July

Independence Day in Beacon Hill, Boston: A child's interpretation.

To all outward appearances, this month has not been a particularly remarkable one as far as that goes. To be honest, July was much calmer than the preceding months. Yet I am left with the sense of having experienced a uniquely vivid and emotional period, one which deserves to be contemplated as an entity unto itself. 

Myer's new job as a Software Engineer (which he began in May) has enabled us to finally afford organic/free-range/pastured/grass-fed vittles, something we've long aspired to. I have not been able to eat a largely organic diet since my childhood in the Wisconsin woods, and I must admit, I'd forgotten what a tremendous difference there is... not only in nutrition, but also in taste. My first trip to the market on this budget was difficult; I actually felt a little guilty, picking up the expensive versions of items I normally buy. But I have adjusted quickly, and it would be difficult to go back now! The sense of joy I find in making such beautiful, nutrient-dense meals for myself and my husband can't be fit neatly into words. Perhaps a few images will tell the story more accurately.

Wild salmon, anchovies, organic spinach, garlic/ginger/onions, homemade sauerkraut, natto, yeast+ACV dressing, grass-fed butter+olive oil, and turmeric paste. 

Grass-fed spicy burgers with seaweed, onions, garlic, salsa+mustard... surrounded by a sea of cucumber-dill salad in cashew-coriander dressing. 

Organic arugula with seared portobello mushrooms, red pepper, organic tomatoes, grated carrot, ACV, sesame oil, black sesame seeds, and Tellicherry pepper.

Another area of life that I've improved on this month is my exercise routine. I quit the whole "chronic cardio" scene a while back, and have slowly adopted a weight-lifting habit. I spend 1/2 hour, five days a week, using the various machines provided at our gym... which were intimidating at first, for sure! The weight room definitely has a dude-oriented atmosphere, but I've gotten used to that as well, and now I'm seeing the benefits of my discipline. The pain in my neck is greatly lessened, and I'm able to hold a better posture in general. In addition to weights, I've upped the ante on my long-distance walking. Lately my weekly average is 75 miles. I walked over 300 miles in July, or so Fitbit tells me. I cannot begin to describe how therapeutic this practice is for me. Not only does it feel wonderful in my body, but it gives me time with my meditations and my art projects. Yes, painting takes place (for me) only 50% in front of an easel; the other half is done while walking. And I have seen so much more of "our fair city" this way--- I can't believe how little we usually know about the areas we inhabit. I've lived 6 years in Boston, and this summer have seen ten times more of it than I ever did before. Oh, one more tidbit on the subject of exercise: I must tell you about my barefoot shoes. These are by far the most comfortable shoes I have ever worn in my life. I never thought a shoe would approach the comfort of actually going barefoot, but Merrell/Vibram has done it. I should really be a spokesperson for these shoes, because I rave about them to everyone.

July has been beautiful, indeed, but also difficult. Two of my very best friends, women whose friendship during these past few years in Boston I will cherish for the rest of my life, have moved to the other side of America. They are my angels, these ladies.... I feel their absence deeply. They are both new mothers--- brilliant mothers!--- I will miss seeing their babies grow. This sense of loss has me thinking a lot about the transient nature of our modern lives; whereas once the majority of people would stay in the same village throughout the duration of a lifetime, today virtually no one has that experience. My Great-Great-Great Grandpa Johann Kohlmoosz left his German village at the age of 18, only returning for a visit once. Of his generation, he and his brothers were the only ones to leave. What he did was rare. Now it is rare to stay. I find myself wondering what we keep when people flit in and out of our lives on such a regular basis? I feel the loss, but I don't know what it means or how to address it, how to transform it into something useful.

~ <3 ~ 

Two years ago I began a tradition of watching Le Tour de France. This is a bit out of character for me, as I've never been a sports fan of any sort. Perhaps it's because I grew up with a father who built bikes for a living and rode them out of obsession. When I was a kid, we would regularly see him heading off in his Gios gear, one of those bright birds of the road that you'll occasionally see speeding past in colorful flocks... he'd commute to work all through the Wisconsin winter, 20 miles each way, and return home wish icicles hanging from his big red beard. Partly this, I'm sure. But also because I appreciate the sense of awe it gives me--- awe for the capacities of the human body. It is thrilling, entertaining, and aesthetically pleasing. I look forward to this event every year now.

Cyclists having a smoke in a 1920s Tour; maintenance in a 30s Tour.

Greg LeMond in 1986; Nairo Quintana and Chris Froome, 2015.

It has been a long month; endless in the way that long walks feel, yet brief because I did not want it to end. Tomorrow we are leaving on a trip to the Midwest--- I haven't seen home in a long time. I'll see Dad, Mom, a couple of my sisters, some very good friends, and a little school called Lawrence University... when I left that place, no one had "smart phones" and few had wi-fi. Facebook was a novelty. I'm not sure how I feel about seeing old places. I'll know more in a week, I suppose.

Addendum: other sights and sounds of July: Seinfeld, Patrick Swayze, Tangerine Dream, Ian McEwan, and Hokusai.

The unmistakable poppety-slappety theme.

Point Break, 1991. We laughed our bums off.

Hokusai's Fuji Mountain, 1831.