After several days of rain, Friday was a clear day for gardening. The cruciferous vegetable plot is fully planted, the next large plot is cleared, and I cut weeds so I can access the compost bins more easily. I lit the first burn pile of the season. The plot with the burn pile needs mowing so I can store the tomato cages there until ready to use them. I put my Practical Farmers of Iowa placard on the compost bin to officially open the garden. It felt like a productive day.
Cruciferous vegetable plot.
The right rear tire of the yard tractor wouldn’t hold air. I called the John Deere shop and they sent me to a local tire service that has been in business since 1932. I checked in the wheel, and now await their phone call. I’m good with waiting until Tuesday to pick up the wheel. Everyone, especially a mechanic, needs a holiday weekend.
I complain about the internet from time to time, yet it was easy to locate a YouTube video that showed how to remove the wheel from the tractor. It saved time and frustration. It assured me I was performing the work correctly. We didn’t have that in the pre-internet days. As a bonus, I had the correct tool to remove the clip holding the wheel on the axle.
It’s the time in the garlic cycle where heads from the 2024 crop need to be used. Thursday after supper I took half of what remained and made garlic purèe with olive oil. I froze eight jars, which is plenty for the rest of the year. There is an abundance to use fresh until scapes come in.
Friday was a good day in the garden. Here’s hoping for more like that.
It was raining Monday morning so I drove to Monticello to pick up two 50-pound bags of garden fertilizer. It’s the same locally composted chicken manure I’ve been using since working on the farms, called Healthy Grow 2-4-3. I tried other types of fertilizer and the granulated format makes application easy. I don’t do the science of testing soil pH and selecting an appropriate fertilizer. Basically, I am doing monkey work by mimicking what successful vegetable growers have done at farms where I worked. The yield and quality of produce improved after I began using this fertilizer.
When I arrived at the warehouse, no one was around. I called ahead to determine if they had what I wanted. The trip is 35.3 miles one-way and I didn’t want to make it for nothing. When no person picked up the phone, I went anyway, taking a chance someone would be there. The main building was wide open, so I looked around. I walked through the office and warehouse and found no one. Despite about 20 vehicles in the lot, only two employees were there across the yard where a truck was being loaded. A driver was in his cab picking up a truckload of fertilizer. He asked me what I wanted and I told him. He said they would take care of it.
The office person loaded the truck, made necessary bills of lading, and dispatched the driver. He said it was their busiest day of the year and that he would get my fertilizer. Eventually another office person arrived and did my paperwork while the first loaded the two bags in the back seat of my car. I enjoy this annual pilgrimage to Monticello. What could be better on a rainy day?
It rained all day Monday and the forecast Tuesday was more of the same. The electric mower arrived Monday, so I’ll get that ready for use when the rain lets up. It was a concession to the fact I am aging, and can’t drive the John Deere on the steep side of the road without increased risk of a flip over. With the proper tool, it should be a safer mowing experience.
When it rains I am concerned about the downspouts from the roof getting clogged and flooding the window well on the east side of the house. With all the maple tree seeds flying around, it has gotten clogged previously. When I return from trail walking, I am sure to inspect the roof from the driveway to assess the amount of fallen seeds. Looks like everything went through the downspout so far. As I age, I try to avoid climbing up a ladder to clean the gutters. So far, I am down to once or twice per year. Would like to get that down to zero yet good help is hard to find.
Our community well was out of commission on Monday, which means I got out the large Rubbermaid drinking water container and placed it next to the kitchen sink for handwashing. I also got a gallon jug of store-bought drinking water to use in cooking and for coffee. We tried to use as little water as possible so we didn’t drain the lines. If the community does drain them, there is a public health procedure to follow to make sure unwanted bacteria doesn’t get into the lines and therefore into our vulnerable, unwitting bodies.
As I write on Tuesday morning, my main worries are getting out on the trail between rain showers for a walk. There are plenty of indoor chores to do, including a larger than usual amount of dishes for cleaning because of the water shortage. We actually need the rain, even if I’d rather get the rest of our garden in first.
