Sugar high

Today at the Jean-Talon market, I had tire d'érable for the first time. It's basically boiling maple syrup poured on snow with a stick stuck in it. It tasted like, well, maple syrup, and it made me want to bounce off the walls.

I got excited when I saw several merchants selling asparagus, but upon closer inspection, I noticed that it was all from California or Mexico. I had something of a rant to Mary about how farmers' markets should be just that: a place where local farmers come and sell food. Food from thousands of miles away belongs at the grocery store. Or, even better, thousands of miles away where it can be enjoyed as fresh, local produce.

Buck the Fruins

As pissed off as I am at KU's dismal second half performance last night, it's much easier to forget about it and move on when you live in a country where no one gives a shit about NCAA basketball. I really hope UNC loses.

We've got magic to do

Way back in the day when I only listened to cassette tapes and the radio in my now gone but still loved first ever Honda, one tape that I listened to frequently was one with Ben Folds Five's self-titled album on one side and the Pippin soundtrack on the other. The first side of the tape ended about a minute into Boxing, the last song on BF5 album, and I knew exactly when to hit the 1 radio pre-set button to make the tape play in the other direction so that there was hardly any pause in the song. Now when I listen to that BF5 CD, as Boxing ends, I still expect to hear the opening notes of Magic To Do... "Ooo-ooh! Join us, leave your fields to flower..."

My first sock ever!

One down, one to go. For all you yarn junkies out there, the yarn is Opal Flamingo.

Shalom in the home

I have a theory about people and their houses: the home of a person who feels really comfortable and at peace when they are there sort of soaks in that peacefulness and it eminates from the very walls of the space. I used to think this peaceful house phenomenon only happened with aging hippies, but now I realize that it can be anyone; aging hippies just tend to have a sense of peace about them. Some peaceful homes I have encountered are the Gelbarts' house, my great-grandma's house, Matt's mom's back porch, and the peaceful home to end all peaceful homes: Kathy and Howard's house on Jefferson. My goodness, you walk in that house, and it's like all your troubles have melted away. Sometimes they would go out of town, and we would be in charge of feeding Caramel and Missy the cats. I didn't take near enough advantage of those times when I was allowed to go in that house all by myself and bask in the serenity. One time they were out of town during one of those pre-spring warm spells, when for a couple of days in late February or early March, it's in the mid-70s and sunny with a nice breeze and you're tricked into thinking it's time to start planting your garden. During that time, I went over to feed the cats and then sat on their back porch -- screened in, unlike ours -- and sat and played with Caramel and let the sun and wind calm me. It's one of the most peaceful moments I can think of. Since then, at this time of year when spring seems to be creeping in, daylight savings time has started, and march madness is on tv, I long to be in a peaceful house with a peaceful back porch on a peaceful day. This is my ultimate goal: to have that kind of pervading serenity and calm in my house.

Hungry hungry hippos

Last night I dreamt I was at a nature park in Colorado Springs that had an exhibit dedicated to the more exotic native animals of Kansas including several types of large spiders and about four different types of hippopotami. They just had baby hippos there, lots of them living in a muddy pool of water. I stepped across the stepping stones in the pool to the side where the spiders were, and as I did, the baby hippos snapped at me. Several managed to get up the sleeves of my shirt and bit my arms and refused to let go. It took some forceful pulling to get them off me.

In another dream last night, I dreamt I was with Elise and Ilana but in this dream they were triplets. I felt really bad that I'd forgotten the third one even existed.

I am not Pandora

This is not a box that I really want to open for fear of what will fly out, but sometimes, especially when I read this ever-increasingly Matt-filled blog, I wonder why Matt and I are together. Why do we we even like each other? Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining. I'm completely head over heels for the guy, and I'm pretty damn sure the feeling is requited. But it often seems that we don't have anything in common: music, movies, books, ideas. None of these things. We don't even really have anything we like to do together besides just sit around and be in each other's presence. This is one great mystery of my life upon which I must be content to turn my back and say, "Eh. Whatever."