hallowe'en

damn. damn. DAMN.
early shirley a.m. fury.
at around 6a.m. i got crackin'.
a case of nervous energy,
and a preposterous to-do list,
meant that sleepytimes are off of the menu until further notice.

stoked to stoke on this hot fire,
i got busy with my big business.
that included the notorious, glorious rock bloxxx.
a.k.a. the dopest cookies on the planet.
if you can't get down with those tasty blops of choco-chippity coconuttiness,
you are clearly off the list.
yeah.

the cucch and i prepped, and peeled, and ran the oven all g-darn day.

i mean it.

the dynamic double-dose of barbarian bromance we conjured up,

means crucial catering is completed.

the wedding party eats and treats are gonna rock all the socks off the guests.
happily,

it's warm enough that full bellies and bare-footery will go hand-in-hand
with the sappy love saga headed down the aisle.

and when i say aisle,

i mean,

my living room.

good lookin' yeah?

these dudes right here got SO busy.

meanwhile,

back at the party...

we had hummus,

we had red pepper-white-bean-artichoke dip,

we had bruschetta,

we had a tangy pickled veggie tapanade,

we had stuffed mushrooms,

we had all kinds of goodness, baked, fried, and candied.

i'm sayin', ninjas;

we had swedish wheatballs.

uh-huh, in some mama cucch's secret homemade recipe jauns.

if you stayed home,

you missed the F* out.

four or five of my nearest and dearest,

and twenty some-odd other other peoples all came by.

good times may have been had.

i was otherwise occupied with hot kitchen hot fire.

still,

there were more treats than tricks,

and the evening was a riotous success.

six-person sleepover?

suuuuuure.

daylight savings reversal extra hangout hour?

don't mind if i do.

last minute rough-draft refining of my viking vowage?

F*n'-A right, ninjas.

i doo-doo all of that freaky sh!t.

mere minutes from matrimony.

we gots it like that;

never quiet, never soft......

six hundred.

six hundred posts.
about axes and warriors and secret universal plans.
six hundred!
you'd think i'd get tired of documenting this Folk Life hottness.
but,
it keeps happening,
so i keep writing.
y'know what else i did today?
picked up my best man,
the cucch,
in portland, maine.
nice.
after that early morning jaunt,
we shopped for treats and eats and wedding feast bits and pieces.
and lots of fake meat.
i mean it.
a lot of fake meat.
i just can't pass up a mouthful of vegetarian sausage.
(that is SO what she said)
and,
i found out that i may have some juice in my small woodsly world.
two cases of organic fancy-pant sodas were donated to the party-times
by flatbread, the hippie pizza place up here,
and jonathan, the pint-of-stout shouting owner of the cigar emporium,
hit me off a super-sized congratulatory stink stump, too.
he also responded to the news with a crisp:
'not for nothin', but jesus christ it's about F*n' time'.
too right.
it is exactly about that time.
and there's never ever even been a better time.
hell, it's party time.
jenny's up from pa.
jess is painting and decorating and hanging out.
the bride gets to do what she wants, after all.
the groom is just there to make the occcasion official.
otherwise, she's just a hot chick in a dress, yeah?
luckily,
i've got my number one ace in the hole here to help a ninja out;
the cucch and i are on this mutha-ucka.
that's what i like, ya'll.
those viking virtues, full-circle and full-force.
gratitude and generosity.
everybody has something to contribute.

we've got a menu plan for this 48 hour festival of flavor.
there's a sh!t-ton of duders headed north for all of this,
and if nothing else,
they will be stuffed to the tits with vegan delicousness.
weird people and vegetables, ya'll,
this is the life i've let you kids in on six hundred times;
never quiet, never soft.....

the last day.

