Category: Life

Elaborate Mind Break

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dscn0378.JPGI admitted I was losing my desire to cook. That utterance alone was enough to scare me into therapy. Since when did cracking open a cookbook not motivate me, move me, make me happy? Recently. When I started The Affair and felt awful. That’s when.

I’m happy to say the spell has been broken. I’ve ended my rendezvous with Mr. V. There’s even a rumor that Mr. V. will be going away permanently and I couldn’t be more pleased. In the meantime, I’ve become reacquainted with my cookwear again.
Last week it was Greek turkey burgers complete with feta, oregano, red onion, spinach, roasted red peppers, garlic, Kalamatas, pepperoncini, cucumbers, lemon and yogurt. Last night it was inspiration from Tyler and Emeril: pork chops in autumn, noodles and cauliflower. “Pork chops in Autumn” just means the chops were served over a saute of Granny Smiths, Vidalias, Savoy, Calvados, butter, bay, thyme and marjoram. For some reason I didn’t want to serve just egg noodles so I dressed them with butter, s&p, and lemon zest. The cauliflower was roasted with evoo, garlic, s&p, and lemon juice. Aside from turning off a burner and not noticing for 20 minutes…and then roasting a plate at 500 degrees (!), the meal went really well. One for the books, as they say, mistakes and all.
I’m not sure what’s on the menu for tonight. Kisa is under the weather and I am beyond frazzled. I am heart weary and dead tired. I owe phone calls and thanks to people so fantastic I am left speechless. I will get to you, I promise! In my heart, you are my lovely.
The only thing left to say is it’s amazing what a 500 degree oven will do to a plate. Go figure.

Another World

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I’ve always thought I would like living under the sea, or in an aquarium…at the very least. The watery depths have always appealed to me. Maybe it’s because there is silence, pure silence. Inhabitants glide by, float by, dance by effortlessly, carelessly, and silently. Maybe because there is speckled sunlight near the surface but, for the most part, mostly there is only darkness. Murky and mysterious. It’s misleading but the ocean’s depths seem calm, quiet, even patient. What a contrast to the world above.
Me, I had contrasting worlds on Sunday. Sometime during the day I lost my energy. I put it down somewhere and promptly misplaced it. I spent most of the late afternoon in a self-induced stupor. Sleeping in fits, staring at the tv in a wide-eyed trance, eating things straight from containers. I watched nearly an entire season of “So You Think You Can Dance?” I got drawn in by the contestants while shoveling large spoonfuls of cottage cheese into my mouth; I put myself on the panel of judges and instantly became judgemental and sour. Surely she can’t win. He looks too goofy. Who am I to judge? One girl looked like she could bench press me with one arm and I was calling her a losing contestant?
Everyday has to have one redeeming quality, just one. Here it is: Earlier in the afternoon I ran over five miles after working out. Yes. What a contrast to the couch I just confessed to. I actually put hand to weight and lifted. And then, and then got on the treadmill for an hour! Imagine that! I know a certain someone will scoff at my paltry five miles. I can hear him now, “Five miles? An hour? Is that it? I’m just getting warmed up!” But, I’m proud of my five. Wait. Over five. I think it was more like 5.36 or something. Anyway. I’m proud of this run because it’s the first one that felt like me in a long time. The music between my ears matched the desire in my heart and fueled my feet to run. Then. I hit the couch. Go figure!
The contrast between treadmill and tv time is tremendous. One world colliding with another. Yet, both worlds are mine.

Remember When

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I find it funny that after three years I’m still laughing and losing it. Marriage hasn’t changed you. Marriage hasn’t changed me. Yet, marriage has changed us. Us as who we are together. I find that funny.
I spent 74 minutes on the phone remembering September 18th, 2004. The tent, the guests, the chef, the weather (oh, the weather!) The island had a wedding exactly like ours almost on the same day. Same tent, same weather, same chef, some same guests. We made comparisons back and forth, forth and back again. Ping ponging “remember whens” at each other. “But, her sunset wasn’t as nice” my mother sniffed. She’s just giving My sunset preferential treatment because I’m her daughter, so in a weird way it was her sunset, too. I’m sure it was just as beautiful for the newly pronounced Mr. & Mrs. of September 2007, too. Everything would be remembered as utterly gorgeous on that day. Even if it wasn’t.

