Category: Life

Disconnected

gr4c58 Comments

rebecI have been meaning to blog this. I have needed to blog this. I miss you and you and you and you and you and you. To Germany: I have been trying and trying to get a Sunday – something worthwhile and lengthy. So much to catch on from so far away. Thanks for the video email. I can’t stop watching it. You know me and a good cause. It brings tears to my eyes everytime. To Ms Delusion Dr: got your holiday email tonight and I have to say I loved the sax but missed you more. Hope all is well, my friend. To Ruby: we keep trying for a meal. We keep trying for a royal bitch session (I think that’ll be my part) and nothing has worked out. You are graceful and reassuring. This is my sanity saying thank you for listening, even if it isn’t the way I want to be communicating. I love you. To Gnasher: Maybe you think I have been avoiding you. Silence on my end means nothing more than a bad day multiplied by seven to make a whole week of hell. Make that two. I miss you. Dear, dear Smiley: I need a laugh. I need something funny to keep me one step ahead of my black cloud. Cookies don’t cut it. Really. Belise: I’m intimidated by the running force you have become, yet..and yet…You might be proud of me. I’ve put in 27 miles last month and 15.6 miles so far this month. You inspire me. I’m still scared of the hurt I could inflict on myself- the shadow of pain is always there like a dark shadow I can’t escape…but I’m trying. Really trying.

And for Rebecca:

You know me and live music. You know me and this voice. You know me and this friend. Just have to promote everything about her. Rebecca Correia will be at the Iron Horse on 12/21 (Sunday) @ 7pm. She’s opening for Brian O’Connor. Have to admit, I’ve never heard of Brian, but I’m game.

Speaking of games, Kisa is going to a football game that night – a mercy outing with a friend who couldn’t get rid of his extra ticket. Probably will be the last game of the year so how could I say no? I’m no Kill Joy wife. No matter what.

Rebecca, I have missed your songs and your weird sense of humor. Can’t wait to see you!

Destination Procrastination

gr4c51 Comment

What is it about this time of year that makes me move slower than molasses, feel heavier than heartache? Something is weighing me down and I haven’t found the fortitude to figure it out. What comes across as apathy is closer to personal panic. I had missed dinner with a friend by minutes and exhaustion still hasn’t allowed me to catch up with anything since.
We went to this company dinner last night, kisa and I – one of those coat and tie, heels and finery things. A nod to the powers that be, a thanks for the employment kind of thing. Before going we fussed over what to wear. Boot won out over heels. Black won out over red. We ate, chatted, and left. Just like that. It took longer to pick out clothes than it did to attend. I felt fat. I had nothing to say, nothing charming to hold anyones attention with. I’m not reading Twilight. I’m not a Harry Potter groupie and I don’t have kids to tuck in at night. Nothing to bitch about unless you count houses. It’s too bad they don’t seat people by interest. I felt like I could have started with the soup, slipped out during the salad, missed the main course, and upon rejoining everyone during dessert, not missed a thing; nor been missed myself. Like the movie kisa was watching. I left during the gangster bloody beating, talked to my mother for nearly two hours, and when I returned the movie was still in progress only this time the gangster was getting arrested. Like I couldn’t have predicted that. I didn’t miss a thing.
Somehow, somewhere along the way I pressed pause. I feel as though I am suspended from my life. Hanging inches above what I want to be doing; where I want to be. I’m sure it’s a mild melancholy of some sort. Kinda sorta maybe?

Snarling Day

gr4c56 Comments

I should have been listening to Sean Rowe’s Wrong Side of the Bed because that was me yesterday. I think I said it more than thrice, this thing is bigger than a bed – I got up on the wrong side of life yesterday. Where, on this map of negative, do I start? If I had written this in the midst of my mindless rage I would have ranted incoherently. I barely remember the phone conversation I had with one of my oldest friends. I felt out of control, swerving off sanity and veering into trouble, dangerously close to a nervous breakdown lane. Choking back tears I couldn’t find clarity. A real crack up.

Work has never had me as frustrated as now. People breaking down, barely held together with kind words and calls to 911. Complaints about the heat are followed by silence when something was finally done. When the head of maintenance asked for feedback it was all I could do but shrug. No news is good news, I guess. I won’t share the new complaints. Why bring his day down to my level?

There’s more. My car. My future. My family. It seems to be all about me, myself and moi these days. I think when you sink this low it’s hard to see anything but what hurts.