today is the last day.
the last day of takin' it any kind of easy.
the last day with just the one houseguest.
although, i think you stop being a 'guest' at around the seven-week mark.
then, you're just not paying rent.
yeah.
the last day before i see the council of worthy warriors arrive,
to bring the battle-bardic thunder,
and bear witness to the unfolding plan.
if it takes getting married to bring all my duders up here,
then i'm gladder than ever that i'm tyin' knots.....
i could use a conference with the crew.
and this crew is a hand-selected elite special force to be reckoned with.
a lot has changed since i made the move to the woodsly goodness.
in fact,
almost all the duders i used to talk about my goodsly Folk Life ideals with
aren't even much more than a fading smoke-ring memory these days.
time heals all wounds. except the fatal ones.....
y'know,
excluding my ma,
and technically, although she probably looked like a small pink raisin,
my oldest daughter, harvest,
NObody from that old life is gonna be around.
that is some gypsy shuffle magic tragedy-type sh!t.
i mean,
it's a whole new beginning,
a whole new other 'nother adventure;
but all of those folks who were there the first time i thought it was
a good idea to volunteer half my stuff up for eventual auction,
have ended up, to a man, far-off and distant.
especially distant.
as in, i haven't seen many of 'em in more than eight years.
it's not exactly a bad thing either-
i'm sayin', nobody needs that much hamden in a room.
if you've been there, or know more than two people from there,
then you understand
like my father said:
"what's gonna go on up there? a bunch of weird people in the cold,
eatin' vegetables? c'mon...."
eloquence incarnate.
of course,
he's spot-on accurate, too.
the last day before the new new hottness.
the last day before the big weekend explosion.
the last day before the weird people and the vegetables show up.
never quiet, never soft...

i doo-doo?

what the F* is going on here?

i'm trying to write some kind of wedding vows.

and it just isn't working out.

it's not a loss for words, a lack of trying, or writer's block, either...

i mean,

i've got a laudable laundry list of wills and won'ts,

a loutish lambasting of shoulds and shouldn'ts,

and even a luscious lamenting of long-lost coulds and couldn'ts.

but what i don't have,

is a perfectly phrased paragraph of warrior poetry.

mother*ucker.

i mean,

how can i say 'i do',

when all i've got to offer is 'i doo-doo'?

weak sauce has wormed it's way into my writings.

that won't do.

nope.

not one little teeny-tiny bit.

so it looks like a long-lastin' late night is on the menu.

tonight's special?

a sumptuous slab of simile,

a heaping helping of homile,

and a fattening flank of facsimile;

that is,

a reasonable reproduction of the raging stormswept savage gypsy heartbeart

i've got for nearly-wedded loveliness.

only,

it maybe shouldn't be an alliterative allegory of amorousness,

or a berserker barbarian battle-ballad.

or should it?

i mean,

i've got some vows, y'hear me?

some solemn, some sanctimonious, some scandalous, and some sweet.

what i'm missing is a solid opener.

i mean,

who wants to hear me read off a list of stuff i may or may not follow through on?

not me.

plus,

i keep almost ending it with 'never quiet, never soft'.....

and that's not exactly a tear-jerking romantic sentiment.

just goes to show what it's lookin' like on paper.

more of this.

so,

it's back to work.

and down to business.

love, honor, cherish, obey.

wait.

obey?

who invited the giant, and his posse?

c'mon.

i've got a few ideas.

and i've got a pen full of ink.

let's hope i can marry thoughts to words to actions,

so i can marry all the rest after that;

never quiet, never soft...

(see? not romantic at all)

mauled.

my woodcraft is improving.
my berserker axe-warrior chopping skills are, too.
and my viking vengeance/yardwork tool collection is growing.
hewing.
that's what's poppin'.
i got this hornet-hued hammerhead wedge-axe,
and it 'splodes average-sized chunks of log into much smaller ones.
but sometimes, not always, but sometimes,
you just need more.
that's why i'm also rockin' out so hard with THIS mutha-ucka:

i mean,

a sledgehammer axe?

holy sh!t that makes the barbarian boners pop right off!!!!

and it's red & black, too.

i nicknamed it...

i mean, it's obvious yeah?

darth maul.

c'mon.

and this one's torso is guaranteed indestructible.

so there's that, too.

sorry, obi-wan.

an eight pound hunk of forged steel mayhem.

that's the recipe for stormswept stress relief.

axe + chop + hammer + bash = doooooooooooooooope.

it's like an all-in-one awesomizer.

