Written in the Style of Kerouac. Forgive Me, Jack.

And in the dark Living Room one lamp is on as I sit on the old couch we found watching the light from the small, single bulb lap at the corners of the room and feeling all that space that rolls immeasurably up and into the mind, all those memories building, but in the future I know it will still be the same mind this mind of mine, though our atoms are always shifting, and don’t you know that for a moment you will be made from the same molecules as Shakespeare? the bulb burns out and leaves a softer, humming darkness than what was just before and I am filled with a brown-black that reminds me of the country, of the creases in your eyes, the smell of leather and nobody, nobody knows what’s going to happen except that maybe time may hurt to everyone, and I think of being born, the most important beginning that I cannot remember, I think of being born.

Welcome Back Front Door Mat

hey yall

Are you still there? Do you remember me? And, how do you do this again? It is my first blog post in oh-so-long. I am afraid I have lost all my readers. I am afraid of this because everything I know about blogging I learned from links in Margaret Atwood's twitter, and she says you should always blog consistently. Readers need consistency. Blogs are habits. Put your habits into a blog. It's a symbiotic relationship, you know? So in light of this, I'm going to open this window again into my life; currently.

I am thirsty. I am in my living room, with good people. I have been with good people all day. I would like to think I am prone to believing that most people are good. But we are all cynics, aren't we? Today Tyler, Ruth, Hailey, James, Tate and I went apple picking at the Jones Creek Farm. I had never been apple picking before, but now I have a box full of them on my kitchen table. I will make sauce. Apple sauce. I would like to make cider as well, but you need a cider press for that. My neighbors have a press, when I lived in Oregon we would help Nancy and Steve, in the fall, press apples into juice. I remember Nancy telling me to throw in all the apples -- even the ones with bugs. Protein, she said. The eternal joke of protein.

Tyler and Ruth are playing scrabble. I was playing with them earlier, but I was the only one keeping score. I gave up because I realized that their only motivation involved how many "pretty" words they could create. I was done once the word tada entered the board. I was done once I realized they weren't playing for points, they were comparing which words would make the best cross streets to live on. I live on Sunlit and Heron. Tada and Saint. What ever guys. I'm motivated by competition.

We do have a great living room, however. We have a great porch as well. If you are ever in the area, Emerson street, please come by. It is full of people, good wood and light.
I am happy, can you tell?
Testify.