Dix Choses que je ne Peux pas Habiter Sans
In no particular order:
1) The combination of the smell of woodfires and the cold, particularly at night and accompanied by those purple snow-clouds.
2) Clear or Cloudy cool mornings either in late fall or early spring; things are either still alive or are just becoming alive, and the air feels crisp and almost sharp.
3) The wind. Even at its most obnoxious and freezing, even if it causes universal bad hair days, I almost can't sleep without the sound of trees moving in it and winter walks feel odd without wind-nipped ears, cheeks and noses.
4) Movement. I can't imagine what it would be like to be incapable of moving. I mean, in the para- or quadraplegic sense of not being able to move. Even a broken leg would really break my lifestyle. I can't not move. Part of it is a GAD thing, but it's also that I am in many ways, my father's son. I have to spend at least an hour a day walking, cycling, running, lifting, or something. Anything.
5) Wyoming. It has become increasingly clear to me how much I love this place. The wind, the weather, the wastelands and mountains. All of it. I'm afraid to leave, which I know absolutely must do. Soon. This is kind of a silly fear because, chances are, I could leave for ten years and find my beloved rhombozoid state in exactly the, uh, state I left it in.
6) Growing, living things. I may be able to function, relatively, with a broken ribcage for a while, but I am destroyed by the thought of a living things suffering. This was most recently emphasized in the now somewhat ubiquitous salamander incident. Anyhow, I like plants and I like animals. I'm less positive on people. However, having recently heard about some studies regarding what would happen if humanity were to disappear next week, I'm less worried about people. That is to say that I am less worried about what damage people may do to the world. Even if there were some sort of massive nuclear exchange, somewhere on the planet, probably at the volcanic vents on the ocean floor, life would continue to exist and the whole darwinian ascendant chain would start over again. Sure, there may not be any more rat terriers or salamanders or whales, but there would be something.
7. Food. Eating is fine and rather necessary, but making it is what I really love. I've been accumulating bones. What I'm really waiting for is for the weather to change so Brian won't have me slain for keeping the oven on for a day. I'm going to make professional stock and glaze. I'm really, really excited to do this.
8. Coffee and Tea. Far, far more than any alcohol I've ever had, I love these things and the various activities associated with them, be they communicating with scattered friends or sitting in flannels in my living room and reading while it snows and other people are out getting drunk.
9. Books. Words. Whatever. Can't not have them.
10. Most of all, my family. To a lesser, but still considerable extent, my friends. I can't imagine what things would be like without them.
1) The combination of the smell of woodfires and the cold, particularly at night and accompanied by those purple snow-clouds.
2) Clear or Cloudy cool mornings either in late fall or early spring; things are either still alive or are just becoming alive, and the air feels crisp and almost sharp.
3) The wind. Even at its most obnoxious and freezing, even if it causes universal bad hair days, I almost can't sleep without the sound of trees moving in it and winter walks feel odd without wind-nipped ears, cheeks and noses.
4) Movement. I can't imagine what it would be like to be incapable of moving. I mean, in the para- or quadraplegic sense of not being able to move. Even a broken leg would really break my lifestyle. I can't not move. Part of it is a GAD thing, but it's also that I am in many ways, my father's son. I have to spend at least an hour a day walking, cycling, running, lifting, or something. Anything.
5) Wyoming. It has become increasingly clear to me how much I love this place. The wind, the weather, the wastelands and mountains. All of it. I'm afraid to leave, which I know absolutely must do. Soon. This is kind of a silly fear because, chances are, I could leave for ten years and find my beloved rhombozoid state in exactly the, uh, state I left it in.
6) Growing, living things. I may be able to function, relatively, with a broken ribcage for a while, but I am destroyed by the thought of a living things suffering. This was most recently emphasized in the now somewhat ubiquitous salamander incident. Anyhow, I like plants and I like animals. I'm less positive on people. However, having recently heard about some studies regarding what would happen if humanity were to disappear next week, I'm less worried about people. That is to say that I am less worried about what damage people may do to the world. Even if there were some sort of massive nuclear exchange, somewhere on the planet, probably at the volcanic vents on the ocean floor, life would continue to exist and the whole darwinian ascendant chain would start over again. Sure, there may not be any more rat terriers or salamanders or whales, but there would be something.
7. Food. Eating is fine and rather necessary, but making it is what I really love. I've been accumulating bones. What I'm really waiting for is for the weather to change so Brian won't have me slain for keeping the oven on for a day. I'm going to make professional stock and glaze. I'm really, really excited to do this.
8. Coffee and Tea. Far, far more than any alcohol I've ever had, I love these things and the various activities associated with them, be they communicating with scattered friends or sitting in flannels in my living room and reading while it snows and other people are out getting drunk.
9. Books. Words. Whatever. Can't not have them.
10. Most of all, my family. To a lesser, but still considerable extent, my friends. I can't imagine what things would be like without them.