Waking an Old Dream

gr4c54 Comments

Last August I wrote a lot about a little house. From the moment we drove away from its driveway I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I saw it as overly perfect and my husband saw it as overpriced. To anyone who would listen I would say, “let me tell you about this house.” And I would launch right in. For starters, there is the neighborhood. It’s not a thrustreet to anything important so no one is racing to nowhere special. There’s a park behind the house, another across the way. People walk here. You can park on the street. It’s that kind of place. Then, there is the yard. Front and back. Big enough for a patio. Future enough for a deck. One big tree to stand guard over a hazy childhood memory…From there I temporarily slip into warm fuzzy thoughts about all the trees I have climbed, the apples I have eaten…
But, back to the house. Let me tell you about this house! I like the shutters. I like the garage. I like the idea of “cute cape cod” but, but! But, it’s whats inside that really grabbed me. Like a closet for coats and boots right inside the door. Not a mudroom, per se…but a place to stand as the snow drips off your shoulders and puddles into grittiness at your feet. A place to not only shrug off your jacket but hang it up. The arched doorway lends itself to character and leads to a lovely living room, complete with fireplace and mantle. Off that, an addition built just for family and appropriately called the family room. Go figure. Circle back and walk through the dining room. Yes, a real, honest-to-goodness dining room. An adult room to with room enough to sit at a real table to eat. Not a tv tray or bar stool in sight. then, the kitchen. Ah, the kitchen!  Blue counters, white cabinets. My dishes are already moved in. In a word, they match the decor. They go. They belong. There’s a cook’s bath off the kitchen, a view of the back yard while ignoring the dishwasher and washing the dishes by hand, even a shelf for diaries cookbooks… From there I can’t help but remember the dozens and dozens of cookies I just made. The smell of cookie dough and chocolate permeating every room.
But, back to the house. Let me tell you about The House! Climb the stairs to the second floor and notice the closets in the hall. The two bedrooms with built-ins and more closets. The sunny, tiled bath…upstairs is small but perfect. Plush carpet and quiet invite you to stay a little longer. My imagination has me staying forever.

This is the house I would have told you about last summer. The house that sold in the fall to someone else; to someone other than me. The one that brought tears to my eyes. The one I pictured being my first house. Home. now belonging to someone else. It has taken me forever to move on. I’ve liked disasters and I’ve liked dangerous dreams. But, I’ve never forgotten my August house.

Here’s the curious thing. We found this house. Same town. Same street. Nearly identical in architecture only backwards. Garage on the right instead of left. Family room far left instead of far right. Am I dreaming? This last Sunday, kisa and I revisted the house we already thought we knew. It’s the same house.

Tonight, we put in an offer…

and I hold my breath.

Cranberry Crazy

gr4c54 Comments

feastMy in-laws didn’t want me to bring anything to the Thanksgiving dinner. They are gourmet all the way so I wasn’t really all that surprised. “We’re all set. Just bring yourself” they told me. But, that didn’t mean I didn’t offer – Stuffing? Done. Green bean casserole? P has her recipe. Sweet potatoes? Covered. Dessert? Five pies and counting. Mashed potatoes? Check. Finally, finally it was decided I could bring the cranberry sauce. Cranberry sauce! Instantly I thought: citrus, spicy and adult. One of each. Something raw (relish), something cooked (sauce). And…if they all sucked, I could always grab a few cans on the way out of town (hey, I used to eat that stuff straight from the can – STILL love it).

So, the citrus relish was in honor of my husband’s niece. Pineapple, tangerines, lemons, lime, maple syrup, and honey. If I had thought about it I would have added raisins and nuts since this was an uncooked, crunchy relish. Something for next year, maybe?

The spicy sauce was intended just to be a sauce for kisa and I – something a little kicked up. Cranberries, chipotles, Mexican cinnamon, sugar, ancho chili powder, and red wine vinegar. Simmered for a long time on really, really low heat. If I had thought about it I would have added shallots and garlic since this was a savory sauce. Something for next year, maybe?

The adult sauce was intended to be a port – a traditional cranberry sauce that everyone makes. I decided at the last minute to make a tribute to September 18, 2004 with some Tuaca – a vanilla orange liquor. Those of you who attended the festivities on that day will know exactly what I’m talking about! *wink*wink* So, it was a mixture of mustard, cinnamon, cardamon, cranberries and Tuaca. If I had thought about it I would have soaked dried fruit in more Tuaca for a really adult kick. Something for next year, maybe.
But, here’s the thing – they loved the sauces, all of them. Even the spicy sauce disappeared. Who knew?

So, I have officially been put in charge of cranberry sauce from here on out and my husband won’t stop calling me the Queen of the Bog. I’m already thinking of next year – sweet with strawberries? Spicy with jalapenos and tomatoes? Adult with sangria? Any ideas are greatly appreciated!

