Quiche Music

Is quiche a form of kitsch? A kitchen seems a good place to contemplate quiche, especially a kitchen filled with kitsch, don't you think? The aroma of kitsch, nothing like the aroma of quiche, fills my mind when I think of silly Americana like, oh, brass hen heads or candleabra under the table, say, or glass jars for syrup which resemble a stereotype of Aunt Jemima, full round skirt under her broad apron, all edges worn away by centuries of relentless daily work.

Kitsch is fun, but quiche is delicious, especially fresh, hot out of the oven and steaming, crust a golden brown that crumbles when you look at it wrong. Eggs and spinach and brocolli and sea salt and ground pepper and paprika on top. Should have had mushrooms but those all went in the salad, along with the last of the leftover onion, which is why these two are onion-free quiches too, and no cheese either, simply because I didn't think to put it in. That's what happens when you're hungry and in a hurry to fix lunch and you don't take time to meditate properly on what the contents of the perfect quiche might be. Good quiche today, but not perfect.

Good life today, if not perfect. Friends over for dinner - Alisa and her son Skye, such a cool kid, and Pam, who showed up a trifle late but actually right on time. Alisa brought fresh fruit - an unexpected treat of strawberries and pineapple, which we cut into finger sized bits. I fetched a bag of powdered sugar and that made the perfect dip. Pam brought her regular, carrots and broccoli (uncooked) but with a special treat: a jar of Guiltless Gormet Roasted Garlic Hummus dip and to call this a treat would be like calling a tornado a mild draft. Although its effect on one's taste buds is arguably more subtle than a whirlwind.

Regardless. We talked Coop. We talked Magazine. We talked Burning Man and boyfriends and booking local bands and beluga (not really, I just like that word). We talked about the joys of sharing and encouraging and uplifting and empowering, and how some people just don't get that and can't stand to hear it. But some do and we talked about the felicity of friendships and fine feathered friends. Finally, we agreed to brainstorm the magazine into existance, starting with e-mail and then with sit-downs and lists and such. I sent Alisa home with a teeshirt one of my daughters bequeathed me, a tie-dye with a huge plant leaf on the front. I wonder what that could have been.

As for me, I managed to finish loading approximately 35 gigs of wave files from our last C3 show into my PC and have completed the first mix pass. That and enlisting my best friend in the task of critiquing the story arc of my novel and I'd call this a pretty successful day.

Although what makes a successful day? Perhaps remembering to feed the fish and water the plants and make a grocery list, which I also did. Maybe taking time to read a fantastic short story in the New Yorker, which I did not do, but which holds the promise of improving tomorrow just that little bit. Every day is a successful day when you remember to Remember, when it dawns on you at least once to recall that we're creating our reality here, bit by tiny bit, moment by tiny moment, and that every moment is this moment and no other.

To tomorrow then, which I fully expect to be another today, another opportunity to live in the Now.