Sabbatical

I have been writing this blog for six months.

It dawned on me recently that I've been spending precious time writing that I could use doing things like hanging out with friends and family, swimming, gardening, meeting the man of my dreams, finding my dream job or doing any of the other numerous things on my list of daily tasks that I have a bad habit of ignoring.

With that, I leave you, dear readers, until I get the urge to write to you again.

A long day's journey into night

I work too much.

A lot of people say that, but I've been living it for the past three years.

 First, I worked for a catering company. It was my first foray into the for-profit sector in a decade. I ended up working about 80-100 hours per week. Needless to say, that did not last long. Longer than I expected, but not long.

Since then, I picked up one job, then two, then three, then four. All of them part time. Two are very part time (teaching Sunday school 1-2 hours per week during the school year, and working as an election official to help people use the voting machines--three times this year for a total of about 45 hour).

My grant-funded, non-profit job in my field is ending July 17. I have loved the work, and value the relationships I've gained, the conversations had, and the accomplishments made. The work is not yet over, as so much of the non-profit work I've done in the past has been left. That is not to say that I feel it is incomplete. I have been able to do more than I expected, and reached and then exceeded every goal set out for me. And yet, there is more work to be done. There is always more work to be done.

The job that provides my benefits will increase in hours in order to make up for some of the loss of my non-profit job. I will likely struggle a bit with the loss of income. The upcoming semi-annual raise should help defray that struggle.

The bright side is the time I will have on my hands. I will gain 5-10 additional hours per week. To garden, to see friends, to meet new friends, to date. The possibilities are endless.

I will happily live on beans and rice (and my CSA share) in order to have time to relax, time to practice the ukelele, time to write letters, time to read books, time to swim and lounge at the pool, time to visit with Grandma, time to cook, time to plan a party, time to clean the house, time to make art, time to volunteer, time to do nothing if that is what I choose.

I look forward to having time.

Fine print

In January I started taking a medication that resulted in some adverse side effects.

Six months later, I told the doctor who prescribed it that I needed her help to get off of it, knowing that additional side effects could result from stopping the medication without further instruction. Unfortunately, the doctor's recommendations resulted in nausea, dizziness, eye issues, headaches and blood pressure so low I started to black out. Not awesome.

After suggesting it might be an inner ear infection, the doctor recommended an alternative way to get off the medication. This week I started getting the side effects again. Cannot wait for this to be over. Also cannot wait to find a new doctor...who takes me seriously.

Ask your doctor questions. Ask your pharmacist more questions. Do your research. Make sure you know what will happen if you stop taking a medication and hopefully you will avoid feeling miserable.

Looking forward for this to be over and getting back to "normal."

Old skool

Yesterday I saw a white Camaro.

I immediately broke into the only song I know with the song Camaro in it. By the Dead Milkmen.

If you know that song, you should be smiling by now.

Gone to seed

My garden is in full swing.

The green beans are prolific, the melons, acorn squash and zucchinis are teasing with their tiny fruits, and the radishes have gone to seed.

I see the radish flowers adding a splash of white to my otherwise green garden, and think of the little seeds I want to collect from them when they are ready. I've never collected seeds from spent flowers before, so this is going to be a new adventure. Hopefully, I'll catch some before they fall to the ground or get eaten by the numerous birds that call my yard and trees home.

Labor of love...love of spicy radishes.

Sigh of relief

Last week one of my part time jobs offered me a full time gig...until the end of November.

After asking some clarifying questions, not getting the answers I was hoping for, and being tied up on knots for two days, I turned it down. If I am going to give up longer term job and health insurance security, I want to feel that my worth is being met. I also don't particularly want to relocate and work 18-24hr days.

While I feel comfortable with my decision, I do wonder if I will moss out on other opposed as a result of not being in the center of an exciting campaign...that I would have a major role in running.

Then the wonder passes and I remember how much I like to swim outside, garden, take my grandma out, and see my friends. It will be delightful to downgrade my employers from four to three by the middle of next month. I can't wait to have an extra 10 hours per week to hang out...and finally clean my house.

Revival of the fittest

Last winter was pretty harsh.

The temperatures were low and sustained. Pipes froze and everyone was miserable.

Once it was over, and spring began to work its magic I saw what survived and what was tinder.

One of my losses was a lavender bush I planted eight years ago when I bought my house. It was a new have gift from Mom. She actually got me two of them, but construction guys killed the other one three years ago. Jerks.

Much to my surprise, three lavender seedlings emerged a few weeks ago. I don't have the heart to uproot the mother plant yet, still not convinced that the original is truly gone.

Either way, I cannot wait to watch the new plants grow, and smell their delicate aroma wafting across the yard as I mow.

Dining in

There's not much better than a home cooked meal.

I mean, I end up doing the cooking, but still. Rice, saucy jerk tofu and coconut chard with watermelon for dessert.

Simple things often bring the most pleasure, and man, do I get pleasure from a good meal.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Rain out

It seems like there is never enough time at the swimming pool.

