Sadistic Bastard

I have a friend who doesn't cook, actually I have a lot of friends who don't cook, but this particular friend, after I've described something good that I've cooked, always sends me an email that opens with those words. I always have to laugh. Pump myself up and become a sadistic bastard. The wind is screaming, and sheets of rain. Doesn't last long, but it takes out the power and the phone. Power is back on in an hour but it was well after daylight the next day before the phone crew got out to Mackletree. Got up again, in the middle of the night, to write for a couple of hours, mostly stared into the middle distance, then slept on the sofa until the sun got in my eyes. While the double espresso was dripping, I went upstairs and got the two volumes of Jim Harrison's essays. I remembered yesterday that I wanted to reread them. While I was up there I picked up the Thomas McGuane novel "Keep The Change". I keep Harrison and McGuane together on one of the new shelves upstairs because they're friends and drinking buddies. The yearling squirrels are out, and they're eating the proto-buds on poplar trees. I love watching them scamper on the branches, the way they defy gravity. I wonder about Poplar buds, could I eat them? Are they any good? How nutritious?