Early Morning Gray

It must be almost a holiday if I am up this early. Up, showered and about to be breakfasted. Not to mention coffeed. You love verbing just as much as the next person, admit it.

I got up at five, having finally decided that my early-morning insomnia was in the right: there's nothing quite like being the first person up in the house, the coffee would brew in a mere hour, and I would have time to get showered and do some internet puttering before I had to face anyone. If you were wondering: Amazon.com is still there, so all must be right with the world.

The world, which, by the way, is wonderfully silver this morning- from the water in the sea and air to the frost on the roofs. It is just beginning to get light. Continuing on the gray theme, my Janey-cat is lounging behind me, close enough to bask in my delightful presence but not so close that she risks receiving unwanted affection. While she didn't directly cause my pre-dawn wakefulness, she certainly appreciated the hour advance on her feeding time. Now she too is taking advantage of the quiet to putter, or in her case, skulk.

Yesterday was the island's big community Thanksgiving, which is thrown at the school by the kids (and, incidentally, the staff). While we set places for about fifty people, the turn-out was closer to 30, as people were out fishing, or loading up on off-island groceries for Thanksgiving proper. Everything went as smoothly as one might hope, except during clean-up, when there were two casualties: the first-grader's salt and flour map of the island and an apple pie. The former fell, crashing into the latter before falling to the floor and breaking into an island puzzle. The pie was only half damaged and so was served as a dessert option last night when my housemate and I hosted a dinner party. The owner of the house we rent is in town for the holiday, so we gave him some of our special smashed-apple pie. There was a little bit of grit from the sand that was on the map (depicting the shore line), but as he is a geology prof, he let that pass only remarking on which beach it must have been from. He's got a refined palate for rocks. We followed up the gritty pie with a short-sheeted bed. While it is nice to have company, it does not do to have landlords feel that they own the place.

His arrival has been something of a god-send however, as it sent our languorous carpenters into a frenzy of productivity, and as a result we now have amenities like outlets in our bedrooms- or in my case, on one side of my bedroom. Even better, we have multiple toilets! The icing on the cake was that they took my demand for an outdoor outlet seriously, so now our entrance ramp (two boards stapled with asphalt shingles) is illuminated with white x-mas lights. We believe in safety first! Or at some point.

Buck! There are deer on the lawn, which means I have about an hour until the mailboat arrives. Nice rack, guy- biggest one I have seen yet. Should probably bring the compost out. Also, I would point out that I had baguette, butter and marmalade for breakfast. The baguettes came out even better this time, which might speak to an old bromide about practice. And because I am so proud, I would point out that I have recently made my first biscotti, and my first (cinnamon streusel) coffee cake.

Time to take on the day.

November

November is an elegaic month: lost leaves, more often than not, lost lives. Today my mother phoned while I was cooking dinner, and I immediately heard the "bad news breaking" implication of her calm tone. My uncle has been in the hospital, and though he's not in any intense or immediate danger, I have been dreading the bad news voice. Haven't really wanted to hear the phone ring at all. While there was some news about the scheduling and specifics of his upcoming surgery, the call was made primarily to inform me that my step-grandmother had passed away.

She had the best of conceivable ends, her daughter by her side, members of her church's chorus in attendance and singing. It's reported that she went with a smile.

I always try to imagine the encroaching darkness of winter as a blanket, see this time of year in a positive light. There's a comfort in some endings, be it the end of the day, a year, or a life. Still, November, with its chill and damp... so hard to trust, so difficult to relax. For all that I love the ride, it's not great, being a mailboat away from the family. At least it's not Iowa.

Pretentious, or portentious?

So when I misguidedly (see comments) told my mother that I had started a blog, "A View of the Thoroughfare," she immediately castigated me for the twee title. I knew when I came up with it, that it would more or less make me the laughingstock of my family, so I took her criticism with a certain degree of stoicism. As a rebel, I am prepared to face the consequences of my iconoclastic choices. I felt justified. I write this blog on the occasions I am at my desk, where the view is, in fact, of the thoroughfare. "Thoroughfare" also deserves more use: it's lovely to say and breaks down into three distinct words, "tho" "rough" and "fare," which could be part of some poetic and inspirational saying about surviving in spite of a diet of raw food. Possibly coined while enduring a visit to the Nearings.

Of course, immediately after mocking me for the title, she jumped to the assumption that this type of blog would be perfect fodder for certain New England publications. She is now planning her retirement on the assumption that I will be snatched up as a columnist for at least one glossy magazine that celebrates the photogenic and prose-worthy bits of Maine.

Also, Mom- since you read this, just know that I reserve the right to fictionalize you. Artistic license comes free of charge when you pick a pretentious title for your work. Seriously, I looked it up on wiki.

Baguettes

Unqualified success. Good with steak, good with marmalade. Though not both at the same time...

Actually... you're wondering too, aren't you?

On Blogging:

I have been neglecting my friendster blog. I chronically neglect my myspace profile.

Shit- I need to go put the baguettes in the oven.... and obviously I lied about the G rating of this blog, having already said "shit." Give me a moment... the last time I attempted to make baguettes they came out as truncheons that smelled deliciously of bread. This time I am hoping they will be slightly less weapon-like.

Back to blogging.

I live on an island. Again. This time it's an island without a bridge and a substantially smaller population. Think 45 people in the winter. Everybody on the mainland has insisted that I write about it- "you are going to keep a diary right?" or "You have to write a novel!" Anyone who knows me knows that I will squander the experience writing occasional letters, journal entries, and tiny pieces of novels and stories that will languish in piles until I bury them in storage boxes.

As always, I do have good intentions: just as I hope to consolidate my massive student loans, so too do I hope to consolidate my scribblings. Maybe. I should still write letters. Because with a general delivery address people will want to write to me, and really I should take the time to enjoy using "general delivery" as my return address. So I will still try to do my part to support the USPS. And not be a non-responsive snail mail jerk.

Oven is heated!

Blogs are odd, and starting one requires a certain degree of narcissism. Keeping one requires a certain degree of dedication.

Pause to clean up my cat's sick-up: is it an editorial comment, I wonder?

Obviously I've got what it takes to start a blog, but will I keep it up? Feel free to start a betting pool. Also, I will try not to let this become entirely about my attempts to become a passable baker.