Kitchen Healing

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Yesterday was all about me. Girly and giggly, I indulged in fun and food and friends. I needed this. Needed to sip away sorrows of an anniversary long ago; needed to drown myself until I was back here, back to now, back to loving my life. Kisa took the wheel while I took to the wine. Together we sampled dips and chips, sauces and soups. Simply Tasteful something-er-rather. Someone asked me about kids, then asked my age. I don’t know why I was suprised over their shock. I see myself everyday so I should know. Later. Home. BubbleGum and Gravity, letting my favorite drummer find my heart. Find my favor.

Today, I took to the kitchen for Kisa. Breakfast was apple pancakes from scratch. Granny Smiths grated in the thick, multigrain batter, cooked slow. A topping of apple slices sauteed in small amounts of butter, brown sugar and maple syrup. Hot coffee to wash it all down. A meal to last all morning. Only blueberries could make it better.
Lunch was indulgent enough to be called dinner. Inspired by season-ready tomatillos I created a Mexican buffet:
Enchiladas – chicken, sour cream, onion (finely minced), cream cheese, Monterey cheese, tabasco, chili powder, cumin, and smoked paprika stuffed in multigrain tortillas. Baked with sauce – garlic, chipotles & tomatillos roasted and pureed. So simple, so yummy (thanks, Rick!). This has got to be one of my favorite meals.
Red beans and Rice – lime juice, red beans and brown rice (kept simple to mix up with the other dishes).
Tacos – beef, chili powder, cumin, Tabasco, cayenne pepper, onion, tomatoes, black olives, jalapenos, lettuce, cheese, salsa, avocado….
I left the kitchen looking like a tornado-torn town. My kind of cooking.

Dessert was something I picked up from Reading Lolita in Tehran: Coffee ice cream, cold coffee and pecans. Simple and sweet.

So, September is slipping away. Halfway gone. Pretty soon it will be crockpot cooking, slipper & sweater wearing, shut-the-windows weather. Something to look forward to: Tuesday!

Sex Stories

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She came home at five years old and said with a smile “I touched a penis.” This was like lighting a match and there were only two options. The flame dies out, the incident is forgotten on a whisp of smoke, or. Or. The match flares to a flame. Becomes an inferno of hell to come.
TruthDareConsequencesPromiseOrRepeat. I chose Dare. I just like taking dares with Yes. Sent her to her room without explanation. Where did I go wrong? My Fault for years to come. Come on baby, light my fire.

She had her first older man at eight. Fire on the Mountain. Couldn’t understand why he didn’t treat her differently. Wasn’t she special (so special, he would whisper) because of the things she let him do. Let him do to her? “IWLLBGNTLE” spelled out in Scrabble pieces. No wonder she won’t play the game. She wondered if anyone of importance would ever noticed. She was certainly teased enough about it by those who mattered less. Who would say anything? Definitely not her. Where did she go wrong. Her fault for years to come.

Virginity lost at 13. I pretended to be asleep. What’s the sense of interupting when she wants it that way? Expects it that way? A walking, talking, breathing, lying (down) slut. Talk is cheap but actions are rich – they rule the game played out. She walked away. I turned my face away from his pain. Where did he go wrong? His fault to fall in love. His fault for years to come.

They caught up to her in September. Payback’s a bitch and she felt she earned it, deserved it even. Larry, Curly & Moe. Where did you go? The taste of gin, sour on your lips. The lead of Led, heavy in your ears. She’s not here. But I am.

Her fault for years to come.

Murder the Meow

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In light of what’s been going on with Michael Vick, this is going to be in bad form, but I really want to know what the penalty is for killing a cat. The cat specifically known as MY cat. She is driving me absolutely nuts lately. Absofukcinglutely crazy. It started with puking on the carpet yesterday morning when I had to be at work 3.-tres?-three! hours early. This morning, sensing someone was awake (yeah, me. I had to pee), she starts crying to be fed. Only she doesn’t stop there. She jumps on the bed, finds the nightstand (on my side) and a lamp to headbutt & nudge. When that doesn’t work she makes her way to the cedar chest and discovers crunchy tree branches to gnaw on (the rewind: for our engagement party my family made a money tree out of branches from home. I’ve kept every stick). Kisa throws a pillow at Indy. She retreats to the hall, but is determined to keep begging. She yowls louder. Kisa swings the bedroom door shut. Indy takes to “scratching” at the door, her clawless paws paddling at a furious pace. It’s kinda funny but I have a few more minutes of sleep to snatch so I’m not laughing. I’m not even smiling. When we finally feed her she takes a few bites and then races around the apartment like she’s dropped a speedball. Up and down the stairs, window to window, meowing the entire way. Like I said – Nuts.

