It's mid-November in the Willamette Valley, and the weather has turned cold.
I couldn't get warm on Saturday.
I spent part of the afternoon next door, trying to dig out 25-year-old grapes. I gave up on this rather quickly, and decided to settle for cuttings. Tom took me around his garden and pointed out the different grapes; the only trouble was he couldn't remember which was which. In the end, I took cuttings from nearly all of the plants. (It was quite nice, actually, working out in the November sun, pruning plants.)
I've stuck fifty of these cuttings into the grape bed, in four tight clusters, and I will thin these in the spring. When the plants fruit, I'll thin them even more, keeping only the varities I want.
When I came inside, the thermostat said 67 degrees, which should be plenty warm for me, but I was chilled to the bone. I longed for a hot bath.
It used to be that a soak in a hot bathtub would warm my inner core for several hours. We're still six months (or more) from having a bathtub in this house; instead, I decided to take a hot shower in the middle of the afternoon.
The shower warmed me some. On the surface. For a couple of hours. But it was as if it had warmed my outer shell instead of my inner core. I pulled on long johns and huddled under blankets, watching Battlestar Galactica episodes (downloaded via BitTorrent — this is the new series that will make its U.S. debut in January — it's good!).
In the evening we travelled north for a dinner party at the Briscoes'. To celebrate his birthday ever year, Craig cooks for friends. He (and Matt) prepared eleven courses this year, including: eight different kinds of butter (pepper, honey, coffee, etc.) on homemade crackers; raw salmon blended with shallots and served in a pastry cone with fresh cream; triple cream brie served with homemade parmesan ice cream (of which I had seconds) and a slice of apple; and my favorite, a vegetable plate featuring pickled ginger and shallots.
The dinner lasted well into the evening, and we did not fall asleep until one o'clock.
I used to be able to handle these sort of late nights, but it's becoming harder to do so. I woke on Sunday with a minor brain cloud. My mind was foggy from the sleep for the entire day.
In the afternoon, Dave and I ate lunch at Cha! Cha! Cha!. (Where I discovered that the $1.50 taco plates are an absolute bargain. A hungry person might need two of these, but even $3 is a great deal for a meal.)
All during the meal, I was sleepy.
After lunch, we saw The Incredibles. The Incredibles is the latest film from Pixar, those masters of digital animation. The story, by Brad Bird (who wrote the wonderful little-known film The Iron Giant), follows the lives of a family of super-heroes. They live in a world where lawsuits have forced "supers" underground, into normal middle-class lives. When the patriarch of the family, Mr. Incredible, begins to moonlight again as a hero, the entire family joins the action.
The Incredibles is a fun movie, quite well-done. The script handles its subject matter — superheroes — with a deft blend of earnestness and humor. There are many connections for superhero fans (the entire family is basically a scrambled Fantastic Four, for example), but the film remains completely accessible to those who look on comic books with disdain.
(For you geeks: I was actually intrigued to find that the film treats superheroes in much the same way as Brian Michael Bendis' Powers. Did you notice the same thing?)
All during the film, I was sleepy.
It was a weekend during which I was cold and tired, but I had a lot of fun anyhow.
On this day at foldedspace.org
2003 — Found Photo Kris' Aunt Jenefer and Uncle Bob are in town for the weekend, spending time in beautiful metropolitan Canby. We went antique shopping today, and I stumbled upon a photograph of my great, great aunt.
2002 — Moby Dick Tomorrow's book group discussion of Moby Dick should be entertaining. It seems many members are struggling to complete it. Mac, who selected the book, is worried, perhaps rightfully so.