REM

Food that my mom prepared and I cooked,
milk-turned-cheese was smoked, packaged and imported from the Netherlands,
grapes were grown, fermented, bottled and tagged with a kangaroo sticker
...and a Gala apple, white grapes and a good chunk of cantaloupe

AND hookah

AND Simon and Garfunkel playing their essentials

is a pretty good way to calm down, make things bearable, congregate, welcome yourself (and others!) back home.

Even if where you came from is three different ideas of home.
Joel's, Emily's, Bailey's.
I miss my family, I guess.

Someone said tonight that smell is the most memory-triggering scent we have. In my oxygen-deprived stupor, I almost suggested that sounds, or music, is pretty good too. I remember the specific persons I knew/was by hearing various albums.

I can't sleep... or I have no will to close my eyes and welcome the dreams.

My parents (and sister) are gone in Mexico until Saturday and when I entered this house, this home, and found no one but the 2 liter-sized dog yipping, yipping about, I got very excited. Do you remember this past summer? Ask if you don't.

But anyway, there are others lodging here with me. Tomorrow there is a good chance that more people will congregate and laughs will be had, stories will be told, food and drink will be shared and everyone's social quota will be fulfilled.

A few days ago, I imagined what it would be like to live alone. And then I put my Lief-thinking-helmet on and wondered if people are actually ever meant to live alone. This was a brief tangent, but I think an important and necessary one. Grow up under parental authority (learn about routine), graduate high school to live in a cell block with other kids under hormonal authority (start lifting weights, talking louder, pulling pranks), find a job/spouse or start a commune (visit the farmers' markets, start a garden, orchard, winery)... or not. Or, you know, graduate with some sort of degree and live alone.

Most of what I do or happens to me encourages thoughts of community living, of taking over the Stam house and setting up seven (SEVEN!) hammocks in their attic, working with them in the greenhouse and chasing the cats around the yard. And then hunting for morels down the road with them Sarvers, tipping/milking their cow and getting kicked by the little girl. Joel's mom will bake for us, tell us good stories and... ...

okay, I'm getting a little sidetracked.

Point is, I just read a book that will make it impossible to keep from gardening and for... however many years before, I've surrounded myself with people that I want to, in effect, garden with. On the roof of some abandoned warehouse in Seattle? Why the shit not? It started with "Oh man, he's an engineer and she's a social worker/grew up on a farm/knows how to skin a fluffy bunny... shoot, what can I do?" So I started to do some research, to read up on other people that have done it first. And then, oh crap, it got really interesting.

I believe that they are serious. I know I am, but it seems that my intent has little value on... much of anything. Right? There's hope and, at the very least, some emotional banking on this plan, this dream.

And if not... if it doesn't pan out for whatever reason (there are a bunch of potentials), then what? And then I imagined what it would be like to live alone, growing tomato plants off the kitchen window on some crummy apartment (if I get there even).

There are other things to worry about at the moment.

If you think I say a lot, you have no idea how much I hold back.

You don't know me! Don't act like you know me!

A lot of times, I'm being completely serious.

My mom would be proud to know that I missed rice while I was gone. If you're looking to have some rice and Korean food... well, I know how you feel. Give me a call if I want to have you around.

Ah!