Not sure what I will do the rest of Tuesday. There is plenty of work, so it will boil down to the most pressing chores. Rainy day or not, answering the question “what’s most important in our lives” is a constant activity. One we should relish while we can answer it.
Editor’s Note: This is a work in progress for a chapter in my autobiography titled Toward a Kitchen Garden.
Mother was a good cook based on the meals she served us while growing up. She took home economics in high school yet learned most of her skills related to cooking at home. She would make dishes for Father that reminded him of his southern roots, like creamed beef on toast. I remember her meatloaf served with mashed potatoes and a vegetable, her beef soup served on rice, and carrots and peas. The meatpacking plant where Father worked had a full-service butcher where employees got a discount. There were experiences with organ meat (kidneys and liver) which was inexpensive. This suggests a mostly meat as the main dish diet.
Mother was the first woman I knew who prepared tacos in her kitchen. In retrospect, a contributing reason she took up this dish was the introduction of pre-packaged tortillas and other “Mexican” ingredients into our local grocery store before the advent of Mexican food sections like one can find at a supermarket today. It was another chance to use many ingredients normally found in her pantry to make something different and special.
When we ate outside food, Chicken Delight was walking distance from our home. I remember ordering take out or delivery pizza from them more than chicken. When we ate out as a family, it was at a restaurant like the Bell Eat Shop where I mostly ordered a hamburger and fries. We had a long tradition of dining at Riefe’s Restaurant. Smelling their kitchen from our rented home across the alley is one of my earliest memories. Eventually, each of these restaurants closed, with Riefe’s closing permanently on Dec. 23, 2015.
Those things said, I do not have strong memories of what or how Mother cooked, or about what food I ate before leaving for university. Mother kept me out of the kitchen while she was cooking and brought serving dishes to the dining room table where the family gathered for a meal. I did not develop an interest in Mother’s recipes.
I began cooking in my junior year at university. I lived in a trailer home with my high school friend Dennis and tried various dishes to save money and avoid eating out. I tried baking bread and didn’t understand how yeast worked. I used the resulting loaf as a door stop for a while. What food I made during the rest of my undergraduate years is lost in history.
At some point I learned to make tuna and noodle casserole. I served it to Mother before leaving for military service, and then when I had some friends over to my apartment in the military. I liked the taste of it, yet it was not a sophisticated dish. It was what I knew how to make.
Perhaps my most influential culinary experience was in South Georgia. I worked on a logistics project in Ochlocknee in 1997-98. I decided to stay in the nearby county seat at a motel with cable television—a needed escape after working 14 to 16-hour days. I had access to cable television’s TV Food Network.
I developed an insatiable curiosity about food and its preparation. Emeril Lagasse, Mario Batali, Susan Feniger, Mary Sue Milliken, Julia Child and others prepared food on screen, and I was captivated, watching episode after episode on Georgia weekends. Food is a common denominator for humanity, and I couldn’t get enough. My involvement in the local food movement today has its origins in the contrast between that uninviting place in South Georgia and my food escape. There is a broader point to be made than one person’s transient addiction to a television network while away from home. It is that American food pursuits, and the economy around them, continue to be based partly upon curiosity.
It seems clear that American curiosity about food and food preparation drives what we find in markets. It is a commonplace that corn syrup can be found in every aisle of a traditional mega mart, but it is the endless combinations of diverse ingredients that attract our attention then get us to buy. By developing and marketing new things—for example, quinoa mixed with chocolate or chicken, troll or pole and line caught tuna, gluten and GMO free products, and a host of others—purveyors of the consumer economy seek to engage us through the current sales cycle. I suspect we will stop buying at some point, returning to staple foods, or moving on to what the food marketers deem next.
