Protecting My Good

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“- – – – – – Says:eeyore
January 23rd, 2007 at 11:37 pm e
blank stares means I have confused and angered…and that makes me giddy”

I can’t decide how this statement makes me feel. Angry? Not necessarily. No. Sad, yes probably. Not good, though. I definitely don’t feel happy about this statement. For the past two weeks I have been dealing with people who felt they were dealt a raw deal. Up until last night I was looking forward to running away and not dealing with what was dealt. I’ve changed my mind about that.
Maybe it’s the yoga. No. I know it’s the yoga because something amazing has come over me. I think it’s called Calm. I am Quitting the Caring. I have determined I don’t need statements like this one in my life. Ordinarily, I would have done some calling out, and argued it out, and out and out and out. Rehashing the ugly. Not so this time. I’m simply saying I don’t agree with it. End of story.

I left someone because I thought he was too negative for my already black-clouded space (that, and the sad fact that he couldn’t keep it in his pants). But, really. Standing just this side of suicidal I needed sunshine, not cynicism and cheating sex. He couldn’t shake his own Eeyore attitude (or Her for that matter). He couldn’t deliver anything but derogatory remarks about the world around him, so I dearly departed him. Years later I still think of him in his Florida funk and wonder if making people confused and angry would make him giddy. Probably. Evoking a negative emotion in someone to create self~happiness really doesn’t make sense to me. But, it would to him, I’m sure. Here’s the thing: I don’t want or need an explanation. I’m okay with knowing I don’t want this negativity in my life. I want to surround myself with people who love their lives, are happy with who they are. I want to be around people who won’t Box me in or Eeyore me out. Those are the someones who will protect my good. Help me protect my good. Say something good, please. It will mean the world to me in these nagging, negative times.

American Diabetes Association

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diabetes

They are the eighth charity to contact me this year. The American Diabetes Association sent me a nickel. At first I thought it was fake because it was one of those head’s on sideways “new” nickels. I’m not sure what to do with it. ADA never really explain why they sent the nickel, but they are careful to tell me they do want it back…if I can’t afford to make a bigger donation. The American Diabetes Association is a lot like other charities – certain monies go for research, education & support. Their goal is to reach every American who is possibly affected by the disease.

I’ll donate because I know diabetes. Not personally, but we have acquaintances. We’ve met through others, unfortunately. I’ve watched the ravages of this disease – obesity, blindness, kidney failure, to name a few.

I sat with her through dialysis. She lay lost in layers of blankets, propped in a royal blue recliner like Henry on a Football Sunday. She complained of being cold, blue veins puffy under the surface of her bony hands.  A nurse guided shaky fingers to the nest of wires in her lap, “hold these. They’ll be warm.” Of course they would, 98.6 F warmer to be exact. Her own blood through the wires; warmer than the air, warming her hands.

I don’t know how many treatments she went through before she died.  Years later I went to see her husband in the exact same hospital. Walking by the room with that royal blue recliner I could help but wonder if she wasn’t warmer now. I hope so.

Susan G. Komen

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The Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation (Dallas, TX) has the coolest helpline phone number; one that I have never forgotten. “1-800 I’m Aware” Aware. Yes, I am.RibbonRed Sox

The letter arrived in Monday’s mail. I wasn’t solicited for a donation. I wasn’t asked to hang a plastic HowTo in my shower. I wasn’t even thanked for my donation for 2006 even though I give every year. Instead, the Susan G. Komen Foundation sparked my imagination. They sent me an info sheet on The Foundation’s signature event, the Komen Race for the Cure Series. Imagination led to inspiration and I went to their website; started scoping out a few doables, looking for lovely locations. Really, I think this is what I’ve needed. I’ve been hungry for another Something Good. Something More. If I play my cards right (and legs, haha)…

 This might, just might be it.

Balance Better Than Juggle

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I have been in the practice of balance lately. I could say I’m juggling work, yoga, running, and home life, but the word ‘juggle’ implies trouble. I prefer balance.

