it's spring somewhere.

neighbors,
my kitchen windowsill is greening itself all up.
really.
i guess some plants pay more attention than others?
probably.
because i've got one potful of produce that sure
seems to know that these days and nights
are s'posed to be waaaaaay more expert
than the feet and feet of snow outside,
and the deep dips in temperature would have us believing.
y'know?
i mean,
yes,
it absolutely sucks all the balls in all the outdoor aspects
of the still-wintry springtimes of this woodsly goodness-
but,
indoors, inside the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
it seems like somebody has been gettin' busy with
the rebirth of life and plants and all that sort of sh!t.
(i think it's me, kids)
check the nature-finds-a-way-type teleport:

wu-TANG!
gerber daisy activation for springtime.
i needed that.
a baby blossom in the middle of all this cold crappiness.
so nice.
it's just one flower,
but it's here,
and it's happy,
and it's all really happening.
bright spots that don't cause snowblindness are a welcome change;
never quiet, never soft.....

dramabombs.

oh.
yeah.
and then,
i got some bad pictures of my kids in their school play.
teleport:

yeah.
they certainly both looked happy to be there.....
right?
sure they did.
hmm?
oh,
take it easy.
they were certainly happier than most.
and anyway,
that happened.
i'm proud of my team, neighbors.
team ROCK.
active participation is it's own reward;
never quiet, never soft.....

connecticut.

so many hours of driving.
soooo many hours of driving.
neighbors,
it takes a little while to go downwards,
and to hit bottom.
the bottom of connecticut is where i finally landed,
for sure....
and it took all damned day to get there.
ugh.
the ride, each way,
was three times longer than the play i drove down to see.

kids- well, teens, really-
playing as fish, and singing, and dancing,
in connecticut, where it isn't F*ing freezing,
and there's no snow at all
(which is a real b!tch-A* comparison).....
it's a hard style for sure.
hmm?
yeah,
it was so good to see my girls.
even if it was for just a little minute.
there was a lot of food bookending the dramambomb.
mamoun's falafels, to lunch it up beforehand-
the lentil and cracked wheat moujedhra
( which is a.k.a. injudra, for you culturally educated guys out there),
the way-overseasoned lentil soup,
the canned-masquerading-as fresh mango juice,
and those mutha-ucking falafels......
yeah.
lunch was no joke.
and then,
immediately after the dramatic action?
uh-huh.
it was time to get busy on emergency tofutti:

because sprankles are so very necessary
when interacting with crackery folks from the white people part of southern CT.
was i full?
fat as all heck is way more like it.
what's the only response to feeling like i'm gonna burst open?
word up.
more.
too much is the right amount,
so,
while i was reflecting on seeing my daughters
as autonomous teenaged individuals, in braces.
no really.
crutches and bandages for harvest's busted knee,
a splint/brace for maple's sprained and twisted wrist-
they were all banged up, but the show went on anyway.
expert.
the thing of it is,
they're practically real people,
and that sport of sobering sight,
where they were busy being involved,
and only had a cursory moment for their dear ol' dad an' that?
it made me want to fill the hole where being important used to live
with so much pizza.
and pizza from pepe's world famous secret location,
the spot,
which is cleverly hidden in broad daylight right next door
was the only answer.
so,
that happened, too.
all right before getting back on the road,
and traveling into the deep dark,
from sixty-something fahrenheit back down to twenty.
from springtime grass to feet of snow.
from my oldest old life to my old and busted house.
traveling,
spanning time,
and eating.
that's all that there was available.
i do what i do,
and i did what needed doing.
it's all really happening-
growing up,
driving back and forth,
gluttony,
the works.
this is it;
never quiet, never soft.....

melting.

well,
there's snow everywhere.
eleven foot high piles of roof-fallen and shovel-tossed
cold, white, dense-packed, icy, wet worstness,
on both sides of my walkway, even.
and that's some waterbaby bullsh!t, for sure.
y'know what helps, though?
yeah.
oatcakes.
i'm serious.
a burly biscuit or three has all the raw man-power i need
to tackle all the deflating effects of shoveling,
watching way more of it slide right where i just removed it,
and doing that another 'nother time,
or two,
before work.
uh-huh.
oatcakes are what's up.
check the consolation-prize-breakfast-type teleport:

