Despite my general loathing of Christmas, it is an excellent chance to cook, and in quantity. With the painting done (and glorious), a ravioli project was in order.
With fresh pasta sheets from Broders and a variety of fillings, most important the above beet and goat cheese yielded more than 125 ravioli. They freeze well, cook simply and taste terrific:
Difficult to discern, the trim and windows have been painted, and the arch coated with a darker shade. But a few touch-ups remain and tomorrow the room should be restored to a new, higher glory.
Gold and white hills ebb off to the horizon, drying grass dusted with snow. Another farmhouse specks the landscape near the horizon. Removed from the convenient distractions of my techno-urban life it is too easy and cliché to fall into the seductive notion of the better, simpler life of rural America. And while I’ve done little but read and relax, the lives of the ranchers here is anything but easy, and far from simple. Of course to write of the hardship of farm life is just as cliché, but one more honest.
As I stare out the window over morning coffee, a rancher deftly grabs bales of hay with his tractor, dumping them into a bin that chops and mixes his cows’ lunch. He does this with the effortlessness of years of repetition on mornings just as this.
For me the hardship is not one of labor, but of the absence of technology. Just two days without Internet access leaves me struggling with my phone to connect however briefly to a world I have not left in years. Despite having no obligations, being so cut off is difficult, oddly stressful and I’m eager for the train ride home where I can again gorge myself on information.
So while some dream wistfully of a life, of a place without the technology and connectivity of modern life, I will return home more astonished by the marvel of progress, and grateful for its abundance and ubiquity in my life.
Late tonight I boarded a train bound for points west. My destination is a small town in Eastern Montana, though I’m more eager for the 12 hour train ride than the destination.
Shame train transport is not more popular. The train station lacked the panic and fear that permeates the airport. There were no armed guards warily eyeing passengers, no Homeland Security employees demanding a disrobing, just a ticket-taker directing me to my berth on board.
The train itself is a terrific experience in first class, each room with two seats that convert into bunk beds. Not the most comfortable of either, both still outclass airplanes in comfort and roominess. Most important, the train is not so confining as the plane. The passengers are less anxious, with room to spread out and lengths of cars to roam.
If only trains were faster, cheaper and more reliable. Until then, air travel will still dominate, a cost to our sanity and civility.
A second coat of paint up throughout the living room and painting week concludes. While there remains touch up work in the living room, as well as the trim, seven consecutive days of effort are my maximum output.
With the brown paint up and more evenly applied, the room is close to complete and I am quite pleased with the general effect. I expect this effect to be magnified once the trim is painted, and I am eager to have my home returned to normal. That will wait, as I’m out of town for the remainder of the week, pleased with the progress already made.
First the blue in the alcove went up. I'm happy with the color, though I wish it were a shade lighter to better set off from the darker blue arch.
With the sun still out, we forged ahead and opened the brown paint. After the first coat, my walls are a dark, rich brown. At least one more coat is necessary, but I'm confident in a successful result.
A few touch ups and the bathroom is finished. A lazy day, just that and a third coat of blue on a single wall are the total output for the day. So tomorrow the lighter shade of blue will be applied, and perhaps even a coat of the brown.
chabel.net sleeps all day