  • Work has me frustrated because while the winds of change blow I’m the only one buckling down to face the inclement weather. Everyone else is bellyaching about bad reviews. Blahblahblah.
  • Yoga has been all about balance, figuratively & literally. My knee is bothering me so I’m shaky on some of the standing balancing poses. I’m trying to reach with my eyes closed. I want to feel my center rather than force it into being. The other balancing act is making sure yoga is In The Day, everyday. I have been practicing for 24 days straight and some days it’s harder than others to fit it in. Harder than I would like. Truthfully, two of my sessions this week have been 5 minutes at a time. It feels like cheating. I’m looking forward to Thursday because hopefully an hour session will balance out the shorter ones.
  • Running. Last night we went back to the Gerbil Cage. For some reason I wasn’t in the mood to push for speed. Maybe it was the knee. It could be the knee. I’m sure it’s the knee because it’s a new knee pain. At any rate, I tried for balance. After the warm up I ran an 11 minute mile & I tried closing my eyes every so often. It sounds corny to say it now, but I wanted to be one with the treadmill. I wanted to bind myself to the plastic, rubber and metal. To really own it. I once saw trainers run backwards on a treadmill and I want that kind of ownership. I want that comfort level. Closing my eyes helped me feel what I was running on rather than where I was not going. Bottom line: 2.9 in 35 minutes.
  • Home Life. I think BubbleGum has a song about HomeLife. In a live version he says, “hold up – hold up. I’m about to tell the truth here…” and it sets me smiling. My truth. I have been a cooking fiend lately and I’ve had consultation work – two weeks worth- out of the blue. I’m loving every minute of the home life; it’s got me busy, but something’s missing. My friends. I want to sit with RG and just talk, maybe try that pigeon pose while we’re at it. I want to compare burnt tongues with A. I want to giggle over ‘Sex & the City’ with SB. I want to compare running stories with RC. I want SB2 to sniff my wrist and tell me the scent is too sweet for someone as bitter as I can be. I want to come face to face with P and know that she is as sweet in person as she is in print. I want to hang out with M and watch G entertain with talent. I want RC2 to tell me again how innocent she is not. I haven’t been to the movies. I’m tied up in books. I want a haircut. I don’t need a raincoat. I need balance.

Collected Fictions

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Borges, Jorge Luis. Collected Fictions. Trans. by Andrew Hurley. New York: Penguin, 1998.Borges

I think anytime I read too many short stories in a row I tend to want each story to connect to the last. Like a string of pearls, cars of a train. It’s the wrong way to read them, I admit it. The cure for what ails me is to read slowly, digesting each story as if it were a single meal, designed to be eaten without accompaniment. As with any piece of written work, I am struck by phrases. Here is one of my favorites, “…said goodbye to myself in the mirror…” (p. 121). This stuck me not because it is am overly thought provoking statement(it is not), but rather because of it’s comment on society. We stop to stare at our image in the mirror (however critically), but how often do we say anything? I know me, myself & I. We just stare.

Other favorite parts include a short, short paragraph on toenails on p.296 (I thought of my husband for silly reasons) and a story called, ‘Captive’. ‘Captive’ is the story of a young boy who disappeared from home. After many years he is found and returned to his family. While happy to be home he “could not live a life that was hemmed about by walls and one day he went off in search of his wilderness” (p. 300). This all takes place in a handful of lines. Recently I read an article about a Cambodian woman found after 19 years in the wilds. She is having a hard time adjusting to society. Is it any wonder? I love it when fiction comes before reality.

All in all, I enjoyed Borges’s collection. The fact that he is a premier Latin American writer sweetened the deal because I was treated to cultures, ways of thinking, societies beyond these 50 states. In addition, Borges creates stories around Shakespeare, the Odyssey, and Quixote. A real pleasure to digest.

Booklust Twist: Mentioned in Book Lust in a list of Latin American authors (p.145)

Trouble Me

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big mouthToday I had an appointment with troublesome, tattletaler T. We had an appointment to talk about a class he wanted me to teach. Serious stuff. Right on time he sauntered over to my desk and started in:
“How’s the four-eyed, ferret-faced, fat fukc you call friend?”
I was shocked but…when an innocent smile flashed across his face, instantly I knew he was out for blood. I barely know him, but he’s on my side. Truthfully, there are no sides. I could care less, however, where I stand is duly noted. He doesn’t forget. Neither do I. Neither will I.
“Fun-ny,” I replied “Great use of alliteration, by the way. You should teach English instead of Science. Now, about that class you want me to teach…” 
He laughed, “not giving in to the battle, huh?” 
Battle. I thought I should invite him to the next show. For a viscious second I wanted him to point out the FEFFFFF so there wouldn’t be any doubts. But, as soon as the invitation was on the tip of my tongue and practically on my lips I swallowed it.
Not only do I already have a Knight in shining armor, I’m learning to pick my battles and I really don’t need to trouble me.

