juushika

Yesterday (Sunday, the 18th) was my birthday! It was a lovely birthday! Easily the best that I can remember, with grace given for "bad memory" and for "I usually get so anxious about celebrating events Correctly that I spoil the celebration, lol." I had a quiet weekend with Devon. On Saturday night we watched John Wick (this borrowing movies from the library thing is neat):


John Wick, film, 2019, dir. Chad Stahelski
Devon compared this to a specific action scene (from some-or-another game or movie, I can't remember) except that it went on indefinitely—it's that iconic scene of scrappy competence porn, styled midway between slick and down-and-dirty, extended to feature-length. Being able to maintain that niche atmosphere is admirable and so satisfying, and I appreciate that the ( spoiler? ) is weirdly tasteful. Solid.


and Devon gave me my first birthday gift early: a new tablet, a Samsung Galaxy Tab S5e—he gave me a tablet a few years ago just to see if I'd benefit from having one, and it became my primary computing device; I use my PC for gaming and typing, but my tablet for daily internet browsing/IM clients/the background is an omnipresent force in my life but I don't generally want to sit at my computer. And it's starting to show its age, particularly re: mobile games (read: Pokemon Go). I'll still use both at least until I (finally) get a phone, because the new tablet is less ideal for niche use like "walking while listening to an audiobook." But it's so sleek and light and speedy.

Saturday night we walked down to the supermarket (in the dark! while it was cool out! we've had such a mild summer so far, but still fuck summer, fuck overstimulation and photophobia, the only correct time to leave the house is 10p) for waffle mix, and on my birthday we did a breakfast of veggie sausage, orange juice, and waffles with vanilla ice cream. We own so few items and really prefer it that way, so we kept putting off buying a "makes just one thing" kitchen item, but we have no regrets about the waffle maker. We'll get plenty of use out of it, even if it only makes waffles, and after such a long wait that warm, fresh, steamy crisp chewy waffle against rich, cold "like whipped cream, but better" vanilla ice cream was exquisite. I hate cake (too sweet, texture bad) and I'm convinced that secretly most people do, that we have a cultural expectation that birthday = cake and so we eat it every year and it's always mediocre; what we should do instead is something that probably lacks iconic associations but which is suited to our tastes and feels like a sincere celebration. It's a lot of opinions to have about cake.

Devon's work as infinite PTO (with reasonable boundaries of "they fire shitty employees"), so he scheduled this Thursday off and we're planning to go into PDX proper for a Powell's visit and some sort of lunch. I'd so much rather go into town on a weekday instead of a busy weekend, and I appreciate that his job makes that—and a lot else—possible. I have to sit down in the next few days and figure out what few print books I may actually want to buy.

(He also scheduled half days over the entirety of Hanukkah, so that he can be home by sundown.)

I've been both lonely and overstimulated/anxious lately (which I mentioned elsewhere) and my birthday could easily have been a trigger—that combination of "reflect on the year: surprise! the year sucked!" and "celebrate the good things in life, of which there are objectively many, especially with where you are in your home and relationship" and "make plans towards self-improvement and the future, the thought of which is 10% anticipation and 90% crippling, spiraling anxiety" and "feel obligated to celebrate with/be celebrated by other people" was a panic attack waiting to happen. So staying in and doing small but celebratory couple-things over the weekend, and planning a larger but stress-mitigated outing, was the best solution. My birthday weekend felt full, joyful, present—I stayed in the moment and didn't spiral into horror at the passage of time.

I still can't remember how old I turned ... 34? I caved and did the math: 34. I shall now proceed to jettison that information and act like a clumsy identity thief every time I need to fill out personal information for the next year.

