Yet again I stamp out buttons on this piece of metal from the waiting room of a mechanic. The Auto Repair Garage in Sacramento, California. Groupon has led me here for the cheapest full synthetic oil change I could find in the area. Where I used to loathe going to the mechanic and paying for their services, I have come to find these oily, poorly decorated, cinder blocked waiting rooms a haven. Akin to the mental space one finds when in the air traveling from one city to the next. I have nowhere to go but here. There is peace in the space of the holding.
We’ve driven 3742 miles from New Jersey. In my new car, who has finally been named: Triffiana. Trif for short. My zippy, slightly erratic 2017 Subaru Crosstrek. We’re getting to know one another. She doesn’t have a tan interior (massive sigh) or a fun exterior color (she is gray, which only supersedes white or black) but she is an adventure mobile. She can slide through city blocks and climb mountain passes (albeit slowly because of her meager 2.0 liter engine). I am going to have her for a long time and I am going to treat her right.
There are only two stops left on this road trip. Tomorrow I will drive to San Diego, to Francesca’s first post grad home. We’re gonna big hang in San Diego and button her up to get ready for the move. The last stop is the final destination; our soon to be resting place of San Francisco. For a year Corin, Francesca and I have been plotting this time together. And it has finally fallen upon us. Giddy. It's an understatement.
Aidan and I rolled out of New Jersey on December 30th, preceding the new year. We fell into glorious rolling with the road. In the twenty days we spent together we slept in eight different homes, met friends new and old, shared delicious, satiating meals in kitchens new to us and relished in the beautiful madness of getting to live life so openly, so freely and so full of love.
Pee breaks on pull offs of country routes in the wide expanse of night became altars of gratitude. Vast horizons stoked our wonder. Stars marked our awe. Quiet proclaimed our peace.
After our time in movement, this week has offered a taste of stillness. Getting to retreat in Liz’s Sacramento slice of heaven, I have had time to reflect and project about this moment. Many kitchen projects have kept me grounded while my brain flies above in the clouds of potential. New seasons, new moments, new ways of living. Is everyone feeling the depth of what can become? A year of living at home allowed me to appreciate all of my roots, no matter how mangled or misdirected I believed some of them to be. Now that I have driven into the spring of California, I feel ready to bloom anew.
I am writing in Hank’s Headlights which I firmly believe will always glow. Triffiana has not replaced him, that is for certain, she steers me in the phosphorescence of who came before her. In the months to come she will take us on new adventures. Which I plan to write here when it feels right. However random this newsletter may be, I am looking forward to writing more regularly (lets say monthly) and on-topic thematically. A shoot off is looming in the near future, one that is centered around the ever oozing territory of people and food. All the ways our collective being is pronounced by the gathering around nourishment; what it does to our steps, to our cries and to our celebrations. You can find it here, I hope you’ll subscribe. First post is stewing on the stove top right now, bubbling with excitement. Till then I am sending everyone a tendril of love swept up in a lofty breeze, stretching toward you, wanting to wrap around you.
Love reading these magilton! 🕺🕺
You’re brilliant and it’s so beautiful to hear you tell your story!