Pattern Recognition.

Weather's awful and we're all feeling down. A friend who's a bit in the doldrums started talking about his favorite R & B classics from the 1970s. Of course, I chimed in with one of my all-time all-timers:



Ooh - same key, cadence, rhythm as this:

Great Meadows.

This is becoming the default walk when we're slightly west of here and exercise time is limited. Like with the Mystic Preserve and the reservoir over near Alewife, it's always worth it to visit often, all year round.

Now's the time for greater contrasts and longer shadows due to the obliqueness of the sun's rays.



Local vegetation, already going out in a blaze of glory, seems further warmed by that gold light that one only sees this time of year.*



Saw a few birds: some coots, mallards and Canadas on the water. A crow, some swallows and (it was hard to tell) either yellow warblers or goldfinches with winter coloring in flight. We heard a downy woodpecker laughing at a joke that was clearly offending a mallard somewhere. Also, an odd call from what I thought to be a nuthatch**. Oh, saw a heron in the distance as well as some marsh wrens scritching around in the reeds.



Funny, but whenever I see a pair of geese in flight, I can't help but think of this poem.

***

* Here, it's gold in the Fall. Winter and Spring are pastels. Summer's primaries.

** Pavel said that it was too high pitched. Pitch aside, I think that it was the right cadence for a nuthatch.

Still feeling off but hungry, decided to make a bit of soup for breakfast. Not bad:



Gratuitous soup shot. Am growing to like playing with the camera again. Couldn't be bothered with it for a while.

Nothing really exciting: just some chicken broth, a handful of fresh spinach, 1/2 an onion, a couple mushrooms a clove of garlic and four or five cubes of frozen cilantro (the smell from that alone calmed the upset stomach down right away). Simmered it all for about five minutes, then poached a couple eggs in it.

This felt about as good going down as a bowl of miso soup. Come to think of it, maybe I should revive the practice of having a bowl of that for breakfast.

Pavel and I are I guess what you'd call cheap coffee connoisseurs; more to the point, even if we both were employed full time, I don't think you'd find us paying $20-$30/lb for coffee when there's perfectly good stuff out there for considerably less than that.* Generally, except for the emergency runs to the bodega across the street for the least expensive Latin stuff (always good, though always ground), we get whole bean, so I guess we're not completely lost.

Anyway, our two favorites in this area are Trader Joe's and Eight O'Clock (with 8:00 winning out for a while when they had their frequent buyer program). Had been drinking a lot of the TJ's French Roast lately, as they sell that in a huge tub. It's nice, though a bit messy in the grinder due to its oiliness. Only just ran out of it a couple days ago, so Pavel went out and picked up a big, two pound bag of Eight O'Clock.

As I'm the first to get up in the morning, I'm the one who preps the first pot. Always use the same amount of coffee, so found it interesting when Pavel mentioned that stuff was tasting too weak. Myself, I noted that I was getting the jitters and actual head spins. Slow on the uptake that I can be sometimes, finally noted that we had the regular blend (which I can only assume is a city roast - meaning, the least cooked coffee out there - this imparts a mild flavor and burns off the least amount of caffeine. Kind of like Dunkin Donuts stuff as opposed to your normal cup of Starbucks). Since we have so much of it, I'm actually thinking of playing at roasting a bit of it as I'm not nuts about the caffeine and the housemate's not too thrilled with the flavor. We'll see what happens.

***

*One thing we do make a point of doing is avoiding anything "fair trade," as there doesn't appear to be much "fairness" about it if one takes Webster's definition. I know that there are other definitions at play, though. In any event, Bad Catholic that I am, I just see it as lefty indulgence-selling.

Broke the required fruit fast with something completely new and kind of exotic this morning: an Asian pear. Was both tart and rich; reminded me a little bit of apple, somewhat of a pear, and a smidge of the mayhaw jelly that Karen sent from Texas. The texture was slightly grainy, but also smooth. It was very juicy. I think I might have to go get a couple more of them while they're on sale at Star (at $1 apiece). Such a treat; such a way to ring in 'phase II' of the diet.

At the bakery, turn the corner and you find yourself on Spring Street. Walk up about half a block or so and stop. Wait if you have to for cars to pass, for things to calm down, then listen carefully. You should now be able to hear water running underneath the pavement. That's the spring that gives the street (and, coincidentally, the hill I now live on) its name.

I love passing by the Italian bakery on Somerville Avenue just across from the Dollar Store. Hot white bread just from the oven always smells good (though I'm not nuts about how it tastes); it smells especially good on cooler days like today.

Lunch.

This afternoon while running errands, I passed by Christina's. Checked the chalkboard for the featured flavor: Sour Cream Pomegranate.

On the return trip, stopped in for a taste. Oh, was it was good. Treated myself to a scoop for the walk home.

Last night's wind kept blowing the trashcan over, so after several times braving the cold to right things, we gave up and put it back behind the house.

This morning, got up a bit late and rushed out just in time to see the garbage truck pass by.

Caught a gust of wind on the back: just as strong as last night's, but almost as warm as breath. My shoulders loosened up a bit. Felt the hint of a smile at the corners of my mouth. (Was so much better than yesterday's twitch.)

Papaya.

Picked up a papaya at the market on a whim. I do this every now and again.

I want to love this fruit so much. Euell Gibbons sung its praises in his Beachcomber's Handbook. I remember a few of them making their way home in suitcases after various relatives' Hawaiian vacations.

It's beautiful.



Sorry for the blur: the kitchen's pretty dark in the evening and I hate using the flash.

It's romantic.



The seeds call out to be touched (and saved) after the fruit's been cut. Have 1/2 a juice glassful of them in the fridge waiting to be planted.

But I just can't get to liking how it tastes. Perhaps I'm serving it not ripe enough (or too ripe)? Maybe I should try something other than just dousing it in lime juice or making fruit salads of it? Maybe it'll never taste as good as it looks to me?