Late afternoon on a gray, damp day, and I’m thinking about what to do with some leftover pork loin and a recipe I saw in the paper for rösti, a large pancake of grated potatoes and onions that you can add other things to–like chopped up leftover meat. With a green salad and a side of the green beans that came in my biweekly produce box, seems like a good meal for a cold night. Maybe it’ll even enliven the vice presidential debate. Or maybe they’ll actually talk about real issues, and actually stick to their real opinions, instead of adjusting them to the audience at hand.
At least there’s baseball. As I drove home from an appointment this afternoon, people were spilling out of the bars on my neighborhood shopping street, presumably celebrating the San Francisco Giants’ unlikely comeback to win the National League’s western division title in the play-offs leading up the World Series. I haven’t been following the games much, but I’m sorry I missed Buster Posey’s grand slam home run in the fifth inning. You don’t see a grand slam every day. Posey’s looks about fifteen years old, it would’ve been fun to see him jumping with joy.
And there’s the workings of the universe: A few days ago, someone emailed me a link to some NASA pictures and a video of a “solar whip,” a 500,000 mile long filament thrown out from the sun’s surface. This is the effect it had on earth:
It reminds me of some of the drug hallucinations Marc Lewis describes in Memoirs of an Addicted Brain, but who needs drugs when real life is so spectacular? And you don’t have to be in the Yukon, either:
There’s oil in the puddles in taffeta patterns
that run down the drain
in colored arrangements
that Michael will change
with a stick that he found.
–from “Michael from Mountains,” by Joni Mitchell
Sobriety allows us to be present in the world around us, where there is spectacle enough.