I began using a process I now call “improvisational cooking.” What does that mean? There are two broad categories of cooking. Most regular dishes and meals allow for variation in taste, ingredients, seasoning, and cooking methods. Others, like baking, do not. It’s what I’m doing today, and I believe how many Americans organize their cuisine. It means creating a food ecology from which I pull in elements from our garden, local farms, and area markets to prepare meals based on what’s readily available.
Occasionally I purchase items on-line or via snail mail when I want something that’s not locally available. For example, I recently bought bags of dried Mexican-grown Guajillo chilies and Mexican oregano on-line. At the end of my cooking day, it is a never-ending process that produces, as Tamar Adler called it, “an everlasting meal.” Exploring the symbiosis between traditional and improvisational cuisine is a popular topic when talking to friends and neighbors about cooking.
Improvisational cuisine draws from the broader society. For example, when I make tacos today, typically for breakfast, they are more improvisational than Mother’s were, but use some of the same techniques. I buy raw flour tortillas to cook as I need them and occasionally make my own with corn Masa. The tortilla is a delivery system for a pan-fried amalgam of fresh vegetables, herbs and spices, a sauce, and protein topped with salsa or hot sauce, fresh tomatoes in season, and a form of soft cheese. It is a recognizable dish even though the ingredients vary from day to day and from season to season.
I do use recipes. My go-to recipes are memorized or written in a red spiral-bound notebook I bought on vacation in Stratford, Ontario. In the back I put a few loose-leaf handwritten recipes from Mother and my maternal grandmother. My go-to cookbooks are Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Joy of Cooking by Marion Rombauer Becker, and a couple of others. I am downsizing my collection of hundreds of cookbooks yet kept three shelves on display in my writing area. The influence of Mother and Grandmother is more one of technique rather than a particular dish.
An example of a cooking book I read cover to cover is Tamar Adler’s An Everlasting Meal: Cooking with Economy and Grace. More than anything, she presents a narrative about cooking that goes beyond a single meal or dish to how we connect them together. I also read Anya von Bremzen’s Mastering the Art of Soviet Cooking: A Memoir of Food and Longing. Again, for its narrative more than cooking tips.
I studied church and organizational cookbooks extensively. I adopted very few recipes from them. I keep cookbooks that have some sentimental value, ones in which recipes by friends appear, and a set of a dozen or so from my old neighborhood in Northwest Davenport. The purpose of acquiring these cookbooks has been to understand the development of kitchen cookery beginning in the 1950s and ’60s. People used a lot of gelatin and lard back in the day, that’s for sure.
There is a lot of good stuff in cookbooks, although a lot of repetition as well. Over the years I’ve been enthusiastic about certain chefs — Child and Rombauer Becker, Rick Bayless, Mario Batali, Giada De Laurentiis, and Tamar Adler. I’m hoping to find new inspiration in Anthony Bourdain, José Andrés, Sally Schneider and Nigella Lawson. In any case, the result I envision is a new repertory of about 25 main course recipes that have predictable nutritional value and can be made with mostly local ingredients. I also hope to learn new ways to prepare vegetables. Whatever I learned from studying cookery reduces itself into repeatable main dishes made using understandable preparation techniques. A family only needs so many recipes.
I am now lacto-ovo-vegetarian which requires and fosters a constant dialogue about nutrition, cooking, ingredients, flavors and diet. Being vegetarian strips away most traditional dishes, like the ones I ate while growing up. Occasionally we mimic meat dishes in our household with the growing number of manufactured meat substitutes. If we make a pie chart of our diet, those meat substitutes would occupy a tiny slice. I have also been diagnosed as diabetic, which means closer monitoring of blood sugar as well as related dietary changes.
The cuisine we developed in Big Grove Township focused on techniques to use readily available ingredients to make repeatable dishes. We used to regularly eat pasta, pizza, macaroni and cheese, bread, chili, soup, casseroles, toppings with rice, and manufactured non-meat burger patties. Fresh and frozen vegetables are basic. Fruit is seasonal and desserts infrequently made or purchased. With my spouse becoming vegan, elimination of dairy products became my newest learning opportunity as a cook. I continue to develop that list of 25 main course recipes.
