The job goes ever as the job must, with apologies to Seamus Heaney.
Fortunately, today there was plenty to enjoy. It was my night to cook. I got ambitious and tried to make chicken pad thai, one of my favorite treats at local Thai eateries. The experiment was a god awful smelling mess at first. That ubiquitous Thai ingredient, fish sauce, is potent stuff. Canada and the kids huddled in the front room while I tried to turn lead into gold for dinner.
Damnedest thing was, I managed to make it remarkably edible. We ate pad thai, and it had the right flavor, but not well blended. I could taste each ingredient, especially that fish sauce. It needed a subtler hand or a secret I don't know. But, it was successful for a first stab.
After dinner, I told Canada I'd but us a new album. She quickly turned cynical and translated that as "Album for Matt." Then, I made her listen and pick out the voices. She pegged Alison Krauss straight. That other vocal took a few minutes, but it hit her. Robert Plant.
Raising Sand is another bit of magic ingredients. I'd never have guessed Plant and Krauss would pair up and release an album. Turns out the thing's damn good! Melodic and wistful, sprinkled with a bluesy swagger here and there. I picked it up on Amazon to test out their new MP3 downloads. A little bit of browser fuss didn't outweigh their cheaper prices and lack of pesky digital rights management! Now, Canada and I can share tunes of an album with two of our favorite artists.
There's gold in there somewhere.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Thursday, October 18, 2007
October devolution
It's harvest time in Iowa, but the sky isn't cooperating. We've had a caravan of clouds rolling west to east for days. It just spits enough rain all the time to keep things damp, but sometimes it comes down hard and pounds the vent outside my bedroom window like an out of tune drum.
I'd like to blame the weather, the lack of sunny days for not keeping up this blog, but I'm not fooling anyone, least of all myself. I haven't wanted to post or do much else for that matter. We're stuck in one hell of a rut at home anymore, and work's a drag.
Three weeks ago, I caught a cold that managed to trickle its way into a nagging, coughing infection. It wore me down, and still traces remain. When I get a cold, things don't taste right. Things just don't taste much at all.
I wish I could blame the cold for all of that. I can't. It's one of those ruts where the flavor is gone from nearly everything. My favorite music doesn't sound right. The house doesn't comfort. I've no urge to read. No drive to create.
This week, I saw an old college buddy for the first time in years. We hadn't changed too much. Still the wry humor. I'd missed him more than I realized, and it got me thinking about other college buddies and friends. It stood in glaring contrast to work, where my friends amount to a hip old hippie who used to be my boss.
And, with that, I knew how many foolish turns I've taken in my work. I chased after a lonely path. I worked for years as "the kid" among a bunch of boomers. I had few peers, and none that I stayed with along that road. Now, I'm the veteran among a bunch of kids, and still have no peers, no pals to counsel and seek counsel from. I say this is foolish because I can see it plainly now, where before it never entered my energetic little brain. I sometimes still find comfort, even pride on quiet lunches and solitary accomplishments.
It's a fool's pride, and now I'm finding out how little I can accomplish. And, how bad I am, how distrustful of friends in and out of work. My most recent attempts at remedying the situation are either too timid or too insane. There is no happy medium, no exit.
I'd like to blame the weather, the lack of sunny days for not keeping up this blog, but I'm not fooling anyone, least of all myself. I haven't wanted to post or do much else for that matter. We're stuck in one hell of a rut at home anymore, and work's a drag.
Three weeks ago, I caught a cold that managed to trickle its way into a nagging, coughing infection. It wore me down, and still traces remain. When I get a cold, things don't taste right. Things just don't taste much at all.
I wish I could blame the cold for all of that. I can't. It's one of those ruts where the flavor is gone from nearly everything. My favorite music doesn't sound right. The house doesn't comfort. I've no urge to read. No drive to create.
This week, I saw an old college buddy for the first time in years. We hadn't changed too much. Still the wry humor. I'd missed him more than I realized, and it got me thinking about other college buddies and friends. It stood in glaring contrast to work, where my friends amount to a hip old hippie who used to be my boss.
And, with that, I knew how many foolish turns I've taken in my work. I chased after a lonely path. I worked for years as "the kid" among a bunch of boomers. I had few peers, and none that I stayed with along that road. Now, I'm the veteran among a bunch of kids, and still have no peers, no pals to counsel and seek counsel from. I say this is foolish because I can see it plainly now, where before it never entered my energetic little brain. I sometimes still find comfort, even pride on quiet lunches and solitary accomplishments.
It's a fool's pride, and now I'm finding out how little I can accomplish. And, how bad I am, how distrustful of friends in and out of work. My most recent attempts at remedying the situation are either too timid or too insane. There is no happy medium, no exit.
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