EARLY SPRING REFLECTIONS
       
       I'm becoming a bit more of a vegetarian. Too much chicken
       last month tipped me over towards the beans, lentils,
       grains. I am soaking my own now. It's easy with a pressure
       cooker. Start them soaked in water by noon and they'll be
       ready to cook up six or so hours later, in the evening,
       after work is done. I turn them into a recipe then or stash
       them in the fridge for later like any other perishable
       ingredient. Hummus is good to keep on hand. It goes with
       every meal, even breakfast. A bowl of greens, grains, eggs,
       and hummus in the morning. Yum! Buy it all in bulk, of
       course. Bags by the tens of kilos. Great way to save money
       and support non-pastured agriculture.
       
       The pleasure of sewing got away on me. Maybe I over did it?
       Too many ideas of what I need to sew. Swimming in clothes,
       really. Piles of clothes by seamstresses the world over that
       I don't want anymore. What to do with them? Donate? Shred
       into pillows? Or store in totes for a clothing swap or
       consignment. I don't know. But I'm sick of it, of having so
       many clothes whose origin I don't understand, don't want to
       understand. Clothes of plastic, piled and shedding particles
       into the air. The polyester disaster. Seduction of its
       presumed inexpensiveness, of its inumerable colors, designs,
       textures. I want organic cotton, linen, and wool. But then
       don't I have enough clothes (mine or otherwise) anyways? And
       why? I want to wear the same skirt I made a month ago, the
       same store-bought merino wool sweater I bought 5 years ago,
       well into the year ahead. The same aprons and head scarfs
       day after day after day.
       
       Reading is ever a special pleasure. More enthrawling than
       video games, movies, or music. And the feel of paper between
       fingers, the particular form of a bound book! The ereader is
       portable, submergable, and still laid beside my pillow each
       night after reading. But in the early morning or langerous
       evening to sit and touch and turn leaf after leaf, subtle
       grain of paper on the pads of my fingers... what pleasure!
       So many books I've ready through screen and now back to
       ancient form of reading anchored to thousands of years of
       history of knowledge and its preservation. I must buy
       books. More ever more books. And yet such a cost! Few used
       book stores (I can think only of one). Those that sell
       freshly minted fine but their contemporanity
       disturbing. Paper too perfect, type too crisp. Buy the book
       now and let it age like a fine wine. Maybe in thirty years
       today's books will take a their charm.
       
       Garden. I must start the garden. Soil packed into little
       pots to start seeds to plant when ground can be worked. Fear
       of far off war. Fear of unavoidable climate changes. Will
       summer be too hot, too dry, too arid for the fall's harvest?
       Other reasons, too. To touch earth. Small act of
       humanisation, to connect self with soil craddle. To watch
       food grow from seed to self. Beans are easy and waited until
       spring. Now is time for kale, peppers, herbs,
       tomatoes. Melons or squash to start indoors?  I don't
       know. I don't like it, the work, the planning, the guessing,
       the sweat, the heat of summer upon my face and neck. But I
       don't like the alternative, either: lazy. Human's nature
       atrophied.