When the garden comes in vegetables dominate the plate. Tomatoes are a favorite and we have fresh with most meals while they last. When lettuce comes in, we make big salads for dinner. For the time being, I don’t bake bread very often, eschew meat and meat products, and use only a few manufactured products for their ease and serviceability within the context of our cuisine.
Most nights it’s easy to get a meal ready for dinner. Our repertory includes easy and complex dishes which satisfy if done right. I prepare dinner for both of us four or five nights a week and we are on our own for breakfast, lunch and snacks. It works.
If we are serious about sustainability and local food systems, we must get beyond curiosity, and distraction from the challenges of a turbulent world. We must get to the production of things that matter in our lives on the prairie. At some point during the last ten years my talk about a “local food system” became talk about a “kitchen garden.” The goal of having a kitchen garden is to produce food aligned with our culinary habits that helps meet a basic human need. We have to eat. It may as well be enjoyable. We’ve all eaten our share of food that doesn’t please our palate. A kitchen garden should address that.
A kitchen garden is a reaction to the culture of consumerism. An important distinction is reaction, not rejection. I will continue to buy black peppercorns, nutmeg, vanilla bean extract, refined sugar, and all-purpose flour milled elsewhere. How else will we get such necessary ingredients?
While I am a local foods enthusiast, and my diet centers around being that, I am not doctrinaire. Other people must consume the results of my kitchen work. Despite several issues with his behavior and written output — including bigotry, racism and patriarchy — I like the Joel Salatin idea of a food shed. That is, secure everything one can that is produced within a four-hour drive of home. I am also not doctrinaire about “food miles.” I’ve written often on the topic and if we work at it, we can secure most of our food produced within less than an hour’s drive from home.
For the time being, I’m mostly ovo-lacto-vegetarian, which means consumption of dairy products and the good and bad that goes with them. I’m not of one mind on this. For example, I’ll buy a gallon of skim milk from the local dairy 6.2 miles from my house, yet I’ll also stock up at the wholesale club for half the price. I take local eggs from the farm when offered, yet I also buy them at the club. Maybe it’s best to become vegan and eschew dairy altogether. I’m not there yet.
In a free society, people should be able to do what they want with only minimal restrictions to protect the commons. In our consumer society, that is a joke. For a local food system to be sustainable beyond the initial curiosity of trying it out, something fundamental must change. It is a need— perceived or real— to change from the act of consuming to the act of production. That involves a lot of hard work, and I’m not sure it could be done in the current society.
In my kitchen garden cooking remains a work in progress.
Over the weekend I assembled the greenhouse, moved trays of seedlings from inside the house, and transplanted tomato starts from channel trays into full-sized blocks. I feel I am way behind on the garden, yet things are moving.
The first day outside is always dicey for the seedlings. It is plenty warm, but the direct sunlight can be strong on them. Lettuce is wilting a bit. I make sure the trays are well watered and cross my fingers, hoping they will recover overnight. I’ll have a better idea how everything went at sunrise this morning after ambient overnight temperatures were in the 40s.
The tray of cruciferous vegetables, kale and collards, is ready to go into the ground. The plot is cleared so I just need to turn it over, fertilize, till the ground, lay down sheets of garden cloth and plant. “Just” is doing a lot of work in this paragraph.
While I enjoy watching seeds grow into vegetables and fruit, I have been less enthusiastic about the garden this year. I plan to cut back by two plots, leaving five. When time allows, the plot by the compost bins will be converted into some kind of storage. In time, I may put up a shed for garden tools. I plan to take better care of the plots that are in production.
I am hoping to get a crop, yet also cut back on the number of varieties. I grow what I can use in the kitchen-garden rather than production of the most produce possible for its own sake. It has me looking at things differently. Any more, I put up tomato sauce and pickles in canning jars and freeze leafy green vegetables to use until the following season. If I have a big garlic or basil crop, I make pesto and freeze pureed garlic and olive oil.