December is…

gr4c54 Comments

img_00281December is one of the longest months in my opinion. But, it is also one of the most festive, thanks in part to the 25th & 31st. December is also the return of the Hot Chocolate Run, the return of the awesomely awesome Rebecca Correia (to the Iron Horse) and for reading books it is:

  • Anatomy of Murder  by Robert Traver in honor of John Jay becoming the first Chief Justice in this month (I’ll explain at review time).
  • Quiet American by Graham Greene in honor of Ward Just’s birthday (I’ll explain that in a second).
  • Dangerous Friend by Ward Just in honor of Ward Just’s birthday. I had always been told to read Quiet American with Dangerous Friend so that’s what I’m doing.
  • Family Affair  by Rex Stout in honor of his birthday.

And if there is time…

  • I’m a Stranger Here Myself  by Bill Bryson in honor of his birthday.

So, I’m celebrating author birthdays more than real life birthdays. What’s up with that? Not really sure I know myself….

Saving Gracias

gr4c5Leave a comment

"the 101"

Dear You,
Thanks for the phone call. Eerie to think, but I was just thinking I needed the “phone a friend” option and there you were. I am scared of this. It almost seems to big to bear; a skeleton in every (large) closet, an issue around every joist. To make matters worse, it’s all in my head.

Thanks for the stories. That “been there, done that” reassurance goes a long way – Especially on this road I am traveling. Speaking of traveling, I hope you got there safe. But, back to me – it’s all about me, you know. This eventoops, I mean PROCESS is such a roller coaster. I’m not a lawyer but I’m beginning to see the power of negotiating. Can I negotiate a whole new house (kidding!)?

So begins a new day of the waiting game. When I get the scoop, you’ll be the first to know. Have the cell phone handy because I’ll probably give you an earful.

Love ya!

Me, myself & moi

Saute Scared Silent

gr4c53 Comments
Obsession
Obsession

Forgive me for having a singular thought these last few days. When something becomes bigger than me it’s more like an obsession it’s really hard for me to walk away, especially emotionally. I’ll move onto to something else shortly, I guarantee it. There’s no way around it. I’ll drive my husband crazy if I don’t.

But right now, right here, this is what scares me. We are hours away from the inspection (yes, it was supposed to happen Saturday – everything is delayed and that just adds to the one-tract-mindness of me). Here’s the thing: I already know this kitchen won’t work for me. Not 100% at least. I can feel it. I promised Kisa I would compromise. I said I would try. But, but! But, I have no room for my beloved bar stools or book shelves. Where do my cookbooksdiaries go? Will my Emeril-ware really have to go in a hall closet? Say it aint so! It seems insulting to shove skillets and saute pans in a space built for scarves and overcoats. I’m spoiled by a beverage pantry, three different spice racks, space for a tortilla maker and beverage frother (don’t ask). Where, exactly, will that stuff go? Over 1,900 square feet of space and suddenly I’m stressing about storage. Shouldn’t I be concerned about the roof? The boiler? The foundation? Something bigger than a breadbox and cutting board? I’m thinking of selling unused cookbooks and never touched utensils.

But, despite the questions about the chimney and everything else, it’s the kitchen I keep coming back to. What if I can’t cook in this space? What if me, myself and all my stuff won’t fit in this space? I’ll admit it. I’m scared of this space.

Because I’m Insane

gr4c54 Comments

I’ll make this quick: I have been absolutely positively missing my voice Mr. Sean Rowe, so so so I am planning on a road trip with kisa.
Saturday after Thanksgiving 11/29 – Show starts at 8pm.
Bread and Jam Cafe in Cohoes, NY

I’m leaving the info about Miss Rebecca Correia’s show here, too:
When: 12-21-09 (7pm)
Where: Iron Horse, opening for Brian O’Connor
Tix: $18 (in advance)

Cross Your Roads

gr4c51 Comment
Staring Down the House
Staring Down the House

Cross your roads and hope to fly. That was the message on my phone this morning. How did he know? I only told two girlfriends and a sister the news. I’m at crossroads yet again and it’s all I can do to hope for flight. Really.

My life is changing again. I think if I go back a few months, maybe a year ago, I said I didn’t want the same ole, same ole if I could help it. Well, fate has handed me another PassGo card and I’m changing again.

That’s all I can say for now.

Taking the Trouble

gr4c53 Comments

Reconstruct

I learned a valuable lesson today. You have to take the trouble to be the trouble. Originally, I wanted to think I had all the answers. I came armed with what I considered reasonable solutions, reasonable requests. Instead I was met with words like “not strict enough” and “doormat” and “fantasy land.” It was hard to believe I was being described in this way, especially after the month I’ve had (or thought I’d been having).