yum4tum, neighbors.
turns out i don't have a circle-shaped purpose-driven cutter,
but i DO have a whole lot of glasses.
instead of cookie-cuttin' these knobbly hearty wholemeal jauns,
multipurpose roundness in the form of smoothie cups
has been in full effect over here.
usin' it up, wearin' it out, makin' do, or doin' without?
you know it.
i guess it has to happen sometimes.
friends,
those biscuits have got a lot going on inside of them.
really.
chopped dried apricots, diced dried cranberries, whole raisins,
and lots of whole oats mixed in with the flour.
that's the way to make sure they've got all the nutrients, y'know?
mmhmm.
and that's apricot jammed confectioners' icing drizzled on top,
before the toasted almond slice sprankles finish it off.
oh, yes,
for sure....
i know they're expert.
heck,
i shark-glutton jaw-powered through eight or nine of 'em already.
i'm like that.
and as a result of all that extra-activational energy,
i'm ready, if mildly unwilling, to participate in more snow removal.
i'll wager there's gonna be dirty brown ice here until june.
ugh.
***********
in other news,
harvest and maple's school play is saturday.
...and i've gotta be there.
rules is rules,
and i'm not trying to be the kind of dad who sucks at being a dad.
y'hear me?
now,
what's way better than going to connecticut??
everything.
duh.
but,
what's even more trying and tiring and terrible?
there and back,
roundtrip non-stop back and forth,
with a middle school production of little mermaid (jr.)
as the rest stop in-between hard-drivin' highway exchanges
to the nancypantsiest state in new england.
yikes.
i win for losing,
but responsible adulthood dictates that i do the right thing,
and show these kids i love them more than i hate
the vomitous voyage that bookends their big debut.
rules is rules, always.
awwwwwwwwww.
that's almost sweet, huh?
at least, in a semi-compliant complainant kind of way.
anyway,
it's ALL really happening,
and i'm already out of oatcakes;
never quiet, never soft.....

springtime flavors....

treats!
that's it.
check the teleport:

right?
right!
c'mon, neighbors-
coconut blondie under real strawberry blondie,
for the moistest densest bombardier of brutality
that i've baked in some time.
uh-huh.
big chunks of large-flake unsweetened real rich coconut,
and pulped-up strawberries,
baked in a two-layer disc of turbo-elite super-hottness?
that's the way it works in the woodsly goodness.
huh?
yeah.
that frosting IS fancy.
key lime essence, in a lime-juicy double-better-than-buttercreme
batch of thick and creamy slathery lathered sugar spread!
word up.
and there's real flecks of small-flake coconut,
playing the ever-important role of sprankles all over it, too.
duh.
after all,
if it wasn't expert, i wouldn't do it.
that's the really-real way to go, kids.
hmmm?
oh yeah.
pink contrast florets are pretty rad, aren't they?
uh-huh.
i added in strawberry powder to the lime frosting,
which freaked it off, for sure,
all the way past ten, to eleven.
i mean,
i'm NOT a weak-sauce waterbaby,
i'm a battle-beastly bakery barbarian.
so step back and recognize.
small bits and tiny pieces,
combined together to make something much better than everything else-
that's Folk Life,
that's woodsly goodness,
that's what's up.
it's all really happening,
and i'm eating every last morsel;
never quiet,. never soft.....

every day is the worst day.

happy spring!!!!!
the vernal equionox is upon us,
and how do we know it's good?
c'mon.
we don't.
no socks will be rocked by this day, duders,
that's for realsies, and not a joke.
although,
it could be said that this day is OBVIOUSLY kidding me.
i mean,
i woke up to a frozen F*-fest of snow and ice.
huh?
what?
oh,
no, i'm serious.
i was thinking that the big day was gonna look
and feel a whole lot more like this:

....but, alas, nope, it's the opposite..
instead,
there's skyfall snowfall F*-all piled higher than ever before.
check the ma-nature-is-a-b!tch-type teleport:
                                     
ugh.
thirteen hard-packed inches of ruining it.
and that's not even the lamest part.
check this out:

yep.
those windows are four FEET off the ground, kids.
devastating last-gasp sore-loser winter gaytardation
is what's poppin' and piling and blowing in on the wind.
today is the day.
the first day,
the worst day,
and also my ma's berfday.
uh-huh.
happy happy times and wishes and sh!t go out in
big-ups shoutout-style to the woman who made me.
hip-hip-hooray an' that.
***********
i've been shoveling for hours;
and the plow guy did a terrible job;
and everything is wet and cold;
and i don't even know what i'm looking at for work today;
and i'm all fired-up on medicines;
and that means thor's day thunder and berserker energy.
i'm sweaty, i'm sore, i'm soaked,
and today is a day of convergence and overlapping
the overlay of ley-lines and concentric circles of spirit and memory.
jeez.
it's a big day,
and it's off to a serious false start
of seriously flawed parts on parts on parts.....
it's all really happening, good, bad, ugly, and dope-
happy spring, friends;
never quiet, never soft.....