Last weekend was fantastic and hugely busy. On Saturday, Dee and I made a day trip down to Corvallis. We brought Odi to board the day in grandparents's outdoor dog kennel, and went with Devon and my family (parents and sister) to the Fall Festival, an outdoor fair of local artists. I usually go just with my father, or sometimes with my sister as well; having such a large group was a bit like herding cats (oh, the yelled cell phone conversations), but it was also lovely. The weather held at mostly sunny but not hot, my parents bought some metal work for the garden, and I got to show off one of my favorite artists, Cameron Kaseberg. When we were done with the booths, we split up and Devon, Dee, and I went across the street to the library book sale, where everything was half price for the end of the day; I am absolutely drowning in books over here, but I still managed to find Dracula, some Atwood and Woolf, and a Southern Gothic novel of questionable potential for $6, and who can say no to that. Then we went out to a delightful dinner.

Back at Devon's grandparents's house we discovered that—true story—as soon as we'd left, Odi had managed to pull up the chain link sides to the kennel, wriggle underneath, and follow Devon's scent trail across the yard and back to Devon's house, where he had found Devon's father and invited himself inside and spent the day gorging on found bags of cat food and playing. We're exceedingly lucky that he wasn't hurt in the escape and that he immediately found a safe place to go (as a one-eyed dog he's pretty identifiable, so Devon's folks recognized him), but: WHUT.

On Sunday, Dee and I took the bus to Hawthorne—one of my old Portland stomping grounds out in SE—for the Under Wildwood release party. The Wildwood Chronicles take place in St. Johns (our neighborhood here in Portland) and the vast park visible from the neighborhood; at the release party we got a pre-release signed copy of the second book in the series, and the author and illustrator did a joint talk which was all about the book as a collaboration—their joint approach to creating its world, and then exploring it in their respective mediums as author and illustrator. Afterward, we went to an early dinner at Chez Machin—I'd never had savory crêpes, and they make theirs with chewy robust buckwheat; mine was filled with mozzarella, mushrooms, and tomatoes, and topped with a pesto sauce. I'm an extremely picky eater, mostly in regards to texture and new foods, so it was a bit of a risk but a complete success: A+, would love to eat again.

On one hand this is exactly what I want of autumn: more to do, more desire to do it, the delicious exhaustion and enthusiastic downtime that follows having done it. That said, we noticed this week that Kuzco has been having some troubles eating: he lost a top incisor a bit ago, which is totally normal, but I think he lost this one way down at the root and the root got infected. It's just broken through, so he's probably fine, but he's lost a bit of weight in the meantime and the infection may still linger. He has a vet appointment tomorrow just to make sure he's fine, but here's the thing: Kuz is 7 years old, and guinea pigs live between 5 and 8 years. He's developed a cataract in one eye; when he's eating well (which is usually) he gets rotund but the weight is all in his tummy—he's never been a very plump pig, but he's on the bonier side now. What I'm saying is that he's an old man, the last of his herd. This tooth issue is probably unrelated to aging, but it sort of makes his mortality hit home. I'm not dreading or even anticipating his death—Kuzco has had a good life, and he can stick around for as much more of it as fate determines—but this comes while we have a cat in limbo and while I just feel ... exhausted.

It's money issues (even if Devon doesn't seem to think there ... are any), it's fear of commitment and responsibility, it's general exhaustion and the need for some downtime. Two weeks ago I was exhausted and went to escape in Corvallis, and spent the whole time having an extended nervous breakdown. Then there was cat, then there was social stuff, now Kuzco, and I haven't showered in a couple of days and when I'm not surfeited with distraction (making stars while watching a show, reading a book while watching video games) I'm on the verge of a crying jag.

Gillian is fine! He managed to groom the section that he had groomed to the skin, so that's still healing, but most all of his scabs have flaked off and he's no longer vibrating with itchy frustration. No other health problems, he's on the second half of his preventative medication course, and really the only thing he hates is being trapped in one room. I'm just having a hard time bonding, because right now I don't see "cat I love"—I see "ongoing responsibility and monetary investment." That's selfish, and it doesn't mean I don't love him, but it's a connotation I can't shake right now.