I had a pain in my left hip for the last couple of weeks. Today, I relented and took two ibuprofen after breakfast. It worked. I was able to get through a four-hour shift of loading the greenhouse. I don’t like taking pain medication, but after today’s experience, I might do so again. I find it is a gardener’s friend.
Booklet filled with automatic writing, September 1990.
The home we bought in the Calumet region of Indiana was situated in a subdivision called Lincoln Gardens. Everything was about Lincoln, it seemed. We could hear traffic on the Lincoln Highway, U.S. Route 30, a few blocks from our home. My employer was Lincoln Sales and Service after the highway. We moved there in January 1988.
The first two years were a unique time in my life. I was hired by the trucking company in part because I had been an infantry officer in the U.S. Army. My first supervisor was a Marine who served in Vietnam who was looking for a certain type of “aggressive” individual. He hired me right away. The transfer to Indiana seemed like part of the deal. It was either go to Indiana or find a new job.
I was interested in providing for our young family, so I transferred to the Calumet. I was interested in being creative. As often as I could, I escaped into our detached garage and let my imagination flow. I wrote about this in a notebook filled with automatic writing:
The garage is my refuge in a time when my life is complex and difficult. The raw materials of lumber, papers, and cultural artifacts are everywhere, along with the tools to make them into my creations. Like this booklet. I find hours of distraction possible there. A clutter of colors, shapes, textures, and cultural objects. It is no wonder the trip to the garage took so long. I was engaged in other things there, distracted from the endeavor at hand. (Excerpt from an automatic writing piece, Sept. 9, 1990).
Our family has been able to build a long history together. They always supported my creative energy even if it caused me to withdraw from life from time to time.
If there was anything aggressive about my personality it was the drive to live a creative life on my terms. I was okay if there was an audience of one, resigned to it if that had to be. Yet during that period, I tried to create things with a broader circulation. When I wrote this piece, I had left the comfort of an Iowa trucking company and began work at the ninth largest corporation on the planet. It was as if I severed myself from every Iowa thing. It was go-time as a creative artist and writer.
Comes a time when we must trod the boards and perform the role in which we cast ourselves. For me, it is a role of my own creation in a theater of my own design. The individuality of the words spoken alienates most of the people who know me in other social settings. I write for the ages, not for today’s people. I would enjoy the financial success of a Michener, a Bellow, an Updike, but that may never come to pass.
Instead, from my outpost in Lake County, I produce works, texts to be sent out. Items created in the midst of many social forces. Items that, in some cases, are so idiosyncratic that they might have little worth beyond the borders of my property. But slowly, texts are created. Not many, not quickly, but they mount up, one-by-one. (Excerpt from an automatic writing piece, Sept. 15, 1990).
I have living memory of weekends in our Indiana garage. I hoped to create an art form that would combine all aspects of my creative energy and experience yet have broader appeal. I was hardly successful. Perhaps the best success came from setting aside creative endeavor and taking our child to go swimming on a Saturday afternoon.
I was privileged to be part of a close family, one willing to do things a bit differently than other people who lived in our region. A life based on my creative impulses moderated by the logic of my spouse and our child’s youthful innocence. That nurturing environment helped me to be who I am.
Not literally, as cable television no longer comes into the house via coaxial cable. It arrives from an internet modem. Nonetheless, we canceled our service and they took it away within five minutes of me hanging up the phone. The bill is to be pro-rated.
I stood by the cable guy when they laid the coax in a ditch from the curb box to the house in 1993. We had the same service provider all these years and don’t regret it. Now the missing television service will likely not be noticed.
My viewing was sporadic. I turned on CSPAN a couple of times a year and viewed maybe two or three shows on the Public Broadcasting System. We used to watch the weather during severe events, yet the local broadcast channel migrated to the internet. For that reliable service it was costing $70 per month (too much). Budgets are tight and something had to go. It’s the end of an era.
