Fitz of Depression

Through Wet Windows. (see photo)
Good morning, coffee.
No snow, at all.
The yard is exposed, and it is looking pretty abused. Patchy green and brown grass, dead leaves, tiki torch, dangling hammock, soccer ball & hula hoop. The raccoons are living in the kid's tree house?

So, What is on the turntable?

David Bowie's Low is a great album. I just made it's acquaintance last week. It is weird, and of course, that always sounds good to me.

Argue about music! A favorite pastime around here. Last night: 13th Floor Elevators, Guided by Voices. We can all agree on those. Sitting around the fire again, with one lamp, glasses of wine, trying to figure out who opened for Nirvana in 1992 at the Seattle Center.
Really?
Worser still: http://www.nirvanaguide.com

Anger Management

River, Emily, Jarrod and I drove out to Jarrod's folks place to get wood. In town the streets are clear, but out there, the snow is stubborn. The driveway up to the place was rutted and pooled with slushy water. The woods still had that winter wonderland look.
This is how it went:
We pulled big pieces of maple out of the bushes. River cut the logs free with a chainsaw, looped a rope around them and then they were yanked out with a big, old black truck.
Next the wood was chainsawed down into rounds. We hauled the rounds over to our 'chopping station', where Jarrod, Emily, and I used hand axes to cut the rounds into smaller pieces.
We grunted and swore, and had a fine time swinging our axes.
Ccccraaacckkk!
We took a break and fired off Jarrod's shot gun at a dead tree. Deafening! By the time we left, the back of the van was filled with logs. We also left a nice pile for Jarrod's parent's stove.
....All this after an endless night of playing hits at the bar last night. Jarrod and I resurrected the DJ crew, and had them bopping in their socks until closing time.

Frozen

Port Townsend, Washington. I don't know what day it is. They are all snowy, or slushy, or crusty. River, Lara and Megan are in the kitchen with a bottle of wine. The chicken is in the oven, well-seasoned and organized into nice rows in a 9X12 baking pan. We also having rice pilaf(two boxes) and sauteed broccoli. Dinner is big these days. At least 8 people and usually more. Pork chops, barbequed ribs, and lots of chicken.
Cold weather, for weeks. No school for the kids, no work for the adults. The christmas tree is sagging. The wood stove is gobbling up wood.
Christmas day.
We had our family obligations. The spiral cut ham, the thick hunks of cheese, the hot buttered rum. Our friend is dying of cancer, this little girl got the dollhouse of her dreams, my mother is slicing onions and knife slips, but it only nicks her fingernail.
After those obligations. We head home. Cases of mexican beer and a stack of records. ZZ Top, The Misfits, Lynyrd Skynyrd. I want dirty old rock. Seth is visiting from Oakland, Ryka took a Xanax, and Oceanna is over with her new boyfriend. Cracking beers, flipping records, shouting with the boys about how sweet! And then a stir in the kitchen, yelling, doors slam. Some old shit and some new shit, the girls are getting it sorted out. Doors slam again, it is sucking. The fun wanes. Everybody leaves, feeling ugly.
Christmas is over.
I wake up and do the dishes, sort the recycling, and listen to an old punk tape. Coffee, quiche, something delicious from the plate of cast-off Christmas cookies. I need a beach walk.