If sleep were easier (not having nightmares, just sleeping restlessly), I'd want to sleep for a week. Devon wants me to come back to Corvallis for another try at downtime, but it depends on what Kuzco's vet visit turns up. I just wish there were an off button for the world, or for me.

I've been eating a lot of peanut butter and banana lately. It's something I just discovered—I'm sure I had it as a kid, but not so that I remember—and when I discover something I like I rarely do it by halves. I do peanut butter and banana sandwiches on English muffins, or whip together peanut butter and bananas into a spread (it has a sweeter, stronger banana flavor and a fluffy texture). And the internet tells me that peanut butter can substitute fat in almost all baking as long as you're careful not to overmix the flour, so I've also been in search of a peanut butter banana bread.

These oat muffins are the best so far. I don't do flavors by halves, so I added extra peanut butter and banana; some of the banana should be chunked, not mushed, so there are bits of baked banana in the muffin. The oats are chewy, the bread is moist, the flavor is a little salty and a little sweet. I halved this recipe, but that means pouring out some egg—so deal with proportions as you like.

(No pictures, sorry, the lighting was just too low today for it, and anyway I'm in a hurry—heading to Corvallis this evening, and there are things to do before then!)

Peanut Butter Banana Oat Muffins
Adapted from Honey and Jam

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 heaping cup rolled oats
1/2 scant cup brown sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 egg
3/4 cup milk (or soy milk)
1/3 to 2/3 cup peanut butter (chunky preferred)
4 ripe bananas, partially mashed

Combine flour, oats, sugar, baking powder, soda, and salt in a medium bowl. In a large bowl, beat the egg lightly. Stir in the milk and peanut butter. Add the banana and combine—there should be some reasonably sized chunks of banana in the mix. Stir the flour mixture into the banana mixture until just combined. Grease or line a 12-cup muffin tin, and divide the batter among them. Bake at 400 degrees F for 18 to 20 minutes. For best results, let cool and then wrap and store in fridge at least until cold or overnight. Makes 12 generous muffins.

The more peanut butter, the stronger the peanut butter flavor. Chunky peanut butter well compliments the chewy texture of the oats, but consider leaning towards 2/3 cups peanut butter if you use it—to account for the mass that won't act as a replacement fat. Bananas should be ripe, but don't need to be overripe; overripe bananas will yield fewer chunks and need less sugar.

I have a pumpkin pie in the oven. The pumpkin pie has always been my Thansgiving thing, but this is the first time I've done Thanksgiving as someone with anything approaching an interest in cooking or baking. After much deliberation I made my own crust (based on this tutorial), and I put too much water in it so the first few minutes of pie baking were quite boily, but I can already tell that this is far more flaky than any storebought thing. After even more deliberation I decided to stick with an evaporated milk base—as opposed to cream or milk—because I know what sort of texture it renders; instead I put effort into the sweeteners and spices, using brown sugar and a bit of molasses as opposed to white sugar, adding a touch of cardamom and allspice to the usual mix and then allowing the filling to rest uncooked overnight so that the spices can meld. I even pushed the filling through a strainer, although that was mostly to incorporate a tablespoon of last-minute flour—although I hear that straining it makes for a nice smooth texture, so fingers crossed. The filling spilled up over one side and I didn't put my usual crust-leaves on top because I was sick of wrestling with dough—it doesn't look anything special, but I expect good things of it.

I also have last-second biscuits (roast garlic and cheddar, and cheddar and jalapeno) planned for when the turkey is resting.

And tomorrow morning, while we watch the Macy's Day Parade (it's tradition) and dog show, I'll make for anyone who wants some the pumpkin drink that I've been making for myself for a few weeks now. It's why I sat down to write. Hell if I can find the recipe I stole this from—I'll add it if I do find it—but it's pretty simple, anyway.