That’s the thing about saying things. You may mean them at the time. You may not. You may want to say them only to impress someone else. You never know who is lurking, reading between the lines, eavesdropping on you, or you, or you. Yesterday, I was surprised by an author who read my “review” and decided to comment back. I’m honored, flattered, stunned. But, here’s the thing. Being called out made me reread my own words to make sure I wasn’t being a FEFFFFF.

Breathing Trouble

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BuschBusch, Frederick. Breathing Trouble, and other stories. London: Calder and Boyars. 1973.

I know Frederick Busch is on Nancy Pearl’s list of “Too Good To Miss” authors (Book Lust p.49). I try not to let that influence me as I try to read through his short stories. I have to stop myself from thinking, “you really should enjoy this stuff more than you do.” I can’t help it. Stories seem connected, some more than others. I slip in and out of making connections, imaginary and real. Then there are lines like this, “I would say stop chewing my throat” (p. 97) and I’m not sure what to make of it. The stories are definitely abstract in a Sort It Out Yourself kind of way. I think of each story more like poetry. What exactly is the author trying to say in this heavily veiled sentence? Stop chewing my throat. Stop choking what I want to say? Hmmm…I’m not sure.

Speaking of chewing, I guess I would say some stories go down easier than others.

BookLust Twist: From Book Lust in the chapter called, “Frederick Busch: Too Good To Miss” (p 49).

At War as Children (w/ spoiler)

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Reed, Kit. At War as Children; a novel. New York: Farrar, Straus & Co., 1964.kit reed

This is supposed to be a book for children. I’ve never read it, and it’s on the Book Lust list, so here I am.
Religion plays a big part in Reed’s novel, At War as Children. Told in the first person, Denny (Denise) tells the story of her only-child childhood. Her father is killed in World War II and as a teenager she is sent to a Catholic boarding school. I would have called this At War with Religion as Children because Denny struggles with religion throughout her entire formative years. As a child, she worries about going to hell for stealing a piece of candy. As a teenager her biggest fear is becoming a nun. Humorously, she prays to God she doesn’t become one, (yet in the end…she does). At one point she even baptises a childhood friend thinking he is dead. Overall, I can’t relate to the religious fears and constraints that Denny has throughout her life, but her general narrative is one of honesty and reality. When she says, “I make friends slowly, and I value them because I make them hard” (p.21), I know exactly what she is talking about. I operate the same way. My very best friends are the ones who have stuck by me for 20+ years. Another favorite line, “fall is the time of year when you want most to fly” (p. 191). I got married in September for that very reason.
At War as Children; a novel was a pleasure to read. In between reading The Blue and the Gray and Breathing Problems this was a breath of fresh air.

Book Lust Twist: From Book Lust, in chapter “My Own Private Dui”, Pearl says adults can feel “disappointed, betrayed, and embarrassed” by rereading certain books written for children (Book Lust p. 165). She goes on to describe At War as Children as a book that is better remembered than reread.

Look Revisited

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Look

I ran again yesterday. Outside. Don’t ask me how cold it was because I’m really not sure. I do know that the wind brought tears to my eyes and spit froze at the corners of my mouth. At first I thought I was stupid for wearing just a sirsy sweatshirt and UnderArmor for heat but it worked out. My head should have held a hat, though. Sad, because I have one just for this sort of outdoor thing. I don’t know what made me do it, but when I stepped out the door I decided to revisit Look. I have a prejudice against the place just because I can remember the very instance I felt my knee twinge in that park. I can see the exact piece of parking lot where I felt the pain. Unbeknown to me, Look has become my nemesis. My theater of pain. To ward off the jinx I ran in the opposite loop I’m used to. It felt like cheating because duck pond hill was on the down this way. I told myself it was too cold to fool around with remorse.

Why is it that I used to be uncomfortable with the first ten of running; now it’s 20 minutes of I-want-To-Quit? I think I had to go two miles before I found happiness in my stride. “One. One, Two, Seven, Four.” The off-count made me giggle and that made things a little easier. BubbleGum to ease the pressure. ‘Vultures’ pushed me faster and the homeward stretch was easier. By the time I got home I had snot running down my beet-red face, but at least I made it out. And back. Thanks, JCM.

Bottom line: 3.6 in 35 minutes.

Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking

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Hazan, Marcella. Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking. New York: Knopf, 1992.Essentials

I’ll admit it, I’ve never been big on expensive, take my whole paycheck cooking. While I love the authoritativeness of Hazan’s cookbook, I’m not turned on by the all-or-nothing dramatics. Take balsamic vinegar – it’s the champagne of Modena. Hazan says it’s “never inexpensive” and only sold in “perfume bottle” sized containers (p. 11). The attitude is absolutely nothing else will do. Modena or bust. Maybe so. I realize that champagne that comes from anywhere other than Champagne, France is a sparkling wine, but we still toast with the fraud and call it champagne. Same with balsamic vinegar. What we have in our pantry may not be the authentic born and raised Modena babe, but we still use it and we call it balsamic. It will do.
Aside from thinking I don’t have the right balsamic in my pantry, I loved reading through Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking. I enjoyed learning the classic names of techniques (battuto, soffritto & insaporire); I appreciated the education on pasta (it makes me want to make my own from scratch); I liked the conversational tone Hazan used throughout the entire book. The illustrations are beautiful and informative. My all-time favorite chapter is called, “At Table: the Italian Art of Eating” (p 649). It includes menus for elegant, classic, holiday, and rustic meals – just to name a few.

Book Lust Twist: From More Book Lust, Pearl says, “A whole category could be devoted to good books on Italian cooking, but the one you must read (and drool over, while thinking ahead to great meals) is Marcella Hazan’s Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking” (Book Lust, p.49). I think I’ll agree more when I get a bigger paycheck!

Top Not Chef, Definitely Loser

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I would like to think I’m not one to brag about my cooking. You shouldn’t catch me saying something about making the best anything. If I have, I probably couldn’t stop eating whatever it was and maybe, probably, I was riding high on the ego of me, myself and I.
What I am is having fun. My Knight presented me with The Biggest Loser Cookbook (Alexander, Devin. Rodale, 2006) for Christmas and I can’t stop cooking from it. Since December I have made,
For breakfast:

  • Boston-Cream-Peanut-Butter Breakfast Banana Split (best breakfast so far)
  • Warm Pumpkin Pie Cream of Wheat (a little on the weird side)
  • Better Blueberry Pancakes (with Maine blueberries!)
  • Energizing Bacon & Egg Breakfast Burrito (I’ve made this a thousand times before the cookbook)

For Snacks:Cookbook

  • Thin & Crispy BBQ Chicken Pizza Snack Wedges
  • Gourmet Roast Beef Rollups
  • Erik’s Veggie Tuna Snack Wraps

For Lunch:

  • Almost Fast Food Burger
  • Creole Turkey Burger
  • Sexy Joes (as opposed to “sloppy”)
  • Chicken Cheese-Steak Wrap
  • BBQ Pork Sandwiches
  • Pork & Black Bean Verde Stew (kicked up)
  • Thai Ground-Chicken Salad

For Sides:

  • Dana’s Spinach & Feta Brown Rice
  • Melinda’s Holiday Spinach
  • Strength Builder’s Stuffed Mushrooms (really, really good)
  • Thai Ground-Chicken Salad (made with ground turkey -still excellent)

For Dinner:

  • Spicy Meatballs with Fiery Chili Sauce (not diablo enough for me)
  • New-Fashioned Meat Loaf (I’m a BBQ freak so I’d rather use that than ketchup but we stayed true to the recipe)
  • Rosemary Grilled London Broil
  • Sweet & Spicy Pork Tenderloin
  • Competitor’s Chicken Curry
  • New Orleans Rubbed Chicken with Apricot-Mustard Sauce (loved, loved, loved this!)
  • Lori’s Lean Lemon Chicken (excellent)
  • Southwestern Chicken Pileup
  • Heather’s Mexican Rollup
  • Muscling Up Meatballs (with includes a recipe for pasta and one for sauce)

For Dessert:

  • White Chocolate Strawberry Pie-lets
  • Lisa’s Frozen Gramwiches
  • Peanut Butter Oatmeal Cookies

Here’s the thing. Every recipe is fantastic. I have enjoyed making every single one. My biggest loser complaint? The so-called spicy meals don’t have enough heat. Okay, okay. Not everyone pours the Tabasco on almost everything they eat. Not everyone wants the chipotles in adobo sauce swimming in their stew…but I do. I like it hot, hot, hot.