there's something so super soothing,

knowing i can come home and destroy pretty much every single thing in sight.

with a norse dwarven hellhammer at that.

uh-huh.

norse dwarven hellhammer.

someone's been hittin' the nerd books a little too hard.

i'll let ya'll in a little secret too:

i found an even more awesome woodsplittin' smashmaster yesterday.

and,

it was in my dream last night.

i swear.

i think my 4 a.m. woodstove schedule is playing with my mind.

or else it was an omen, an' that.

don't worry.

i'll probably pick it up tonight.

it's a solid steel cheese-wedge,

and it's even flippin' heavier than ol' darth up there.

twelve pounds of powerful punishment.

that means it goes to eleven,

and then keeps on going after that.

wu-TANG! that's some serious sh!t.

i want it.

hell, i need it.

if you keep an ear to the north around dusk,

you'll probably hear some thunder.

i'll be bringing it, for sure.

hewing.

never quiet, never soft.....

black shoes.

are those the two biggest pieces of black licorice in history?
nah, my ninjas.
y'know what they say about big feet, yeah?
nice shoes look dumb on them.
i'd already disproved the o.g. rumors about a big stick,
but with the clickety-clackety heels on 'em,
so much for walking softly, too.
with only a few days left,
i've finally got my wedding garb sorted out.
was it a problem?
i didn't think so,
but the lady who sold me those sexy sole-crushers did.
she hit me with a little:
'ooooh, dress shoes. are you going to a hallowe'en party?'
so i let her in on the big news.
and then she yelled at me for procrastinating.
is it possible i shop for shoes a little too often,
if the clerk feels entitled to observe and report on my doings?
i hadn't realized we were that close.
i mean,
i thought unsolicited opinions and scathing critiques
were purely the province of warrior poets.
i'd probably take advice from an actual cobbler.
or maybe even a blueberry cobbler,
but not from a female al bundy.
however,
we really aren't ready.
at all.
i mean,
we're ready to be ready already,
but,
we're pretty busy with this old busted house of ours;
getting it cleaned up and primped for the parties is one thing,
but needing actual repairs is an entirely other other animal,
and that puts a crimp in everything all the time.
we've got masons and electricians and home improvers
all headed over to try and do a little emergency field surgery.
yeah.
i made some monday-morning moves, too.
i went and scoopled up all my guns!!!!
this house just became an entirely defensible position.
what's more romantic than swapping rings whilst strapped with a thunderstick?
...nothin'.
my gun-safe storage situation has been great.
in fact,
all my big-bore battle blasters were out and waiting for me to come and claim 'em.
lined up in a row, in someone else's house,
i got a decent glimpse into just how intense it must be to come over to my house.
i'm locked, and loaded, and prepared
for zombies, world wars, riots, revolutions, doomsdays, and famine.
well,
maybe not famine, actually.
we didn't get a cake for this sunday.
seriously.
i actually didn't even remember that until i just typed it.
nice.
so,
if you're keeping score,
that's a positive for guns,
a negative for cakelessness,
a double negative for broken home homeopathy,
seems to me i'm in the hole.
(that's what she said?)
but let me tell you ninjas a little something:
i will be lookin' good this weekend.

tonight,

we're going to write up some voracious viking vows.

that should be a treat.

i'm sure that if we're honest with each other,

they'll go something along the lines of:

'i promise to stick around until i find someone who can cook vegan treats but doesn't always talk

about barbarians.'

or

'i promise you i won't poison or shoot or otherwise harm the dog.'

communication is important in a healthy relationship,

but so are realistic expectations.

ahhhh, romance.

since there's no plan other than ending up wih a signed marriage license,

i'm sure it'll all be big fun.

in the meantime,

we've got brickwork to lay.

because without the bricks,

it's just a sh!t-house;

never quiet, never soft.....

early morning rebroadcast.