This afternoon was no exception. I somehow lose my ID cards to get into the pool--which I found later wedged in between the driver seat and the center console of my car. Luckily, the kid working the gate has known me since he was 10 and has seen me there at least three days in the past week.

After changing into my suit from my work clothes, I found a lounge chair facing the 4pm sun and pulled out my book to read until a lap lane opened. Of course, I ended up catching up with a friend instead of reading, and by the time I got into the pool, within five minutes the entire pool and deck was cleared due to thunder.

At least I got to see a couple of friends, be amazed at how big their kids have gotten, and get a nice dose of vitamin D. Looking forward to giving it another shot on Tuesday!

Squash. Bugs.

There are good bugs and bad bugs.

My garden is home to them all. I've spotted cucumber beetles, lady bugs, three kinds of bees, two kinds of wasps, several varieties of weird looking flies, roaches in the compost, fireflies, and some giant red thing with wings I may never identify.

Worst of all, though, are the squash-killers. I'm not sure if they're stink bugs, leaf-footed bugs or squash bugs. All I know is that they suck the life out of all the vegetables in my garden and lay their eggs on the leaves of cucumbers, zucchinis and pretty much any variety of squash-type vegetables.

I do my best to scrape the eggs I find off of their perches, but this afternoon, I found hatchlings. Well, they lived up to the name squash bugs after I found them. Hopefully, their corpses will deter any new arrivals.

Ever vigilant.

Wilted and watered

It was too hot to be outside today.

And yet, before I could get out of bed and into the shower, my neighbor was on his shiny, red, new riding mower and taking down my overgrown grass and weeds in the front yard.

When I got home from running errands, I took a look at the garden, on to find it sad looking. The squash and melon leaves hung off their vines like Salvador Dali paintings. The only upright plants were the tomatoes and tomatillos.

A few hours later, the clouds rolled in with the thunder and wind and lightning. That is all it took. A brief, if steady rain, and the garden regained its life, the beans were snappable. The daikon leaves shaded the sprouts beneath their usual canopy.

It always amazes me what magic water holds.

Stroker ace

I love to swim.

When I was four, my dad decided it was time to teach me, and threw me between himself and one of his friends. Their grand plan was simple. They tossed me back and forth, and then tossed me a little short and moved out of the way so I had to swim for the stairs...and what seemed like a full mile away. I'm sure it was only five feet, but while I was doggie paddling my little heart out, I could've sworn I they were going to let me drown.

Thankfully, I didn't, and I wanted to get back into the water...just not with them. I wanted to swim without anyone's help. Welcome to independence!

I took lessons got pretty good at holding my breath under water. I still love swimming under water, close to the bottom, skimming it with my fingers, my chin, my belly, my toes, seeing the world around me and from a blurred perspective and hearing with muted ears. My first challenge was to swim the length of the pool without touching the side. That would qualify me to swim in the deep end and ultimately to use the diving board.

Having two older siblings, I knew that I belonged with them, in the line to dive, cannonball or belly flop. There was the high dive and the low dive. By six years old, I was able to use the diving board.

Soon thereafter, my siblings egged me on to go off the high dive. I've always been cool with heights, just not getting down from them. Tricky thing when you're 20' off the ground. Actually, I have no idea how high it was, I just know that it felt like I could've been blown off the narrow diving board by as stiff breeze and they wouldn't let me climb back down the ladder. Once you got up there, there was only one way off. Jump, dive or fall.

I jumped...and I have a slight recollection of my bathing suit going entirely up my backside. I also remember the otherworldliness of the reaching the bottom of the deep end. The penny retrieval competitions on July 4th, the men's competition to capture the greased watermelon, and the endless games of Marco Polo.

These days, I am lucky to get an hour at the pool, nothing like the full days we used to spend in childhood. If we'd get bored swimming, we'd watch people play tennis, or play on the playground, or place pennies and nickels on the train track behind the pool, or just lay out, play cards, or read magazines.

I haven't just hung out at the pool or in the pool for a long time. When I go to the pool, I go to swim laps, to read a book in the sun, to relax.

Thank goodness it's summer and I get to swim whenever I get a chance.

Pot likker

I had a miserable day on Monday, but my CSA share turned it all around.

There were a couple of things I'd never tried to cook before: lamb's quarters, borage and collard greens.

I told you last night about the lamb's quarters. They're phenomenal hot or cold, and I loved them even as a late night snack.

The collards were a bit more complicated than the wild greens. They required more cooking time, for one thing.

I washed the giant leaves, broke the stems off at the base of the leaves, stacked them, rolled them, and cut the rolled leaves into one inch strips across the stem. Backing up a bit...I sweated a finely sliced onion and a clove of elephant garlic, then tossed in the sliced collard greens. Once the greens were in the pot, I topped them off with 3 cups of water, 1/4 cup of apple cider vinegar a pinch of hot pepper flakes, a couple of tablespoons of tamari sauce, a couple of healthy dashes of cumin, brought the whole thing to the boil, covered it and reduced it to simmer for the next 45 minutes.

