matrix: "The network of intersections between input and output leads in a computer, functioning as an encoder or a decoder." :: syncopation: "A shift of accent in a passage or composition that occurs when a normally weak beat is stressed."
Saturday, January 26, 2008
a simple place...
I would like to fill a room in my house with musical instruments of any kind. A place to just make rhythms, melodies, beats, harmonizing sounds that fill the awkward, cubist space with abstract notions of Place that has been bent, dimensions that crack open and weep emotional depths, communicating in ancient languages that simply won't dissipate in the modern life of speed. I can hear them -- the sounds that saturate those walls, of stringed angels whispering quiet vibrations deep into the microfine cracks that have always existed beneath the paint -- cracks that rebel against straight and plumb lines of planes that were erected by free men who disregarded the surrounding elements. There is shifting below our feet, oscillations, tiny tremors that occur from the inhalations and exhalations of the earth. And in my music-room, these breaths are celebrated. Invisible, curving, swirling colors of incredible sensations swoop around, coating every surface that is touched, brushed, slapped with acoustic paint. The sounds fill the space with life, healing the rigid structures of their stoic existence. And when I step a bare foot in my music-room, I am filled with the quiet, mystical vibrations of heart palpitations, common to every living being that ever existed.
on this day i acknowledge light is complex and night is recovery. moments between sleep and awakening lay precious embers of glowing miracle. and the heart needs rest as well.
the earth moves simple rhythm -- like the crescending echoes of large, clapping waves that crash against that tiny drum in the hollows of my temples.
and yet movement doesn't always mean progress. sometimes the jarring noise is truly just pain.
A few weeks ago I decided to start running. It all started one cool early October day amidst a week-long heat wave that sent me into a nature-appreciating wind-in-my-hair frenzy. On impulse, I put on some exercise gear, grabbed my running shoes and had at it. It felt so good to move so swiftly again. I had been noticing at work that I was beginning to lose my breath upon walking up and down the stairs, and that I kept feeling fatigued for no reason. Though sleeping and eating regularly, I just didn't feel awake all day. Hence, the need for exercise.
A week had lapsed since that first run, but my body remembered the feeling of air reaching deep into my lungs, and the sounds and the smells. And my muscles latched onto that engaged feeling, reminding me how, indeed it felt incredible. I played with the idea of running a marathon. A marathon! Now that was something that might be interesting. A long-term (VERY long-term) goal was perhaps exactly what I needed to get rolling. I had a sneaking suspicion that once the running began, I would want to continue it, but I did need some impetus. I talked about it with a few people and decided that maybe I'll start small. My sister gasped when I told her my aspirations of running a marathon, and I didn't realize why until she told me the true definition of what a marathon is -- 26-point-something miles. I said OH! OKAY, I don't want to run a marathon. At least not yet. I guess I 5K will do. That's manageable, right? At the time, I had no clue what 5K translated to... in fact the entire method of measuring distance is so conceptually flawed for me. I have never had the ability to uncoil the 4 laps around the football field into one long linear path in my mind. I still have difficulty estimating long distances. Give me inches, give me feet, I'm pretty good with those. Once you start using yards and anything past that, it's out of my brain. Anyway, 3-point-something miles is something I think I can do.
So I start running. I aim for 20-25 minutes. Good. Got that. I ease into 30 minutes. Good. Got that. Now how far was that??? Was it one mile? Two? Only 3/4 of a mile? Haven't got a clue. Friends suggest driving the path and marking the mileage with the odometer. Great idea, but I never do it. That's another thing I can't ever remember to do. Let's mark the best path from point A to point B. Record mileage. Record time. Oh wait, in order to compare two alternate routes, one must remember to record mileage and time for the alternate routes. Woops. I can never remember to do that. Alas, I make the purchase for that nifty little thing. The Nike +iPod. Yes, mentioned here by Fronesis so long ago, I never thought that this $30 buy would make me such a happy little runner. Mainly for the distance. Pace is pretty cool too. Now I have numbers. Now I have graphs. Now I'm in a land of euphoric left-brainedness and type-A personality. Goals. Challenges. Accomplishments. Fun stuff.
