: tortillas of all sizes and colors, tostadas, pozole, pinole, tamales, esquite, elote, tlacoyos, chalupas, sopes, gorditas, atole, chilatole, and mucho mas.


2. Frijol
I counted 11 varieties of beans growing up the cornstalks in Tomas' milpa. To extract the beans from the pod, you spread the pods on a flat surface and beat them with a stick all monket-like until all the pods have split open to reveal the bounty.

3. Chile

These chiles are known as "chiles de amor" because they are eaten "de a mordida." I can't eat anything without chiles now.

4. Nopal

Mexicans eat a lot of these slimy vegetables, after cutting off the spines first. Nopal is like a double-whammy because it also produces tuna, a delicious fruit.

5. Amaranto
Always puffed, most often encountered as "alegría" the candy made from amaranth and some sweetener like sugar packed into a bar or disc shape. Alegría is a throwback to an aztec meal made from amaranth, blood, and spirulina. The spaniards forbade it because it made the aztecs so strong.
6. Pulque
Pulque is an alcoholic beverage made from maguey, a type of agave that I think we 'mercans call century plant. After about 15 years, the plant is ready to tap. You cut out the middle leaves and out flows the nectar, many liters of it that have to be collected twice a day. The nectar is thick like watery cream, and is fermented in the pulquerías and sweetened obscenely before being served. Tomás grew up tending his father's cows and magueyes, two surprisingly similar beasties.
This plant still has a few years left before being ready to tap.

7. Tequesquite
Tequesquite is a mineral salt that the mexicans here use when cooking some dishes. It's not much to look at.

These are los Siete Guerreros that have sustained the mexica people for centuries. They need no other comestible to live and thrive. With the addition of squash and the subtraction of pulque, which I have unfortunately only tried once, it is what I eat too.

Eats

NICKY!

What do you eat in México, besides bugs?

Here is what we eat. It's not interesting. Mostly it's just cause I want to see how it is in México. The quantities are not recorded for to protect the innocent:

(Max)
Peanut-buttre
Fresh Pumpkin
Fresh Pumpkin Seeds
Cinnamon
Wine
Vineagre
Salmon
Cabbage
Flax Seed
Onion
Salsa
Kale
Ginger
Sweet Potato
Lentil
Green Tea
Fresh-roasted Coffee
Molasses
Vanilla
Cayenne Pepper
Black Pepper
Fresh Roasted Peanuts
Can't forget garlacke

(Mom)
Peanut-butter
Jam
Honey
Bread
Black Tea
Coffee
Sweet Potato
Salmon
Lentil
Wine

Mexican FT Chiapas Organic $5.40

O STREET ROAST


Procedure (Convection Oven):
--Heat oven to > 400 degrees Fahrenheit
--Place green coffee beans onto a perforated pan and into the oven
--Notice aroma, crackling, and darkening of the beanlets
--Take them out when they are roasted to satisfaction
--Dump them into a colander
--Shake them with modest vigour to remove the chaff and cool the beans to preven excessive roasting
--Store them in a jar in a cool dry place
--Do not seal for twelve hours to allow for CO2 escapage & full maturation of flavour
--Enjoy the smell of fresh roasted coffee as it permeates the upholstery and the domestic environment
--Use that smell to prove the existence of God











UPDATE: Second Batch, Not Botched, But Blended!


The second batch was almost an unqualified success. The biggest difficulty to overcome without a proper roaster is the convection oven's propensity to distribute its heat unevenly. This time there were clear discrepancies in the color of the beans--the pizza-pan was populated like our own beloved globe, tribes of like-skinned bodies clustered in xenophobic enclaves and scattered about the diverse regions of its surface. But then descended my heavy hand as a force of globalisation and tossed them all indiscriminately into a wire colander, shook them about and watched their frictional interplay.

That was last night. This morning...harmony amongst the clans.

Grinding is the best thing I've every smelled, and the coffee is sublime.

The Birds Don't Like the Bread...

Here's a small report from the car-port coop: there are still five of them, and they still roost in the rafters pounce from above like velociraptors, and they still don't lay eggs, and they eat anything. Well...almost anything. Interestingly, even creatures with no brains seem to maintain certain gastronomical standards, not deigning to indulge in comestibles deemed beneath their feathered dignity.