I think it would've worked just as well with 1.5 cups of water. I just forgot to halve it for the recipe I was loosely following.

I cooked up a pot of stone ground grits to go with the Southern fare on my stove, and stirred some nutritional yeast and coarse ground pepper into it.

Pretty sure all of my relatives rolled over in their stuffed cabbage and pickle Eastern European fare graves when I took a bite, and then second helpings, but let me tell you something here and now. I may never have eaten grits growing up (except occasionally at the Waffle House), and definitely couldn't find collards on any kosher-style plate I came across growing up in Knoxville (meaning I didn't taste them until I was an adult).

The food I made last night couldn't be found in my antique cookbooks. They list kale as a food you cook when you can't afford anything else.

I'll admit here and now. I am on a fairly tight budget, but I find these greens to be some of the best food I've ever eaten. I feel better when I eat it. I find satisfaction in my meal, but also in the joy I gain knowing that I've purchased this food from a farmer I know. I've seen his fields, picked cabbages and radishes from them, eaten fresh persimmons from the side of the dirt road running up one of his hills, spied his cows, eaten at his table and learned about fermentation at a workshop at one of the houses near one of his barns.

If you've ever prepared a meal with me, you know that it is a process. There is determining the main ingredients, finding recipes in my cookbook collection, making sure we have everything else we need in the house, occasionally a run to the store for the rest of what we need, and at least 2-3 hours of preparation and cooking time.

Food in my house is an experience, something to prepare with love and devotion. Something to be enjoyed, planned out and experimented with. Food in my house is about satisfaction of the process as well as the meal itself. Thank goodness, since I usually make enough for a family of eight.

Can't wait to see what I get to experiment with next week!

Weeds are wonderful

I admit it; I was scared to cook lamb's quarters.

The furry texture wasn't the problem, it was the seemingly endless dirt to be washed off of it. Well, and I wasn't sure how it would taste.

The research I did said that it's fine to eat fresh, and I tried a few leaves, but I didn't love them that way.

I did a little more research and found a handful of interesting ideas. I settled on one, sort of, and combined what I read in a recipe with my knowledge of cooking delicate greens.

I browned an onion in olive oil, then I sauteed the washed greens in the pot with the onions, adding 1/2 cup of water to help get things wilted a little faster. When the greens were wilted and a dark green, I drizzled them with a well-aged balsamic vinegar.

Delicious. Seriously delicious.

If I ever see it growing in someone's yard, you can bet I'm going to pick it and take it home for dinner!

Oh deer

Yesterday morning I was awestruck.

I was driving home from a morning swim and saw three deer in the middle of my street. The night before I'd been talking about all the critters in my neighborhood, but that there were no deer. I was wrong.

They were beautiful. They seemed young, and were curious. They stared at me, and my car, as I stared at them. We checked each other out for a minute or so before they finished crossing the street, jumped into a gulley and disappeared into the brush leading to Richland Creek.

I am constantly amazed at the world around me. You never know what you'll see if you just look.

Pater familias

It's Father's Day.

I called Dad this morning and we had a really nice talk. He's getting ready to go to "summer camp," and I found out something I'd never known.

He went to summer camp as a kid for two weeks. Once.

He went by train from Knoxville, TN to Hendersonville, NC to Camp Judea, well, it was Camp Judea before there was an actual camp site, so they were housed at Camp Blue Star, he and several of his friends from Knoxville.

He never went back, but it wasn't a lack of interest, it just wasn't an option that was offered, and he didn't ask. His family didn't have a lot of extra to spend, and he was grateful to have the experience.

When I was 10 years old, I went to what became Camp Judea in Hendersonville, NC. I was there for four weeks. I plotted to run away nearly every day of that month. Different times, different children, different experiences.

I'm so glad my parents decided to have a third kid. I am I lucky to have my dad.

Opening up

Today the first daylily of the summer blossomed.

It was one of my favorites, a deep red, speckled with black along the insides of its petals. A bright spot in the otherwise green front yard, nestled in the flowerbed under the picture window.

It was a beacon for the rest of the buds that the 5i!IMG is right for them to follow suit.

I cannot wait for my own, personal, flower show. Can. Not. Wait.

Billed me up

Last night I paid my bills.

It was a typical Thursday night. I'd had the day off, so I slept in a little, gone to the pool for a swim and some sun, did a little work, went to physical therapy, went to group therapy, and skipped the movie I'd considered seeing in favor of checking something off one of my lists of chores for the week.

I used to dread paying my bills.

I was never sure if there would be enough left after each paycheck got deposited to purchase the basics, like food. There usually was, but it was close sometimes, especially when I'd make donations and forget I still had one more big bill coming.

Six months ago, I was at that point. Last night, I was free from the fear and anxiety that used to come from bill paying. I was able to pay everything at once, with plenty left over to move into my savings account for emergencies.

