cling wrap

caitlin gave me new clothes just in time for this unseasonably cold front that has fallen on the northeast. matt is far off eating kansas city bbq and swimming in lake michigan while we are beginning to close the windows.

last night zach and i had a failed attempt at making mozzarella. for some reason it turned out more like a very dry ricotta, spongy and held together like mozzarella but tasting almost bitter like the whey we extracted from it. we drizzled clover honey on it, spread vindaloo sauce on other parts, ate it plain, tried it on toast, but it simply was gross. there is still one ball in his refrigerator which we are promising must taste different than the other one.

his roommate tim made gingersnaps that were puffy and softer than usual with bits of cloves and cinnamon stick that didn't quite grind up all the way. one batch had burnt bottoms but i swear they were still delicious. if you got a snap with a bit of clove or cinnamon you were deemed lucky.

i had too much fun in brooklyn the other day and it made me kind of sad.

dream child

LITANY by Billy Collins

You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker,
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.

However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
the plums on the counter,
or the house of cards.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.

It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,
maybe even the pigeon on the general's head,
but you are not even close
to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.

And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the boots in the corner
nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.

It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of rain on the roof.

I also happen to be the shooting star,
the evening paper blowing down an alley
and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.

I am also the moon in the trees
and the blind woman's tea cup.
But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow--the wine."

talents

secretly or not so secretly, i don't actually live here. not yet at least. apartment hunting is so hit or miss. it involves a lot of waiting and decisions. one place was pretty nice but the room felt like half the size as a single in the olde back at school yet the price was somewhat standard for a room of a more appropriate size. i run into people on the street and people send me happy move messages. soon, i hope.

matt and i worked at camp and it felt like each day was a struggle. it was my first time with 6th graders and there are some pretty scary nightmares among the few pleasant ones.

yesterday we had margaritas at cantina - mango, cucumber, white peach. goat tacos and platanos. then we accidentally fell asleep and missed out on going out. so silly.

going back to ny tonight