Two thoughts from today:

if you really like a pair of pants, don’t wear them to milk the cows (especially if they’re white). “White pants?”, you say? “Who has white pants?” Your very own Tickledspirit, that’s who. And they aren’t just any white jeans from the ’80s. No, these are velour. Soft and fuzzy and quite possibly one of my favorite pieces of clothing. So favorite, in fact, that I didn’t want to take them off yesterday when i went to milk the cows. The cows love me. They never poop in the barn. But yesterday, they must not have liked my pants. At least not Penelope. I was just about to let her out of the barn… but before I could, she raised her tail and let loose the runniest stream of cow shit I’ve ever seen. Splattered all over the barn. It was late, I wanted to go eat dinner, and instead i had to shovel runny cow shit. And as I was shoveling, I thought, I’ve got to write this in my blog! A not-so-glamorous part of commune life. “And the pants? What happened to the fuzzy white velour pants?”, you ask in a panic. Unharmed. Miraculously. But they could have been… they were in danger. Hence the warning that opened this paragraph.

Thought number two: Dumpster Dived portobello mushrooms sauteed in cheap wine is one fine delicacy. Forsook the community dinner last night to cook with a friend in one of the smaller kitchens on the commune. I miss cooking. I miss the intentionality of preparing food. I could cook here as one of my jobs, but cooking for 100 people doesn’t hold the same power for me. So, once in a while, a friend and I will grab supplies from the community fridge and head off to another kitchen and go Julia Child. It was great. And the portobellas — what a treat! Oh the joy of eating and savoring what would otherwise be landfill.