“The devil whispered in my ear ‘You can’t withstand the storm.’
I whispered back, ‘Big talk from someone who lost their golden fiddle to some rando in Georgia.'”
A brief but loud storm blew through Portland this afternoon. It put the kibosh on my plans to head out and enjoy some beers and sandwiches this afternoon, but if I’m honest that’s alright. I’ve been pretty good with my spending lately, and I don’t want to mess it up over beer and sandwiches that I already know where to get separately. Besides, I’ve been treating myself well lately. A new weight vest for running, trying out a whiskey bar tucked away in a basement in Southeast, showing some of the guys in my run group a food pod they knew about but never visited, and fucking them up for life over a plate of chicken and fried potatoes. Next week, they say, will have to be the french fry truck. My body is ready. Indoctrinating new foodies and being a weird sort of “food concierge” for Portland is one of my favorite parts of going out, meeting people, and talking to strangers.
Tonight, though, I’m ready to take it easy, be still and quiet for a bit, and dive into my writing. I’m finally back to working on the book on training and mentorship that I’d shelved after getting a job that A. Required me to test everything I thought I knew about the topic and B. Eventually drained every speck of creative energy from my body like a copper heat sink. “I’m still learning!” I told myself, “I can’t finish the book yet!” My wife, ever the voice of reason, then pointed out that if it was true I couldn’t write a book until I had full, complete, and absolute knowledge on a subject, there would be no such thing as autobiographies.
Point taken. So I’m back to working on the book, warts and all. You can’t edit a blank page.
As I sat down to write, I looked to my left and saw a little brass incense burner with a tiny cone of sage incense inside. Em and I had received it years ago as part of one of an “itty bitty boxes” of whatever that are sold in bookstores and gift shops. This one was a sage space cleansing kit- a cone of incense, a burner, a fake leather cord to bind some actual sage if you got it, and a book about how to smudge. I didn’t want to appropriate Native American practice, and Judaism has plenty of notions of cleansing, sanctification, and the use of incense. I realized that with this nice new desk, a storm outside, a quiet mood, and a little whiskey on hand, this was the perfect time to “cleanse” the desk and workspace and dedicate it to the craft of writing.
The incense didn’t last terribly long and smelled cheap, but I lit it, said a prayer in Hebrew I half-made up, and here I am writing a blog post. The smell of incense, ozone, whiskey, and my wife making cashew chicken wafts through the room, and everything feels calm and right.
The Black Hat Baker 