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.