Thursday, February 13, 2003

I’m looking at all the cool packs out there on the market and think how old school Esther and I were with our external frame packs. They don’t even make the REI Wonderland Trekker, with detachable fanny pack and side compartment. They sucked, but they got us there.

Now we’re getting all nimble and ultra-light for the PCT. I took my first ultra-light excursion on the Superior Hiking Trail last fall and it took me awhile to get used to a new system. And next time I’ll wear running shoes, with just liner socks on. Esther checked out a book about the PCT from 1975, The Pacific Crest Trail, by Ann and Myron Sutton. It is the first of what I perceive to be a long list of PCT literature over the next year.

But I can’t think of the future. Must live in the now. Esther on the recliner-couch wrapped in a fleece blanket and reading Iris Murdoch’s “The Sea, The Sea.”

Some cool hip hoppy sitar piece with bongo and accompanying sitar on the radio with John D. Laberto’s Echoes, which starts at 9 p.m. instead of 10 because WNIJ 89.5 changed their format and dropped an 11-year-long nightly LOCAL jazz program. Echoes is my mellow come to bed program, and to hear it shortly after 9 p.m. is disrupting my circadian rhythm.

I’m getting antsy to hike or do some kind of winter activity soon. I know I want to do a lot more canoeing and bike riding in 2003. Been debating about getting a roof rack for the car. Something I can put clever bumper stickers on, if there are any. I’ve never put a bumper sticker on a car. I’m just not a bumper sticker kind of guy. But I’d put bumper stickers on a roof rack. For some reason that’s fairer game to me.

Last night’s Wings was more tame. I had my requisite five, three good beers (two Hacker Pschorrs and a Guinness Extra Stout), the others Miller Lite. I’m starting to get burned out on beer. May explore white wines and champagnes for a while. We were home by 9:30 p.m. I got in a couple pool games. Made a couple good shots, am improving, but lost every time. There’s a good pool hall within walking distance of my apartment. I ought to go there of a Sunday afternoon and get a couple hours of practice in. Maybe check out a pool book from the library. Apply the usual research methods. Become a shark. They call me Knuckles.

There’s candles in the corner and an Ansel Adams calendar on the north wall. The west wall has a framed and numbered print of a lakeshore at the base of a towering abstract mountain range. The gray-ish blue monochrome sea/shore/mountainscape is spread across four equal size canvas strips, horizontal bars a foot high and two inches wide spaced a quarter inch apart. It’s 49/350 of “Silent Majesty” by Tuttle. I checked it out from the library and have to renew it by March 1.

The printer needs work. Clutter everywhere. Dust bunnies. Comic books and records on the floor, books and maps everywhere, guitar in the corner, candle on the coffee table, candles on the book shelf. Fluorescent light on in the kitchen. Windows have blinds, but no curtains. No house plants. No pets. A tape recorder on the floor just inside the landing records guitar musings. Choir music leans against cedar chest in manila folders. I owed a $2 fine when I went to the library. I didn’t check anything out, but read magazines until 15 minutes to closing time.

We had salmon for dinner. It’s the first time I ever cooked salmon. But it’s easy, tastes good and is good for you. Tonight I did it by making a pouch, put in some fresh chopped onion and green peppers, a little olive oil and some lemon juice. No salt, no pepper, no spices. I wanted to follow the less-is-more edict so favored by all good French cooking, or so Ken says. It turned out really good. And it was Aldis salmon. Kind of figured it’s hard to dork up frozen Salmon fillets. It’s funny how many new experiences you can have. A good cooking repertoire is good for the soul.

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