August 24 - 4 miles past Whistlin' Jacks

I don't know why exactly but when I steer my truck away from a town and towards the woods, I get a Mona Lisa like grin on my face that puzzles me. I think it must have to do with leaving the stimulation that is inherent to cities, or even small towns. It's not that I don't like some of the things available in those places, cuz I do (you know, cool people, junk stores, beer outlets) but still, in a short time it starts to grate on my psyche - it IS hard being a delicate flower.

I spent the afternoon at the cabin, first with T and my current heart throb Vinnie, but when they left I pulled out some art stuff I got in Eugene and started trying to make a block print of their cabin. There is this soft stuff called Speedy Cut that makes the experience less frightful for me and while I think I got the outline of the cabin, I didn't capture the feeling of the place. I guess that's the difference between skilled folks and the rest of us, the skill that allows people to transmit feeling into a physical representation of that thing/feeling.

Oh well as they say, practice makes perfect. Maybe.

I took myself out to dinner at Whistlin' Jacks and had a chicken fried steak with salad, veggies, smashed potatoes and meat. I do believe I hadn't had such a meal for um, 30 years? The chicken fried part anyway. My wait person was kind, even through she had worked all day and just as she was to get off, two people called in sick. Dang! Still, we bonded over her misfortune and I gave her a big tip. And I got to have a beer called Irish Death. Don't really know about the name but it was 8% alcohol and pretty close to a stout. Woohoo! Just one though.