in reading order-
Freakonomics- Steven Levitt
We Were the Mulvaneys- Joyce Carol Oates
The Year of Living Biblically- A.J. Jacobs
A Year in Provence- Peter Mayle
Toujours Provence- Peter Mayle
The World is Flat- Milton Friedman
Raising the Bar: The Story of Clif Bar, Inc.- Erickson
Great Britain to 1688- Ashley
Things Fall Apart- Chinua Achebe
Roots- Alex Haley
The Memory Keeper's Daughter- Kim Edwards
John Steinbeck- Jay Parini
Saving Fish from Drowning- Amy Tan
Thirteen Moons- Charles Frazier
the constant perusal-
History of Art- H.W. Janson
The Diary of Anais Nin Vol. One
The Enduring Hemingway
The Feminist Papers- Rossi
A History of Modern Chinese Fiction, 2nd Ed.
Lives of the Artists Vol. 1- Vasari
Saturday, April 13, 2013
primer: cooking for one in spring.
life has changed, and the weather changed it.
i woke up at 8:30 today, when my alarm clang at 6:30. and there, in the 10 o'clock sepia-soaked morning light, the breeze still tender enough to be susceptible to a tinge of coolness, i glossed a shiny art book, sipped earl grey- a wamp of leaves packaged in tissue paper like a fat dumpling- and calculated and studied and thought about how sinful it would be to waste such a remarkable saturday inside.
when i allow myself to be exposed to them, i get these incredible daydreams. the other day, when a buddhologist spoke in my idolatry class, i slipped from his words and dreamt about vancouver, and salt water taffy, thick wool sweaters, tall tall trees and wisps of cold air.
then i thought about the magic of his mindfulness after i slipped on some stone steps- the beauty of soft flesh against industrial hardness, and concentrating on the pain, i felt no pain at all, only nubs of miniature marbles ascending my thick, plastic-skinned calves- the feeling of the coming of a bruise.
the key to feeling these intricate moments is solitude- adventures for one. these are the first things i remember from the week, because they are the most important memories.
i woke up at 8:30 today, when my alarm clang at 6:30. and there, in the 10 o'clock sepia-soaked morning light, the breeze still tender enough to be susceptible to a tinge of coolness, i glossed a shiny art book, sipped earl grey- a wamp of leaves packaged in tissue paper like a fat dumpling- and calculated and studied and thought about how sinful it would be to waste such a remarkable saturday inside.
when i allow myself to be exposed to them, i get these incredible daydreams. the other day, when a buddhologist spoke in my idolatry class, i slipped from his words and dreamt about vancouver, and salt water taffy, thick wool sweaters, tall tall trees and wisps of cold air.
then i thought about the magic of his mindfulness after i slipped on some stone steps- the beauty of soft flesh against industrial hardness, and concentrating on the pain, i felt no pain at all, only nubs of miniature marbles ascending my thick, plastic-skinned calves- the feeling of the coming of a bruise.
the key to feeling these intricate moments is solitude- adventures for one. these are the first things i remember from the week, because they are the most important memories.
| small blood orange |
| ingredients for a small stew of sorts |
| beautiful, crusty dessert bread from albemarle baking company |
| granny smith apple slices, monastery's brandy infused honey, local strawberry jam, sliced havarti cheese on buttered bread |
| and an enigmatic mango pit |
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