Writing

The Old Men and the Seafood

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I started out the door with a simple idea- “Find a place with food and a beer, sit down, do some writing, come home and hide from the sun to edit.” That’s always the plan for at least one of my days off. Brilliant blog posts, scintillating wit, and scathing social criticism don’t just fall out of the sky, you know.

I love my wife, my cat, and my friends very much, but I’ve also had a lot of time (and put a lot of work into) enjoying my own company. That’s why, at some point every weekend and even on vacation, I try to make a point of getting out on my own and putting some pavement under my shoes.

What looks interesting?
What are people talking about?
Where are the workers going on their breaks?
Where are the old men drinking?
Are there cooks out and about? Where are they?

That’s how you hear about the best stuff in any given city. You have to go find it.

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Too Much “Stuff?” Stop Wanting It.

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I spent a good chunk of today looking for a candle.

It wasn’t just for a candle though. I went shopping for some clothes today, and I intended to pick up a scented candle for my new desk because I have apparently become a guy who likes having a nice candle burning near me when I write. I don’t really know or care if its aromatherapy, meditative, or vibes- it feels Nice and Good and Right for the Desk, so when my little lavender-scented candle burned out, I said “Time to get another.”

I grabbed the clothes from Target (if you catch me in a fancy brand of clothes, assume I got lucky at a thrift shop) and realized I wasn’t going to find the candle I wanted. All the candles that smelled good at all were way too big or pungent than I needed. I wanted it to be low-profile and not to distract me while I was working. Since Emily had come with me and was doing her own shopping, I resolved to just wander around and look for a little something extra for myself. New pins for my collection and little bags of gummy candy are my usual weaknesses and “treats” when I’m out shopping.

After walking through store after store in Clackamas Mall, I came out empty-handed and okay with it, which was an interesting moment in and of itself. Somehow, I’ve gotten to the point where I like looking at “Stuff” and thinking about it, but not getting it.

The things I want, need, and that stick with me I will get, and I will happily eat the cost. After losing my white summer hat, I had very few qualms about dropping $112 for a new, authentic Panama hat. I don’t mind shelling out for a bottle of whiskey that calls to me or that I think I’ll enjoy. Good things cost money.

Somehow, though, the kid who used to collect stuffed animals, Transformers toys, mint containers, tea, and eventually teapots has gotten past the need to have things just to have them.

A wall of similar, multi-colored stuffed animals arranged by color.
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
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Finding Our Foodways- Why You Can’t Eat Nostalgia

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Go far enough down a rabbit hole, and you’ll find more than Wonderland. No subject or history happens in a vacuum and, if you are curious enough, you’ll find links to people, moments, movements, and concepts you might not have thought possible.

I’m reading an oddly engaging book that is, ostensibly, about a famous sibling rivalry in Battle Creek, Michigan at the dawn of the 20th century. The book is also about American foodways of the time, the history of medicine, and the beliefs of various Christian sects in America- namely the Millerites, the Grahamites, and the Seventh-Day Adventists.

You might think that’s a little far afield for a book on sibling rivalry- until you realize that the brothers in question were Dr. John Harvey and Will Kellogg. Together, they created the “wellness” industry, pioneered the mass production of food… and so helped give 21st-century weirdos something else to obsess over.

A woman in yellow looking with disgust at a single red apple in front of her.
Photo by Engin Akyurt on Pexels.com
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Cascading Success: Little Wins and Granting Grace

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I’m writing this post while sitting at a beautiful new desk in the corner of my bedroom. It’s a 1940s Chippendale reproduction secretary desk- the kind that opens outward and contains cubbies, drawers, nooks, and secret compartments inside. It’s seen better days, but except for a little hardware and some polishing, the desk is in excellent condition.

It’s the kind of desk that fits my “dark academia hobbit” vibe perfectly. Sitting down at it just makes me want to write, and even better- I got it for free off of someone’s curb. It belonged to the original owner’s grandmother and it’s just “had its time with them.” They were glad it was being adopted by a writer though instead of winding up in a landfill.

I bring it up because, in the last week or so, various aspects of my life have turned for the better. I’m finally starting to lose weight again, my money management has improved so that I’m actually able to save again, and I’ve successfully pitched two new desserts at work in addition to getting a cost-of-living pay increase.

My dad would say “Don’t question it, just say thanks and carry on.” It’s a typically Jewish superstitious mindset- “When good things happen, don’t question it and don’t express too much happiness or it’ll all go away.” I catch myself in that all the time. I rarely say “everything’s great”- it’s always “I’m doing alright.” “Things could always be better” as a Jewish mental/emotional/spiritual/supernatural insurance against things getting worse.

I am starting to question and wonder about this, though, simply because this isn’t the first time it’s happened. A feeling of something “clicking” into place and unlocking a cosmic level-up. The best that I can tell, it’s because success cascades, and “winning” once can inspire you to succeed in other areas, consciously or not.

A deskscape of an old-fashioned secretary desk with a laptop, a candle, a wine glass, and an ipad playing music.
A better computer that can fit nicely inside with the front closed will be next, but you have to admit this is classy and cozy as hell.
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Let The Rain Fall

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Someone told me long ago
There’s a calm before the storm
I know, it’s been comin’ for some time
When it’s over, so they say
It’ll rain a sunny day
I know, shinin’ down like water
I wanna know, have you ever seen the rain?
I wanna know, have you ever seen the rain?
Comin’ down on a sunny day

– Creedence Clearwater Revival, “Have You Ever Seen The Rain”

The back deck of Belmont Station on Stark is almost uncomfortably warm. They have the heaters on, and it’s nearly empty except for a young man flipping through his phone, an older man talking to the Lord, and me. I’d probably be more comfortable without my sweater on, but I don’t want to look after something else or give my neuroses one more thing to check the seat for when I eventually leave.

It’s the light, on-and-off rain that Portland knows so well tapping on the windows and skylights, and I wonder if their sealing heat was part of the calculus that called for the (not cheap to run) electric heaters. Any notion of “spring” out here is only confirmed or denied by plant life and we all know that they just go on instinct. A sweater and a denim cloak in May? That’s about right. “Putting away heavy clothes” is something other places do.

The beers are dark and good, short 4-ounce pours so I can try a few without breaking the bank. Belmont always has an interesting selection, and it’s rare I do the same beer over and over again in a sitting.

Let it pour. The beer, the rain, the words, the times- let it all pour.

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