There is a big sigh of relief when you finally reach one of your goals. I didn't think of this goal as a big one. I thought of it as a way to retain my middle class status, a way to retain my dignity and self-respect, a way to reflect the hard work I do, a way to justify the multiple jobs I work.

While this was a great goal, now I get to adjust it. Now I get to figure out how to maintain this path of financial security while increasing my ability to have a social life (preferably by working fewer jobs).

Some people have bucket lists. My lists are much more mundane. Buy a house. Check. Lose weight. Check. Get finances in order. Check.

Instead of focusing on the mundane, I think it's time to focus on the really important things: following my passions, and finding passion with someone else.

Fruity and delicious

The vegetables in the garden are beginning to fruit!

As of Sunday morning, I saw what look like the beginnings of acorn squash, green beans and melons. This is no small feat.

The culmination of months of digging, weeding, re-weeding, tossing kitchen waste into the garden bed, more money than I'm willing to admit in seeds that have and have not germinated, and a complete sense of satisfaction when I harvest the fruits of my labor.

I cannot wait to gather those beans, roast that squash, and carve up those melons.

Of course, there is just as much excitement in seeing the first flowers of the tomatoes, and tomatillos. In seeing the zucchinis begin to blossom. In witnessing new seedlings emerge from the dirt.

My garden lifts my heart with each new discovery. Can't wait to see what happens in there tomorrow!

Cone heads

The first of the purple cone flowers in my yard have blossomed.

They are the descendents of the first purple cone flowers that Mom gifted me when I moved into my home a little over eight years ago.

Each year, they flower and wither, their dried seed heads standing tall and sharp all winter. They would remain there, if not for my meddling finger, crushing the forgotten flowers carefully and scattering them along the drainage ditch, hoping for more flowers to come.

The anticipation of their arrival each year is sweet. The irises and peonies have come and gone. The day lilies are still gathering their colors together to show off in a week or two. The purple cone flowers take their time. They open in fits and starts, teasing us with their curled petals until they finally reveal their full selves.

Springtime is over, but summer has a lot to show for itself.

Fire in the sky

Last week I saw a rainbow around the sun.

I was getting some sun on an overcast day, doing a crossword puzzle. Naturally, I was looking up, as I was lying down. Above my head, there seemed to be a halo around the sun. It was a rainbow. A rainbow circling the sun.

I'd never seen anything like it. It was beautiful, sublime and beautiful.

I took it as a good sign. A sign that there is no end to the rainbow, that there is only light and color and beauty in the world...and a big ball of fire in the middle.

Greenery

Saturday I experimented with kale and my dehydrator.

It wasn't a totally unheard of experiment. I had eaten a bag of kale crackers a few weeks ago and thought I could replicate the texture at home. That sort of happened.

A week ago was the first CSA pick-up of the growing season and I got a HUGE bag of kale. I knew I didn't have time to make anything fancy with it, and had to wait nearly a week to sort through it, pick out the creepy crawlies, strip the leaves from the stalks, wash and prepare it in some way.

I tossed the kale into the food processor with some leftover cashew cream, a goodly amount of nutritional yeast, white pepper, olive oil, tamari sauce, tomato powder, ground flax seeds, spread it out on three sheets of wax paper and popped it into my dehydrator.

What came out...several hours later, was something akin to a flavorful, if earthy, very thin and crispy kale cracker. Next time I'm going to try more cashews for a little extra body, a few herbs, maybe some hot pepper, and lay it on the wax paper a little thicker.

Crackers aren't so hard to make. I think I'll do it again!

I see(d) you

Last night there was a thunderstorm.

I had a busy afternoon and evening: 2 hr yoga class, early dinner with Mom and Grandma, and a movie with my sister.

Before dinner was over, the skies opened up, lightning flashed and Mom started trying to figure out how to get Grandma into the car without soaking her, and how to give me the microwave she'd brought for me. Turns out Grandma's not afraid of a few raindrops, and Mom dropped the microwave off on my kitchen doorstep (directly under one of the leaks in my carport) while I was at the movies.

Arriving at the theater, I saw my sister, and at least half of the Jewish population of Nashville. Okay, that's an exaggeration, but there were at least 15 people we knew there, including a rabbi. Gotta love a small city.

It was still raining when I got home, and after bringing in the microwave, I went through the most recent stack of vegetable seed packets I purchased, decided upon the arugula, cucumber, watermelon, radish, beet and chard, tore the paper envelopes open, and poured all of the seeds into a single envelope.

I shook the envelope to mix up the seeds, zipped up my jacket, put the hood over my head, and slipped on my garden shoes. After turning on the outside light, I made my way to the back yard, circled the garden, shaking seeds into my hand and scattering them as I went.

On the walk back to the house, I noticed the rain barrel was overflowing, and not draining into the second barrel I'd set up next to it. One minor adjustment...lowering the second barrel off its perch and onto the ground, below the level of the barrel connected to the gutter, and the water flowed freely through the overflow hose into the second barrel successfully. Clearly was not an aqueduct designer in a previous life.

