It feels so good to be back making chocolate. I spent twelve hours at the shop today, just playing in that beautiful liquid velvet...
I can feel the hectic Christmas rush creeping up, and I know I won't get out of here much for awhile, but that's half the fun of it all.
I was alone in the back today. I ended up listening to the Democratic National Convention in the evening on NPR, which was interesting. The static added to the aesthetic of the whole ordeal.
I'm feeling restless.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Sunday, August 24, 2008
8th Annual Subdued Stringband Jamboree
It was kind of a toss-up between the Jamboree and Meltdown this year, but I decided to head out to Deming and see what all the fuss was about. I got there late Friday night, since I had stayed in town to watch the Muddy Boots play at the market and eat some delicious unagi from Makizushi. We arrived just as Kristen Allen-Zito was started her set, with Yann on the mandolin and a couple other musicians. Then Robert Sarazin Blake, the man of the hour himself, graced us with a rambling appearance on a fittingly rustic homemade stage (materials courtesy of the Re-Store!) I think I tuned out several performers (I was running on about three hours of sleep, and the ground was just so inviting), but luckily I caught C.R. Avery and his derring do at the end of the night. I do believe he closed the show. It was a lovely night, but I probably don't do it justice in words since I was half asleep.
Saturday was great. I went back into town and got some more provisions for the Jamboree. We hitchhiked out around 3, and didn't have much trouble getting lifts down the Mt. Baker Highway. It was a drizzly Northwest sort of day, but that didn't discourage any festival-goers. Now that it was actually daylight I saw a lot of people from Bellingham and met some from beyond. Whiskey was at hand, as were hula hoops and other merriment. This year they set up a second stage (the Slanted Stage) for bands and other acts during intermission on the big stage. The Sour Mash Hug Band was playing when we got there, and that's also where the infamous Band Scramble took place, during which members were randomly selected from different bands and combined with others. One of the results of this was a trio involving an acoustic bass, a washtub bass and a stand-up bass. They were moseying along, pickin' some folksy tunes, and then all of a sudden they busted out a Black Sabbath classic. You can only imagine. The Gallus Brothers, Monday Night Project and the Tall Boys all played on the big stage, and there were a couple more Slanted Stage acts as well, including something hilariously elephantine from the Gallus Gals and a parade of face-painted children. Rain came sporadically throughout the day, making it all a guessing game, and that much more fun. It really started coming down around midnight, when we lit up the bonfires and headed for shelter. At the fire we were at, there was something like a jam involving a fiddle, a guitar and a harmonium. We sat and talked about anything and everything and most of us got about five hours or so of sleep.
Saturday was great. I went back into town and got some more provisions for the Jamboree. We hitchhiked out around 3, and didn't have much trouble getting lifts down the Mt. Baker Highway. It was a drizzly Northwest sort of day, but that didn't discourage any festival-goers. Now that it was actually daylight I saw a lot of people from Bellingham and met some from beyond. Whiskey was at hand, as were hula hoops and other merriment. This year they set up a second stage (the Slanted Stage) for bands and other acts during intermission on the big stage. The Sour Mash Hug Band was playing when we got there, and that's also where the infamous Band Scramble took place, during which members were randomly selected from different bands and combined with others. One of the results of this was a trio involving an acoustic bass, a washtub bass and a stand-up bass. They were moseying along, pickin' some folksy tunes, and then all of a sudden they busted out a Black Sabbath classic. You can only imagine. The Gallus Brothers, Monday Night Project and the Tall Boys all played on the big stage, and there were a couple more Slanted Stage acts as well, including something hilariously elephantine from the Gallus Gals and a parade of face-painted children. Rain came sporadically throughout the day, making it all a guessing game, and that much more fun. It really started coming down around midnight, when we lit up the bonfires and headed for shelter. At the fire we were at, there was something like a jam involving a fiddle, a guitar and a harmonium. We sat and talked about anything and everything and most of us got about five hours or so of sleep.
Oh my. How things change.
I'm still not sleeping...
The days are growing over the nights like ivy on a hot brick wall. Soon, autumn will brown and whither the vines, their regal trident leaves. Night's appendages will rip up the sunwashed earth, shatter the light and seep into every orifice of day.
