I saw three eagles today while I was out picking up El’s poo in the yard. (I’m noticing an odd trend that my best home wildlife sightings seem to come in some connection with dog logs.) A bald eagle flew overhead, whistling persistently and drawing my attention upward, and I remembered learning from the naturalist aboard the whale-watching tour on our honeymoon that TV shows and movies typically dub over eagles with hawk caws because eagles are actually quite soft-spoken for their size and strength. Anyway, as it approached a cluster of tall cedars, another massive wingspan launched across the sky toward it. I was SO giddy that I might be about to witness some midair eagle-on-eagle business time (winkwinknudgenudge), but then a third eagle promptly joined the second. I can’t be positive that they were also baldies because the sun obscured any color differences, but the three swirled around one another. Defensive? Friendly? Aggressive? Sexy? I dunno. The original then flew back over the yard alone, still whistling, casting a substantial shadow over me from above.
It was totally awesome. But here’s the thing: I almost didn’t write about it because I have other blog posts I meant to write months ago and feel like I owe. And that’s dumb. Frankly, this first quarter has been dumb, starting with the dumb shingles and then continuing into some adult stuff that’s not mine to share and is not dumb at all but co-opted a lot of my emotional capacity and focus.
So, this is what I’m going to do. I’m going to use the rest of this post to slam together those dumb drafts I didn’t finish and tie a sloppy, dumb bow on them so that we can (hopefully) move into April and spring with a fresh start on the blog and maybe on the whole year, too. Something a little less dumb.
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Merry Christmas!
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Happy Valentine’s Day!
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Holly jolly credo-ing!
New Year’s Eve, we bid adieu to Mo’ Dough (a pretty damn successful year of homemade breads and pastas [both]; sourdough English muffins, bagels, cinnamon rolls, and pizza crust [Jonn]; pumpkin spice doughnuts [moi] even if not so successfully blogged).
Ever brilliant, Jonn proposed a NYE dinner to honor the passing credo while welcoming the new. And so, he made yet mo’ dough, in the form of sandwich rolls. And within those rolls, delicious chunks of lobster meat. In actuality, it was Maine lobster, but for the sake of word play, let’s just pretend it was rock lobster instead.
Drumroll, please, because this is the year of Mo’ ROCK’N’ROLL!
[And here’s where I left this particular draft hanging, so now I’m just going to list all the brainstorms we had leading up to the 2022 credo.]
Make/Bake/Eat:
- spicy tuna sushi rolls
- eggrolls
- rock candy
- jelly rolls
- pizza rolls
- fruit roll-ups
- poprocks
- rolos
- tootsie rolls
Watch:
- The Rock
- Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson
- Sam Rockwell
- Rock Hudson
- Rocky Horror Picture Show
- Rockford Files
- 30 Rock
Other:
- Rick-roll people
- teach Elvira to rollover the other way (she is not an ambiturner)
- drive a Rolls Royce
- visit famous rocks like Stonehenge, Mt. Rushmore, or the Rocky Mountains
- rock around the clock and/or Christmas tree
And, of course, rocking out to rock’n’roll music!
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Which catches us back up to present day. My credo contributions have been a bit lackluster. I did…something? I think? Jonn has been a real rock star, including baking Filipino cheese rolls, making rock candy, and purchasing the basic equipment for experimenting with sushi rolls at home. I also just got the ingredients for him to attempt chicken Kiev (a roll-up, natch).
Christmas came with some wonderful, thoughtful, credo-forward gifts, too: concert tickets! Real life concerts! In actual venues again! Legit rock as well as roll! THINGS ON THE CALENDAR TO LOOK FORWARD TO! ROCK SHOWS!
Then concerns about COVID variant and infection rates in January led to Brian Fallon cancelling a couple-week stretch of his tour, including our February 1st show–understandable but bummer-able nonetheless. In August, we were supposed to see my favorite band. The Foo Fighters.
Honestly, I’m kinda devastated about Taylor Hawkins’ death. (Real talk, I think I’m already a little low such that what should be a more passing sadness isn’t passing so quickly.) I didn’t know much about him as a person, but his performances in their videos and other band projects radiated a kind of goofy joy. Jonn was reading Dave Grohl’s memoir just a few weeks earlier, and I was totally charmed to learn that Taylor used to drum for Alanis Morrissette, who once inquired of him what he was going to do when Dave inevitably asked him to join the Foo Fighters.
I don’t remember if I’ve told you about my “vision boards.” Short version: I use my fun print underpants to represent my daily goals.
[“Hey, heard of transitions?” you ask. Patience, my friend. This seeming tangent will actually come back around. Albeit dumbly.]
If you’re a member of my immediate family, you’ve been mooned by my vision board, probably more than once. Sometimes, it’s straightforward (basically, all the food ones). Today, I’m wearing my brunch pants because I’m making waffles and bacon for brinner tonight. I’ve got pizza pants, sushi pants, noodle pants, doughnut pants, chicken “nugs and kisses” pants, cookies and milk pants. Sometimes, it’s a little more figurative or interpretive. My dog pants can be hoping for a successful walk, good news from the vet, or planning for an afternoon snuggle. I wore my taco pants to the last Sounders soccer game because a local Mexican restaurant offers next-day free tacos for each goal scored; ipso facto, taco pants are also goal pants. (I faced a real dilemma the day after when getting dressed to redeem our tacos because I no longer had clean taco pants for that daily vision board!) Sometimes, I get dressed already knowing my vision will be realized; sometimes, it’s a hope for what will come.
March 25th ended with a brutal reminder that with great vision comes great responsibility. See, this print came out playfully when The Walking Dead show was in its heyday. I hadn’t slept well at all Thursday night, so Friday morning, I chose them to mirror feeling like a zombie. Also, mo’ rock.
The print is the “Rocking Dead.” The day I wore Kurt, Elvis, Jimi, Bob, Tupac, and Biggie, Taylor joined their ranks. I know it’s a coincidence. Still wrenched my gut, though.
I’m grateful I got to see the Foo Fighters rock their faces off in 2015 when Dave was performing from his massive light-up, robotic throne post-breaking his leg. I’m a little heartbroken that that particular Foo-nomenon will never exist again.
It’s dumb, but I haven’t brought myself to crossing the concert off the calendar yet. The whole tour is cancelled, of course. Understandably. But still extremely bummer-ably.
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It’s a bold strategy–a dumb one even–to choose April Fool’s day for a fresh start, but with a little dumb luck, maybe the grass will actually be a little greener on the other side. So, here we go…
Adios Poochacho 
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