Hello, I'm Jeremy Beaudry. Welcome to my place. Words, photos, drawings et cetera.*

Saturday laid out like a buffet table — sweet or savory?

Words feel different in the morning sunlight.

Venetian blinds of Vermont.

Fitz the house cat presides like a Sphinx.

Chimeras and half-humans run the autocracy.

Political concepts keep breaking apart at the feet of our real lives.

de Certeau: "the practice of everyday life."

The bedside table cannot hold everything I need for rest.

New music comes to me, unexpectedly, like a butterfly to my shoulder.

I struggle to impart the lessons I've learned to my children.

What are you thinking right now?

Sometimes, declarative sentences — singular, muscular even — are the best we can do.

I've forgotten the names of the house plants.

Speaking Spanish to think like someone else.

I am learning to heat the house by burning wood in the cast iron stove. Each stove, I expect, has a unique profile dependent on: the design, the particular manufacturing conditions, the length and path of the chimney, the installation, the location. You do not turn on a stove like a switch on a lamp, or a thermostat. You do not light a fire in a stove and walk away. There is a process to building a fire, slowly, iteratively. Of choosing the kindling, of feeding the right sized logs, of gauging the amount of oxygen needed, of preparing the bed of coals. Of knowing the variability of the flames, and responding in kind with micro-adjustments of position, airflow, fuel. It takes time and attention. Practice, in fact. A fire must be tended.