1. More brilliant sunshine this morning, at least in Katy, TX.
2. A beautiful, organic, green bell pepper.
3. A new widget on my desktop - Brian Eno's Oblique Strategies. Johnny suggested I flip a virtual card to overcome writer's block. Today I read, "What wouldn't you do?"
4. Milo jumping from the windowsill - to the breakfast nook table - to the floor - and off he went! He landed on our unmade bed.
5. I like that someone else finds beauty in blurry photographs.
1. That green bell pepper.
2. Using Vanilla Chai lotion again. Mercy, what a scent.
3. Almond Dishmate.
4. Tangerine Grapefruit air mist.
5. The Cinnamon Tea. Whoa. I'm trying it this afternoon.
1. Breakfast - turkey sausage, chopped green bell pepper, and raw macadamia nuts.
2. Pixie Maté for a morning pick-me-up.
3. Last night Holly was a good sport and ate a yeast-free menu along with me: outdoor-grilled chicken seasoned with lemon pepper and garlic salt, taro chips, Cedar's hummus, and a salad topped with cherry tomatoes.
4. I tried the Rooibos Vanilla. 'Twas very good.
5. It didn't happen last night, but I will bake yeast-free brownies today.
1. A lawn mower outside.
2. Turkey sausage sizzling.
3. Tea kettle whistling.
4. The Writer's Almanac Podcast from July 28th - catching up.
5. Playing an old, fantastic album: Lonesome Crowded West by Modest Mouse.
1. Warmth of sunshine in the kitchen.
2. Picking up Milo and setting him by his own food, not Harley's.
3. Washing dishes - therapeutic.
4. The comforting heft of a stoneware mug in my hands.
5. Finding myself clapping a bit while listening to a Waterdeep song, "Close the Door":
Every time that I get down
I am like a salmon on
An upstream journey, then
Death to follow once I spawn
I have seen the big fish climb
The ladder at the reservoir
Watch ‘em work like devils
Half delirious do they even know where they are?
Jesus I’m a sucker; I
Wish I believed less of the lies
Did anything I thought I knew
Turn out to be true?
Baby boys and little toys are all that I see anymore
Will somebody close the door?
It’s cold outside
Every single time I thought that
I had figured it all out
I was run aground again and
Floundering with crazy doubt
Maybe every way I’d learned
To deal with the tragedy
Was just another junkyard find
Rust-eaten and raggedy
I have paced the floor at night
Staring in his tiny face
Swearing that I’ll do my best
To make for him a solid place
Barring acts of God or even
Acts of other men, I’ll be
The father that I always wished
I had been allowed to see