Don't believe me? If Mom will oblige, she'll upload the photo from her wee sleeket in which one can distinctly make out the alabaster block lying undefiled in the center of the greenhouse. This is the remnant of your bread, Lex, which has not followed the usual pattern of peck-marks into oblivion like most edibles introduced to the fowlry. It has not perceptibly changed since it left the bread-box...two weeks since! I expect some sort of explanation/exculpation in the comments, sir! Special recipe with arsenic?

Here is the picture. Love, Mom

Deviations

I just got back from my meta-trip to Veracruz and Oaxaca. My pictures from Veracruz didn't turn out well because there is too much plant life crowding the frame and the lighting is weird. The best quality picture was the one of my chicken-poxed arm from the bugbites. Fortunately, the bugbites are the only thing I have to complain about.

The picture is from an indigenous community in Oaxaca, with an accurate representation of the goat to human ratio.

Thanksgiving, A review of

It goes without saying that the 2010 Buendia Family Thanksgiving was a total disaster. 

Lex drank wine the entire day. 

We cut the back out of the turkey and smashed it down as low as possible, as suggested by Mark Bittman, which made it look like it was dead (which it was). The idea was to create more surface area, so the turkey would cook faster. Bittman said 35 minutes. We figured 75 minutes. Instead it took more than 2 hours, so our dinner was later than we had anticipated. 

The guests got bored waiting for the dang bird to cook:

Mom drank too much:

Finally, we could put the food on the table, join hands, and each say what we are thankful for. 

"I'm thankful I am not a turkey."

Thanksgiving Day Menu:

Appetizers

Fresh bread (by Max), king salmon lachs, cheese, roasted almonds, apple slices

Dinner

Triple D Farm roast turkey

Quinoa, giblet, mushroom (compliments of Lex), onion, ginger & dried cranberry dressing

Mashed Alaska Yukon Gold potatoes (made by Dave Morris)

Roasted beets with garlic and walnut dressing (Mark Bittman recipe), plus lemon

Lex's sauerkraut

Tebhen's Mom's sauerkraut and bread&butter pickles

Rhubarb, apple, onion chutney

Fresh cranberry orange relish (with ginger)

Dessert

Lex's huckleberry & currant cheesecake

Yam coconut pie

We had lots of the usual family togetherness and all that crap. Lukas from Germany and Tebhen joined us. Marta and Jan came, after eating a dinner at Brian Erickson's. Teeka was out of her mind the entire day...and weekend. She spent most of the time in the garage in the back of the Baja. Later, she decided she liked the ski bags behind the ski rack.

The nice thing is we got to ski that morning. It started snowing early in the morning and by 10am we had appx. 4 inches of new snow. This came after dismally warm conditions and pouring rain on Wednesday evening. Thanksgiving morning we skedaddled out to Kincaid to enjoy the new snow. No one enjoyed it as much as Teek. She was in what you call absolute bliss.

All I can say is Thanksgiving is not the same without Nicky.  

God bless us everyone.

A joke to lighten our hearts

Q: How do you combat a plague of crickets?

A: With 40 starving Oaxacans per hectare.


There is also a phrase: "Todo que camina o vuela, a la cazuela." Everything that walks or flies, in the saucepan it fries.

Rainy Day Woman #1

They shut down all campus buildings all day today and have already cancelled tomorrow's classes at UAF because of icy conditions. The official reason was actually "Anchorage Weather", though if anything it's worse than Anchorage right now. I have been doing mostly nothing all day, since there is nothing much to do. Tomorrow I might try to go running with my racing spikes, since they are telling people to stay off the ski trails. Some kids built a twenty foot snow man outside of the dorms, but the smart ones just sat around bemoaning the heat in their rooms.

Apicultura con don Elpidio

Since Tomás was gone at an event in Chalmita, I exercised my liberty and joined a group of Tomás' beekeeping friends. From 8am to 9pm I accompanied them in harvesting the honey and extracting it, interspersed with some moste delicious chile relleno tacos. It was super fun. We filled up 12 buckets of honey. The bees here are a cross between the africanized bees and the latinos, so they are much more aggressive.

The Riddler on Chester Creek

I just got back from burthened pilgrimage, faring provisions to the outpost (from thence we'll soon depart on our journey inland to the Heart of Darkness). On that wintery way, mesaw some mischief I would fain present to you in riddle:

On Chester Creek,
The trail of ice,
What did appear?
Hint: 'twas a device
Of self-propulsion.
Three guesses should suffice!