For one cup of hot pumpkin milk:

5 to 8 ounces milk
1/4 to 1/2 cup pumpkin puree
1/4 cup or less brown sugar (or dark brown sugar, or mixture of brown sugar and maple syrup)
A shake or two of cinnamon
Optional: other spices (ginger, nutmeg, clove, cardamon, allspice) to taste

Pour out enough milk to almost fill a mug. Heat milk in saucepan over low heat. While heating, add pumpkin puree, sweetener, and spice. Whisk together. When heated, whisk thoroughly to form a head of foam. Pour into mug and serve.

Notes: Soy milk holds foam particularly well. Add as much pumpkin as you want; the more you add, the thicker the foam will become. Add as much or little sugar as you want. Plenty of cinnamon substitutes well for other spices, and is easier to incorporate. Whisking is necessary to incorporate everything.

It doesn't taste like a pumpkin spice latte, but it is its purer cousin: smooth thick earthy pumpkin, warm and (when I make it) lightly sweet. It's become my comfort drink of choice, but isn't too heavy; ideal for the start of a too-much-good-food day.

I made these yesterday: Salted Chocolate Caramel Cookies.

( One more shot of cookies. )

They're these cookies, with a few modifications (slightly decreased the sugar because I expected the caramels would make them plenty sweet, substituted sour cream + water for the yogurt since that's what we had in the fridge, and cut the caramels in half to make smaller cookies). Next time I'll use a cookie recipe that also contains melted chocolate in the dough, because these could stand to be darker. But I wanted to bake at midnight, so I used what we had and they turned out not half bad. The cookie is crumbly and slightly powdery, which here provides a nice contrast to the thick chewy caramel; halving the cookie size makes for adorable two-bite cookies, with I prefer to the full-sized test cookies I made; the salt on top is what makes them, contrasting and setting off the other flavors. The biggest downside is that they were best about ten minutes after coming out of the oven—and that it's hard to eat just one cute little cookie.

This is the first step in my grand effort to use up all the non-gnawed caramels from Halloween. The blessing and downside of a small batch of half-sized cookies is that there's approximately a billion caramels left. Caramel apple cookies are on the list, and I want to give salted chocolate and caramel another try, but I like sticking to small batches so we aren't buried by dessert.

Tomorrow evening I'm heading to Corvallis for a few days; I'll take some cookies to homemade pizza night with my parents. On the 10th we have out of state company for the day; on the 15th, Express is in town on business (!!!), I'll crash at his hotel room so that we can maximize our time together, and before he leaves down he can meet Dee; I plan to bring quiche and cookies so that we don't have to eat out for every meal. I begrudge this time of year for having all the good food, but to have people so share it with is lovely. These days I find that not only do I have to keep a calendar, as soon as I sit down to hash out the month's plans I find that that calendar has filled up—my only unscheduled week this month is Thanksgiving, which is unscheduled only because I still have so many plans (with my parents, with Devon's grandparents, with Dee's family) still up in the air.

On a similar note: On Wednesday I went into downtown to meet notsuchastrangr. We went to school together but never actually met there, so this was another first-time-in-real-life meeting—I seem awash in them these days. We went to Powell's where I picked up a book with a dodgy cover, and then had coffee at the Starbucks on the corner, and had many hours of surprisingly natural, gratifying conversation.

I find that I am beginning to have the friendships and conversations that I've always wanted to have. I used to envy people with clans/chosen family, and have to remind myself that I still had years to develop those sorts of relationships; now I live with Dee in Portland, and can go to San Francisco and be as at home with Express as if he were a sibling. As an adolescent I envied my parents's social circle, and wished that I could sit with the adults and talk about Big Issues; it disappointed me to find that those conversations didn't interest me (and weren't particularly Big), but now I can talk about everything from poetry to mental health with someone I "just" knew online, and build a meaningful dialog.

We ended up hanging out together for an extra hour or so, and by the time I came back I was in pain and exhausted. I can never overlook the trade-offs, my limitations, and the fact that these things—simple friendships—wouldn't be so remarkable or long in coming to someone else. But these days I can make those trade-offs willingly, say yes I'll stay a little longer and know that then I'll do nothing tomorrow; I schedule as many down days into my calendar as I do busy ones. I won't pretend to be content with who I am, but I am at least satisfied with so much, now.