I have a theory. A few mornings ago I looked out the window at a gruesome sight. A mourning dove lay dead, decapitated on the ground. Tiny white feathers surrounded the body, but not much else. Did Indy witness the murder? Was she just on the other side of the window, that close to being next? Is she haunted by the scene of the crime? Does she worry she’s a marked cat? Or is she jealous? Did she want in on the killing? Did she salivate at the sight of bloodshed? Hunger for the hell unleashed? Does she miss the great outdoors, hunting and having claws? We find it odd that the culprit left the entire bird body behind with only the head unaccounted for. Today, all evidence is completely and utterly gone. Not a feather exists. Maybe, just maybe Indy is pissed someone took her fantasy away.

Wedding Waddle

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Since when did I start liking cake? I’ve never liked cake. For years and years I have been the one to bypass the big layers of bad and go for the fruit whatever. I’m a pie or tart girl. When did I give up the eat smart/eat healthy routine and opt for the Bring It On attitude? Examples: when our Austrian friends got married I attacked the buffet line like a linebacker with a big bite. When our German friends got married I got my own huge plate of everything and thensome. I had a healthy belly for the beverages, too. Merlot and two sour apple martinis. In that order. When did that happen? It happened to go right to my head.
To celebrate the season finale of The Closer Kisa and I ordered pizza. We stayed true to our tradition of wheat crust. Everything else went by the wayside. We ordered two zahs: Greek goodness (feta cheese, black olives, spinach, tomatoes, double cheese)…and an Aloha (ham, bacon, pineapple and…you guessed it, double cheese). Caution to the wind, diet be damned. It was damn good.
To make matters worse, my illicit affair with the vending machine has started up again, too. In short time I’ve got my routine down to a science. I wait until no one is around, slowly sidle up to the humming, glowing love machine of sweet and whisper my own sweet nothings in the form of quarters. Mr. V gives me exactly what I want, when I want it. I steal away, tearing open the wrapper, devouring chocolate and salt as I retreat back to my office as quickly as I can. I don’t want to be caught in the act, but the evidence of my betrayal lies in the trash. I won’t lay claim to it if confronted. Yet. Yet, I’m waiting for the day when I no longer care. When that day comes I’ll flaunt my unhealthy relationship with Mr. V. and brazenly chose a Snickers or Doritos with ease. E5 and B2. I’ll blatantly leave candy bar and potato chip wrappers in my wake, not even bothering to cover the crime. That day can’t be far off.
For some reason I’m liking this throw caution to the wind consumption, this eat everything in sight daring…except when it’s time to squeeze into those professional slim-cut pants or those cut-off-the-circulation panties. It’s enough constriction to go commando. When did this happen? Where was I when the health nut decided to leave town?

We All Grow Up and Skunk Love

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Went to a wedding this weekend. A weekend wedding no one thought would work out. Skeptical? Cynical? Neither. Just didn’t think they were the piece of paper legal kind. I’m glad they did it, though. Now they don’t have to answer to When. Now the other when? question can start – right where the last when? left off.
We all grow up. Instead of lamenting over lost Duran Duran posters we are talking about house hunting and wills and probate. We are worrying about divorces that should have happened years ago and marriages that should be. We discuss full time opportunities and changes of addresses, age differences and interview questions. Someday I might tell you, you were my very first interview. Someday I will tell you, you were my very first hire. I hope I never have a first fire.
Last night I sat on the steps to my apartment in the cooling hours of streetlight dark, a cell phone craddled on my shoulder. Amid cricket songs, distant cars and crackling connection I talked with a friend. A scurrying, hurrying shadow ran over my outstretched feet on its way to deeper darkness. It didn’t stop to acknowledge or even notice me. Once I realized it was a skunk I was left stunned and silenced. For a second I swore halucination…until the inky black eyes stared at me from under kisa’s truck. Chaneling Corwin and Crock Hunter I bade my phone friend goodnight and carefully crept inside. I thought back to when I was seven or eight years old and fell in love with a skunk pelt. I carried it everywhere with me, draped over my shoulder I petted it constantly. Did my nocturnal friend know this? Could he sense that at one time I worshiped his kin? I’ll never know. In the morning he was gone without a trace. I’ll miss him.
I grew up but some things haven’t changed.