This morning I made the blueberry pancakes (again). This time I warmed the maple syrup with allspice and cinnamon. I wanted to kick it with cayenne but…

Box of Stars

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Tennant, Catherine. The Box of Stars. Boston: Little, Brown & Co., 1993.stars

When I first saw Box of Stars I thought to myself, “unique” because it is. A box with a book, plates and supposedly, maps of the hemispheres (I was missing mine). I love the plates. Each plate gives an beautiful illustration of a constellation pierced with holes to mark the stars. Hold the plate up and the holes glitter like the stars you are supposed to see in the sky. The book describes the myths and legends surrounding each constellation. Definitely a fun read.
I wish I had gotten this in the summer rather than chilly winter. Every plate makes me want to grab a blanket, find a wide open field to lie in and search the heavens for Pisces or Delphinus. There is magic in the night sky, especially off the coast of Maine. I can remember searching for satellites in a sky so laden with stars it made my head spin. “The stars were so many they seemed to overlap” said Natalie I agree. Maybe I’ll get Box of Stars again when I go on vacation. This time I’ll find a box with the maps

.

Book Lust Twist: Nancy put this under the category of “Astronomical Ideas” in Book Lust (p. 27).

Defining You

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riotI hate it when people want me to define you; who you are to me..or worse, what I am to you. What difference does it make what ‘label’ I give you? Does it matter how you see me, or if you even see me at all? I have no clue how I appear in the lens of your mind’s camera. Labels change, anyway. I think you know what I mean.
I scrutinize your artwork just to see myself and I end up unable to recognize the artist. How does it go, “—start to change, — look a little strange as we get closer…”? In my case, further away. Drifting away. Is that okay? Because I’ve talked to people and not only do they say it’s okay, they say that’s how it should be. My new label has you relabeling you. Given labels. I guess they should be taken into consideration. For your consideration.
I’m not happy with this blog thing because it reminds me that for being friends we are no more than strangers with history. I recognize you in photos yet I have this understanding, deep down, I really don’t know. A blog is just a way to peek through a mostly considerably closed door. If you were standing in front of me, if you were here, this is what I would ask:
Do you still squirm in your seat, unable to get comfortable? I could sleep in a box, still.
Do you still see details lost to everyone else? I move with my eyes closed.
Do you still paint for You or is the intended audience hopefully Green? Color by numbers for me. Too rich for my blood you are.
Do you still put eye to lens and capture moments too beautiful for reality? I’m trapped by technology and locked out of sharing.
Do you still cook in that haphazard this-is-going-to-be-good kind of way? I have an affinity for hot-dogs and green olives.
I have gray in my hair and my eyesight is going. I weigh more but worry less. Life moves on. With or without.

I found a grave with your name. I’d rather have tea.

What Would Have Been – For my husband

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stupidI’m guilty of making a foofaraw about nothing. Well, it’s not exactly n o t h i n g, but who’s keeping score? I spent 40 minutes this morning unloading on my husband on the way into work. By the way, why do these things always happen in the car? I ranted & raved about someone less sane than me, myself & moi (imagine that).

I guess the bottom line is this (and, has always been this):
Pick your battles.
My sister said that once. It makes perfect sense. 
Kenny Rogers also said something about knowing when to walk away (or run). I would like to do one or the other, but I guess for now…I’ll hold my ground.

And. Keep my mouth shut.

No more foofaraw. Promise.

So You Say

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mouthI like this word of mouth advertising; this Pass-It-On recommending. BubbleGum wrote a blog about giving up his “fourth spot” on MySoCalledSpace. What he meant was, “tell me the name of some unsigned band that I could showcase on my page.” The cool(er) thing is that once a band is chosen and is on his Space, that group stays there for a month. Not only that but a blog is written about them. Talk about advertising, recommending, and all that jazz! BubbleGum’s site gets hundreds and hundreds of hits a day and because HE said so, people are going to check out his January pick for unsigned music. Over a hundred people had commented on the blog. That’s over a hundred more people checking out this band’s sound. Brilliant. I say take advantage of It Boy’s status and popularity and send him the name of your favorite unsigned band or performer! Just in case you were wondering, I want to send him Rebecca’s name. She could use another hundred people checking out her sound. Seriously.

I found another Pass-It-On link on someone else’s blog. I’m a sucker for the friend of a friend recommendation. I looked and I looked. Everything was beautiful and IwantIwant worthy. I ooohed and ahhhed and occasionally said, “well, my birthday is coming up…” But, in the end I couldn’t make my brain follow my heart so I didn’t open my wallet.

But, keep those recommendations coming. I definitely like the “I know someone you could talk to” feel of life. I like the handshake of communication. The wedding was like that, too – if I didn’t know them before the shindig, I didn’t want them cooking, singing, officiating, baking, arranging flowers, anything. The tent guy was the only I didn’t know and he came recommended by my sister. That word of mouth, this-guy-is-good thing again.