Yesterday night I made these:


Pumpkin chocolate chunk espresso muffins

I riffed off my family's pumpkin bread recipe with Handle the Heat's Banana Espresso Chocolate Chip Espresso Muffins and some simple experimentation, with an approximate resulting recipe of:

( Pumpkin chocolate chunk espresso muffins recipe. )

If I did it again, I'd either cut down on the sugar (which I'd already decreased from the family recipe), or omit the chocolate or use darker chocolate (this was 68%); as it is, they're a little sweet. Chocolate chips may be better than chocolate chunks, for better distribution and so that they don't all sink into the heart of the muffin, which tastes fine but looks boring. I went heavy on the spices, which is lovely; it could probably use even more espresso powder, however, so that that flavor is more distinct. I might also increase the pumpkin and decrease the oil just a touch.

I'm heading down to Corvallis this evening to spend a few days there, and I'll bring about a dozen of these to spread around. It's good timing: I can show Mum how my first version of our pumpkin bread recipe turned out, and with others to help us eat these Dee and I won't drown in dessert. This weekend is also the Fall Festival, an unintended and delightful coincidence—I was thinking of going to the farmer's market with Papa, and now we can do both, and I can't wait. The weather has been a bit warmer these last few days, but the young maple one house down is going gold, and so help me autumn is here.

(In fact, I made pumpkin muffins because we had extra pumpkin puree after Dee made a simple, fantastic pumpkin soup. We had it with grilled (fake) chicken/havarti/arugula/kalamata sandwiches that night, and the next day we had it with toasted crusty bread with topped cream cheese. Both were fantastic, and you wish you had been there to have some.)

It is 70 degrees Fahrenheit outside and the sun is still setting. Perhaps this shouldn't feel like a minor miracle, but it does, and I'll take it.

On Saturday, Dee and I drove into downtown Portland to meet sisterite/Lyz and a whole flock of others—Lyz's boyfriend, their roommate, the roomate's friend, a friend, and the friend's boyfriend, if I'm remembering it all correctly. They were visiting Powell's because, well, wouldn't you? And then we all went to Deschutes Brewery for lunch, which was surprisingly nice (not that I had my doubts)—I had the spinach flatbread (garlic cream sauce, sun dried tomatoes, whole milk mozzarella, chanterelle mushrooms, fresh local spinach, finished with garlic parmesan aioli) which was pretty much a sauceless pizza, rich and savory but, without sauce, not too heavy, with a wonderful kick from the aioli. When Lyz and her gang left—we only had about two hours with them, but, given that they were driving a round trip through Washington, that's understandable—Dee and I dropped back into Powell's. We browsed a bit, and in the last room as we were thinking of leaving we found the $1 "literature" section where I picked up a book about dog people (thus the sarcasm quotes) and another random fantasy of manners-esque find. Then we went across the corner to a roomy, all-amenities Starbucks, and I had my first pumpkin spice latte of the season. I hate it when these go away each year, but the blessing of their seasonal nature may be that the first is the best you will have all year: creamy and golden and spiced and just ask Dee, I would not shut up about how delicious my coffee was.

Lyz should be coming back through town this weekend, and we hope to grab her for a little longer if we can. One day we may even kidnap her and keep her overnight in the living room, with its delux pull-out couch—but shhhh, don't tell her that. The short visit was nice, and the day in downtown was quietly spectacular (and escaping into air conditioning was quite the added bonus), but I like a visit I can dig my teeth into, with less noise and fewer people and longer conversations, and a BPAL smellathon might be nice too.

