Young Chris Young blending hot dogs
overlooking Skilak Lake
On what feels like the 800th consecutive day of sunny, breezy, 75 degree weather, I decided it’s not a waste of a beautiful day to sleep in, eat a big breakfast, read until I fall asleep again, eat some potato chips and sunflower seeds, take another nap, and go to bed early. I’d like say that I’m good at listening to my body, but it’s really just the natural result of multiple campfire evenings plus birthday plus pouring all my creative energy into a long night of karaoke.
Well, most of my creative energy. A small portion was also invested in hot dog tots, inspired by my giddiness over pushing meat through the food processor. It was a fun follow-up to Dorito butter, my impish attempt to have a little fun with our wealthy guests’ dining experience.
Oh, and I spent a while singing little patterns and sequences out on a fallen tree that reaches out to the middle of the river. Leaves rustled like brushes on a snare, two eagles chirped accompaniment, and the rushing water suggested that Wordsworthian spontaneous overflow of emotion, for me in tones instead of words. As the poet put it, “With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things.”
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