Author: gr4c5

I write. I read. I cook. I run. That's me, in a nutshell.

Time to Get Cooking

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CranberryLast night J & I brought saucy kielbasa and Riley’s famous Muddy Buddy’s to R & C’s non-holiday party. You can’t get any simpler than those two dishes to literally throw together. He chopped, I poured. We took turns stirring. Simple as that. For both dishes. We make a good team.

Today, I start some of the preparations for Christmas in Maine. Twice baked Cajun sweet pototoes with salty sweet pecans served in orange shells, SpencerSpecial Stuffing with apple cider, onions and Grannies, a cranberry sauce of some kind (haven’t decided but something with fruit)…and the freezer pie that we always, always make. Mom’s bringing the bread, and another pie. I have the sweet potatoes, cream cheese, cajun spices, the nuts, the onions, butter, celery, chicken stock, bread crumbs, herbs, apples, cider, sausage, cranberries, whipped cream, chocolate chips, pie crust, cinnamon…yet, with all this food I feel like I am missing something. I’m not sure what it is. I still have time. No need to freak.

MuddyBuddy (vaguely)
* Chex mix *
* butter *
* peanut butter *
* chocolate chips
* vanilla (the good stuff)
* powdered sugar

This Life

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peaceI am positively giddy with life right now. I am this close to finishing my 110 holiday cards, this close to getting all the presents wrapped (another one came today – yay), this close to getting a menu together for my sister’s holiday party. Everything is coming together and I haven’t stressed about a thing. Not even once. Haven’t broken out in hives in worry. Life is good right now. If I were in my normal mind, I would find a way to say, “too good to be true so something bad is bound to happen…” but, I’m not feeling that vibe right now. Maybe it’s the good mail day: a pic of my beautiful nephews, two Christmas cards from people I normally don’t hear from, an announcement of a friend being in town for the holidays, AT’s gift on the doorstep, andand a n d   a notice saying I have one payment left on Bug. I thought I had until February to suffer through car payments. If I had been paying attention to what I was paying I should have expected this. I should have seen it coming, really. I always overpay my bills. Call it a lack of math skills, call it laziness, call it what you will, but I always round up when paying something. Not to the nearest Washington….to the nearest Hamilton. It makes balancing the checkbook easier. I don’t do this on all the bills, just the ones that have an end in sight – like a car payment.
Or maybe this good mood comes from the good moves – we’re going to R & C’s holiday get-together and uncharacteristically, I am looking forward to it. Not a single DoIHaveTo in sight because I want to. I’m bringing gifts for the special faces and the special place. There is happiness in the bringing. Seriously. Later tonight, we’ll move to Pittsfield for sirsy. I have gifts for the band. A band of gifts for the giving. Flute. Drum. Guitar. I’m looking forward to the show but know we won’t stay entirely. Two parties tomorrow…
If it’s not the mail or the moving, maybe it’s my mother. She called this morning and we talked 2007. She hadn’t gotten my card. She didn’t know about Christmas on the island. The surprise in her voice was happiness to my heart.
If it’s not the mail, moving, or mom – maybe it’s the mea culpa I’m experiencing. There are people out of my life that I want to acknowledge. Maybe because it’s Christmastime, maybe because the dislike is not so Dis anymore. I’m certainly not looking for peace, love and happiness…but I can hope for something like it.

Beautiful Joe

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JosephSaunders, Marshall. Beautiful Joe: A Dog’s Own Story. Storytellers Ink, 1990.

Another Booklust special. I’m not being sarcastic. This book is special. I loved it. Decidedly a children’s book with great illustrations, I dove into it for a quick-like-bunny read (think an hour or so). I think I just needed a break from Admiral Hornblower and all his blowing (more on that in another post). Beautiful Joe is the haunting story of an abused puppy told from the puppy’s point of view. Very unique. This dog suffers cruelty at the hands of his farmer owner (like his tail and ears being chopped off). If you need a good cry, pick up this book! For all its sadness, at times it also is poetic and preachy. I’ve heard of other versions being underwritten by the ASPCA, though my edition made no mention. The narration does leave the story and focus more on animal rights from time to time, but all in all it is a moving story. It has touched the hearts, and remained in the memory of many.

Spoiler: Joe is rescued and ends up in a loving household.
Booklust Twist: Pearl calls this a “three hanky read” (Book Lust p.237). If you love animals I agree!

