Category: Good

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!

Middlesex

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MiddlesexEugenides, Jeffrey. Middlesex. New York: Picador, 2002.

First the cover. Before I even read a word it frightens me. Inky black (my cancer) smoke swirls from a cigarrette-bearing person lounging with a friend. That same smoke meets up with the smoke stack of an ocean-going vessel and encircles the skyline of a city. I instantly recoil from the seductive swirls and think, “I’m gonna hate this book.”

But I don’t. It’s long (529 pages), but I’ve enjoyed every page. I can see why it won a Pulitzer Prize. It’s the story of Calliope Stephanides and the two generations that brought her into this world. It’s Greece and Germany and Grosse Point. It’s the science of genetics meeting the mother of all family secrets. Calliope is also Cal, one and the same. Girl meets Boy. Girl is Boy. Boy is Girl. Sound confusing? It isn’t. It’s poetic and sad, funny and smart. Something you just have to read for yourself. Cal will tell you the story. His story. Her story. My favorite lines:

“…German wasn’t good for conversation because you had to wait to the end of the sentence for the verb, and so couldn’t interrupt” (p 7).
“Filling her head with music, she escaped her body” (p 115).
“The only thing that roused her was her daily lineup of soap operas. She watched the cheating husbands and scheming wives as faithfully as ever, but she didn’t reprimand them anymore, as if she’d given up correcting the errors of the world” (p 271).
“…her application to join her husband in heaven was still working its was through a vast, celestial bureaucracy” (p 286).

BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust. Pearl mentions this book several times. First, on page 97 in the chapter “Gender Bending” then on page 141 in the chapter “Lines That Linger, Sentences That Stick.” She is referring to Middlesex‘s opening line. It’s a doozy. Finally, on page 166 in “Men Channeling Women” Middlesex is listed one last time. As you can see Jeffrey Eugenides hit a homerun with this one.

ps~ The cover makes perfect sense to me now.

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.

Quit Yer Bitchin’

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new shoesSo I finally took someone’s advice from a few months ago. Went to Zappos and went shoe crazy. With fantasies of fun footwear I searched and selected. For days I played with the variables: height of heel, size, width, color, price and style. After awhile a 2″ inch heel looked the same as a 4″ inch heel and I couldn’t really tell the different between beige, taupe and tan. It was time to buy. If you are curious I selected Clarks Divine (pictured here), rsvp Sally, N.Y.L.A. Zahara and Charles by Charles David Justice. I sent all but the Divines back. Sally was just silly and the other two were the wrong size (go figure). The good thing is, I now know Clarks’s 5 is not N.Y.L.A.’s 5.

But, it’s not just about the shoes. This was the first time in my life I bought something with no intention of keeping it. I wasn’t about to spend $400 in shoes. I just wanted to do a little research, find the brands and sizes that appealled to me the most, and send them back with the knowledge that when I do want shoes like them, I know exactly what to get. I’ve never had the courage to return things. Remember the pedometer that counts steps if I got something out of my pocket? I should have returned it. Instead I buried it in a dresser drawer. I have it still.
Funny. I can complain about mayonnaise on my sandwich, a receipt in my salad, a piece of wire in my pulled pork, no creamers for my coffee, but I can’t kick up a fuss about anything else I buy. This experience with Zappos has taught me that it’s okay to look. It’s okay to buy. It’s even okay to return. Never mind that someone had to go through the trouble of packaging and shipping all those boxes. Never mind that they have to repackage my returns. That’s their job. The very fact that I can return shoes without hassle has made me a customer for life. In fact, I’ve quit bitching about shoes all together and ordered more.

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.

Charming Billy

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Charming BillyMcDermott, Alice. Charming Billy. New York: Delta Trade, 1998.

I wonder how many people clicked on this blog and thought it would be something a little different? There is more than enough I could say about charming anyone named Billy! Dare I laugh out loud?

Charming Billy is a National Book Award winner. A New York Times bestseller. A movie (again, one I’ve never seen). So it’s no wonder I could say I tore through this book, devoured it in three day’s time. Standing in line, waiting for a sandwich, I read. Stuck in traffice and stalled at super long red lights, I read. Riding shotgun while Kisa was the commuter King, I read. On hold during a tedius teleconference, I read. You get the point. Every chance I got, this book was raised in front of my face. I even walked on the treadmill, barefoot and still in a skirt, book held high in front of my bobbing eyes. That’s not to say it’s a quick read. It’s not a simple book. In all actuality the language is so beautiful it should be read slowly, a few times over. Take the opening chapter, for example. It’s an entire gossipy conversation about a dead man after his funeral. The mourners who have gathered for a restaurant luncheon begin to discuss the drink that killed our Charming Billy. The vitality and truth of that conversation put me at the table. I was there in the restaurant, listening in, passing the bread, leaning back to let the waiter fill my water glass.
It is at this luncheon that the narrator hears a debate about Billy’s heartbreak and the reason for the drink. Losing the love of his life causes Billy to “tilt that bottle in the air, tossing back more than [his] share.” Okay, I couldn’t resist quoting Natalie! The narrator is Billy’s cousin’s daughter. A clever choice for narrator because she is able to weave in her memories and recollections of stories passed around.