Hope to see the new seeds sprout this week!

Toot! Toot!

Last night I realized that I had to deal with the overwhelming amount of food filling up my fridge, all of which required preparation.

So, I looked through a cookbook to get some inspiration, marked a few interesting pages, wrote a list of what I'd like to make today, and somehow woke up at 6:30am, which was obviously a sign that I should get to it.

Actually, I started last night. I cut up the watermelon taking up most of the top shelf and whittled it down to two containers. I also made strawberry rhubarb sauce, for Grandma. It's her favorite, and she asks about it every year. We went out for dinner last night, and stopped by the store where I work to pick up some breadsticks and cookies for her to snack on at home. While we were there, I saw some beautiful strawberries and offered to make the sauce for her; my rhubarb has been flourishing in the garden this year.

The experimental dish last night was a deconstructed vegetarian stuffed cabbage casserole. I found a recipe for meat and rice cabbage casserole in the 1952 American Jewish Cookbook I'd found a basis for the strawberry rhubarb sauce recipe. Grandma gave me that cookbook at least 15 years ago, maybe 20. Its pages are yellowed and there are unsettling amounts of jello molds recommended; I treasure it.

I had 3/4 of a small cabbage in the fridge. I lined the bottom of a round casserole dish with cabbage leaves. In a bowl, I combined cooked lentils, raw brown rice, currants, cumin, tomato powder (you could use tomato paste), chopped onion and parsley and white pepper. The lentil mixture topped the cabbage leaves, then I put shredded cabbage over that, and spread tomato sauce over it all. I then poured water into the dish until it was nearly level with the top, and squeezed 1.5 lemons over it. I baked it until the water was mostly absorbed, put it in the fridge overnight (since I had to go to bed), poured a little tamari sauce over it in the morning, and baked it for another hour or so.

Let's just say...it's amazing.

This morning, I also inspected a HUGE bag of kale from my CSA, pulling off a goodly number of caterpillars in various stages of eating and cocooning, and pureeing it with cashew cheez, nutritional yeast, ground flax seeds, cumin, and probably a few other goodies, spread it onto wax paper and  dehydrated it for kale crackers.

I had to make room in the dehydrator, so I put the lemon balm, peppermint and oregano I'd dried there earlier in the week into separate jars for tea and seasoning.

The chai has been simmering on the stove all morning an is filling the house with spicy goodness.

I napped and read while the casserole (and some cubed tofu) were baking. Now to figure out what I'm going to do with the stinging nettle, lambs quarters, garlic scapes, two heads of lettuce and bunch of radishes will become.

Whatever it will be, it will be delicious...or compost!

Drop it like it's hot

The sky is dark and full of grey clouds looming dully.

FLASH!

Lightning illuminates the trees to the East without showing itself.

rumble

Thunder declares an impending storm.

Quiet.

Even the insects know that it is time to find shelter.

The humidity is oppressive and the temperature begs for rain to fall.

I sleep soundly, dreaming of full rain barrels and watered garden beds.

Eggcellent

Yup, those are REAL eggs!!! (pic by  Hannah Coffey)

There is nothing like a farm fresh egg.

I'm not talking about the eggs you get from the grocery store that say they're farm fresh. I'm talking about eggs that were laid and gathered within a couple of days of eating them. I'm talking about eggs whose yolks are so yellow they are actually orange. I'm talking about green, blue, brown, tan, ecru, white, jumbo, tiny and medium sized eggs.

A friend with more chickens than I have shoes (and that's saying something) has been supplying me on and off for the past two years with addictively delicious eggs from her hens and is trying to talk me into taking a few off her hands. She has bantams, whose plumes should be on every hat.

She had a bantam rooster, Mr. Saturday Night. He was gorgeous. Strutted around the yard around her house like he owned the place. When I went to visit once, he pecked my heel when I turned my head for a second. One second. Apparently, Mr. Saturday Night pecked one too many times at the humans around him. Word is, he was as delicious as he was beautiful.

My friend says a few hens would take care of my slug problem in the vegetable garden. She would even build me a coop with a solar panel door for the nights when I'm working late. My response was, "What happens if the chickens don't go into the coop at dusk?" Luckily, there's plenty of cover in the brush at the back of the yard.

Not sure I'm ready for chickens, but I am definitely ready to eat more of these eggs for breakfast tomorrow!

Cool down

Summer night.
The cool, damp air following a blistering hot day.
Breeze finding the fine hairs on the back of my neck,
my shoulders,
goosebumps forming.

Clover underfoot, crowding out Kentucky bluegrass and crab grass.
Slugs feasting on tender leaves: cucumber, radish, rhubarb.
Tomatoes rooting deeply.
Radishes unearthing themselves, begging to sharpen palates.