I haven't been writing/talking to myself as much lately. And, I confess, these thoughts are recycled. I've gathered all my bescribbled receipts and bookmarks and other writing surfaces in the hope of collecting myself. I'm going to type them up, but they mayn't make much sense. Bart gave me a notebook. That should help a bit.
I've had a lot of company and lots of movement these days. My summer is going just splendidly. I've gotten in touch with old friends and met some wonderful new ones. work is not at all overwhelming, but I'm worried about stocking up product for the fall season. I've moved in with Jordan, and we talk about books and women, among other things. Living with him reminds me of our childhood, when it was just the two of us having adventures and catching lizards. I think that back then we were a little better nourished. Jordan survives on tuna melts, chimichangas, empty pie crusts, waffles, and pumpkin pie. He works at Cash and Carry, so it is not unlikely to find a gigantic tub of ice cream or a box of microwave burritos in the freezer. I try to make do with my busy life. I mostly drink tea and eat bagels or cook, when I have time. Groceries are scarce, mostly due to the fact that I usually don't have time to shop.
I like it here, though, I think I'll stay: sleeping on a grass mat on rented floor;
waking to watch the sun bloom on the old deck or the dew drops clinging to spruce needles;
writing my thoughts on borrowed paper with a borrowed pen, a collection of negative space and books surrounding me like woolly insulation; exhausting thought and breath; the morning light a soft, pale blue; the warmth of the night; a library of smells in the cupboard; years of thought on printed page; the bestial walls of the bathroom, and boxes. Boxes, boxes and boxes. Bouncing memory back and forth like a rubber ball. Like four-square that one fateful year of Christian school. On lazy mornings I have time to think, to breathe, to organize my closet. Wild creativity grows over this place like jungle vines as the next season gleefully asserts itself.
Things happened, minds changed and mine decided not to travel this summer. To my relief, actually. I'm glad to have one more leisurely month in Washington before school starts. I've really enjoyed the time I have spent here.
The days are growing over the nights like ivy on a hot brick wall. Soon, autumn will brown and whither the vines, their regal trident leaves. Night's appendages will rip up the sunwashed earth, shatter the light and seep into every orifice of day.
I haven't been writing/talking to myself as much lately. And, I confess, these thoughts are recycled. I've gathered all my bescribbled receipts and bookmarks and other writing surfaces in the hope of collecting myself. I'm going to type them up, but they mayn't make much sense. Bart gave me a notebook. That should help a bit.
I've had a lot of company and lots of movement these days. My summer is going just splendidly. I've gotten in touch with old friends and met some wonderful new ones. work is not at all overwhelming, but I'm worried about stocking up product for the fall season. I've moved in with Jordan, and we talk about books and women, among other things. Living with him reminds me of our childhood, when it was just the two of us having adventures and catching lizards. I think that back then we were a little better nourished. Jordan survives on tuna melts, chimichangas, empty pie crusts, waffles, and pumpkin pie. He works at Cash and Carry, so it is not unlikely to find a gigantic tub of ice cream or a box of microwave burritos in the freezer. I try to make do with my busy life. I mostly drink tea and eat bagels or cook, when I have time. Groceries are scarce, mostly due to the fact that I usually don't have time to shop.
I like it here, though, I think I'll stay: sleeping on a grass mat on rented floor;
waking to watch the sun bloom on the old deck or the dew drops clinging to spruce needles;
writing my thoughts on borrowed paper with a borrowed pen, a collection of negative space and books surrounding me like woolly insulation; exhausting thought and breath; the morning light a soft, pale blue; the warmth of the night; a library of smells in the cupboard; years of thought on printed page; the bestial walls of the bathroom, and boxes. Boxes, boxes and boxes. Bouncing memory back and forth like a rubber ball. Like four-square that one fateful year of Christian school. On lazy mornings I have time to think, to breathe, to organize my closet. Wild creativity grows over this place like jungle vines as the next season gleefully asserts itself.
Things happened, minds changed and mine decided not to travel this summer. To my relief, actually. I'm glad to have one more leisurely month in Washington before school starts. I've really enjoyed the time I have spent here.
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