goodbye, winter. hello....winter?

last days are usually sort of sad.
y'know?
i mean,
goodbyes and endings are my least favorites,
at least,
when i wish there was more of whatever is over.
and almost always, that's almost everything.
my immune system, or lack thereof,
and my shivering bones,
and the mountains of frozen-over snow outside,
however,
are totally all all set with the maximum capacities
and minimum thresholds they're currently hovering around.
uh-huh.
this winter ate a bag of balls,
and i'm ready for something new.
no jokes.
the thing of it is-
there's probably way more of this back-breaking, will-bending,
sleepless, creepy, crappy, spirit-sapping
sh!t-salad ahead for weeks to come.
the equinox is basically hanging around at the outer edges of
the seasonal change situation,
and while light and dark may be balanced on the books,
it's lugubrious and haunted in practice every damned day.
the peripheral brightening is apparently for chronological purposes only.
time has passed,
but the weather remains the same.
gross.
i made cookies, tho.
uh-huh.
check the teleport:

yep.
hearts!
the leftover dough from welcome-home tarts was rolled out
and cut into and baked up to become crunchy sugar-style treats.
waste not, want not, and you need not go without sugar cookies.
that's smart.
oh,
and i don't know if this is completely a bad thing...
but i might be developing an allergy to something.
it's either almonds or hearts,
and if i know my oddsmaking numberwangs like i know i do-
it's not the nuts,
but the love that's kicking my A*.
ugh.
i'll finish the plate of 41 cardiac-attacking anaphylactic almond assaults,
and i'll have a nice warm glass of cinnamon-spiced almond milk on the side.
huh?
no way, neighbors.
it's NOT a death wish.
what's wrong with you?
i'm just choosing the wrench.
relax.
it's gotta be survival of the fittest-
either my heart gives out, or those hearts run out.
hmm?
oh.
heck no, kids.
i'm not afraid.
snacking on tastiness is not how i go out.
that unmemorable day won't be until i've endured several worse winters,
and become a completely forgotten footnote in the annals of warrior poetry.
a fleeting, absentminded afterthought will be the last consideration i'm paid,
and then, years later, i'll finally take the wheezing weak-sauce
i'll slip away surrounded by nobody,
and i'll mummify overwinter before anybody notices i'm gone.
womp womp.
until then,
it's shark gluttonous wrenches,
hard styles,
looooong nights,
broken bodyparts,
shed skins,
and lots and lots and lots of F*ing cookies.
hahahahaha.
nobody leaves with the title, that's for sh!t-sure.
so,
just as long as i'm the miserable-est,
i'm gonna keep going strong along the whole distance.
there is only ever more of this.
because this is What Is.
winter's ending looks like spring's beginning.
there's virtually no changes being made.
new skin for old ceremony remains the order of the day;
never quiet,. never soft.....

green.

duders,
it was a holiday dinner,
and although i'm the only original member of the
woodsly goodsly Folk Life holiday dinner lineup,
the feeling was there,
and it was expert.
the cast may have changed,
but the motivation remains the same.
celebrate, participate, interact and overreact-
alongside hot firesides,
warm foodstuffs,
larger-than-your-life-sized tall tales that fit me just fine,
and root beers,
because tradition dictates that that's what's up.......
but,
before all of that,
i got a st. patrick's day present.
awwwwwwwww.
it turns out, irish or not,
i'm cultivating up on that lucky sh!t anyways.
check the pot-of-hearts-of-gold-type teleport:

uh-huh.......
shamrocks!
c'mon.
chlorophyllic oxygenating photosynthesizing synergy in the rooted
leafy spirit of plants is always a welcome addition here
at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
that's the truth.
so,
a site-specific seasonally-appropriate three-leafed emerald activation
to remind me of a good time with some good folks?
yup.
that is definitely invited to my windowsill.
obvi.
***********
appreciation is the key, kids.
i wouldn't do what i do if it wasn't welcomed with wide open arms,
and wider opened mouths,
when we all sit down to super-duper suppertimes together.
y'know?
mmmhmmmmm.
check out the big plate of boiled d.
teleport:

mcwordimus o'prime, neighbors.
black tea, specifically irish breakfast, brewed hella strong,
and added in place of milk to a super buttery, sorta sweet loaf
of soda bread?
that's what's good in that cakey slab on our plates.
corned-up and pan-fried seitan steaks,
with flour and cornmeal and spices an' that,
to take the place of beef in our bellies.
i mean,
boiled grey beef?
what am i?
mad at my tastebuds?
c'mon.
gross.
however,
it's the boiled d that takes it to eleven.
real talk.
white onion,
red potato,
purple-top turnips,
hard yellow rutabaga,
crinkle-cut carrots,
chopped stalks of celery,
brussels-style baby cabbage sprouts,
sixth-size wedges of intact actual adult cabbage.
all that vegetable hottness,
simmered in butterishness,
with non-alcoholic german beers deglazing the burned-on bits.
what?
yeah.
fake and german, i already know, it's fine...
...i'm still not irish.
anyway,
horseradish mustard, and g.p.o.p.,
and a punch of nootch, and a little bit of broth,
all added up and simmered together, for the win!
so mutha-'ucking expert.
***********
spanning time with people who want to be here?
that's what i need.
spending an evening eating and laughing?
that's what i want.
all of it, really happening, unfolding in new directions,
all new skins on the same old ceremony?
that's what i got.
and i looked like a leprechaun:

guerilla green and ghetto gold.
ugh.
stay ugly, stay dope,
because that's what's done.
holiday spirit and memory,

this is completely not what i expected,
but it is What Is.
it's the way the cabbage leaves curl, kids;
never quiet, never soft.....

luck o'.

....well,
i mean,
i AM zero percent irish, after all.
y'know?
so i'm counting on none of their famous luck today.
at all.
of course,
i'm never banking on rainbows' ends and pots of gold anyway.
i'm also positive i'll not find many one-shoe cobbler elves, either.
it's sort of a chicken/egg thing.
either way, i'm not coming out ahead.
i'll also note that being completely sober will most probably
appreciably decrease my odds of being filled with
smiling eyes, blarney'd tongue, and kissed-up lips.
awwwww, man.
'kiss me i'm NOT irish' sounds mildly racist, y'know?
yeah, i know you know.
we all do.
anyway,
infinite nature has made me a red branch knight
in a land of snowy forests
and wild raging windswept mountainscapes,
under the inauspicious illuminated crystal-clear canopy
of werewolfen  full-moon skies.
whoa.
that's a whole lot going on in a short span of time,
and all of it is all really happening today.
yeah.
today is obviously the day, neighbors.
st. patrick's day.
wearing green?
you betcha.
drinking irish breakfast tea with a slice of soda bread?
heck yes, y'all.
eating boiled stuff for dinner?
yes i surely and most certainly am.
i mean, c'mon.
what am i?
an A*-hole?
no way.
i'm made out of stuff that started out italian;
but,
so was st. patrick,
so i'll thank you kindly to F* right off.
i love holidays,
and i'll take any reason to add a little expertism to any day.
thematic, site-specific rituals, rites, and routines are flippin' awesome.
that's for realsies, kids.
that's why today,
i doo-doo all that emerald isle-style sh!t.
well,
all except for getting drunk on jameson, guiness, bailey's, harp, etc
there's where the train jumps the tracks.
i hate what i hate, and that doesn't get time off for the holidays.
rules is rules, like it or not.
corned seitan, tho?
yeah.
that is gonna jump off tonight, like wha-whaaaaaat?!!!
check the boiled-brown-on-brown-type teleport:

slabs of whole-wheat baby flesh.
i can't help it, friends-
that's just what that looks like to me.
all that gluten in fatty-boombattie steaks of wheat-meaty hottness
is just about the most expert part of today.
i freak it off with other flours and spices an' that, too,
because too much is never less than just right.
real talk.
celiac nightmare it may be,
but Folk Life kitchen dreams are made from it more often by far.
besides,
it'll be better once it's added to cabbage and rutabagas and turnips
and all that other other broth-basted vegetable business.
but,
what about after dinner, you ask?
oh.
we'll be smoking kelly green custom briar pipes,
stamped with today's big action, from dublin's own petersen.
that's the uppermost extent i'll go towards feeling fancy,
holding a shillelagh, notwithstanding.
looking the part,
feeling foolish,
and acting accordingly.
today is the day,
and although i won't be engaging in what the commoners consider fun,
i'm sure to be actively participating in my small, cozy,
simple pleasures all the same;
never mcquiet, never o'soft.....