Corner Turned

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I don’t know how it happened but I turned the attitude corner today. It started with seeing my name on a parking spot. For the first time ever I have a place to put my car. As stupid as that sounds I am so thrilled! I was actually a little disappointed I didn’t have a camera today. My own spot. Imagine that! I’m taking a picture tomorrow! Yes, it’s the little things that make me happy these days.
Then came the news that not only was my new office going to be painted but I get to pick the colors and, and, and it’ll happen this week…as in within the next day or two! For colors I picked Walden Woods and Frozen Sea. Figure that one out.  Talk about too cool! I didn’t think this would happen for at least a month and I was so prepared to live in limbo between this place and that one. As I told a coworker this is what I worked my azz off for. This is what it’s all about. I know I’ve been bitching about this very thing, but sooner or later it comes down to one question, “do you love your job?” My answer is yes. Now, I do.
To make the day even sweeter someone from admissions came over to discuss tours. For years these guides have been bugging me with their false info. They would blah blah blah right by my reference desk and  for years I couldn’t help but cringe. They had no idea what they were talking about. For years I’ve been trying to get them to change their speech without luck. After all, I was a nobody in their eyes. Suddenly, after three years of torture I’m finally being asked what should be said. My script?
The cherry on top of my day: A new contract for me to sign. Something in writing to prove I’ve finally arrived. Now I can say I’m a professional.
So, A – I look forward to going to Mexico with you. RT~ see you in Picadilly. To the both of you, I know exactly what I want!

Goodbye

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Back in the day there was this amazing website dedicated to all things Natalie Merchant. Pictures, lyrics, tour dates, show reviews, sound and video clips, discographies, newspaper articles, fun facts. It was a cool site. For years it was the place to go for Natalie information. Then one day it ended. All that was left was a simple note saying “It’s time to move on.” Say goodbye.
Such is the way about certain people, pet projects and places in my life. What is that saying? All good things must come to an end? Well, now is the time for such a saying. Say goodbye.
To my friend. I have noticed a change in you. A distance that cannot be explained. You haven’t offered and I haven’t asked. But, yet, it is there and cannot be ignored. Your leaving doesn’t hurt me; it only saddens me because it can’t be stopped. The painful part is I don’t want to stop it, either. Some things are meant to be.
I was asked outright about my once favorite band. Funny how I haven’t been approached before. Like the way Lucy let go of Natalie, I have let go of sirsy. It doesn’t mean I don’t crank ‘Ruby’ when I run. It doesn’t mean Mel’s voice and lyrics don’t rattle my heart. It just means that I have different priorities these days.
I said goodbye to my director and stepped into his shoes this week. Those shoes are going to fit, after all. I’m saying goodbye to my office this month. It will be painful because I spent all things womanly on that space. It will be hard to sit back and let the boys do all the work in my new office. But, but, but! One thing is for sure. I am saying goodbye to sitting in the backseat. Time to move on.

Behind Diary Door

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dscn0085.jpgHow does quicksand turn into a luxurious mudbath? When do the fires of hell turn into a day at the beach? When you let yourself go. Friday night I had dinner with a friend and I was able to share things normally kept under lock and key. I worried about revulsion & recoil, but it never came. I don’t know what made me do it. At the last possible minute I felt I needed to come clean, bare my soul and announce this soul’s dark horse. It was at that instance that I felt the weight of something else leave my shoulders…the burden of taking it all so personally. My job, my family, my marriage. It all seemed so, so, pressing. So heavy, like a fat lady sitting on my lungs, not letting me breathe.
At that instance I knew I wouldn’t feel betrayed by the changing of the guard. Instead I would welcome the chance to stand watch. It’s my turn. Instead of feeling powerless and unprotected I would build my own coat of armor and suit up for whatever came my way. I’ll send the Old King out in high style and I won’t begrudge him for leaving.