Sunburned bra-lines hot and raw.
Tan skin highlighting beauty marks like asymmetrical polka dots.
Bare legs and arms searching for warmth.
Stars twinkle, shedding age old light.

I sleep soundly.

(Big and) small victories

In December I paid off my credit cards; as of June, I have emergency savings.

When I lived in Boston, I went to a full day of financial security workshops geared towards women and sponsored by the state treasurer's office. While there, I learned what I needed to be financially independent.

1) Have at least three months' savings to be able to pay all of your bills in case of emergency. (Since then, I have heard from other sources that you should have six months' savings.)

2) If you're going to buy a house, put at least 20% down and have at least $10,000 in savings for home repairs and emergencies.

3) Pay off your credit cards before you do anything else.

4) Put as much as you can in your retirement accounts each year and invest with diverse sources for a balanced portfolio.

I didn't follow all of the advice, nor did I follow it in the right order.

I bought a house with 100% mortgage and no savings eight years ago. I just paid off my credit cards six months ago. It took me nearly 10 years to have an emergency fund for regular bills. I do not have a home emergency fund. I have not been able to save for retirement outside of various 401(k)/403(b) plans for about 14 years.

Financial independence is not something easily attained. If you are in the middle class or are struggling financially, you are focused on eating, on keeping the lights on, on paying your bills on time or at all. Saving is a luxury, a privilege.

I was a small child when my parents opened a savings account for me. I brought my allowance, birthday and Hanukkah money to deposit, my pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters. All with purpose and reverence. It was important and it was mine. I was responsible for how it was to be used, how it was to grow. At that time, a penny was worth something, and inflation was high enough to make savings accounts useful.

These days, it is harder to know what to do with your money. I haven't had it in so long, I am loathe to fix the things that need fixing, take a well-earned vacation, buy clothes to replace those that are worn out or no longer fit.

I cringe each time I spend more than $30 at the grocery store. I do not buy myself flowers, but wait to see them bloom in my yard from seeds and starts I planted years ago.

My mindset has changed over these past few years of financial struggle. I still enjoy fine things, I just stop myself from purchasing them.

I look forward to a time in my life when I can both have the financial stability of enough savings for emergencies and enough cushion in my bank account that I can treat myself without guilt, treat others without anxiety, and treat money like pieces of paper.

Tora(h)! Tora(h)! Tora(h)!

Yesterday I got to witness something beautiful.

A new torah scroll was finished by a scribe, paraded into my synagogue, and placed into the ark to be used along with the older torah scrolls contained therein.

It was quite the party, with friends from the shul and from around the Nashville Jewish community coming together to celebrate. It's not every day that a new torah is purchased by a synagogue, after all. You can't just pick one up at the torah store. They take months to write and piece together. The parchments have to be sewn in such a way as to maintain the consistency of the lettering and smoothly enough that they do not add undue weight or tear. The wooden handles light enough to be able to lift the torah without dropping it.

The process is one not taken lightly. It is sacred work, ancient work. Women in the shtetls used to sew the parchments together in the old days. The days when my great grandparents were born in the Pale of Jewish Settlement. The days when protecting the torah meant, at times, protecting it with your life.

At the dedication, our rabbi read a letter from 70 years ago, when the last torah was given to the shul. The letter spoke of sending two torahs to community synagogues in Europe to help rebuild Jewish life there after the Holocaust. It reminded me how much has been sacrificed so that I may have the privilege of practicing my religion, how lucky I am to have relatives who left Eastern Europe at the turn of the 20th Century. How lucky I am to live in a city so full of joy, friends and family.

Reconnecting with friends was a highlight, as was following a flatbed trailer with a klezmer band, and dancing the hora on West End Avenue as Sunday afternoon traffic drove by slowly, wondering what those crazy Jews are up to now. With the sun beating down on us, sweat dripping down our backs, we danced with abandon, young and old(er) alike, smiling and laughing and feeling part of a grand tradition.

I look forward to hearing the Hebrew words read from the new torah and enjoying the company of the congregation, friends and visitors as we reflect on the love put into creating our sacred scroll.

Brown as a berry

Friday I spent three hours at the swimming pool.

I wore one of my new bathing suits, careful not to let it slip below publicly acceptable frontage levels in and out of the pool. I swam for 30 minutes. I ate some ice cream. I drank some iced tea. I did some crossword puzzles. I took a nap.

I got a tan.

Looking forward to much more of that over the next few months!

Flower girl

The irises have come and gone for the spring.

So have the peonies.

The honeysuckle is nearing its end, the sticky sweet aroma filling the yard.

The day lilies are sending up their flower stems. Each is sure to out shine the next with vibrant colors and stamens that will stain your clothing if they come into contact with you.

The purple cone flowers have spread (with my help) along the drainage ditch and by the house. Their buds are growing with the passing hours and soon with explode with color and energy to tempt the bees.

The vegetable garden is becoming floral as well. The potatoes and squashes are starting to flower, their leaves beginning to make it unpleasant for grass to invade their well-rooted territory.