Took a Chance on You

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I don’t know what made me do it last night, but I called a friend and invited him out. I’ve never done that to him before. Ever. I’ve sent emails. Invitations to things have come up in conversations, yet almost in jest. I’m not jesting about the inviting, just covering up the anticipation of the polite decline. I’ve said before that I feel like I’m his space-filling friend and it’s obvious I’m being hurtful in saying that. I only joke to obscure the DoYouHateMeNow questionmark above my head. I’d erase it if I could because I’m quite sure he doesn’t hate me. He has caller ID on his phone, I’m sure. I caught him driving. What else is new? I told him, “I’ll probably pee my pants if you show up.” Even though I  laughed when I said it, I know my bladder.  It’s probably no joke.

calendar
He has another commitment. Or, he thinks he does. No, he is sure of it…but he is just not sure when. Or something. I have to laugh for real. I can see him, trying to check the mental calendar. He doesn’t even know what day he’s on. He asks when Christmas is. I’m confused, too because I say, “in two weeks.” He thinks there is a chance his other commitment is next week. I’ve (inadvertently) given myself false hope by not being on the same page. I guess it’s better than not being on any page at all…or something like that.                        

Is There Anybody Out There?

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magnetIs there anybody out there? ‘Cause I know three someones who need dates…and I just met someone else who is perpetually lonely. So, make that four someones looking for somebody. How does this happen? What’s wrong with them that causes them to be decidedly single when they have decided they don’t want to be? Because that’s what they have also decided – something must be wrong with them. To be in your 30’s and single with no marriage or even a partner to speak of in sight. They all want to know, “how did you meet your spouse? How’d you get to be so lucky?” (as if the answer wasn’t so obvious with my brains, beauty and bank account). They all want pearls of wisdom when all I have to give them are rocks of nothing. Solid chunks of I-Have-No-Freakin’-Clue. All those philosophies about meeting people are true: you have to love yourself before someone else can love you…stop looking and love will find you…blah blah blah. Could it be as simple as Right Time/Right Place? More like, Right Time/Right Place/Right Face & Patience. Seriously. I wasn’t wanting, neither was he. We were magnets pushing each other away until one of us got turned around.
The running joke is, “If you have any single friends…” and the punchline is, “you guys are my single friends.” Oh yeah.

Thighs on Fire

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hippoNow & Zen Yoga and Planet Fitness did my thighs in last night and I couldn’t be happier. The schedule worked out the way I wanted~ I beat myself up in royal fashion and am thrilled.
First, yoga. I am bound and determined to make classes at N&Z every Tuesday because last night was proof that I need this. I really, really need this. It didn’t start the way I wanted to – getting out of work late, traffic and having to change into body-bending friendly clothes put me behind schedule. I felt every bit the tutu’ed hippo from Fantasia when I ran up to the fourth floor, heavy and clunking, scurrying and panting. The floors are all wood and loud. The class could probably hear me coming a mile away. Note to self: Self! Wear quieter shoes next time!
Once in the classroom and (finally) settled I needed a moment to clear my head and still my breath. It really didn’t help that I was out of breath when I first got there. I sat in the way back so no one could hear my panting like some obscene caller. Luckily, Ruth is really good about making sure everyone is grounded and still before starting the poses.
I don’t like anyone but my husband touching my feet. I don’t like anyone but Ruth teaching me yoga. It’s that simple. Ruth makes it fun. She removes the barriers that make yoga seem intimidating. She does it with humor and humility. Think you’re too “atheist” to follow something so spiritual as yoga? Ruth doesn’t preach. Think you’re too out of shape to even try a pose? She’ll prove you wrong. Think yoga is too complicated in language and movement? She’ll break it down. Think you can’t laugh in her class. Guess again. That doesn’t mean that her classes are diluted in spirit, challenge or education. She just has a way of making it interesting, fun and rewarding. Trust me, my thighs will vouch for me, myself and moi. We worked on warrior I poses. I can’t remember the last time I balanced with one leg behind me, the other bent before me, arms overhead. Do I look warrior-like? My muscles trembled as if laughing at me. Probably not.

