Brian King, friend and fellow writer, is dead at 25. The last two and a half of those years he lived out in the open -- well, as openly as he could, the global pandemic raging all around.
I stood in as Sherpa the day we exfiltrated Brian from Alabama. The weather was dark and harrowing; a deluge of rain nearly forced us to stop.
Then suddenly, this moment, glimpse of the Sublime:
Et lux aeterna . . .
My SMS response started out as prose, just me relating to my good friend as best I could, no thought of “creating” anything but conversation.
“I imagine this weekend for you must be kinda like the big pause before diving into a swimming pool or ripping off a bandaid.
I’ve never imagined myself in that role . . . …
. . . in record time, Harper Thorpe!
Author’s note: No actual Harpers were BLOCKT! in the course of this study.
as promised . . .
Cake
Ingredients:
- 1 stick (113g) of unsalted butter
- ½ cup (105g) Coconut Oil, Crisco shortening or . . . if you’re feeling naughty, lard
- 2 cups (450g) granulated sugar
- 5 egg whites, beaten
- 5 egg yolks
- 2 cups (150g) all-purpose flour, sifted
- 1 teaspoon (4.2g) …
(on the occasion of the wedding of Eddie & Carolyn, April 18th 2020)
Deep in the woods
beneath the blue sky
a great Oak tree grew in his home,
by a bend in the creek,
gently swaying all week
in the Wind, and yet sadly alone.
Underneath the same sky
lived a beautiful Vine
far away, near the sand and the sea. …
Here is the wedding cake we made yesterday for the wedding (today) of my friends Eddie Hostetler and Carolyn Dienes.
There will be only five (5) of us gathered in person, including the bride & groom, the Matron of Honor (the groom’s 88-year-old mother Hilda) and my friend Garnet who…
bits and pieces for your Thanksgiving enjoyment . . .
Oh Thanksgiving Day,
a feast most equivocal.
How like us you are.
“Thanksgiving is an emotional holiday. People travel thousands of miles to be with people they only see once a year. And then discover once a year is…
. . . chock-full of more 🦃 day thoughts, plans, and recipes than one could shake a drumstick at!
Meditations
“Dolores?
Sister Dolores?!
Sister Bettina rapped the cedar door with soft cork handle of her cane. “Awaken . . . Sister, get up!”
The plump young novitiate awakened in a start. Exhausted from the fitful labor of elusive slumber, she fumbled for her leather clogs in the pre-dawn chill. One…
