Garbage

Let time pass without strain. The rush of wind through stick trees. I lack the words for that sense of being well and truly in the moment. It's probably an illusion, after all, or at least elusive. Beautiful deep blue day so I take a little walk before things can change, dropping temps and snow this afternoon, then much colder. Barnhart called and the modem was in but it was too late to come out, he'll try tomorrow morning, if there isn't too much snow, and I asked him to bring a bottle of whiskey, so I wouldn't have to go to town for a few days. I do have to get to town, to do what I think of as the winter laundry, all the socks, underwear, and both changes of long underwear. Joel was giving me some grief about being an idiot, which is certainly true. I am slow when it comes to the ways of the world, on the other hand I eat more pate than anyone I know. I can date this passion pretty precisely, I was in Utah, finishing a house, living bare-bones, but once a week I'd go into Moab and eat at a nice place that served mushroom pate as an appetizer. I met the chef, got in the kitchen and watched. Simple. Mushrooms, shallots, butter and a shot of brandy. Gotta go Barnhart is here.