starry nights.

werewolf sleeplessness?
yep.
it's so bright out at night.
like,
the feet on feet on yards on feet of snow everywhere
are only reflecting and refracting and magnifying
the magnificence of the moon's big round barbarian brilliance.
no sh!t, neighbors.
it's a second daytime at nighttime, with a heavy dose of
ley-line magic and battle-beast gravitational tidal waviness.
yikes.
y'know what the right response is to that luminous lunar jauns?
uh-huh.
treats.
check the strawberry-galaxy-at-night-type teleport:

c'mon.
it's a star't.
get it?
star-tart?
no?
ugh.
duders,
i baked a bunch of almonds until all the aromatic activation
was filling the whole Folk Life & Liberty Fortress with hottness.
i ground 'em up extra good in my berfday-style food processor
until they were crumbled into coarse flour,
and i added a dash of almond extract and a splash of vanilla,
and some oat flour, and wheat flour, and sugar,
and a whole lot of butteryishness....
and once all of it was merged and melded and made into dough?
yep.
i pureed a pound of frozen strawberries-
that's a solid sixteen ounces of red hearts with seeds on 'em!
and i added in a dollop of three of jam to bring it up another level.
vanilla and lemon exctracts,
and lemon juice,
and confectioner's sugar,
stirred into a warm potful of that pulverized berry mash
made it thaw out and bubble up...
...and once the heat was right,
and the juices were flowing?
c'mon. you know what's next kids, don'tcha?
word.
i slurried a hurried heap of corn-style starch in to thicken it quicker.
perfection.
but that's not enough is it?
no way.
too much is the right amount,
and how can we get that poppin' in this b!tch?
how about with stars on stars on stars on stars on stars on top?
mmmhmmmmm.
the soymilky way, in shortbread sexiness.
five-pointed pentacles of turbo-elite sweet tart times,
for ALL our faces.
expert.
this is what i do.
the blood is pulsing through my body,
from my hard heart to my harder, itchier, hurtiet skinm,
but,
my hands are free and clear of claw and paw and hair and hate,
and they're tenderly crafting my fancy-style big-actyion-activated
cookie-cuttin' cakes and pies an' that.
i wish i was shedding my skin for that werewolfen berserker sh!t,
but i guess i'd be a mangy mad-dog wolfen weirdie if i did.
it's hot ovens and cold toes instead, i suppose.
so be it;
never quiet, never soft.....

considered.

duders,
i'm the busiest one.
i mean it.
i've got stacks and stacks of to-do doo-doo piling up,
and less and less time to get into any of it.
that's a thing.
there's a litany of activities i've got to eventually give in
and take care of, here and at work,
but before i get into any of that,
i've got to give off a little gratitude
towards the generosity of my peoples.
work can wait,
chores will keep,
and all of it can really happen a little bit later.
first off,
my godfather (i'm serious) uncle bill
always hooks me up when he goes on vacation.
i mean, how expert is that?
so,
fresh montecristo stumps came to reside in my posession,
from wherever it's warm, to the woodsly goodness,
via the mailbox i do so dearly love to receive treats in.
yeah.
and just because he is a damned good guy,
i've got relaxation conflagration ready and waiting.
you can't beat that, can you?
hmmmm.
check the teleport:

uh-huh.
alligator head action.
campy and kitschy and totally flippin' rad.
amber brought one back from her beach-party weeklong
escape down in cape coral, florida.
what?
yeah, florida.
i KNOW, neighbors.
florida, tho, for realsies....it's the worst.
the last time i went to florida,
all i got was divorced.
womp womp.
hahahaha.
this time, however,
i get to have a leathered-up cut off killed-up head,
and i didn't have to go there to get it.
that's twice as great, for none of the traveling;
which means it's ultimate expertism, for certain.
it's nice knowing i'm thought of when others should be enjoying themselves.
y'know?
i'd like to think that i'm semi-memorable,
but it isn't until the wrapped-up curios and cigars arrive
that i ever feel like that's actually true.
stuff wins over words.
words are invisible, but stuff is tactile.
my eyes and my hands and my heart can carry weight
that gives gravity and heft to what's said,
just so long as there's tangible proof of it.
i'm lucky to be considered, and i know it;
never quiet, never soft.....