I hope it doesn't come as a surprise

Yesterday I went for a walk on one of the dozen stunningly beautiful beaches a few minutes up the coast from Santa Cruz, where the majestic waves of the Pacific Ocean were roaring up close to the shore then getting embarrassed by a kelp audience and quieting down to softer white flows of water that slid humbly up the sand.

I was with one of the many friendly and kind-hearted Americans I know, comfortable in our conversations about what engenders happiness and a good life, Buddhist principles and finding the balance between individualism and community. As we walked the length of the beach, a couple tiny pieces of plastic caught my eye, since we have an admirably widespread aversion to littering that leaves our coastline impressively clean.  The only thing on the beach besides footsteps of humans and canines were little jelly caps of mysterious oceanic providence, but sure looked like mermaid slippers to me.

On the way back we stopped by a locally owned and operated restaurant for a snack of fresh local calamari. We ordered the chicken and vegetable soup, and when it turned out they had quoted the Soup of the Day wrong, they gave us the tomato-basil bisque for free. America reliably has by far the best customer service I've ever seen. Then we returned to a town by the sea where an hour's walk along the shore provides good odds of seeing seals, otters, and dolphins.

I thought to myself "I really love this land." And shortly thereafter "one probably wouldn't guess that from my last blog."

So yes Lady America, you fair damsel simultaneously insecure and arrogant, wise and foolish, I love you. You are beautiful, noble, ridiculous, inspiring, disappointing, and at the end of the day, one helluva nice place to live.

The new fella in my life.

You can tell me the truth. That blog I wrote about the veggie pasta I cooked? It sucked, I know. I wasn’t sure what to say during this stationary interlude, and tried to talk about the adjustment of it…

But now I definitely have something to say. Because there is someone new in my life. Someone…wonderful. I am learning so much!

This individual is affectionate and loving, but without being clingy.  The one in question…he…is independent and self reliant without being aloof.  And so considerate! For example, he hardly makes any mess when he goes to the bathroom.

In fact, he usually just goes in the neighbor’s yard.

I am occasionally prone to platonic man-crushes, but this one is different in one rather significant way.

His name is Scoobie. Now hold out your hand for a moment and let him sniff you.

Good, he likes you. We can still be friends.

I am now going to try and avoid ranting about a cat for far longer than necessary. I will fail at this task. I will not regret that failure.

This is Scoobie after reading my book.

 When he has decided that I have slept enough, he walks across my chest and onto the end table. Once there he will go through my stuff, perhaps push the book around or nibble on the prayer beads I brought back from Nepal.

This is an effective method of getting me out of bed. I am glad my college roommate never tried it.

This is Scoobie interrupted during intimate grooming time.
You will now look away. You will apologize.

 This website does not do well with text, photos, and captions. If Scoobie felt like it he could design a blogging site that worked far better, but he has better things to do. (See: picture below.)

This is Scoobie stoned on catnip. You will rub his luxurious stomach. You will feel privileged to do so.

This is Scoobie laughing. It's okay to be a little afraid.

Scoobie says you may go now.

Say thank you, and do not turn your back as you leave.

Culinarily Challenged

Step 1: Dice most of an apple.

2. Shmumf in a big scoop of mayonnaise and stir it up.

3. Add a can of tuna, stir some more, then put half the mix on a piece of toasted bread, preferably with lots of seeds and stuff. Cut the other piece of bread in half before putting it on, then you can cut the whole sandwich without pushing all the filling out as you go through the top layer. You're welcome.

4. Garnish with unsalted potato chips and a kombucha.

That reminds me, how long after the expiration date
does egg nog stay good?

That’s about the extent of my culinary knowledge. When it comes to cooking, I am apparently 32, going on 18-year-old-college-freshman. I am not proud of this.

Nor am I entirely sure how I managed to get this far and only accumulate a half dozen recipes in my head. I suspect it’s a combination of lots of time on the road (which entails a pretty limited larder to work with), a viewpoint that says “if it’s just me, why bother, let’s have cereal” and the biggest factor: incredible luck in the girlfriend department.

That’s not to say I never cook for her/others, it’s just that I kinda only cook the same few things. We ate lots of stir-fries in Belgium on my nights. Beyond that, I’m good for chili, lasagna, enchiladas, and generic spaghetti. That’s about it.

--Just for the record, there is a fringe benefit to culinary incompetence. Unable to make delicious food myself, I am amazed and overwhelmed when other people do it, so eating at others’ houses or restaurants is often a sublime experience for my poor palette, which has been 18 for 14 years now.--

But this incompetence, not previously of particular concern, is suddenly more problematic. My inspiration and food supervisor, K, is back in Belgium, and I will be required to feed myself for three months without the excuse of “oh, I’m traveling and buying small amounts of food to cook in this shitty hostel kitchen isn’t as good an option as the $1.50 lunch special across the street.”

Plus, I’m going to try and limit myself to only one burrito every three days. Think I can do it?

Learning to cook for myself is only one of the challenges, both personal and professional, that I find myself faced with, but at the moment it seems the most significant, maybe because I had a burrito the night before last and I have no firm idea what to cook tonight…

Do you like how I artistically arrayed the cheese for you?

But I am mighty hungry, so if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go sauté some garlic, add broccoli and zucchini, dump a jar of tomato sauce on it, and serve over bulk pasta with a few slices of jack cheese for counterpoint. It ain’t on the menu at your fine neighborhood restaurant, but it’ll do for me. And I cooked it.

Enchiladas tomorrow.