i remember.

Dear Adam Kalte
This one's for you.

You're pretty cool.

to sing thy grace

The sky is cloudbursting.

I'm inside eating lemon glaze icing out of a bowl, with a spoon.
but my hands are sticky.

The window's open and the rain is just slowly dripping outside.
I like rain.
I like it a lot.

I also like lemon icing.
Maybe not quite as much as rain.
It's pretty good second though.
 For this moment, at the very least

I'm eating lemon icing, because otherwise it will go to waste.
I drizzled it over some lemon poppy seed muffins, but there is still some left.
And it's sad when good things go to waste.
Even sadder when you put them into the back of the fridge and forget about them. Finding them a few months later, slightly frozen, slightly green, and so utterly forgotten in a Ziploc container.
 So I am going to prevent that from happening, and put it to good purpose.
It will accompany me, in my melancholy mood with the rainstorm.

It's good company.
Thanks for being my friend, lemon icing.

It's already Thursday. Has this week gone by fast for you too?
---

Dear Jasmine,
My lemon poppy seed muffins rose properly. They are slightly yellow in color, and scattered with poppy seeds. I also drizzled lemon icing over top of them. A little decadent? Perhaps. But we've already seen the positives of lemon icing, so we won't question that further.
As you know, I made the lemon poppy seed muffins for you. I was also going to make lemon squares, but we ran out of sugar. So, I hope you can come over tomorrow. I am going to convince you that Johnny Cash is beautiful. Yessirreee, ma'am. Please bring whatever other food you feel like eating. Maybe we can make caramel popcorn.
Let's eat chocolate.
I hope you have a nice day at home tomorrow. Good luck planting your marigolds, and writing your chemistry test.

Text me?
I won't reply, but I'll call you if I have a strong opinion on something

Lots of love.


p.s. just to tempt you:












----

i'll wait, on the emerald isle, for you to come and rescue me.

quarters for the phone

 today ethan came over.
we made:
chocolate-chocolate-garlic-skor-sprinkle rice krispy squares.

that's right folks,
remember to wash out your baking pans well.

 

  

 

But I went looking round and all I found,

I am getting ridiculously sick of working. Ridiculously.

I bet many of you could see this coming. During the weeks and month I gushed about the livelihood of working, and how wonderful it was, most of you reasonable humans were thinking: "Just wait, such an unfounded joy can only last so long."

and that joy has since long past it's prime.
That joy is gone.
 It is gone, going, gone, everything, gone, give a damn, as Jack Johnson would say.

I am so over working.

Yesssirrr. Over it, I say.

My mind has been dulled, my hands have been broken, my wrists have been bruised. My finger has a knot of calcium built up under the skin. I am sick of being itchy and I'm sick of dirt boogers (who thought the day would ever come!).

Good thing there are only (...May, June, July, August...) 
four months left.

Goodness.
I shouldn't think like that.

 I thought today, as I once again smashed my arm between two carts and watched it rapidly swell, how much i must be shortening the life span of my fingers.

Dear fingers,
 who long to do so much more with their life.
Poor fingers,
who long to sew and draw and bake and knit and turn pages and make paper and write and knead bread and touch so many things. Fingers meant to wash dishes and braid hair and be ink covered and held and painted.
Oh fingers, i hope you live long lives, in which you become even more wrinkled and bulging with veins.

It's time you got yourselves outta that dirt.

---

While thinking about paper: (were we thinking about paper? I dunno,  I was)
I cautiously allowed my self, for the first time ever, to lay pen to my homemade paper.
I'd never felt a desire to do that before.
But, when I was out for coffee with a fine fellow a few months back, and I mentioned my paper making past-times, he expressed indignation at that fact:

"To make your own paper, and never draw on it. It is unheard of! It is preposterous! If I made my own  paper I could scarce keep my hands off it. I would draw all over it immediately!"

(It's been a  few months, he might not have phrased it exactly like that.)

My paper has always been a sort of work in itself.  It didn't need any further resolution. But that said: boy, does it ever absorb ink nicely.
And boy, the rough texture looks so lovely with the ink.
And boy, the color stands out so nicely.
I could run my pen over that paper forever.

And I proceeded to doodle on a piece.




(yes, only a doodle. but a doodle is all that is necessary in my heart)

----
Was this here one who makes me tea and brings the crossword