I’m not fierce enough. This isn’t a popularity contest. No one should like their boss. Not one that should be respected anyway. I let people make the same mistakes a billion and one times, and if I include today, a billion and two. How do I say You Can’t Communicate in any other way? “There has to be a penalty for the mistakes” I was told. Okay.
I’m not diligent enough. I don’t watch the clock and add up the minutes. I don’t pay close enough attention to the comings and goings, the called out, come in lates. You can be late a dozen times on my lax watch. “There has to be a penalty for tardiness” I was told. Okay. Okay.
I don’t hold my cards “close enough to the vest” as they- no, as she said. I need to learn phrases like “when it concerns you I’ll let you know.” I need to recognize situations; situations that cost money like when people waste time wondering about something that has nothing to do with the responsibility. I need to re-prioritize people. Reorganize people. Re-everything. Okay, okay, okay!

So, I took a crash course in management. I took criticism on the chin. It made me stronger. It made me think clearer. It made going back to the office to work on the dreaded schedule a whole lot easier. I didn’t try to juggle the birthdays as closely; didn’t try to dodge the anniversaries; didn’t cave in whimsical requests. Like it or lump it I changed things up for the better. Finally. Finally, I’m taking the trouble to be the trouble. I like a challenge. I like confrontation and I like change. So, I changed me. When I handed the whole schedule – all 12 months of it- off to a trusted coworker I felt justified in my reasonings. It was a relief to let it go.

then I went home.

Unassuming Assumption

gr4c54 Comments

This house was unassuming. It gave us the assumption we could take care of it. This house was deceiving and wily. It sat there cunning and let us come in. It let us take in its three season porch, green house, sweet bathrooms, master suite and understated kitchen. We walked around thinking average. We walked around thinking simple. We assumed it was an easy to maintain, easygoing house. Until we got home. 2,000 square feet. Great if we want to lose the cat. Great if we want to never see our guests. Was it reallllly that big, we had to ask ourselves. The house on Watson seemed so so much bigger. Was it Watson’s walk-in closets (eight!) or the dining room so big you could go bowling in it? What made “our” house seem so small in comparison (but in actuality be almost 75 sq feet larger)? As first time home buyers, shouldn’t we be more baby in our steps? I wasn’t sure. The price seemed right and the location, fair. But, to be fair it’s really hard to see “pretty” in the pouring rain. Especially in the heart of November.

So, here we are. We told our realtor we want a second showing. Something to prove it really is that big. While we are there I’ll try to lose my husband in one of the bathrooms – because if I can do that, it’s too big.

Christmas Comes Early

gr4c59 Comments

rcbwq0
I got an email yesterday that made me smile. It wasn’t the email from my realtor preparing me for a showing of 11 houses today. It wasn’t the sweet comments from my friends. It wasn’t the approval to bring in volunteers (read: replacements) at work. It wasn’t my insurance agent’s new claim request. It was the announcement that my friend Rebecca will be bringing her amazing voice back to Northampton next month! She had even more good news – she doesn’t need to sell tickets in advance!

Here’s what I know: Iron Horse 12/21. More details to come.

Now I’m off to see (gulp) 11 houses.

Slip Sliding Away

gr4c55 Comments

img_1484I have always had a touch of social somethingness. Call it anxiety, call it timidness, call it what you will, but I’ve always had it. Lately, it’s gotten worse in a weird way. I’m starting to avoid other things besides odd people. Case in point: I didn’t miss my nephew’s birthday. I was aware of his two-ness all Sunday long yet never got around to sending him anything. I didn’t forget. I just didn’t do. Same with a grandmother. It’s remembering without reaction. Three anniversaries went by and while I thought of the lovebirds, every one of them, I didn’t acknowledge them. What is wrong with me? Those well meaning phrases, “I meant to…” “I wanted to…” don’t mean a thing. And I’ve never liked “It’s the thought that counts” because it’s a copout and besides, no one’s reading my mind as of late. I can assure you that.

Maybe it’s the househunt and the inexplicable want to live just shy of gangland. Maybe it’s the fact I *just* got my car back (today!) and it still needs more work. Maybe it’s the job and the disappointment that I don’t have the most enthusiastic team. Maybe it’s the family and the guilt of not making the trek to see them for the holidays. I can’t even pat myself on the back for running 5.25 miles today.

I feel as though I am slip sliding away from my heart. Some will read this and call me over reactive. Prima-donna dramatic. I think it’s just the opposite. I don’t have the energy to care. My enthusiasm has flat lined.It’s as if I am dead to me.