Directly after yoga I picked up the hubby and went to run. Thigh killer #2. I don’t know what happened but all of a sudden I wanted to turn on the burners. I needed another challenge so I set up a plan: start with walking 3.5/hr mile and every 30 seconds increase the speed by .5 (incline .5 all the while). I kept this up until I got to a 7mph pace. Cranking. I haven’t been at this pace since highschool. To keep up the challenge I stayed at 7 for another two minutes, listening to everyone involved: toes, ankles, knees, hips, heart…and the newcomer to pain: thighs. So far so good. After two minutes I worked my way back down the same way I got there: .5/mph every 30 seconds until I got to my normal pace – 5.6 mph. To tell the truth, I don’t know how long I stayed at 5.6 before I got to the cooldown. Once in cooldown mode I cranked up the incline. While jogging an easy 4.5 I set the incline to 4. Walking a 3.5 I increased to 5.5. Finally when I was crawling along at 2/mph I was at in incline of 6.5. My calves and ankles thanked me. I could feel the stretch as I walked and it felt like heaven. So, even though my distance wasn’t any different from any other run as of late, I worked in some speed and some hills….and YOGA! Yay.
Bottom line: 3.39 mi / 39min with warm up and cool down.

Getting Back

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knitting

Rob Thomas said something about “get it back to good” when he was with Matchbox 20 (or is it Twenty?). I think I’m taking it out of context, but I can see my own “getting back to good” going on.
This morning I cleaned out an envelope of what I thought were old receipts and found a gift certificate for knitting. Yes, knitting. I took it up at one point…but then put it down for whatever reason. I’ve taken it up and put it down a bunch of times and upon looking at myself from the other side of the couch, I think what it boils down to it this: I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I’m frustrated by only half-knowing something. Tired of winging it where yarn is concerned. Lessons. I need lessons. So, using that gift certificate (thanks, Sue!) I signed myself up.
I’m also planning to get back to yoga. My friend doesn’t know it yet, but her class will have one more student tonight. Me. This is a trial run. A test of the schedule. The plan is to meet my husband at his work after this yoga class and head to the gym. I’m hoping Tuesday nights will be a yoga-zen-run day on the calendar from here on out.

There Was a Second

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There was a second – just a nanosecond, really, the briefest of time when I wanted a baby. It started quietly enough, if a nanosecond has enough time to even have a start. I was ambushed by a commercial the other night. Stuck in an office with a tiny 12″ television, I was hunched over, head propped up on elbows, watching the same ‘Rudolph, the Red-nosed Reindeer‘ I did as a child. During the commericals I reminisced about HomeHome. Growing ever nostalgic, I could picture the tree, needles on the floor, crisp smell of pine. The generations old handmade ornaments, colorful soldiers at attention, sequined, glittery ice skates, twinkling white lights. Chunky stockings filled with nuts, oranges and batteries. I had the cat, you the reindeer. Tinsel draped over the cat’s head with mischievious giggles. Tie a ribbon around her neck, it’s Christmastime. The Merrymen singing about Christmas in their Caribbean land and little drummer boys. White packages drawn up with red string. Something to open on Christmas Eve. Watching the horses, waiting for a hint of sunrise. Coffeecake wrapped in foil on the corner of the woodstove, gently warming in time for breakfast. The smell of coffee and hot chocolate in the air. Start the generator so we can turn on the lights. I was picturing it all, getting lost in the memories of Christmas on a snowy, distant island. I wanted to go home. Could I be there in time for Santa? Suddenly completely ripe with nostalgia I heard ‘Silent Night’ by Josef Muhr and Franz Gruber (my favorite holiday hymn). I looked up in time to see peaceful, sleeping babies but instead of seeing them as a shameless plug for diaper products, I saw a lost future. My father’s nose, my mother’s eyes, my husband’s lips, my hands. Tradition handed down in a family trait. Lost forevermore.

Almost Innocent (with spoilers)

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Almost Innocent Bosworth, Sheila. Almost Innocent: A Novel. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1984.

I blew through this novel in about two days. Not an overly complicated story, it surely entertained me. Set in New Orleans and surrounding areas (Houma, for one), it’s all about the tragic relationship between Rand Calvert and the beautiful Constance Alexander as told (in first person) by their daughter, Clay-Lee. We start in present day and Clay-Lee “flashes back” to her childhood, when she was about nine years old. She is witty, humorous at times and beguiling. At first I was under the impression she is the Almost Innocent the title speaks of. As a child she vaguely comprehends the intricacies of her parents’ relationship, but is observant to notice changes between them. She is aware of downward spirals. However, one of my biggest complaints about Clay-Lee’s storytelling is that on some occasions she refers to her parents as Rand and Constance in addition to the expected Mommy and Daddy. If it serves a purpose in the narration, I have clearly missed the point. I don’t know of many children who switch from mom and dad to proper first names. In my experience, it’s one or the other.

