December 28, 2008

8:30 a.m.

Warm, Winter

Rose called in the early afternoon yesterday and invited me to dinner. Marc is making stuffed shells, she said. They contain wheat! I laughed and said I'd certainly be over. She asked if I could trade some of my Protonix for some of Marc's Prilosec, as it gave him the belches, and both work for me. So we did our little antacid exchange.

We sampled a couple bottles of wine from the case Dar brought them for Christmas. Yum. They keep a little wine notebook of the wines they try, pasting the labels in and recording price, where they got it, and what they thought. It's not that they're obsessive about it, but they often have people over and a lot of wine goes in and out of that house. I think it's fun -- if my budget were a little higher I might keep such a book, maybe make one specially for it. But at the moment it would say, "Yellow Tail, $6.99... good, again." One day.

My mother had a small collection of pewter which she willed to me. I dug it out of the dank basement and brought it over so Rose and I could assess it before I tried to sell it. I thought there might be pieces she would want, and indeed there were two or three. An ornate candlestick, a plate, a clock. We looked up the stamps on the backs of two plates to see if we could figure out a value. One company was hard to find, and the other was a kind of English silver plate, and I didn't get too far with either one. My mom displayed and used these in every house we lived in. One large plate has lots of cut marks in it -- but it looks older so she may have gotten it as an antique. We certainly hope she didn't use pewter as serving dishes.

They have a connection to an auction house nearby so we bartered -- they agreed to take all the pieces we didn't want to their friend there, to see if he can auction them as a lot, in exchange for my giving Rose the few pieces she wants. I don't expect to get much for any of it, but it's part of my "make a few bucks by clearing out the excess" plan for 2009. Rose offered to make me an offer for hers, since mom had willed them to me, but it just didn't seem right.

It's going to be fun going through all my stuff to see if there are more things I can redistribute into the world (for a few bucks).

After dinner we stoked the parlor stove, and I got to tote the weighty buckets of corn in from the silo. They were discussing who would get the corn, and I offered. I hadn't gotten corn yet. Marc and I trudged down the slightly muddy path and he showed me how to work the chute and where to put the bucket so the corn wouldn't spill. I got them inside without falling over and declared it fun. Rose said, "It'll stop being fun after about the 20th bucket," so I have 18 to go before it becomes work.

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The shells were great, incidentally, in spite of an excess of oregano which Marc was the first to point out. Sausage and buffalo stuffed shells with only a modest amount of cheese. We finished off the dregs of the leftover Christmas cookies and I announced that perhaps I would let myself get fat for my middle age. Having been culinarily deprived for a while, celebrating food more seems like a good idea. Not all cookies, but, you know, more stuffed shells and so forth, more good food made with love and in community. If I stop touring over the next two years it won't matter whether my gig clothes fit or not, and besides they're getting worn out. I'll be earthy and stout. I'll put my feet down and raise my head. I'll have a sense of belonging, in my skin and on the Earth.

At least right now it's a way for me to think about relaxing my shoulds. An exercise in being easier on myself. Maybe I'll put on weight and feel terrible. I have to remember to keep my muscles strong, keep walking, keep lifting things. But this is a transitional time, and I'm slowly inventing what I'll be next.

And now I have to shower and get ready to leave for New Hampshire. It's only a couple of hours' drive. It's supposed to be warm and rainy -- mid 60s here in Connecticut! Probably a touch cooler up north, but... I love these surprisingly Spring days in the middle of Winter. Maybe Normandy and I can take out our umbrellas and go for a walk. She's been despondent lately. It might help.