I look forward to whatever opens up next, the colors, sights and smells they will bring with them.

Just in time

Three days ago I started wearing a watch again.

It has been about three months, and I had gotten used to having a bare wrist. I did, however, miss the motion of shaking the watch down my arm to my hand, having the ability to tell time without asking someone or looking for a clock, and having something pretty to look at all day long.

My new watch arrived three days ago, and it is simple in design, classic, and functional. It has just enough pizazz. Just enough shine and texture. Just enough usefulness. Nothing fussy. Nothing over the top.

I look forward to being on time again.

Week spot

I haven't worked five days in a row in a while.

That's not to say that I don't work a lot. With multiple jobs, that's kind of a given. Today is the last day of a particularly long workweek stretch equaling approximately 54 hours.

At that end of that stretch, I have three unprecedented, and unrequested days off in a row. It's a minor miracle. A working woman's miracle. Of course, tomorrow, the only thing I'll be able to do is sleep late, have lunch with my rabbi, do some laundry and go to bed early.

Can't wait!

Full pantry, empty belly

Last week I didn't do a lot of cooking.

That meant I didn't have much to eat. I had every intention of cooking, it just didn't happen. I only managed to make two dishes: foul medames and stuffed grape leaves. They were delicious, but only lasted a couple of days.

As the weather gets warmer, my urge to cook goes totally down the toilet. The last thing I want to do is turn on the stove or oven when it's 90 degrees outside. Who does?!

I see salads in my future, and if this trend keeps up...buying some meals. That last thing is kind of foreign at this point. At most, I buy one meal each week. That's saved me plenty of money over the past several months, and it saves me time during meal breaks at work.

It is nice to have ready made food on hand, though. Guess that means I have my work cut out for me.

Looking forward to not having to make decisions when I open the fridge.

Garden of...

Friday afternoon I planted the garden at my synagogue for the fifth year in a row.

Thanks to a generous donation the year prior, I had $120 budget for plants and seeds. I spent $90 on four varieties of tomatoes, two varieties of summer squash (patty pan and zucchini) and eggplant (black beauty and Gretel), three varieties of peppers, okra, elfin (steppable) thyme, and oregano...all from seedlings.

I also planted three varieties of bush beans, two varieties of cucumbers, two varieties of watermelon, honeydew melon, three varieties of winter squash, arugula, red popcorn, two varieties of basil, Italian parsley, bee balm, and loofah.

The garden bed has been refurbished, shored up with a new, concrete retaining wall. It is sturdy and will hopefully last for many years to come.

The harvest this year will be bountiful, the plants will grow to enormity, and the volunteers will come out of the woodwork. That is my wish for the garden.

I look forward to seeing it bloom and enjoy the fruits of my labor.

Birds of a feather

Friday afternoon I found a dead robin in my yard.

It was hardly recognizable as a bird, twisted and mangled, holes in its abdomen, wings askew, tail feathers splayed. Flies swarming the wounds.

I left it in the yard. A possum or snake or dog or coyote or vulture may feast on it overnight. Who am I to disrupt the natural course of life and death in the wild?

At least I didn't run over it with my lawnmower like I did with another bird a few years ago. That one gave me a start and had me running screaming into the house.

This time, I checked out the situation and moved on to water the vegetable garden.

I look forward to not seeing the dead bird in my yard anymore, and seeing the live ones finding worms early in the mornings.

First fruits

Friday evening I had my first harvest of the 2014 growing season.

It was only three radishes, but they were perfect. They were of at least two varieties. One was solid red, the other had a white bottom.

They were delicious. I ate them standing up in my kitchen. One spicy bite at a time.

I said the prayer for fruits of the earth and the prayer for new experiences. Somehow, that gave a bit more weight to the mini meal. Dinner didn't consist of much more than those radishes. I didn't have anything prepared in the house and was too tired from a long day of gardening in the heat to cook.

The radishes set the tone for Shabbat. For the week. For the summer harvests to come.

If the abundance of sprouting things in my garden are any indication, I have a lot of salad to look forward to, and I cannot wait.

The grass is always...

I finally cut my grass.

Its' been nearly three weeks, and I don't know that I could actually call what I mowed (with my new electric mower) grass. It looked more like a field of clover and plantain with the occasional stalk of grass so tall it was reseeding itself.

I made it almost through the entire back yard (which I started with) before the battery died. It did surprisingly well in such tall and thick growth.

The grass catcher didn't clog too much, and the mower made it over the few sticks and branches I couldn't see to pull out of the way before they were run over. The clippings are now serving as mulch on my vegetable garden bed and I have a feeling there will be much more to come.

Of course, there were a few things I discovered while I was mowing. First and foremost is that it was really, really hot out at 6pm on Wednesday night. Second, I forgot that I had scattered sunflower seeds at the back of my property, just inside the tree line. At least I think they're sunflowers. That's what they looked like when I mowed over some of them. Luckily, I saved a few from the whirring blade and think that they will flower within another week or two. Third, I love being outside.

