Heritage (Of The Inescapable Sort)

I should hardly be surprised that, coming as I do from a brood of mess-making clutter-based life forms, my first attempts at serious culinary experiment should end in this. The resulting dish, however, was quite tasty. Low-carb Moussaka, catering to the requirements of having a diabetic in the house, constructed with the aid of lunacy and knives. Plus bushels of cheese, cream, eggs, onions, garlic, mincemeat, aubergine, and seasoned tomato sauce. Opa!

There is a great deal that could be said about coming home after so many months, but it's difficult to know where to begin. Ojai is, in many ways, exactly the same as it was before I left. Then again, it's also somewhat like a David Lynch film. Certain small things, otherwise unimportant, have shifted ever so slightly. This is somehow far more disturbing than coming home to find that the place has been overrun by triffids and set on fire. New shop front here, demolished block of houses there, a few fixtures of the social landscape permanently altered -- it feels less and more like home than it did before, which is a change I don't really want to investigate too closely in case it turns me inside out and backwards at the same time like some sort of Escherwoman.

Bottom line, it feels good to be here. I'm just a little more finely stretched than I was before.

Lets more light in anyway.