And so it is time to turn to my family and friends, to dedicate time long overdue. I need dinner with my dearest friend. I need a laugh that is loud and long. There is someone I miss tremendously but I have a feeling he is otherwise preoccupied. Maybe I’ll text him on a lonely night. Maybe he’ll answer. In the meantime, my thoughts are on Bethel and blueberries.  

ich liebe Dich

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I paced the confines of love this weekend. The brutal kind, the tender kind and everything in between. I was witness to the hurt of fragile, barely-there love and the powerful, we-will-battle-mountains kind. I don’t know which moved me more. One kind had the lovers circling like angry animals, captured and caged, tormented and furious. Hell bent on hurt. The other was like a gentle whisper, a barely-there sigh, the scent of roses on the wind. Arms around each other, protective and private. So different!
I witnessed a healing love this Saturday. I am grateful I was invited to share in their day. It taught me a lesson I had truly forgotten. Love conquers all pain. Love challenges the spirit to continue when all seems lost. Love dares happiness in the face of despair. When he announced “I be wed” instead of I thee wed we all smiled, but deep in my heart I knew what he meant. He is anxious to join two lives into one perfect union. To get over the brutal past. Soon they will leave the U.S. and settle in Austria. They will open the perfect B&B and raise a perfect boy. They will move past the tragedies of there and then because what is more important is here and now.

Here and now. Live your life as though you will not wake to see tomorrow. Live in the way that makes you truly happy. Don’t sell yourself to the tragedies of yesterday, nor to the fear of regretting tomorrow. See the good thing you have in front of it and love it like no other. Make sacrifices only for the good of your heart for life is too short for anything else.

And don’t settle for fettucini if there is no alfredo.

Today’s Lesson in Hats

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hatsI have been schooled on secret security tactics. I have the pictures to prove it. I have been confounded by  no-clue keys leaving me clueless. I have been bombarded with banded business cards. He has shaken his head and laughed at me, not wishing my predicament on anyone. Funny, because he put me here. What could been next? Where is the next lesson coming from? To say that I waited with anticipation would make me a liar pants on fire. I dreaded whatever would happen.
Today’s lesson: hats. He came to me with paintings of hats. No. Let me clarify – each crude, ugly, painting had a hat in it somewhere. An Indian wearing a turban, a Mexican wearing a sombero, a military man wearing a helmet…you get the point. Hats. Elephant wranglers and Turkish dancers…all wearing hats. He came to me with hats; said he wanted them hung up. Was he kidding? Afraid not. He leaves me not with wise words or great guidance, but with hats.

Eyes & Orbits

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Strange days, indeed. I found myself on the treadmill, running like the wind at 10pm. Later that night a storm rocked its way through my sleeping town, bringing its own high wind. Restless. Mother Nature and I are stormy restless, pacing our universes, begging for reprieve.
I love Google mail. It allows me to see the first line of someone’s message without opening the whole thing. Because of that preview, I opened someone’s mail this morning. There is calm after this storm. I am in the eye right now – where everything is still and silent for now. I have a minute to breathe and tell someone I love her dearly. I know she is worried about me. I have fragmented to the point where I’m worried about me, too. But, here’s what I want to tell my sweet friend: I will open up to you and you alone when I come to that place of acceptance. Right now I am railing against the rules of my life. The rules of my everything.
I am sorry hurt has you cornered, too. Orbits, indeed. I wish I could help you. Maybe in helping me I can help you? We will talk soon, I promise!
xoxoxoxo

This Should Be Me

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Well, turn the beast around and there you have kisa and me. Horse’s ass…that would be me. Beloved kisa and the jackazz. I’m angry to the point of breaking something besides my heart. I want to throw something, punch someone, hide somewhere dark and dirty. He brings things out to his car and laughs at his new I-Could-Care-Less-Attitude. I miss the heart that bled for this place. I miss the I Would Do Anything attitude. I stand back helpless and watch him pack. When he holds up a mug and asks “want this?” I want to puke. Did they beat him down that badly? Does he hate this life that much? Did I push him too hard?
I negotiated for a better life and I got it. Some may say my attempt was feeble, the response, lame. But. But, I have never wanted for more than what I need. Ever. Can I help it if I hate this stage of the game? Feeling like I crawled over a still-warm carcass to grasp the tarnished prize. Watching him walk away is getting harder everyday. I don’t even know his shoe size so how can I even think about standing in them, forget filling them.