Every fall there's a damp, blustery day when the leaves of the two willow oaks in front of the building make their way inside, up the front steps, up the elevator (or even the four flights of the back stairs) and onto the third floor. Today was that day. I don't know why it delights me. It just does. Leaves might be my favorite subversives.
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Out of the blue (or, on this rainy day, out of the gray), from a friend who very seldom texts, came words that were the equivalent of handing someone a whole roll of Bounty when she's just had a big spill.
Someone mentioned balm in Gilead in an emailed note, and "There Is a Balm in Gilead" hummed in my mind. It's been years, I think, since I've sung that in a congregation, but when I started singing it later, walking through rainmist too light to bother the umbrella, memory's filing system yielded all the words, even all the parts except the bass.
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Looking at quilted plums made me salivate. How does that happen?
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Over The Rhine's new Christmas album, Blood Oranges in the Snow, is streaming live today at The New York Times. Don't let the Christmas part put you off. Karin Bergquist, half of the married duo, calls it "reality Christmas" music. They are among our best living troubadours, by which I mean poets writing to music. It undid me, as their music often does. Then makes me hit replay.
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Chili mac simmering in the blue Dutch oven, and steaming in my favorite bowl.
What did today give you?
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| Plums, upper right, in context. |
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