when i'm busy on a saturday night-
which is a kind term for cooking, reading, and stoking the fire
-i sometimes forget about tuning in to prairie home companion.
lucky for me,
there's the rebound each and every easy sunday morning.
faces made for radio are the kind of faces i want to listen to.
i'm sayin',
ugly dope folks are my jam, ninjas.
and since we're scrambling through a last-ditch dash
to get everything ready for next weekend,
it's sure to be my only outlet for semi-social scandal
before the big times of the looming semi-anti-social gathering.
as such,
it's powder-milk and ketchup advisories to brighten the morning,
and
i'm talking about batchelor farmers,
in lieu of a batchelor's party...
yeah.
i don't usually listen to any music at work.
it just means i have to talk that much louder in order
to be the biggest flappity-flappin' yakkity-yak back-talker in the room.
then again,
there's rarely anyone else vying for the title.
being the loudest doesn't always mean you have anything to say,
but sheer volume sometimes makes it a close call.
i'm just getting a good idea of how a whole house of loud and proud
active participants are going to get along.
there will be music, too, after all....
i shudder to think about how this coming weekend's worthy warrior antics
are going to be received by our quiet, unassuming neighbors.
berserker barbarian battle-beasts, the lot of us,
spitting hot fire,
and toasting and boasting and roasting for 48 furious hours.
and that's the news from the woodsly goodness,
where all the men are ugly,
the women are dope,
and all the children are uninvited;
never quiet, never soft.....

one week away.

Hallowe'en is only a week away...
which means so is our big housewarming party.
are people supposed to bring sh!t?
and if nobody does, is it just a house-party?
hell if i know.
i've never warmed someone else's house,
only darkened a few doorsteps, y'know?
and i've never had my very own house before either.
add in the wedding-times the following day,
and i'm at a loss.
y'know the last time i got married, (SO classy)
it wasn't anything like this promises to be.
low key, laid back and lovely is the name of this game up here.
it's kind of an all hallow's eve turns into all saint's day turns into all soul's day,
lucha libre all-or-nothing samhain 'splosion....
the days and the nights will lead where they will,
and by monday,
we'll have had a house full of fresh-to-death-do-us-party-hard-style pounding.
we're kind of the destination this holiday-time, huh?
i feel all wise-man north star bethlehem an' that.
i doubt anyone will be bequeathing gold, frankincense or myrrh;
it's not like we registered for treats,
or even sent invitations..
ah well,
i'll settle for getting the word to the good friends i've got,
who are trekking across the cold and bleak expanses of air- and highways,
just to watch a couple of hermity, reclusive, Folk Life gurus do their thing.
i'm a lucky fella.
one more week,
and the good times will roll;
never quiet, never soft.....

at the fire.

that's where we were.
i got myself a splitting axe.
it's like a lot like a regular axe,
but with a wider, heavier, more brutal mini-wedge forged off of either side of it.
it looks pretty vicious,
and it doled out some devastating damage to some too-big logs.
now they're just the right size.
i used up the kindling kicking up some combustion to light up the night.
i used to make arts and crafts an' that,
now i make firecraft an artform.
literal hotness,
figurative hottness.
just the cure for what ails you.
that's just one more good thing about improving the old bustedness;
scrap wood is never wasted in the woodsly goodness.
bits of bamboo floor, subfloor, trim, the old deck, all of it.
purged in the pyre as a sacrificial sacrement of epic northern barbarism.
we stayed out until the rain chased us away.
check out this preposterous R2-D2 rubbish-bin postbox bobotronic stove!!
i don't even know what to do with it,
or where to put it.
seriously.
i've got four woodstoves, now.
yeah, i know.
my secret hoarder mentality is hard at work here.
you'd think i grew up in the great depression.
anyway,
now i have this weirdie-box.
and it burns coal, too.
anthracite, b!tches.
i'm sure santa will bring me a whole batch of it this year,
so it's sure to be a warm new year's eve at least.
c'mon.
talk about a real honest-to-goodness proper english furnace.
if only i could wake up with a permanent cockney accent.
that'd be rad.

i think my hand looks smarter and more sophisticated with a pipe.

what?

yeah,

it's the season for reppin' rockwell and tolkein and detective holmes.

nothing goes better with woodsmoke than pipesmoke.

