Sessions

Resurrecting this deep from the annals of my long ignored cd tower, perfect for a grey day with an over affectionate kitty and several budgets to balance. It’s all tea and honey and woolly nubbins from here, whatever those might be.

It just sorta sounded right.

In Japantown loitering with Sadia, she had mentioned that in her perfect barbie dream world she would have 2 retired greyhounds names Kruder & Dorfmeister.

I had opened my mouth to say something along the lines of “Ooooh, I have the K&D Sessions somewhere deep within the annals of my cd collection.”

But what had come out of my mouth was, “Deep in my anals.”

That was it.

I stopped because I couldn’t move forward. The split second pause of silence as we looked at each other was priceless before we bowled over laughing. She had no idea where I was going with my statement, but it didn’t matter. We had been exchanging incomprehensible texts and tweets all weekend long. Sunday morning had started with a cryptic text about wanting to push lunch an hour back due to a “spy opening.” I had thought about asking the dr. if he knew what a “spy opening” was, but then I realized it was 8:30AM and not wise to wake the sleeping for something so ridiculous.

I responded in turn with a “Sure!” and a “Ooohhhh Spy Opening!” Hoping she would explain.

“What?” she texted back

“What?” I responded.

And the confusion continued.

She had meant to say “Apartment Opening”. How you end up with “spy” instead of “apartment” is beyond me.

‘dia and I have accepted a loooong time ago that we speak our own retarded language that even we don’t understand and that seems to work just fine for us.

Chest cold seems to be lingering a little bit today, but is mostly gone. Coughing fit at 5:00 AM made me re-think AM Yoga, which is just as well considering I didn’t really go to bed till 2:30AM anyway.

Despite grotesquely hacking up alien creatures and sniffling mysteriousness all around, the weekend was a success.

It’s not every day you end up in Bi-Rite hovering over produce wondering what the difference was between a turnip and a parsnip and really, which was which.
PARSNIP

TURNIP

Who knew?

After gathering the contents to produce vegan pasties, the dough making fun began. I stuck to the veggie chopping for the most part and left the dr. to the more laborious task of figuring out pastry dough. For as much baking as I do, there are 2things that frighten me, pastry and bread. Both seem like an exact science and I never did well in chemistry.

I watched from the sidelines as the dr. sprinkled flour on the table and rolled the dough out with a makeshift rolling pin.

“Is this how learning happens?” he asked as the dough flattened and stuck and broke. I knew no better and suggested we let the dough chill…in the freezer. I know, I KNOW!!

Whoopsie.

Once pulled out of the freezer dough manipulation became tedious so we threw out the idea of handheld pasties and opted on an easier “Throw this in a casserole dish and gently place pieces of flattened dough on top” method.

Sometime later, deliciousness ensued. That was followed by chocolate chip cookie making, which was a smashing success despite losing one or two to the kitchen floor in the transportation from rack to table.

There is a very real space inside of my brain inhabited by these memories. I’ve created a folder and given it a name and whenever I feel a tingle behind my neck that tickles and runs down my spine and out through my toes, I file it away in my documents for future use. Standing at the table chopping turnips and feeling his arms come around behind me and his mouth on my neck. Hovering over strange produce in the market. Curled up in a ball on the sofa. Dishing with friends over noodles. Retarded conversations with Sadia.

There are gigantic holes in my head where memories leak out. Maybe I’ve damaged my amygdala. I fear Korsakoff’s syndrome. I hold onto the few and the necessary feelings I do not want to ever forget. These intangible things my tiny fingers want to grasp.*

Because without them, what’s the point really?

* Sometimes, when we’re sitting down, I hold one of his fingers in mine. Just one. And I love that when he happens to need his hand to do something, he replaces it with the same finger on the other hand.

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2 Responses to “Sessions”


  1. 1 Aunt Bee March 17, 2009 at 12:35 pm

    oh. sad. you’ve managed to write perfectly the way memories blend themselves seamlessly into waking life. beautiful.

  2. 2 Rory March 17, 2009 at 6:59 pm

    I love the finger detail… i do that a lot too with a certain guy… We’re all weird right?


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