harvest is 16.
that's a thing now.
oh, well, maybe i'm understating that just a bit.
is sixteen years old.
in a row.
..as of yesterday.
i have a sixteen year old kid.
that means were both getting too old for our own good.
and her with a newly nabbed learners' permit, to boot.
we love celebrating.
me and mine will always find a reason to rock some party time,
and this was especially special-
so i was down there, in the unpredictably wet and windy weather
of weak-sauce connecticut
for a firsthand fresh-to-death faceful of all the festivities.
i even made a cake for the kid.
since nobody else gives half a F* about vegan food,
if i want a slice of berfday cheer, it's up to me to create it for everybody.
so i did just that,
and you know something else?
it looks like this:
pretty good, right?
two brown sugary vanilla bean circles,
with pudding-ish tapioca and vanilla in-the-mix,
for a thick and soft and deep and decadent crumb
the likes of which will be raved about for ages,
or until maple's berfday, when i do this sh!t all over again.
because that's what i DO, duders.
i make things, and i bake things, and i break things.
in this case,
i also crafted a batch of blarpity raspberry compote,
complete with lemon zest, juice, extract, and more vanilla.
plus a little kapowdered sugar to cut the tangy tartness just a baby bit.
i squished that, exxxtra-thick, between the cakes,
and frosted the holy F* out of it with lemon creachee' frosting,
lemon-raspberry creamchee' frosting,
and orange-lemon icing.
because when you're finally sixteen,
too much is the right amount.
which explains the seasonal autumn-hued sugar sprankles.
MORE is better.
on the whole, it's just not what i'm lookin' for in a place,
new haven really IS one heck of a sexy city.
too bad i don't feel like i fit in there.
i wanna, for sure.
there's so much to recommend itself to the warrior poet in me.
the congestion, and the embellished opinions of the academically privileged
and economically elite of the central downtown grid,
leave a whole lot to be desired.
actually, to be fair,
all the people kind of leave me feeling like there's something lacking,
from the street-peeps talking to themselves,
the college joggers,
the bus stop blarps,
and the beggary change-grubbers,
i wasn't feeling like i was in my element.
give me a lonely home in the lonelier mountains,
with an oven,
and awful animal companion,
and some flour,
and i think i've found my niche.
it's important to find out where you DON'T belong,
so you can appreciate the places where you're tolerated, at least a little.
i've been up all night, every night,
coughing up a storm, and sweating my face off.
nothing screams berfday party like a barking seal in my throat.
i'm beat up, but i'm back in bartlett, where i ostensibly belong.
i'm headed to bed, where sleep is unlikely,
but coughing is assured.
i'm happy to have had the experience,
but i'm just as happy to head upstairs;
never quiet, never soft.....