yesterday it was raining. i drove to cloquet to teach my final memoir-writing class of the six-week period, then sat on my couch reading a cooking magazine. i went to the grocery store for ingredients and back to chuck's, where we invented a recipe for gouda mac and cheese that included squares of chopped tomato and leaves of cilantro. he stirred the sauce until his wrist and attention span broke, then i stirred the sauce until it began to look like something lap-up-able. we listened to radiohead's complete collection. his kitchen was 120 degrees fehrenheit and smelled like the potential for soft mounds of cheese-clogged pores.
it tasted pretty good.
other things i've done during this particular vacation have included: episodes of veronica mars, a viewing of the godfather, frozen pizza, reading.
things i'd like to do when it stops raining: lay in the grass with the new michael chabon book, play H-O-R-S-E against someone 6-feet tall with the daunting wing span, eat a corndog from a vendor.
some of you live here. this is where i go on vacation. if only there was a postcard.