FACT.

the weather is wet and cold,

but we're warm and dry.

we've got wood, and tea, and toast, and work to do.

i've even got a fully-filled docket of doo-doo butter to dispense at the 'zappery,

and after that it'll be time to try and locate some wild things, perhaps.

this Folk Life ghost of a larger life, ya'll,

is absolutely the right size for this day.

spanning time,

one minute, one hour, one day.

every day;

never quiet, never soft.....

fanfare.

north country fair jewelers.
that place is as hippied-up as a sonovagun.
we hit it up for the golden goodness.
emily, our jewelery designing buddy.
flowed us a fresh-to-death favor,
the awesome hooked-up result of which will be
to have a pair of luxuriously luscious pact-packed circles
for our knobbly-knuckled wicked little fingers by hallowe'en.
the promise of hottness to come is hard to wait for.
that's a big deal.
it all seems so super-official an' that.
happily,
our peaceful justice dispensing official,
sue kjellberg,
is ready and willing to wing it with us.
we met up with her, too.
it would seem that the hippies of the valley are aligning to envibelate our area.
i couldn't be more pleased.
envibelate, i said, to emphasize the vibe-heavy hippie aura up here.
what's on the docket?
how about writing our own vows?
-sure thing.
ok, and having a prepared welcome speech or series of fortunate events?
-heck no, yo.
it looks like we're gunning for an ad-lib, off-the-cuff,
mostly-unscripted matrimonial commencement.
word.
this is really happening.
it ALL is.
i've got to be up-front and honest with ya'll:
i'm pretty flippin' excited.
twenty or so of our far-flung friends and a few family members,
keeping it real in the woodsly goodness,
covening on the spot, in the mix, and at the scene-
ushering in a whole other 'nother new era...
of dopeness.
i am grateful for the time i am being provided.
i aim to make the next eleven days the easiest, breeziest bretrothal-basted boontides ever.
and then we'll kick it up a whole new other 'nother notch, my ninjas.
the making of an honest woman is the least of my concerns.
true stories, told truly, is just what we do.
and believe me,
we doo-doo that freaky sh!t;
never quiet, never soft.....

southern comfort.

oh yes, indeed.
this here is exactly what a cold wet day is begging to be remedied with:
comforting food.

southern comfort, sans inebriates, to be more precise in description.
i'm uncomfortably full as a result.
that's chicken-fried tempeh,
homemade deep-south doo-doo bicuits,
garlic-sauteed kale,
and two very special, super-turbo important comfort eagle items...
y'know what makes comfort food so bangin'?
'tatoes.
works every time.

there' some kind of earth-spirit dirt bloppity dopeness locked in each and every starchy spud.

those jawns have got vidalia onions mixed in,

and oven-roasted crispy outsides, mutha-lickers.

recognize.

finally,

just to give that little boot-scootin' barbarian bump up to eleven;
add in the copious corpulent clouts of lumpity-jumpin' gravy,

and if by now you're not under the auspices of fat-belly feel-goodery

you're probably an A-hole.

no offense intended ...but seriously, though;

i'm just sayin'.

that's all the full-fledged fixin's for pre-hibernation warmth and wonderment.

and it was g-darn tasty as a mo-fo. too.

second helpings became thirdsies,

and thirdsies led to an all-out food coma.

sorry, gale-force skywater gypsy stormclouds,

but even the savagery of the stormswept winds of war and change

were not going to get me off of the couch tonight.

i mean,

with the roasty-toasty woodstove roaring,

and another 'nother seven hundred or so pages

of ultra-nerd swords-and-wizards saga to scan,

i had everything i needed right in front of me.

so good.

the winds are a-blowin'.

big, BIG, BIG changes are headed down the pike.

i guess maybe i was wise to spend the evening carbo-loading

for more raw power and perspicacity.

that's the key, maybe.

fuel.

for the fire, yeah?

in SO many ways.

that's where i'm at anyway.

you know, at the fire.

so i'll keep throwing my weight around,

waiting for the inevitable big action that's coming,

eating my weight in comfort,

and letting those invariable winds whip the flames into a frenzy.

the whole circle keeps expanding.

with little circles spinning out and overlapping each other.

ghost rings, smoke rings, and wedding rings;

never quiet, never soft.....