Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
“I love hot showers,” he said. “They’re my second most favorite thing, right behind pizza, cold beer, hot coffee, lemon meringue pie, watermelon, grilled steak, the beach, and the fourth of July.”
His wife said, “Where am I on that list?”
He said, “I’ll get back to you.”
Ever get a craving, and the craving stays with you, getting larger and more intense, demanding that you address it? I have one of those going on right now. It’s all about cheeseburgers.
Love a good cheeseburger. The ones that Miss Lee made in Osan City were pretty good for a dollar, when you’ve been out on the town and are heading back to the base to crash. Better were the ones we had at the original Fuddruckers. My grandmother was visiting, and we decided to take her. Once we got there, we were a bit hesitant because the place looked like a dive. But Grandma insisted, so we ate there, even though the burgers were pricier than what we were used to. They were revealed to be amazing burgers.
Next on my list of burgers that I enjoyed was at a place called Clark’s Mountain Broiler in Mountain View, California. They were most excellent. At almost three hundred miles, it’s a little far to drive for one today. So is the In ‘n Out Burger in Medford. Besides that, the lines there are ridiculous. If I were to drive to get a burger, I’d probably go to the Next Level Burger in Bend. The drive is shorter, easier, and more relaxing than the one to Clarke’s. NLB’s burger is plant-based, but it’s astonishingly good, and their fries were awesome.
But I’m not driving for a burger. Louie’s in downtown Ashland has a good burger, as does Flips, both of which can be changed into a cheeseburger (it’s almost magic!). That craving, though, drives me to share a song that’s been rolling around in my head for the last few days.
Hit it, Jimmy.
I have a new problem to relate to my writing process, something so fucking stupid that it’s monumentally irritating. It’s one of those things that make me go, “Grrrr.”
Lately, hunger is interrupting my writing process.
Hunger, as in, “I’m hungry, my stomach is rumbling, and I want to eat.” It’s not like I’m starving to death.
I know, as living and writing goes, it’s not an impressive problem. I imagine many people reading this will think, “What a whiner. I wish being hungry was my writing problem.”
Yeah, I know. It’s definitely a first world complaint, right? Who else but a white American male can complain like this?
Yes, I know.
Let’s back up a moment and add some exposition. I write in a coffee shop. I usually leave the house around 10:30, a few hours after eating breakfast. I like that process. I need to escape the house (and the cats and distractions) to write. Plus, the walking I do prior to writing helps me settle into the writing groove. Right, wrong, indifferent, this is my process, and I like it.
It used to work great. Eat, dress, walk, arrive, buy coffee, set up, work for a few hours. I generally begin by reviewing news and other blogs. I then make a few brief posts. I consider them to be clearing my throat. Then, off to work. I usually achieve ninety minutes of writing and editing punctuated by a couple breaks, and feel satisfied by the process and progress. But since returning to the writing process after going east across America to visit with family, I start getting hungry about a quarter of my way into the writing session.
The first time it happened, I wrote through my hunger. I figured it was isolated because it was rare. The next day, when the same thing happened, I bought a cookie at the coffee shop. The third day, I ate a tangelo before leaving to write, and the fourth day, I brought a Larabar with me and ate it as I walked. Then, the next time, I cut my time short again, and again the subsequent time. By now, I recognized a problem.
All these actions of eating something bought me a little time. Today, though, I had to leave later for my writing. This was due to a cat. One of our cats, Tucker, decided to re-arrange his litter box. (Oi, the mess.) An hour of clean up was demanded. Since that put me behind, I figured that I’d eat lunch before leaving. That was okay; I’d eaten breakfast (waffles) at eight, and then ate lunch at eleven fifteen, departing to write at eleven thirty. I should be good. Yet, here I am, hungry by one, dreaming of sandwiches, salads, wraps, and burritos.
I considered, of course, buying lunch here at the coffee shop. That doesn’t fit in with my budget or dietary plans. I have the money but can’t stomach the idea of paying five to ten dollars a day for something to eat here. The food offered is standard sort of fare, and while generally tasty, it isn’t particularly healthy for more than a once in a while thing.
What it all seems to be pointing to is that I need to leave earlier to write, closer to when I finish eating breakfast. That provides a different problem. The coffee shop is busier earlier in the day. That makes it harder to get a good writing location. I define a good writing location as a table or counter space with an outlet and sufficient room to not hot or be hit whenever someone moves. Further, it’s not just during my writing time, either, plagued by hunger. I’m hungry after dinner. I’m hungry in the evening. I wake up hungry.
