Good. Yep.

I'm finding a place in the universe to put everything from these past weeks; there's a tiny flower/herb plot out front that is slowly filling with new life: violas, mint, thyme, sage, parsley, heliotrope, sage, +++. New ferns begin to sprout chartreuse fronds in the shady side-yard, and delicate silvery lamium glints in the dapples of sunlight which find a path through viburnum. A chicadee, an Oregon junco, a pair of Stellar's jays. The racoons make their nightly trek across the deck, and the cats -- inside -- go mad with snarls and hissing, gravelly gutteral growls which bring their own dissonant music to our home.

The fragrance of Indian cuisine scents the kitchen tonight: such olifactory magic in cardamom, cinnamom, garam masala, turmeric, onion, jalapenos, bay leaves, mustard seed. I found some dainty Rex sole at Uwajimaya and I've rubbed them with lemon, chili powder, etc., and they are sizzling under the broiler's fierce coil. The stovetop simmers with basmati rice and dhal; a pinot grigio chills in the refrigerator.

As my son Nelson wrote on facebook:
It's all good. The good, the bad, all of it: it's all good.
(Editing by, ahem, moi.)