today i logged into facebook to find an unexpected reminder of my college friend pavel’s death from a heroin overdose 5 years ago today. it is crazy how often i still think of pav but i also know that i have conditioned myself to remember him whenever i hear lou reed. since i used to wake up to ‘pale blue eyes’ every day, it wasn’t a huge leap to keep him in my consciousness.
this is probably the first april 19th in 5 years that i haven’t thought about him on my own. it is scary when memories begin to fade, scarier still when you think of how the memories that haven’t faded are the ones you have rehearsed. bowling. napster. go board. bowtie. red shirt. borrowed chair. radio show. messy room. hunter s. thompson.
i really wish i still had the memories that fill the holes between those words.
Posted: April 19th, 2010
Categories: words to rest in
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Note: tight fitting lid with carbon filters recommended for steps 1–3
- At the height of citrus season in mid-January, grow lazy and “forget” to take out compost pail for three weeks (“it’s cold!”).
- Discover frightening black wiry mold growing over grapefruit remains, and quickly close lid of pail. Call off composting of veggie scraps until spring.
- Leave pail on counter until late March.
- Decide that you should not leave the pail on the counter while you go on a spring break trip to sunny Florida, just in case the contents of the pail decide to make a break for it while you are gone.
- Set the pail on the back porch for the last few snowy weeks of the year until mid-April and the start of gardening season.
- Grow disillusioned with trying to pull up the Lambs Ear that you planted two summers ago, despite the warnings from Grandma Alice (“it’s like a weed! it spreads!”).
- Meander over to the compost pail and lift the lid.
- Become intrigued by the foamy, mushrooming substance inside the pail.
- Decide to pour the contents of the pail into your black compost bin, which is full to the top of brown, dry garden waste from last fall.
- Marvel at the way you can still identify a few carrot tops and an onion skin at the bottom of a pile of sludge.
- Cringe at the smell wafting up from the anaerobic pile of toxic slime.
- Decide to use the compost aerator to “mix in” the slime and encourage breakdown of existing brown matter.
- Remember that your compost bin is precariously bound together with zip ties, and poke the mass of disgustingness gently.
- Pull out the hose and apply water to both the bin and the pail, the latter of which clearly needs to be left out in the sun to “air out”.
- Stir a bit more vigorously, until you realize that flecks of vomitous wretched goo have landed on your left arm.
- Run away quickly as an angry wasp tries to find out why you have poisoned his home with putrid citrus matter.
- Return broken lid to bin, and secure in place with heavy rock.
- Debate with John about whether to call the environmental protection agency.
- Shower (extra soap required).
- Wait for your compost to turn into a lovely, rich pile of organic goodness!
Posted: April 18th, 2010
Comments: 1 Comment
Everyone is from someplace. Everyone lives someplace. Everyone calls someplace home.
The other day I was talking to someone who had moved to Denver from Minnesota 2 years ago (I took note because I am also from Minnesota. If you could hear me say that word you could tell). He was explaining that he knew he wanted to move someplace less cold, with liberal politics and good schools for his children. He took an online survey that was supposed to let you know where you should live and his matches were Denver, Austin, Nashville, Minneapolis, and Cincinnati.
“Cincinnati??” I said. “Who wants to live in Cincinnati?”
“Do you know anything about Cincinnati?” he responded, pointedly.
Tonight at dinner, my grandpa mentioned how much he likes Colorado and that is a very nice place to be. He moved here two years ago, when my grandma passed away.
“You like where ever you live,” my mom responded.
I think my grandpa is wise.
I went to college in Florida, which is about as far as you can get from Colorado in terms of culture and weather. For the first 2 years, I felt like I was driving around with blinders on because I had no peripheral vision due to the flatness and trees. I also found out that I am allergic to fireants. I spent 4 years lamenting about how Colorado was so great and about how much I missed it and about how people from the east coast _just didn’t understand_ what it was like to live in the West. I think back now and know that this must have been so tiring to the people around me.
Last week, J and I went to Florida to see our supergreatamazing friends. We spent a magical week doing chill chill chill. We also saw amazing birds, animals, and plants, ate beer-battered hotdogs on the key, sunburnt ourselves at the beach, had boat drinks in the tourist quarter, breathed at yoga, and watched good local music. Spending time with them makes me love Florida. Spending time with them makes Florida feel like a second home.
Everyone calls someplace home. Whether it changes 20 times or whether you stay rooted for your life, everyone has their reasons for where they land, where they leave their hearts, and where they want to be. Denver. Sarasota. Taiwan. Santa Barbara. Brooklyn. Maui. Manila. Chicago. Alaska.
Posted: April 4th, 2010
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