Today we woke up to overcast skies and fresh cool air. The max temperature today was ten degrees cooler than yesterday, and it's looking to do so again tomorrow, and then so help us we may actually have low 70s for the rest of the month and see the actual advent of autumn. That's a cause for celebration, here. Dee dropped me off at Starbucks while she ran all number of shopping errands, because cooking food becomes more appealing when the house isn't already cooking you. I had a conversation about the book I was reading and OryCon with one not particularly socially adept middle-aged male, and then a 20-some indie artsy female thing brought in a large bag containing a small and mewling cat so that she could feed it about a cup of whipped cream. Something tells me that the average Portland Starbucks is a mite bit stranger than your average Corvallis Starbucks. I convinced (well, asked) the barista to take a slightly-expired free birthday drink card (because the hot weather has not been conducive to coffee drinking, either) and had a second pumpkin spice latte which so help me was just as good. I wrote a review, and figured out that my back is still not recovered from these last few days of pain, and when I left it was still a reasonable temperature outside.

I could get used to this, you guys. My eyes are peeled for turning leaves. My pumpkin necklace should be in the mail. We have the energy to do things again, energy that these long days have summer have been draining out of us. Today we had stir fry. Not burritos! And now the sun has set, and there's a cool breeze. Dee brought Spike out of prison and downstairs, and August is trying so desperately to get him to chase her around the house. And I'm happy.

I just had my birthday dessert with Devon's family, a Trader Joe's Handmade Chocolate Ganache Torte which I am pleased to say was actually pretty good. As we know I prefer my chocolate simple, pure, and dark; I dislike the texture and dilution of cakes, and I'm actually not a fan of ganache (again, I don't like the texture). This torte is chocolate mousse (fairly dense, and stored frozen which only makes it thicker) sandwiched between chocolate cake (low on flour, but not flourless—it's a dense cake without the crumb-texture of most cake) glazed with bittersweet chocolate ganache. It's dense and flavorful, rich chocolate without too much sugar, and the combination of textures makes for a lovely midpoint between creamy and chewy. I would still prefer a simple flourless torte (or chocolate souflé), but for something store-bought this was surprisingly lovely.

I finally instituted an obsession: chocolate tag. It's about time!

I sat down not to write about this, but about something else entirely. I'll get to that post soon. In the meanwhile, a blurb about chocolate. So there we go.

I spent last weekend in Portland (Oregon) with Dee (century_eyes), and have about a dozen entries I could make on the subject. But while catching up with Devon on the first evening, I mentioned where we'd gone to eat and he replied with, "You review everything." He meant it in a good way. ^_^ And so we begin with: Portland restaurant reviews, from this non-foody, vegetarian, picky eater who nonetheless found a lot of good food over the weekend. For the most part I can only speak to my own biased, limited experience, but nonetheless...

Doug Fir Lounge
We stayed at the Jupiter Inn, so it only made sense to visit their restaurant. I had the Farmer Sandwich with a side of tomato soup for lunch, and while the sandwich was damn hard to eat with anything approaching grace—chunky vegetables and extra cheese make for disobedient filling—the flavor of everything was wonderful: green veg, sweet red pepper, savory cheese, and a touch of bite from the onion in the sandwich with a rich, savory, flavorful soup. We both had the Mac-n-Cheese for a late dinner the next day, which was enjoyable but not quite as good: the breadcrumb topping adds wonderful texture, and the dish is warm and comfort-foody, but the pasta was a touch overcooked and the sauce could have used more garlic to make it pop (keep in mind, I eat a lot more garlic than most folk). All in all, a convenient, quirky place (the atmosphere is wonderful) with a nice menu. We were both impressed.

The Farm Café
Just down the street was this busy little restaurant, but the wait for a table was worth it. Most of the menu is preprepared, so turnaround is speedy—but they sacrifice no quality. I had the Goat Cheese Ravioli and while the cherry tomatoes and hazelnuts on top made for too much textural froo-froo, the flavor—especially of the tomato cream sauce—was divine, and the goat cheese gave it personality and kick. For dessert we split the Sunken Chocolate Soufflé with Coffee Ice Cream, which is made to order. A rich, hot bitter chocolate soufflé with a crispy top and moist heart, topped with sweet, cold, creamy ice cream—the combination of textures and flavors was delicious and decadent, and there are few things in this world better than a great chocolate dessert. We both loved this place and want to return—I think it's my pick for best of the weekend. The menu is extensively vegetarian friendly, and the outdoor seating has an atmosphere which is simultaneously classy, airy, and relaxed.

