Takumi and the snow rabbit

I completed my grueling (ha!) two-day workweek with flying colors. After work, L. and I swam some laps at the gym and then tried Takumi, an unassuming Japanese restaurant on the east side. I'd heard good things about it, but its location in a strip mall had always made me leery. Surprisingly, once inside I forgot that I was in a strip mall. Its tasteful decor is welcoming and doesn't venture into swanky bistro territory. The food was satisfying and simple. We had miso soup, age (fried) tofu, ika kara age (fried squid), seaweed salad, a California roll, and the crunch 2-in-1 roll.

I'm slowing re-acclimating to winter. While I was getting ready for work on Thursday morning, I spied a sweet little bunny perched on a snow bank in the backyard. Not sure what s/he was doing there--just chillin', as far I could tell. He could have been hatching sinister plans to steal Bob's identity (Bob is the bunny who lives upstairs) or contemplating his own existential dilemma, I suppose. But I'm pretty sure he was just chillin'. I snapped this wretched shot of him before startling him away with my second attempt. (So much for the career as a wildlife photographer. :))

Hiking at Camelback

Tomorrow morning, I fly back to Wisconsin to reclaim my place among the snowdrifts. While I'll miss the heat, I'm anxious to resume my routine and to see my kitties.


A few days ago, I went hiking at Camelback Mountain for the third time. I always forget how different hiking is in Phoenix. The trails are swarming with people, and the trailrunners scare of the bejesus out of me as they hurtle themselves up and down the mountain. When you stop to take in the beautiful vista (and regulate your jagged breathing), you're rewarded with a dreary view of the sprawling city. What ever happened to hiking as a way of communing with the natural world and/or a well-deserved silent retreat from everyday life?



Plus, hiking there always makes me feel wretchedly out of shape. My nose runs continuously and I never remember to bring tissues, so by the time I'm done, an amalgam of sweat, snot, and dust has coated my face. The jagged, uneven rocks and gigantor stone steps murder my ankles and knees, and about 15 minutes in, I recall that I have the world's worst balance.

On the upside, some of the rocks looked like sun-washed Georgia O'Keefe skulls, and desert plants can be astoundingly beautiful. And I'm sure once my calves and hamstrings recover from their severe beating, I'll remember my little foray on the trails with fondness.

*note: The pics aren't from Camelback. The one where I'm wearing the orange tank top was taken in Glendale and the other was at Piestewa Peak.

Cold pizza and tundra

I am sitting in the sun eating cold pizza and drinking coffee. I have temporarily escaped the Wisco. tundra* to luxuriate in the warmth of Phoenix. The pool is in the foreground, an orange tree's to my right, and a palm tree is to my left.

Rejecting excuses is the motivating force behind this blog. I have been on this planet for 32 years. In medieval Britain, I would be dead or within goosing distance of the Grim Reaper. So no more excuses (e.g., lack of inspiration, vagaries of publishing industry) about why I can't write. In the eloquent words of my forebears: Shit or get off the pot.

I want this blog to be a forum for discussion and a method for encouraging me to write every day. I'll cover art, politics, literature, history, cooking, fashion, yoga, health, music, film, and basically whatever pops into my cranium.

*I know. I know. It's not true tundra, but the term is a great shorthand for the climate. I mean, c'mon. It feels like tundra after a few weeks of sporting long underwear.