--Krampus

Pilgrimage to Annenecuilco

Today I completed my Mexican hajj and visited Annenecuilco, where Emiliano Zapata was born. I convinced Fidencio to go with me. We took the bus to Cuautla, where the big statue is, and from there we took a van/bus to Annenecuilco. The picture of me is in front of what is left of his house.

Lunes, 15 de Noviembre

After a weekend of diversions, Monday was a day to work. After chingando a few tacos in the morning, the crew assembled around the tractor and awaited the arrival of el patrón. My alabaster hue and my lack of sombrero set me apart from my companions, the índio Fidencio and the mestizo Gerardo . El patrón arrived and began distributing our machetes. Fidencio weld the giant machetote, Gerardo elected the more refined curve of the gavilán, and el patrón kept the thicker, more meanacing gavilán. I recieved a hoe. El patrón's albatross father, don Santiago, was also to accompany us that day, in fact it was at his bidding that we abandoned other, more pressing matters, and instead went to Fresno to make firewood from the fallen trees.

Arriving at the fields, the others set to work swinging their machetes while I, "el güerito" toiled under the scorching sun weeding the endless rows of beans. Several hours later, at the patrón's bidding, I returned laden with sacks of avocados, lemons, jaramau and nísperos and began to labor along side my compadres. Don Santiago sat on the edge of the tractor, shouting instructions that no one really paid attention to. Unfortunately, our actions coincided with his instructions often enough that he felt validated to continue shouting. Three trees later, the tractor's trailer was full and we gathered around the campfire to pull our tamales from the ashes and sip our obscenely sweet aguita.

Though the setting sun bid the day adieu, the work was not finished. El patrón and I still had 30 kg of lettuce to harvest.Manos de campesino

Why I don't Love Chickens

OK, so this afternoon, after exorcising the Devil from the Family Pet (see previous Post), I drove into the garage, unhooked and unloaded said Pet, gathered all my stuff from the car, and walked into the house. After putting away a few items, I happened to glance outside and caught the silhouette of a chicken in the carport. Frick, thought I. So, I put a hat on my head and my now-bare feet back into my boots and walked outside. After 10 unsuccessful minutes of trying to shoo the damn bird back into the greenhouse-turned-chicken coop, I gave up and went back into the house. The problem was that: (A) I did not want to pick up the squirmy creature, and (B) the other 4 foul were at the greenhouse door and wouldn't stay inside long enough for the escapee to get back in. I didn't have enough hands to open the door, shoo, and keep the 4 inside.

I kept going outside to keep an eye on the prodigal poultry. She first walked under our deck, then later got herself in the cramped space between the two closets of the carport. The next time I went to check for her I couldn't find her. After searching and searching, I stood still and listened and thought I could hear her but couldn't see her anywhere. Finally I had the bright idea to look up and found her on top of the coop.

After a few more minutes, I went back in the house and ate a chunk of the 1-kg Chocolate Santander bar Nicky was kind enough to order for me. Later, I walked onto the back deck and saw that our little Mephisto was now on the garage roof. 

She slowly worked her way up to the peak of the roof. What a mofro, thought I.

Teeka was out on the deck at the time and she and I watched the dumb chick for a long time. Finally I went back inside the house and into my bedroom. I was changing my clothes when I glanced out the window and saw she was at the edge of the roofline, facing toward the house, standing on one leg. It was as if she realized that if she took the next step, she would step into air. Then she put the second foot down right on the edge...her little chicken toes were curled over the lip of the roof. I thought she was going to jump down to the ground. Instead she took off and flew across the yard and tried to land on my bedroom windowsill!! She couldn't grab onto it and kept flapping her wings and squawking until finally she dropped to the ground. Oh my gosh!  I ran out onto the deck and Teeka looked at me and I swear to God said "Wasn't that crazy?" and I said "Yes! What's wrong with those chickens, Teek?!" 

A minute later Max rode into the carport. I pointed to the chicken. Max calmly scooped her up and deposited her where she belongs.

OK, that's all I got.

Mom v. The Devil

Exhibit A - Teeka's Gut

After possessing Teeka for the last 4 and a half days, the Devil has finally been banished. At least for the present. On Monday afternoon (the day before Trash Day), Teeka slipped her collar and didn't return until after dark....bloated and listing slightly to the left. See Exhibit A.

She was still sick from that adventure when on Tuesday she busted out of the back deck gate, once again not returning until after dark. Wednesday and Thursday she stayed in the yard but it was clear she was possessed by Lucifer himself. Last night she (and, consequently, Max) barely slept. On the one hand I felt sorry for her and reminded myself how sweet she can be, on the other hand I was sick of her and blamed her for bringing Satan on herself. 