Spoiler: The Almost Innocent in the story is actually Constance. She begins an affair with her husband Rand’s deplorable Uncle Clement after he convinces her he is dying. She is innocent in her thinking that this affair will bring prosperity after his death for he promises to leave his wealth to her. She even goes so far as to become pregnant with his child. It’s a lose-lose situation once she discovers the truth. Does she commit suicide? Is her hemorrhaging to death a freak accident? Clay-Lee is witness to her bleeding and does nothing. Does that make it murder? Did Clay-Lee let her mother die? Clement seems to think so and even confronts Clay-Lee at the funeral. It’s a bizarre ending to the ever-sadder story when you realize that Rand, the ever-faithful (maybe) loved her to the end.

Booklust Twist: Nancy Pearl categorizes this book as ” Families in Trouble”(Book Lust, p. 83).

Music Magic

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marionette It’s the morning after music. I’m full from Maine blueberry wheat pancakes, fluffy scrambled cheddar eggs and smooth kona java. Content I am. BubbleGum is on the stereo singing, “I Got a Woman – she’s good to me…” Funky. Content I am.
Saw M & G last night. Made a new friend, too. Very cute. I don’t have a setlist. I didn’t even know if Candace worked with one. There’s a lot I didn’t know. I didn’t know there would be cameras filming every angle, flashing lights, and Candy bears. The only thing missing – a smoke machine. Seriously.
My highlight of sound? I won’t lie. Greg. I have missed his genius. It was like a second voice harmonizing with Candance, a second voice rising to argue the finer points. Filling in, filling out. Way out. Making the sound (noun) sound (verb) complete. At one point M turned to me and said, “he’s showing off for you.” Did I blush? I have missed the heartbeat so all I could think was, “Good! Bring it on! I’ll take all that I can get!” Like an addict, I’ve filled my time with cheap substitutes: Carter Beauford, J.J. Johnson, Steve Jordan, Allison Miller…. All great drummers, but their cd-only presense doesn’t hold a candle to live in-the-room-with-you rocking out. Even my husband moved aside so I could watch the heartbeat in action – he joked that for tonight, I could stare at another man. Too funny. My only complaint? My view was often blocked by a bigger guy. I should have sat on the other side of the room!

yeti
My highlight of social? Seeing M & G in person. No emailing. No MyOtherSpacing. It was so nice to sit with these people so friggin’ real, so freakin’ nice, so dear to my heart. I won’t worry about what they say about me on the way home. Never mind. Back to good – I got to deliver presents and catch up on gigs. Gigs! Could I possibly be saying “Greg” and “Natalie” in the same sentence? Freak me out! That would make my 2007 for sure. ..oh, and that one-of-a-kind nativity scene! 😉

Signed Sealed Delivered

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My favorite tradition of the holidays has begun. A trickling in. A sending and a receiving. I’ve always had an affinity for writing and opening postal exchanges. There is magic to mail – an excitement in the sending as well as the arrival, an anticipation in the opening, an eagerness in the reading. I know that’s what makes Nick Bantock so exciting. There is such a joy to see, tucked between bills and “to current resident” a holiday card in red or green, peeking. christmas

With address book open (A is for Adam, Alec and Amy), I will organize my holiday cards by personality. Religious born in Bethlehem quotes go to my praying friends. The adorable, sad eyed, beribboned puppy in the Santa hat will be sent to the animal lovers in the group. Joke cards for the always laughing. The special $3.98 one of a kind Hallmarks go to the I-Can’t-Afford-To-Give-You-A-Real-Gift special friends. Once the cards are sorted and labeled I stamp and sticker them. Stickers are important and always have been…at least since I was eight. Snowflakes and Santa hats, Christmas trees and harp holding angels. Stickers are important, but postage stamps are even more so. It’s improper to send a holiday card without the perfect holiday stamp. I always notice these things. There is an exception – sending to someone who doesn’t give a hoot and probably won’t notice the stamp anyway. Hard to imagine but true! My friend Ant is getting Babe Ruth (post Red Sox), but even then I put thought into the stamp selection. Ant is a h u g e Yankees fan.
None of the stamps I chose really match up with the recipient, nor are they by accident. My Jewish friends will get chubby Santas, my Catholic one’s…the menorah. Colorful Kwanzaa. Spreading diversity through the U.S. postal service. stamp

