mr. sun.

buttermilk pancakes, bacon

chili beef burritos

pork chops, blueberry sauce, port cheddar polenta, garlicky mustard greens

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Our mop bucket looks like a rusty medieval torture device with a bright blue handle.  As I wrestle it around the kitchen table, “what’s the point?” comes to mind.  Our building is a metal box bolted together at the seams and by no means air-tight.  Wind controls the temperature, dust blows in all the invisible cracks and the bunk room actually fills up with snow in the winter.  No amount of sweeping will keep the dust bunnies at-bay, making them the most successful species at The Oasis.  With lots of sun and little wind, it’s hot in here today.  Slapping the mop around, I work up quite a sweat, which is a bummer because I took my shower of the week last night. Down here, people like to go on about the winter and the darkness. Rarely do you hear about the summer and its never ending sunshine.  Unable to escape the constant watchful blaze, I feel like an ant under the lense.  Sunshine in the morning, sunshine at night, sunshine obscuring any view I might have out of the myriad windows that line our building.  Thanks to Mr. Sun, it’s 23F and I take breaks out on the front porch in a tank top and flip-flops to cool down.  I come from the clouds and rain of the deliciously dark Northwestern United States, and having spent most of my adult life working the night shift in restaurants, I can confidently say that I miss the dark more than I would ever miss a clear blue day.

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