“If you loved him, then you told him at some point that he was killing himself and felt the way his indifference ripped through your affection” (p 4).
“…an alcoholic can always find a reason but never needs one” (p 35).
“I suppose there’ not much sense in trying to measure breadth and depth of your own parents’ romance, the course and tenacity of their love” (p 44). These are my favorite lines.

BookLust Twist: From Book Lust, the very first page. In the chapter, “A…My Name is Alice” Pearl lists all the “Alice” authors she adores. Alice McDermott is on the list.

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.

Dreams of Diego

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My cousin is getting married. We could say “finally” but that wouldn’t polite. It’s our next big trip and I can’t wait. Hello, southern Cali! I love the west side of where we are and now I’m wondering if we can’t sneak in some southwest while we’re at it. Arizona? New Mexico? Nevada? I’m not a big fan of BigCityBrightLights and all that, but Vegas could be fun…for the food. Doesn’t Emeril have something out that way? I want to buy something turquoise, just to say I was there. I want cowboy boots in black. I want to see the Painted Desert – the place where Natalie says “the stars are so many they seem to overlap.” I wonder if they would rival Monhegan’s celestial night, but we’ll see. Speaking of rivalries, I want to see the San Diego zoo. Could it go head to head with my beloved Bronx? I want to see the Diego library. Five years ago Library Journal pronounced it the best library in the country. It’s public, but I’m not prejudice [inside joke for all those paying attention to my earlier rants, haha 😉 ]
Okay, so I’m suppose to go for my cousin’s wedding but here’s what I’m looking for: great food, beautiful animals, a plethora of books and the big, wide ocean. Not necessarily in that order.

ps~ The above pic is actually Colorado, taken by kisa. The only “western” pic I have on flickr…

For You Only

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Dear You,

 Thanks for not pushing me. Thanks for not “checking up on me.” It’s true that I haven’t checked my email, opened my mail or answered the phone. This little blog has been my only real form of communication with the outside world. I’m in lockdown mode. I’ve rolled over and played dead because I am more own worst enemy right now. I am both the hawk and the squirrel right now.
Tomorrow I leave for New York City…the Bronx to be precise. I couldn’t be happier to get away from everything here. I feel the vomit of disgust rising and it’s best if I step back before I say something too vile. I want to explore every inch of the Bronx zoo. I want to be a kid again. I want to escape my world for just a little while.
To RT~ give your grouch the biggest hug in the world and tell him I love him…even if he likes a guy who sings like nails on a chalkboard and dances like a snake on crack. I am sorry for his loss.
To NM~ to say thank you for something I haven’t seen seems odd but bear with me. As they say, I am in transition.
To MI~ see you tomorrow. I’ll be the one wanting to pet the animals with a balloon tied to her wrist.
And to you, I know you mean well. I’m just not used to pushing; to be greedy when all I feel is gratitude. I’m not afraid, just don’t feel I need to be awarded.

love, me

Big Dog Bite Me

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big dogTalking at me. Everyone is talking at me. G says let’s negotiate. He has dollar signs for eyeballs and greed is in his back pocket. He thinks he can whore me out for a price. K says I’m outta here and good riddance. Middle finger raised on a gentleman’s fist. Head held proud with a fukc you behind the smile. A is offering advice as a friend yet I cannot hear what she says. My husband is offering strategy as a partner. Take ’em for all they’re worth. Don’t sell yourself short. Where have I heard that before? The head honcho is calling me dude. Am I in his back pocket? What should I do? I can’t even ask what would Jesus do without offending someone…mostly myself. The only religion that can help me now is the one called confidence. The big dog can no longer bite because that dog is me. Bigger than what I planned on, bigger than who I am right now. Big man on campus. This is what you wanted. They say its a marriage. New wife…new life, right? How many things can I go about changing in my big corner office?
He says I’m tough on people. That I expect too much and I’m pushing buttons. Better than pushing you. Did I push you? Did we throw cups of hot, scalding coffee at each other to see who ducks faster? Did we?  If we did, did I win? I didn’t feel the sting of boiling brew so I must have. Big dog me. This isn’t how I wanted it to be. Everyone talking at me.