After stamps and stickers I will move onto addresses. This is the most tedious part of my process. Not everyone can keep the same address from year to year. Nine different couples have moved in the last 365 days. If I liked the addressing part better I would take my time with fancy calligraphy, glittering ink and curly-cues. I like curly-cues. stamp
All of this prep work starts the first week of December. I want it finished so that by the time I actually sit down to fill out the card I’m doing the exact opposite. I’m not filling them out as one would fill out a medical profile or an employment application. I don’t want to just go thru the motions, or just sign my name. If that were the case I would invest in a special made-to-order rubber stamp with my signature or pay for preprinted, generic holiday cards that read, “Happy Holidays from the Spencers.” I get a few of those and it’s always such a disappointment. No. Instead, I want to take my time. It’s Christmas after all. I’ll find a picture of you, prop you up and stare at your image until I can write to you. To You. It might be my only letter of the whole year, but I won’t skimp on the thought process. I’ll send my best, from my heart…as the song says, with love from me to you.
stamp

Glad I’m Crazy

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church Because I am crazy I got to hear the bells at the church ringing out recognizable carols. The sun was shining and I had a sidewalk…and I had beautiful bells. Who knew that ‘Silent Night’ could sound so enchanting chiming from a church? I almost wanted to stop in the sunlight and soak up the sound. If sanity ran through my veins I would have missed the bells all together.

island pond road  Because I am crazy I got to see the neighborhood I work in up close. It’s not so bad. I mean, I had sidewalks for the entire two miles, no one threw anything at me (or gave me a second glance), and, the highlight of my adventure, I barely saw any trash. No hypodermics, no spoons, no condoms, no beer cans/ Not even a nip bottle of Jack. All the things I expected to step over and around were simply not there. Beautiful.

walking Because I am crazy I more than got in my 10,000 steps. From what I hear, isn’t that what’s recommended these days? At least that it what it said in the instructions that came with every pedometer I’ve ever gotten. I should have been wearing one today because I got at least that much exercise on a day “off”.

Glad I’m crazy.

Silence of a Different Kind

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The batteries to my mp3 player died. When I found some batteries I couldn’t find the mp3 player. I brought the discman instead, got on the treadmill and discovered those batteries were dead, too. Thinking of S, I didn’t let it bother me. I ran in “silence” instead. Ignoring the piped in, heavy on the bass, meant to inspire your ass music, the nearby chatting of the ladies behind me, and the steady, droning hum of the machines, I ran in my own kind of silence.

I had quick conversations with my lungs, knees, ankles, and heart. Only to check in with everybody, only to make sure we were going to be okay for the duration. Only then did I fall silent myself. It’s not about getting in shape. It’s not about having that runners butt or losing weight. It’s about finding self. I had forgotten that. Completely and utterly. Somewhere in the middle of training to run a half marathon, somewhere in the agony of injury, somewhere in the middle of everything, somehow I had forgotten that. I had forgotten what it was like to run in peace, to run in practical meditation with a clear mind, a clear heart. I love that point when all I’m aware of is simply breathing. I’m sure other athletes get to this point in their sport – where what they do takes them to a purer part of their psyche. It’s why they do what they do, I’m sure.

Bottom line: 2.99 mi 35 min (including warm up and cool down)

Closer Crazy

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Brenda & Sanchez  So, Monday night was the two hour very special return of the The Closer. I had to bust my butt to make sure dinner was made before 8:00pm. I mean, we had to be sitting down, food in front of us…or else! There was no way I was going to be slaving over a hot stove even during the opening credits to my favorite show (Biggest Loser be damned). No way, no how. Even my husband knows the rules. During the show he barely spoke. The phone rang once, and even though he just had to comment, “someone doesn’t know you very well…” he waited until the commercials to say it! I was in heaven. Dinner wasn’t that bad, either. I was able to keep it down 😉

So – here is the buzz word for this episode: KING.
My favorite scene: Provenza trying to clean off his desk as quietly as he can…