Light and Dark
Seven o'clock last evening I took a plastic bag along the outside walk to drop down the garbage chute. Looking north, St. Andrews was white with fog. Still foggy this morning, but now looking south across where the Bay was, all creation is white. Inside it, within it, my Bay window is like the window seat of an airplane flying through a cloud, it's that thick, close, immediate. Can whoever is piloting this thing see, because not one navigation light is visible, green nor even the red light just off my balcony.
Yesterday began, ended, and was peculiar. Truth, life and all days are peculiar, what made yesterday so? Dozing off about six or seven o’clock Saturday evening, I rose, stumbled to bed, crashed. Linda apparently left and went to her “snore room,” I say this because when I woke at 1:15 a.m. and realized that I was “up for the day” she was gone. 1:15 is not a good start to begin with, though the three hour Sunday afternoon nap was good. Not refreshing, but oblivion. Perhaps as the universe may be after Time, eh?
After nap I opened MacBook and read in a Washington Post article that we should be drinking five cups of coffee a day, for health and alertness. With another cup of Kona I contemplated “what is it that keeps me sane?” Well, coffee, my own little Seattle Coffeehouse clunking and whirring and grinding and steaming out hot and black, aromatic and clear into my tempered glass cup. And chocolate. Like coffee, I do not take chocolate lightly. I take chocolate darkly. On a shelf in the pantry is my box of thin crispy Dark Chocolate Stars. And a box of paper thin dark chocolate concaves, or convexes depending on which side you look at before placing on the tongue, they’re styled Belgian Chocolate Thins. And a box of Triple Dark Chocolate Ginger Cookies. And a package, so severely rationed that I won’t even shake the package because I dread finding out how few remain, of Dark Chocolate Truffles. Gospel, the good news, is that Linda does not like dark chocolate, and she prefers a cup of Keurig to my magic machine coffee. Coffee and chocolate, ingredients for sanity. As for giving up chocolate for Lent as many do, Lent can go to hell, I’m just trying to make this Kona last and ration out this dark chocolate until Jesus Comes. Even so, tarry, Lord.
Yesterday began, ended, and was peculiar. Truth, life and all days are peculiar, what made yesterday so? Dozing off about six or seven o’clock Saturday evening, I rose, stumbled to bed, crashed. Linda apparently left and went to her “snore room,” I say this because when I woke at 1:15 a.m. and realized that I was “up for the day” she was gone. 1:15 is not a good start to begin with, though the three hour Sunday afternoon nap was good. Not refreshing, but oblivion. Perhaps as the universe may be after Time, eh?
After nap I opened MacBook and read in a Washington Post article that we should be drinking five cups of coffee a day, for health and alertness. With another cup of Kona I contemplated “what is it that keeps me sane?” Well, coffee, my own little Seattle Coffeehouse clunking and whirring and grinding and steaming out hot and black, aromatic and clear into my tempered glass cup. And chocolate. Like coffee, I do not take chocolate lightly. I take chocolate darkly. On a shelf in the pantry is my box of thin crispy Dark Chocolate Stars. And a box of paper thin dark chocolate concaves, or convexes depending on which side you look at before placing on the tongue, they’re styled Belgian Chocolate Thins. And a box of Triple Dark Chocolate Ginger Cookies. And a package, so severely rationed that I won’t even shake the package because I dread finding out how few remain, of Dark Chocolate Truffles. Gospel, the good news, is that Linda does not like dark chocolate, and she prefers a cup of Keurig to my magic machine coffee. Coffee and chocolate, ingredients for sanity. As for giving up chocolate for Lent as many do, Lent can go to hell, I’m just trying to make this Kona last and ration out this dark chocolate until Jesus Comes. Even so, tarry, Lord.
And oysters. I’m trying to keep my vow, my marriage vow. I’ve not given up oysters for Lent either, not happen. My vow -- having seen a friend flatline in the ER after eating raw oysters, it was years ago and he eventually recovered, but he had a liver problem, which I do not -- extracted from me by my spouse, my vow was not to eat raw oysters again until I hear my terminal illness diagnosis, in which case I will be at Gene’s or Hunt’s or across the street at Captain's Table. Because of the vow, it has been years since I sat down to a tray of my favorite food, gray things on shells, nowadays I eat them steamed, lightly steamed. Kona, cocoa, and oysters on the half shell lightly steamed.
My recipe for sanity.
My recipe for sanity.
I wouldn’t mind being 19 again either. Or 39, I remember it well as Maurice Chevalier sang. But here I am 79 and counting.
TW+