We changed our internet package as well. We had way over the amount of capacity needed for our usage. Shouldn’t the service provider be monitoring our usage to determine we have the correct offering? Maybe they should, yet that is not what they are about.
What was the downfall of cable television programming? I submit that in part it was the proliferation of specialty channels. Take T.V. shopping, for example. When it was new, I tuned into QVC Network to see what was on offer. I don’t recall ever buying anything, yet many viewers did. When we arrived at QVC’s West Chester, Pennsylvania headquarters for a sales call, we saw the quality of merchandise in the show room was questionable. With so many cable channels hawking wares, combined with my experience in Pennsylvania, the shopping channels all got lost in the noise.
When we were first married, we viewed television programs at home. In 1983 we consumed what was probably typical T.V. fare: forgettable programs like Dallas, Dynasty,Kate and Allie, The Scarecrow and Mrs. King, and The Love Boat. The last episode of M*A*S*H aired on Feb. 28 that year. A program by Iowa City filmmaker Nicholas Meyer called The Day After aired on Nov. 20. I don’t know if this was cable, yet it doesn’t really matter. We don’t watch any television now.
Saying I left cable T.V. is a form of conspicuous non-consumption. The personal and political decision to announce this can be interpreted as a decision to abandon conversation topics with friends, or some kind of “holier than thou” internet asceticism. It can be that. All I’m trying to do is reduce our expenditures so we can survive into retirement.
While it is the end of an era, I won’t be missing cable television very much. I’m not sure what that means to the broader society. Bean counters of the internet suggest cable television subscribers are declining by about 5 percent per year over the last eight years. A lot of viewers remain. There is so much to do, so little time, and people are choosing cable television less.
Perhaps we should have cut the cord earlier. That we didn’t is evidence long-held habits are hard to break. At least, for now, there’s the internet.
Before deactivating my Facebook account, I posted a photo of Rainer Werner Fassbinder as my profile picture. The New German Cinema was in vogue in Iowa City during the early 1980s. I saw more than 20 films by Fassbinder during a two-year period. He died on June 10, 1982, of a drug overdose/suicide. The joke was that as prolific as I was on social media, as Fassbinder was in film, I ended my own Facebook life by deactivating it, partly because I felt addicted to it. I suspect no one got the joke.
The changes in my social media use mentioned in yesterday’s post have had an immediate effect. Maybe not exactly cause-effect, but since I removed social media from mobile, I have been sleeping more soundly and more hours of it. I reduced mobile device screen time by half yesterday, to about three hours. I seem to be getting back to having seven or eight hours of sleep in a night. While that takes time from doing things I love, it is likely good for my health. Other positive changes seem to be happening.
It took a while this year, yet I am deep into revision of my current book. I had 63,000 words on January 1, yet the whole thing needs restructuring. I spent part of yesterday working on a new outline. It’s not finished. Having written the first book, I learned a lot about how to create a readable narrative. I plan to apply those skills as the major re-write begins. I will start with a solid outline and then, from the beginning, rewrite each chapter as if it were a stand-alone piece. The main epiphany is I need to focus on a smaller set of narratives. I’m thinking 25-30 stories. My whole life won’t fit, and there is no reason for it to do so. It’s not like I’m Robert Caro writing the biography of LBJ.
Yesterday one of my shoes wore out while I was walking on the state park trail. Water began to seep through the hole in the sole and by the time I finished 30 minutes of walking, my left foot was drenched. When I got home, I tossed the shoes in the trash and dried my feet. I made a note to buy a better pair of walking shoes soon.
There are a lot of moving pieces today. Having more rest and a new pair of walking shoes seems like a necessity. Also humor can help if people get the jokes.
Our home is a relatively quiet sanctuary for creative work and networking with family and friends. It is easy to enter a room and “do something,” whether it be cooking, cleaning, writing, reading, or working in the garage, garden or yard. We made it this way when we designed the house and its setting. We are constantly using computers.
