palace of winds

I have great faith in the universe, and so believe that my mom will probably never read this article or another like it. Because I really want to go to Gilf al-Kebir on my Egypt trip (tentatively scheduled for 2010 — just don’t tell my boss).

Must start researching.

I am, sadly, back from Maui, and hoping to get some time this weekend to gather pictures and videos to share, so we can all mourn together that we aren’t ankle-deep in white sand, snorkeling with fishies and turtles, or cavorting after guava in the rainforest. I’m a bit of a maverick vacationer and without just these right circumstances (an unbelievable deal on the condo, thanks to Bryce; my mom’s life-long dream) I probably never would’ve made it to Hawaii, and I would have totally missed out. It was another dream trip, another once-in-a-lifetime, and I feel so blessed to have shared this time with my family (among whose number we all count you, Bryce, in case you haven’t realized).

While I was away, autumn evicted the last traces of summer here in Minnesota. It’s been a tough week to return to, all chilly and grey, early dark, and I’ve found myself feeling a little surly about a season I usually love. But last night I was seized by this sudden need to cook, to make something hearty, something spicy, and I pulled out a bag of dried beans and my favorite Indian cookbook. A little while later I stood over the sink plucking steamy kidney beans out of the colander, fresh from the pressure cooker, and I resolved once again to ban canned beans from my cupboard. If you’ve never made your own beans, you’re missing out! They are a different creature entirely, so creamy and delicious, so themselves; you don’t know it now but canned beans have this edge of can-taste, this cloying sweet chemically hint, and after having fresh(-from-dried) beans you will always be a little sad about the taste of canned. (Of course I’ve made this resolution a dozen times at least and I always end up using canned sometimes because, I know, it’s just so easy! Especially in dishes where they’re not the main component, or where they’re masked by delicious chili-taste. But if you like beans in your salads, and you should because mmm, take the extra time to treat yourself.)

Er — so I ended up making this curried kidney bean dish, with lots of spice (dried red pepper, cumin, coriander, etc) and ginger and tomato, and it was completely delicious, which is good because I have more, a lot more, in my fridge, along with the rice I made to go alongside it. I almost never make rice at home (I’m usually too lazy for rice) and dude, rice fresh out of the pan? So. Good. I kept snacking on bits of the cooling leftovers.

Anyway! When I started this post it was not to tease you about my vacation, or ramble on about dinner, but rather to share this funny and spot-on bit from an article about Johnny Depp’s newest film (it’s animated, to put it in context, though feel free to imagine it aaany way you like):

The movie will realize the dreams of thousands (nay, millions) of women worldwide as it casts Depp in the role of household pet. He’ll go on an adventure to discover his true self — which, I think, involves discovering he is Johnny Depp, commander of women.

I open my balcony door to let in the cool morning air; it brings with it an unexpected edge of autumn and I mentally check my calendar. Early August, still, in a year when our summer came monstrously late, not settling in until mid-June. And here, suddenly, a breeze that whirls in all falling leaves, pumpkins, heavy cable-knit turtlenecks.

On my morning blog-checking rounds I find that Carmon in New Mexico noticed this same season-shift yesterday, and looking at the pictures of her mountains folding off into the far clouded distance I fall unexpectedly back to Peru, to my valley a day’s ride into the mountains outside Cuzco. Have I talked about coming to the ruins there? The sun fading fast on us, shadows sliding up the sweeping mountainsides? I huddle shivering in the saddle, jacket zipped to my chin, knit cap pulled low over my ears and eyebrows. We have been mirroring the herd of llamas across the valley to our west, heading home for the night, and suddenly in all this distant deserted mountainland there before us is a little valley with a scattering of huts, paddocks sketched round with low adobe walls, the meandering of a stream and the ghost of an Incan outpost, centuries old.

I am taken suddenly, utterly, by a sense of homecoming. I have another life here. I cannot shake the sense of it, the call to stop here, or return here, to take deep rest in this little retreat. To step each morning into the high clear air, to lie down each night in a small earthen home beneath this bright sweep of stars. I am sure the reality would be different; it is an improbable dream. But what a promise of peace. What a thought to bring you through.

I had a whole lovely entry written about my trip to California last weekend, and Firefox crashed on me, as it is wont to do now that I’ve installed Rhapsody. There is something explosive about the combination of Firefox, Rhapsody, and Adobe Reader, and half the time they’re running in combination they destroy each other.

My gist, though, was that I had a fabulous time. All things considered Bryce and I see each other fairly often (though never often enough, of course), but because of time zones and flight schedules I only get out there once or twice a year, so when I do I get to demand request all of my favorite things: Hobee’s & Country Gourmet, skydiving, Allison, Arkham Horror, Rock Band. I had something of a horrible July, so coming home with another jump under my belt and blisters from too much drumming was a good feeling indeed.

I had a really, really great Fourth of July weekend, and this picture pretty much sums it up. (There were a few other pictures that I thought said it a little better, but I didn’t want to post pics of other people pretending to lactate wine from a wine-in-a-box pouch without said other people’s permission.)

What you can see is that I’m on the Meramec River, and that my floatin’ hat is made of awesomeness and win. What you can’t see is that we had two rafts and a canoe lashed together with bungies, and at the moment pictured I was balancing with one foot on either raft. I found it much easier than trying to stand on my tube on the Apple River. (I also drank beer instead of vodka on this trip and actually remember the whole thing.)

The drive through Iowa was surprisingly less excruciating than I remember — though I wasn’t the one driving, so that probably helped, and M and I got along like gangbusters and spent most of the time talking talking talking and the rest listening to Avenue Q and Ricky Gervais and Harry Potter. The drive through Missouri was downright gorgeous. The weather was perfect, totally perfect. I did not get sunburned, and I resisted the temptation of s’mores (oh sweet gooey grahamy delicious emblem of summer, how I miss your forbidden marshmallowness). Everyone was really lovely — it was one of those instafriends weekends, and oh Iowa of far farmfields how I hate you for being between me and more of that.