I'm posting this as incontrovertible proof that men can be domestic, too. On Monday I cleaned the house; on Tuesday I made dinner while Sarah worked on her research proposal; today I'm making muffins while reading a book about Asian culture. Later I'll run an errand, and we'll probably have leftovers for dinner. Oh yeah.
I've only posted twice this month so far. Shameful, I know, but I've been keeping busy. In a loose sense of the word. This is for catching up.
I wrapped up my time in Portland with a trip with my sister and Rusty to Nicholas' Restaurant downtown on the east side of the river. It's one of my favorites, a little Lebanese place that serves absolutely the best pita bread ever. Get a mezza platter, and make sure you try their mjadra.
The following day I finished up a few chores, then went far too early to Union Station to catch the 2:50 train to Tukwila. I had to walk a few miles to the Max station, since I didn't have a ride, and I misjudged it. So I got to the station around noon and read part of Annie Dillard's book Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. By the time I got to Tukwila (and had to walk the last mile to Soren and Alice's apartment) I was 2/3rds of the way through, but I didn't read any more that night. Instead, Aaron came down from Bellevue to pick me up, and I spent the evening with him and Nathan.
The next morning I felt randomly sick, but the day after that was better. Which was lucky, since Sarah drove over that afternoon and we met Cami (and Aaron, and Nathan) for a crazy Seattle gathering. We walked all over and had Indian food and sat on a park bench at midnight and talked about everything. That sort of thing takes a while, so we only got about halfway through before we had to go our separate ways. Leaves something to talk about next time.
Anyway, on to the next day! It was the best day in a long time, and I've had some good ones recently. Sarah and I ate the leftover Indian food for breakfast, then drove to the Wallingford region of Seattle. We had delicious Keemun tea and a cranberry-orange scone at the Teahouse Kuan Kin. Then we walked up and down the main street in Wallingford until we felt like moving on. On our way towards the Fremont neighborhood, we drooled over the beautiful houses and trees and dreamed about living there someday. We ate dinner in Fremont at a place called Brad's Swingside Cafe, which served an intriguing mixture of dishes. They also served homemade cracker-like flatbread in their baskets, which was better than the normal bread. If you go there, make sure you split something.
That evening we visited with Alice and watched Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog before falling asleep. The following morning we packed up and left for a backpacking trip in the Cascades. We arrived at the Talapus Lake trailhead at one, and hiked all afternoon to Island Lake: 5.25 miles and 1900 feet of elevation gain. I've had worse, but I was still not in top condition due to being sick. Anyway, we ate bread, cheese and black forest ham for dinner, and had a relaxing evening in the mountains. We hiked out in the morning, and got to the car by noon, meaning we spent less than 24 hours in the woods. It felt like longer. It was refreshing. I hadn't been backpacking since Rock Lake last summer.
So we stopped a few places, and finally made it back to Pullman at 6ish that evening (I say 6ish because I predicted 6, and we pulled up to Sarah's front door a mere 20 seconds after the clock stopped saying 6:00; it was sad). After a tasty dinner at a Thai restaurant we spent the rest of the night recovering from the exhaustion that stemmed from hiking and driving so much. We slept, earlier than I've slept in a very long time.
Which brings us to today. Sarah went off to work in the morning after breakfast and blog-reading. I dried out our camping gear and stowed my stuff for the couple weeks that I'm here. I might have done a little bit of cleaning, but don't tell Sarah. She's on her way back now to work on her research proposal at home, and I assume she'll see the kitchen before she reads her blogs again.
That's how things stand. Hope you enjoyed the trip.
I used to have a cat, an old fighting tom, who would jump through the open window by my bed in the middle of the night and land on my chest. I'd half-awaken. He'd stick his skull under my nose and purr, stinking of urine and blood. Some nights he kneaded my bare chest with his front paws, powerfully, arching his back, as if sharpening his claws, or pummeling a mother for milk. And some mornings I'd wake in daylight to find my body covered with paw prints in blood; I looked as though I'd been painted with roses.
It was hot, so hot the mirror felt warm. I washed before the mirror in a daze, my twisted summer sleep still hung about me like sea kelp. What blood was this, and what roses? It could have been the rose of union, the blood of murder, or the rose of beauty bare and the blood of some unspeakable sacrifice or birth. The sign on my body could have been an emblem or a stain, the keys to the kingdom or the mark of Cain. I never knew. I never knew as I washed, and the blood streaked, faded, and finally disappeared, whether I'd purified myself or ruined the blood sign of the passover. We wake, if we ever wake at all, to mystery, rumors of death, beauty, violence…. "Seems like we're just set down here," a woman said to me recently, "and don't nobody know why."
– Annie Dillard
I think "mahogany at midnight" would be an excellent crayon color. It is also an excellent hair color.