Grendel's Coffee House (get your website together, guys!)
Across the street from the hotel, and another lovely find. We went here for two light breakfasts, and they offer drinks, pastries, and sandwiches, a variety which makes this a flexible option. The food is simple, slightly above average in quality, with and special attention paid to little details like veg*n alternatives and tea variety. The atmosphere is what sells the place: low-key and off-beat, with friendly staff and interesting patrons, it's a good place for a nice long chat over coffee. This is the sort of local coffee shop that I wish I had in my hometown.

Old Wives' Tales
We came here for a light lunch, and I wish we'd been able to come back for more. Extensively vegetarian- and dietary restrictions-friendly, I love the ethos of this restaurant as well as its relaxed atmosphere. I had the Greek Melt half sandwich with a tossed salad—the salad was good but unremarkable, but the sandwich was lovely: again hard to eat, because it's served open-face and the ingredients are chunky, but the classic combination of Greek flavors in the feta, artichoke hearts, olives, and herbs was just delightful and everything was cooked to perfection. I only wish I'd had the chance to try their Pumpkin Pudding, because it sounds divine.

Café Umbria
Picked as a random choice within walking distance of Powell's, this was a nice little café. Selection is limited, which made for only one vegetarian sandwich—but it's hard to go wrong with a mozzarella/tomato/basil panini and this one was far above average: it was perfectly cooked, the bread texture was wonderful, the ingredients were fresh, and best of all a touch of balsamic vinegar brushed on the bread gave it a punch of flavor that I don't usually see in this type of sandwich and really enjoyed. The staff seemed a little harried—perhaps it was a busy day—which dampened the atmosphere, but the food itself was quite satisfying.

Yesterday I went with my papa to the farmer's market. Every autumn a local orchard sells Liberty apples, the apples that which have spoiled me for all others. I am eating one now and trust me, after a Liberty apple all others are mushy and miserable—they're small, crisp, tart red and green apples with lovely flavor and crunch. My family buys them by the crateful as soon as they come into season and then feast on them through autumn and winter, and so I went with Papa and the family dog Jamie to buy them today. The weather the day before (and again today it seems) was mild and warm—so I went out in a short-sleeved hoodie, and of course the rain came down in buckets.

I pulled my hood up over my (freshly-washed, still wet hair) and Papa asked me, what, was I trying to keep my hair dry? By the end of our little walk I was able to wring water from that hood. Papa's hair was plastered to his scalp, and Jamie looked like she was covered in inky feathers rather than fine short fur. There were puddles on the side of the road, almost everyone had umbrellas, and the sky was thick and gray. Dogs are allowed at the farmer's market, but they're not in the booths—so James and I waited outside while Papa made quick purchases in each, standing alone on the dark roadway under pouring rain.

But it was still warm. So warm indeed that on my (admittedly cool) skin, I couldn't even feel the rain: the little pats of water droplets, yes, and the flow of water running down my forearms to drip from my fingertips; but it was a thin, gentle sensation, ghostly even—not because it was cool but instead because the water was just as warm as my bare skin.

The rain was intermittent but when it came, it came on heavy. It enveloped me. It washed my skin clean, the air clean, the street clean; it stained roadways and tree trunks to shining black against which autumn leaves glowed like embers. This was the first real rain of the season that I've walked in, soaked myself in, and properly enjoyed. It rains so constantly here that we all do get a bit sick of it, but because of days like yesterday I wouldn't trade it for much of anything. I grew up here, I learned to enjoy the rain from necessity—but now I love it, wholeheartedly. Pouring rain, clean wet streets, and autumn leaves. It was beautiful.

(The irony being: I still hate showering and hold an irrational fear of standing water.)