Dangerous Compassions

natural gas

“Any stove that’s electric is not really a stove–it’s a glorified hot plate,” I said, pondering natural gas.  “There–I said it.  Fire is totally different for cooking, than a ridiculously hot coil of metal.  Sorry.  Cooking feels so different with a flame.”

Ming and I were lying in bed.  It was early in the morning, and he was drifting back to sleep.

“Unpopular opinion, right?” I said.  “Those people who are trying to outlaw natural gas in homes–maybe they never knew how to cook?”


It bothered me, that liberals were trying to outlaw natural gas in new homes, around here.  You know I’m progressive and an anarchist.  I have some things in common with liberals.  But I don’t believe the system works–no way.  And I don’t believe we just need more democrats in positions of power, and then everything will work out great.  We need to undo power.

I know it’s a long shot.  I don’t care–I demand the impossible all the time.  Actually I like that about myself.  Justice?  Queer and trans liberation?  Social order than poverty and racism?  Yes, I dream big.

Limiting freedom bothers me, unless I’m sure it’s for a good reason, including about natural gas.  I didn’t learn statistics and facts about the reasons.  I’m new to town–I don’t even know where my electricity comes from yet.  Or the water.

outdoor kitchen

Roasting chiles is sacred to me, and it’s easier to use a stove than build a fire outside.  It’s hard that I can’t roast chiles in this house.  Both stoves are electric.

Maybe I am old fashioned?  Yes, my gray hair is showing.  What would a young person do?

Maybe I just need to cook outdoors more.  I wish there was a permanent awning here, where Ming and I live, and an outdoor kitchen I could use.  Then it wouldn’t matter.

Maybe I would spend a lot of time there.  It could be a fun place to hang out.  I love outdoor kitchens.  That permaculture farm in Ojai where we lived for a month last summer–wow, that kitchen was amazing.  I miss the loquat trees too.

loquat tree

There’s a loquat tree at a Thai place, where Ming and I live now in Oregon.  Ming wanted Thai food, and I went with him, mostly just to see the tree.

“I’m a slut for loquat trees,” I told Ming.  It’s true.  But I had never spoken that sentence before.  Felt great to say it out loud.

Ming went in to pick up our order, while I stood outside and looked at the loquat tree.  I looked at the leaves, searched for signs of buds, looked on the ground for some seeds from last year.  I found small fallen green leaf and picked it up to keep in the car, loquat medicine.

This pic of Bunny with carrot cookie is apropos to nothing.  Just to inspire a smile.  Love to you every day, reader.

bunny with carrot cookie

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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