I recently discovered a new widget on my mobile device called Digital Wellbeing and parental controls. It tracks screen time. The results were shocking: more than six hours per day. Since then, I’ve been using the tool to reduce screen time. Last week I averaged 4 hours 24 minutes per day, which is a still a lot. I am endeavoring to do better.
What did I do about it? First I sorted my social media accounts. During the last year I reduced my social media presence, deactivating Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and LinkedIn. I left Threads on my desktop and had BlueSky on my mobile device. This morning I removed all social media from mobile. In doing so, I removed them from my bed room and living room.
Second, I turned my mobile device into the tool it was intended to be. Instead of garnering my attention on social media feeds the way a slot machine empties one’s pockets, I time my morning exercise, read ebooks, keep up with news and email, and monitor traffic on my blog. I don’t mind the screen time if I’m getting something other than distraction in return.
Since paring back social media my human interaction increased with more telephone time and emails. As the weather warms, I expect to have more interaction with neighbors outdoors. These are positive developments.
The main thing I learned through the widget is to think about how I spend my time and focus more of it on stuff that adds value. That doesn’t just happen by itself.
The forecast was snow yet it isn’t cold enough. Instead, a light rain is falling… enough to keep me off the state park trail until it ends. Warm weather this time of year has become the norm thanks to increasing average, global, ambient temperatures. Climate change is cooking us on a slow roast.
I looked at my 2024 calendars and a few big projects kept me busy: politics and the general election, trips to deliver my spouse to her sister’s home in Des Moines, the summer high school class reunion, publishing my first book, and then getting and recovering from COVID-19. The usual daily chores of writing, reading, gardening, cooking, cleaning, and health maintenance took a lot of time. I had more medical appointments than usual this year. I existed as best I could.
I don’t make resolutions for the new year. I hope to gain perspective on my quotidian life and do better in each moment of consciousness in it. Shorter version: I’ll go on living.
My writing process is focused on finishing the second volume of my memoir this year. If all goes well, I’ll publish it in 2026. While waiting for feedback from the first volume, I’m weighing whether to make the book more available in book world by posting it where it can be purchased.
Our family is in three different cities this New Year’s Eve. I don’t mind being alone this holiday. I rarely stay up until midnight. Today’s main decision is whether I will visit the grocer to buy festive food. The more I think about it, the more likely I am to make do with what I have.
Many thanks to readers of this blog. Each visit, like, and comment is appreciated. Although I don’t post all the comments, I read them. I plan to continue to post here for at least another year. I’ll do the best I can to make it worth your time.
I ran out of bread and didn’t want to leave home to go shopping. I baked a loaf instead. We need more of this as the Republican sh*t storm approaches. We must get along in society, conserve resources, pay down debt, use the automobile less, and eat from our garden and pantry. A bug out bag would not hurt. We must go into survival mode until the dust settles, if it ever does. It will be a while before we can see where we might impact the new society.
Last week a podiatrist said I have to start wearing shoes indoors if I want my feet to heal. Not any shoes, but special shoes that are more expensive than what I usually buy. I bought a pair of these expensive, special shoes. Buying cheap shoes may be part of the original problem. My feet feel better already and my outlook is on the mend. After discussing process with my spouse we developed a solution to prevent tracking dirt all over the house.
The problem is I am a creature of habit and can’t remember to keep them on. When I leave my downstairs writing space, five or ten minutes can elapse before I realize that comme d’habitude I took off my indoors shoes at the bottom of the stairs. My habits are so ingrained, I don’t turn on lights when I get up in the middle of the night, finding my way by memory. Breaking some of my habits is also in the works in the new Republican society.
As Americans , politically, we are sailing into uncharted waters. At home we try to get by, increasingly drawing on friends and acquaintances in multiple virtual and physical communities. For now, we withdraw, resupply, refit, and get ready for what maelstrom is next.
Journey Home 
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