Little Earthquakes...

I never would have suspected that I would experience my first earthquake in North Carolina, nor that said earthquake would be centered in Illinois, but that's just what happened Friday morning. I woke up at around 5:35 with the sensation that the walls were trembling, but it had stopped by the time I was awake enough to be sure I wasn't dreaming. Then it happened again; the house shook lightly for a few seconds around and under me and then was still. It had never occurred to me that this could be a geologically active area, so it wasn't until I read the news in the afternoon that I thought "earthquake." At the time, my theory was centered much closer to home; I figured Joshua, who lives in the room above mine, must be doing a particularly intense regimen of early-morning push-ups.

On the anniversery of Lincoln's assassination...

This morning, inspired by the Gillian Welch song "April 14, Part 1," Beth drew an "On This Date In History" board, listing the beginning of the Dust Bowl exodus from Oklahoma, the sinking of the Titanic, the train wreck that martyred Casey Jones, and the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. She accompanied each item with a chalk drawing, except for the death of the Great Emancipator, which she asked me to illustrate with a portrait plaque of Lincoln that she gave me as a gift a few weeks ago, and one of my Abe Lincoln votive candles, which I will burn at lunch and dinner in his honor. [Professional side note: To date, I have sold 2 Lincoln candles ($18.65 each) and 2 Platos ($12 each) in the Core Gallery.]

It's cold here on the mountain today; it snowed last night and we were all afraid that Amy the Gardener's beautiful flowerbeds might be damaged. Luckily, no, and I got a rare chance to venture down from the hills, thanks to a field trip to see the work of another Amy (Tavern, an Asheville-based jeweller). After the open-house at her studio, she joined my classmates and I for dinner at an Indian restaurant down the street. I had a lamb curry with saffron rice, and tried some of Raina's Baingan Bharta and Amy's Malai Kofta with Peshwari Naan. It was exquisite, and quieted my mind but set my body humming (possibly because of all the spices?). The sensation was akin to being high, and it took me by surprise until I realized that this was the first non-Pines meal I've had in over 6 weeks. On the ride back (Asheville is about an hour away) I reflected on how often I dined out when I lived in Minneapolis (not a good idea financially, but it was my principal indulgence), and how this and other things once daily and mundane, like putting coins in a parking meter or sitting for a while in a car speeding through the dark, have become strange, unfamiliar treats to be savored for their novelty. My teacher's lady-friend Lisa, a native of Cornwall and thus no stranger to wild, enchanting landscapes herself, remarked during the trip down to Asheville on the beauty of the mountains and forests in this area. "It seems the trick must be to not go numb to it all," she said, and I thought about this again as I shivered through my morning walk across the dreamy, misty forests and valleys of intense green which have become, for me, the new daily and mundane.

Zzzzzzzzz...

Early this morning, I discovered a brand new impediment to a good night's sleep. No, I'm not talking about the turkey that gobbles in the woods just outside the house (which I didn't believe was real when Marianne told me about it last week, but must concede that I have since heard for myself), nor the freight trains that sound their horns and fill the valley with resonant echoes as they race past, though they have been known to give a steampunk flavor to my dreams. I'm referring, rather, to the sound of snoring. My own.
For several years, I've known that I can't sleep for long on my back; in that position I quickly snore myself awake. But now it's begun happening when I'm sleeping on my side as well. What to do? Will I lose the safety of belly-sleep, too? Will I have to wear one of those funny adhesive strips across my nose? Heavens to Betsy! Growing older is difficult.

Robot Repair

Searching through the large cabinet of videotapes left behind by former Core Students in my living room the other night, I found "Saturday Night Live: The Best of Phil Hartman." I watched, and was reminded afresh of the genius of the man and the tragedy of his untimely passing. Not only was his Donahue amazing and his Bill Clinton absolutely spot on (I couldn't find it online, unfortunately, but here's another masterpiece), but the video contained my new favorite piece of televised comedy: Robot Repair. Check it out.