So, to all my readers, (um. all three of you.) I give to you the pace-challenge I have set for myself. Yes, I'm rather slow right now, please be kind. Laugh quietly. To yourselves. :)
It all started with the Amish Farm yellow and purple sweet peppers. I knew I had to do something with them before they got all shrunken up and uneatable--inedible--indelibly etched as yet another wasted form of sustenance. I can't stand letting food rot, for simply being lazy. And yet it happens time and time again. (At least now I have a compost pile that the rotting matter gets to feed.) So I got the idea that I wanted to roast/grill them, and eat them like a cold mediterranean salad, drizzled with olive oil & cracked pepper, but then I saw the eggplant sitting there and realized what's roasted/grilled sweet pepper without roasted/grilled eggplant?!!? It's sometime between 5 and 5:30, and I'm not at all hungry, but I remember BITTERLY what my last attempt at roasted eggplant tasted like, and I've since learned to take time when roasting bitter-when-raw vegetables. (That also goes for various squashes, and even some forms of root veggies.) As the peppers are "roasting" in the microwave -- at 50% power -- I'm reminded how full of water they are as they shrink more and more and more, until finally I'm awakened to the fact that mere peppers and eggplant simply will not be enough to eat. I put that thought off as I prepare the grilling machine, which demands a full scouring, since it seems it did not get cleaned the last time it was put away. When was that? Oh, about a year and a half ago when we moved the FIRST time. Kinda gross, right? No problema! I'm happy because the kitchen smells sweet like veggies roasting, and it's clean because I actually did the dishes the day before. And as I peer over our breakfast bar, I'm gazing at our brand-spanking-new pellet stove filled with CORN FUEL! (But more on that in a later post.) Oh, did I mention the eggplant is being roasted in our toaster-oven? What a sight -- the toaster oven is stacked on top of the microwave, and they're both on and running. I'm also "firing up" the electric grilling machine, and everything that's cooking is working miraculously in sync, all in cord-plug equipment. I have yet to touch the oven or the stove. I'm thinking this is a scene out of Cabin Cooking Light. I return to the previously abandoned idea that roasted/grilled eggplant-sweet-pepper will definitely not be filling enough for my dinner and absolutely not enough for leftover-as-lunch tomorrow. Let's see... what can I throw in there? Aha! Spicy Italian Sausage. Two links, frozen, isolated in a zip-loc baggie. Perfect. I'm thanking my own forsight from three weeks ago. Normally when I cook spicy italian sausage, I caramalize onions to go along with it, and finish with tomatoes near the end. Of course, I have no onions. But what have we here? A Gala apple from two and a half weeks ago that's surely too mealy to eat as it stands. Now caramalized apple sounds just as appealing as a substitute ingredient! I cross my fingers and voila! Beefy, beefy, muscular-beefy beef-steak tomatoes lay at the bottom of my refrigerator drawer. Thank you John for your visit to the Amish market.
Life is good.
3.5 hours roasting, grilling, and stewing.
Time well spent. Maybe someday, I'll have the opportunity to roast and grill over an open flame, outside on the patio-kitchen-to-be. And perhaps I can stew it all in a solar oven... yes, I'll forever keep on dreaming.
Wow. I thought long gone were the days of bulletin board flaming and personal attacks through online bantering. Apparently I wasn't aware of every underground sub-specialty "forum" for every subject of expertise imaginable. Let me explain:
In our front yard stand two medium-to-large sized red maples. In our back yard, stands a giganto-ginormous yellow poplar tree. Our latest rain frenzy has felled a few minor branches of the yellow poplar, which just happens to be growing at a tilt TOWARD the house, and the two red maples almost completely obscure the front of our house. No biggie. A few trims of some branches should do. So I decide to google some info on tree branch trimming, and I come across this thread. I was amazed and very entertained by the "dialogue" that took place here.
I guess I've become so familiarized with The Blog -- the realm of personal freedom, the throne of personal insight, the arena of personal soapboxing (and its resultant homogeneous readership) that I'd forgotten about public internet spaces. That no-holds-barred approach to information gathering (or dissemination, should I say) will always and forever remain entertaining. And yet, I'm reminded of that little gecko and the service it's trying to sell -- the latest ads of which are rather funny: first they show some inane home video that one would encounter on YouTube, and then they pronounce something along the lines of "you could be doing something better with 15 minutes online", followed by their catch phrase, "fifteen minutes could save you 15% or more on car insurance." Yes, I could be doing something better with my time than read the writings of a couple of idiots bantering back and forth about how good or bad an arborist they are, based on which method they use for trimming a branch, interspersed with "you're an idiot", "no you're an idiot" camouflaged by high-brow presentation and tree-techie words. Alas, I spend those fifteen plus minutes by returning to my personal realm of idiot flogging for my own entertainment.