I don’t understand why I’m so hungry. I’ve been eating normally. Yes, I’ve kicked up my walking again. Yes, I’ve lost some weight. (Hurrah!) Yes, I’ve reduced the sugar and fat in my diet. Yes, I feel great, other than being hungry.
I guess I’m done for the day. I feel like I’m cheating myself because the writing was going well, and I have more to write. I also feel like I’m weak, giving up writing for eating. That’s silly, of course. (Right? RIGHT?)
Worse, I try to walk two to three miles after writing. It helps my writing process and it’s good exercise. Today, I’m so hungry, I’m heading straight home.
So, calling it a day on writing like crazy. Time to go eat. It’s Pi Day. Maybe I’ll go have some pie.
Damn it.
You ever buy a package of food, and read their claim on the package that it contains two point five servings in it? So you look at it, and think, “No way. That barely has enough in it for me.” You ever do that?
Yeah, what kind of con are they trying to pull on us?
You ever think about the genetic connections, moments of thought and experience, and the actions taken and not taken, the words said and heard, that allow you to arrive at the moment that a piece of pie comes, and you sit up with excitement and anticipation, and say, “Oh, boy, pie!”?
Naw, me neither.
Does it sadden you when you think you know someone, and you recommend a book, movie, restaurant, or something, and then ask them about it later, and they say, “Well, it was okay?”
Yes, bums me. The converse is true, too, when someone recommends something to me because they think I’ll really like it, and I don’t .
Beer and I get along well. We go together like pizza and beer, ice cream and pie, or coffee and pastries.
The other day, we had a warning about climate change and chocolate. Each week brings another story about global warming and the increasing seriousness.
Earlier this year – 2018 – came a story about rare poisonous sea snakes being discovered in California, coming north with warming waters.
Before that, of course, were stories and warnings of wild weather swings with rapid temperature extremes, blizzard hurricanes and increasing wildfires. Before then, climate change warnings were about melting ice caps, rising sea levels, and coastal flooding that threaten cities like New York and Miami.
But a segment of population says, “Nope, climate change, and all that’s attributed to it is fake science, or a hoax, or a conspiracy, or blah, blah, blah.”
Today, a warning from Montana, where malt hops are grown. They’re not faring well there, and climate change is blamed.
Without malt hops, we’re going to have some problems with beer production. Hopefully, more will now start paying attention. The Guardian puts it in perspective in this article, from 2015.
Don’t have the energy to post a recap of our solstice celebration. That’s because I forgot my laptop’s power pack. (Accident? Self-sabotage? Discuss.)
Here’s a teaser – the bûche de Noël served for dessert. And yes, it was delicious. Yes, there was some leftover, but we’ve given it away to friends.
Except for one last piece….
Don’t know about you guys, but we’re excited in our household. Tomorrow is winter solstice for those of us living north of the equator. It’s something we celebrate in our household, we like the idea of welcoming the sun back, and the longer periods of daylight that are to come, but it’s also a meditative experience. My wife and I generally observe it privately, practicing habits and traditions discovered while attending other winter solstice celebrations. Stole them, you could say. You could say that, but I never would.
My wife mentioned our practices to others, which generated some excitement. People urged her to host a Winter Solstice dinner at our house. She, after debate and thought, capitulated. A few friends are coming over. It’s a potluck sort of affair. We’re serving some cheeses, breads, crackers and fruit as appetizers. Others will bring additional fare. My wife is making several soups, which will be served with more bread. It looks like her lentil soup and cheesy tortellini soup is on the menu. Wine will be available, along with spiced apple cider, with a shot of brandy in it, if you desire. Dessert is a bûche de Noël, purchased at a local store. I hope it lives up to its appearance, because it looks delicious.
Afterward, we’ll write wishes and hopes on small slips of paper, and colorful ribbons will be used to tie them to the Yule log. Then we’ll go to the fire pit in the backyard, set the Yule log with our wishes and hopes on fire, and reflect on life as we watch the log burn. Maybe we’ll sing “Stonehenge,” by Spinal Tap.
The weather often adds interest. Some years, it’s snowed on us as we’ve lit our log. Other years, gusting winds worried us. Tomorrow is forecast to be about twenty-eight F when we’re out there lighting the log, but rain and snow are not expected.
Should be a good time. Hope you have a good one, too. Happy winter solstice!
Doesn’t really roll off the tongue, does it?