This morning I drove to work with Teeka and my skis in the back of the Mongoose. She had to stay there all the way through my way-too-long lunch at the Cattle Company with a client, though I did let her out for a pee about 11:30. Finally at around 2pm she and I headed out from the Elmore Parking Lot. She tried to lag behind but I gave her no breaks. We did the multipurpose/Rover's Run loop and with each kilometer I watched her get thinner as the Devil slowly  made his exit. By the time we got back to the car, it was clear she had been exorcised and was back to her Sweet Teek. See Exhibit B. 

Exhibit B - The Teeka we all know an

Score one for the good guys. (Well, I guess its Good Guys 1, Lucifer 2 for the week).

Drivel

Not much news here. Fidencio and I have spent most of the days either weeding the beans or clearing brush. The nights have been really cold, even freezing for the first time in memory in November. It warms up to about 25 during the day.

I wished I had had my camera a few days ago. There was a view that summarized the week. The volcano Popocatépetl, covered in snow, occupies the top third of the frame. In the foreground, Fidencio the Oaxacan with his sombrero, giant machete and his azadón is weeding the rows of beans bordered by avocado trees that curve out of sight toward the volcano.

I wore a sombrero a couple days ago. It made me look even more gringo. It will take me a few more months to pull it off.

Yakima

Although Fairbanks is generally not the best place to find delicious produce in November, every once in a while, life throws a curveball and you end up in Yakima with apples way better than those that your brothers have ever enjoyed:

Those are the apples that I hauled back on the plane, probably two dozen big ones. This next one is a picture taken from the race course. A private farmer liked runners so he made a running course in the middle of his apple orchard where he has hosted the GNAC Championships for the last few years. They had already picked most of the apples, but there were still some left if you had a good eye. And did I mention they were the best apples I've ever had?

The race went decent for me. I was the third UAF finisher behind David and Tyler, and maybe around 40th place. The UAA guys dominated in both the mens and womens races so we got to see what Michael Friess is like when he's in a good mood: he gave us cookies after the race, while before he refused to even look at me.

Now we're back in Fairbanks with an extra hour:

Daylight Savings

There comes a time

Just once per year

When we gain an hour

Of time so dear.

And I've already squandered the mofro.

And the temperature is back to where it should be: -11C.

Og dagen etter...

The cute little baby,

Once all milk and spittle

Turns into a Hitler,

And boy, can he hittle!

--Ogden Nash

Halloween Night

Teek's Logbook for the Halloweekend

Saturday 

• Early walk for fifteen or twenty minutes
• Bike to Sunrise Bakery for eggshell-pickup
• Ski  at Glen Alps. Saw 18 moose. Mom got us totally lost by trying to do the entire loop, even though there was not enough snow, and we had to ski over rocks and walk over brush and we kept running into open water. Even though I was post-holing through that brush and my paws kept getting those ice-balls on account of the open water, and I was trotting on 3 legs much of the time, I still occasionally mustered enough energy to flush out flocks of ptarmigan. It took us 3 hours to get back to the car.

Sunday

• Early walk
• Run with Mom and Wendy for seventy-five minutes
• Bike to City Market, twice

I'm immortal

Pumpkintide (incipit)

The season fast approacheth (now that Nature's festivities are through and she retreats to southern climes to wait out the Winter months) wherein we mortals must devise our own merry-making. It is our good fortune that among the remnants of Nature's revels we find the Pumpkin--orange-orbicular; Monarch of the Winter Squash. Wisemen have determined that the perfection of Pumpkin exceeds the possibilities of Chance, and that this brilliant fruit therefore, could only be an artifact from the workshop of gods. I wish to take no side in such debates, though I have at times perceived a hint of divinity that haunts about these half-hollow spheres, accompanied by a vague urge to prostrate oneself in idolatry before their global orangeness. But these may have been the vain imaginings of an humble pumpkin-lover. Be that as it may, the holiday-making spirit fortifies us against the tide of despondency that comes with the impending gloom. So it is in this spirit that we resolve a month-long celebration of the Pumpkin and its multiformal kin. This royalty must by nature be not unattended. Therefore do we pair with it various legumes; subjects of the November monarchy.
Our stores are stocked; our holds are full; our vessel floateth low with a load of squash and beans. Let the season begin! May we honor our cülinary tradition!