I can walk up stairs again.

I don’t run anymore.

I am old before my time, physically and figuratively speaking.  I realize I’m 31 and so joint-creaking is normal.  But my back, knees, neck and shoulder are, at this point, chronically bad, partly due to old injuries and re-injuries, to overuse, and also carrying a little extra weight.  I also have to use the bathroom a lot.  I’ve been to the doctor for this, and they don’t know that there’s anything particularly wrong with me, but imagine that a 40 year old pregnant lady is going on a road trip, and now imagine how many bathroom stops she is likely to request.  That is me.  Except I’m not 40, nor pregnant, nor on a road trip.

So he was programming the remote, and I was making frequent trips to the bathroom, and I decided I’d tell him why, in case he started to get weirded out.  He was sitting on the edge of the bed with the remote, I was standing in the doorway.  I said I wanted to tell him something, and he looked up and asked me what it was.  So I told him.  I told him that there’s nothing wrong with me, but I can’t “hold it” at all.  I told him that I get up a couple of times a night for this reason.  I told him this, I said, as a round-about way of explaining that I needed to use the bathroom.  Again.  He looked concerned, but was very adamant about the fact that he loved me, and he was sorry I had to deal with that, but he was glad I could tell him things and he’s not the least bit weirded out by my frequent comings-and-goings.

So I grinned and went into the bathroom and shut the door.

And then I heard him say:

“Oh honey!  I got the remote working!”

He’s so awesome.

“…and she’s already talking about divorce, and I was like, man she only got married like an hour ago.”

“Okay, and this time don’t overload your harddrive with porn.”

Day turns to night
childless mother
weeps to forget
weeps to remember
bring me to morning
my son and my daughter
blood on the bedclothes
look for no other

Beautiful bedclothes
wrap me up please
body is aching
heart cannot breathe
cradle is empty
no mouth to feed
beautiful bedclothes
I surrender to thee

“Hello my Canaanite friend. May your journey home be possible.”

“Hello my Nubian friend,” replied the other. “May your revolts be successful.”

The old man scratched the top of his foot with the stick, then continued his lines in the sand. The other brushed his sleeve across his forehead, and then spoke.

“May I sit on this small rise in your company for a short time? For my burden is heavy, and my back resents the load.”

“You are welcome to sit, my friend. Perhaps you will tell me of your travels, and why you carry such a burden.”

The young man swung his bundle off his shoulder, letting it down on the ground quickly, but with care. The contents clunked and rattled as they adjusted to the movement. He sat down with a grunt.

“Many thanks, my friend. May you find pleasant shade this evening, for your welcome.”

“My only shade is my house, my friend, and my wife takes care that it should not be pleasant. But I thank you. May your burden be less tiresome.”

The young man gave a nod. “Would that it could be so. But the weight lies not only on my back, but on my heart. In the bundle are treasures from my household. I walk this way that I might find a quiet place to bury them.”

The old man raised an eyebrow, and turned his glance to the bundle on the ground between them. He absentmindedly poked at his foot with the stick.

“Surely you do not bury wealth, my Canaanite friend?”

“Only the wealth of my soul, my Nubian friend. In this bundle are my household gods, the protectors of my shade, now to protect no longer. Have you not heard news, my friend?”

The old man pursed his lips, tugged on his left earlobe. “If it is recent, I have not heard. I spend my days on this rock, where there is no shade, and also no wife. Tell me of this news.”

“Word has spread. The Pharaoh Akhenaton–” He paused as both men turned their heads and spat onto the ground “–is enamored of but one god, Aton. It is said that all others are being destroyed, and they are now taboo among all peoples. There is only Aton, and all other deities must succumb to his awesome presence, and be swept away.”

“Ah, and so you are doing the sweeping.”

The younger man nodded. “I will remember the spot of burial, and perhaps things will change, and my gods will adorn my house once more.”

The older man lowered his eyelids a fraction. “I sense hope in you, a rare quality. Have you perhaps more to tell?”

The young man opened his mouth to answer, and then cursed under his breath. “An Egyptian approaches, silence.”

The older man made lines in the sand with his stick, watching the Egyptian. His sudden loud voice made the younger man startle slightly. “No no, my friend, my love and reverence for Aton surpasses that even of yours, in all your piety.”

The Egyptian turned his head.

The young man answered quickly: “I must dispute your claim, my friend. Praise for Aton is on my lips when I close my eyes to sleep, and there still when I wake at his transfigured presence in the morning.”

The Egyptian slowed his walk.

“But,” continued the older man, “I say prayers to my King, my lord, my pantheon, my Sun-god, seven times seven times as often as I draw breath. My admiration is as deep as the sea.”

The Egyptian glanced behind him.

“See this sand, the little individual pieces,” replied the younger, “if one could count how many hymns I have written in reverence to Aton, they would be more numerous than all the sand in all of Egypt. For my love for Aton–”

The Egyptian spat on the ground, and continued walking, past the rise, away out of sight.

The older man rubbed his chin. “A most interesting response.”

The younger man kept his eyes on the place where he had last seen the Egyptian. “Will you revolt soon?”

“Perhaps,” the older replied. “Perhaps. A band of men, my son included, has already begun travel to Jerusalem, to see what can be seen. They shall pilfer. There was bold talk of attacking the house of the Prince himself, we shall see what comes of it when they return.”

“Have you no fear of a reaction from the Pharaoh?” Both men turned and spat.

“There is always risk. It shall not deter us. I feel at this time the risk perhaps is smaller than at other times.”

The younger man nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps you are right. He seems preoccupied with his one god, and has built a city where he might worship both day and night. Well,” he stood up with a grunt, brushed sand off his backside, and bent to pick up his bundle. “I thank you, my Nubian friend, for your company on this rock.”
“It does not move, my Canaanite friend, and neither do I. You are welcome to return if you are in need of rest.”

“My thanks. Perhaps when I am finished with my digging and walk back this way, I will sit for awhile longer.”

I like you when you are in the shade, cool and smooth on a hot day. Like that length of you that runs outside his door. I like to walk there. You accommodate me when I skip and spin and stand on the tip of my toes so I can kiss his cheek.

I dream to sleep through pounding night
But wicked-cold, stretched taut arms
of hardened darkness wrap my head,
and squeeze to smother, ever-tight.

Drizzle olive oil (extra virgin, first cold pressing; yes I am an olive oil snob) over asparagus. This, as most of this recipe, is done to taste. If you really love the flavor of olive oil, put more in. I’ve had it both ways, I prefer more of a drizzle than a bath, if that makes sense.

Add chopped fresh garlic. I typically use one peeled/chopped clove, and scatter the pieces around in the pan. Add salt and pepper.

Bake in the middle of the oven from 12-20 minutes. I know it’s a huge time range, but it really depends a lot on the size of the asparagus, and the desired firmness. I’m not a fan of squishy, but I prefer a bit softer than crunchy. Smaller sized asparagus I typically bake around 15 minutes. Larger stalks I’ve left in for 20.

This can be done with a variety of vegetables as well. It’s especially good with broccoli, zucchini, yellow squash, potatoes. The only concern with mixing veggies is that they tend to cook at different times, so it’s a bit of trial and error, for me anyway. I’ll cook potato pieces a good 12 minutes or more before I add the asparagus and broccoli, which in turn need to cook a lot longer than the zucchini and yellow squash.

This is especially good next to a beautiful steak, but can make a dinner in and of itself.