Looking forward to mowing the rest when I have the time, and getting the most out of the new mower. I already like the battery on it MUCH better. It charges in 2 hours instead of 15!

Watch out

So, it turns out that the watch I've had for a dozen years is irreparable.

I thought I had a great deal, sending my watch off to be fixed. Sadly, the main part--a new crystal with gasket to waterproof it--is no longer available. Bummer. I really liked that watch.

The company I sent it to sent me a choice. Get my broken watch back, or use the $160 credit they enclosed at the company's website to replace my watch, which they would be keeping (presumably for parts).

I chose the latter. Agonizingly.

The watches this company made 12 years ago were simple and classic in both men's and women's styles. Now, they have great classic watches for men, but they are too big for my delicate wrist. That's right, my wrist is delicate. So are my hands and feet and ankles. And my ego. True story.

I went to Nordstrom to try on some styles I'd seen online, and ordered three men's watches to see if they'd fit, since they weren't in stock last Friday. They arrived at my house on Wednesday, but I wasn't in love with any of them. The women's styled I'd tried on at the store were not what I wanted. They all had rhinestones (okay, Swarovski crystals), which seem silly to me for an everyday watch. Those that didn't have little dots of sparkles had mirrored edges, also completely impractical.

Sparkles have their place. I like sparkles, just not while I'm ringing up peoples' groceries. When I'm doing that, I want something that won't break, scratch, ding or fail in any way easily.

I returned the men's watches. That same night, I looked on the company's website again. That is the only place I could use my gift card.

I found two watches on sale that only cost $9 over my credit ($25 with tax). One is practical, simply and practically styled, and has a date function. The other is impractical, classically styled and has some of those stupid rhinestones. Thankfully, it is appropriately delicate and will look lovely on my wrist. It will compliment a similarly appropriate ensemble.

I look forward to be self-sufficient with my time again soon.

Be(e) hopeful

I saw a bee in my clover yesterday!

I was eating the last of the watermelon I cracked open a few days ago while checking out the amount of weeding I need to do in the front of the house, when I spied it. A honey bee!

It took its time on each flower, knowing that there are plenty to be had in the yard. I was overjoyed at the sight.

I look forward to seeing the bee's friends arrive as more flowers open in the yard, and vegetable flowers bloom in the garden bed. Soon. Very soon.

Roughing it

My hair doesn't like to be washed.

Okay, I just don't like shampoo very much. It makes my hair dry and brittle. Makes it fluffy in a bad way.

When I was in high school, I realized it looked best at least two days after a washing. Later, a friend told me he hadn't washed his curly hair for three months...and it looked fantastic.

I go through phases of washing frequency. I've certainly made it a couple of months without a wash, but that doesn't mean my hair or scalp are dirty or unhealthy. I scrub my scalp each morning, and lately have been doing an every other day conditioning.

It's SO not a big deal to leave your hair alone these days. There are dry shampoos. Aren't those available in high end salons or something?

I don't feel badly about my lack of hair maintenance. I'm looking for low-fi when it comes to my curls. The less I do to them, the more they do what I want. The better the tight curls look. The glossier they look...not greasy, shiny.

All I know is that my hair is just that. It's not a reflection of who I am as a person. It's not a reflection of my political beliefs or competency. My hair is just hair. I have a lot of it, and it's always going to be curly, in my way, and a topic of conversation.

Looking forward to my next shampooing...maybe in another week or so.

Wanderlust

Each spring I get the urge to get away.

I'm not talking about taking a trip. I'm talking about moving. Every spring. It's like clockwork. Predictable.

I've toyed with the ideas of moving to Charleston, NC; Los Angeles, CA; San Diego, CA; Tel Aviv, Israel; Italy; Maine; Detroit, MI; the Caribbean; New York City, NY. Warmth, solitude and potential are huge draws.

I do also think about travel for the sake of travel. I have a fantasy of going to Morocco, India, Thailand, Portugal, Spain. I want to see the Alhambra. I want to shop for spices in open air markets. I want to taste fruit that was picked that morning.

I dream of living in a house with large windows and beautiful curtains. Manicured English gardens that I turn into my own private chaotic jungle. An art studio and a dance studio. A ballroom and Bronte-esque parties, lavish and elegant with beverages in absurdly tiny ornate glasses.

In my head, I throw parties with my favorite bands, local and national (and the time to see them and be able to choose them knowledgeably). I swim in the pool in my yard and rinse off in the outdoor shower. I lounge outside and never get sunburned or freckled.

Bartering with local merchants and finding the perfect gifts for family and friends. Taking cooking classes and throwing dinner parties to show off my new skills.

Looking forward to some if not all of these things as I gain financial freedom and days off.

Woe be(e)gone

Once upon a time, I stepped on a bumble bee.

It was an accident. I was doing a cartwheel at summer camp by the waterfront, early in the morning, before we were going to swim to the island in the middle of Lake Bucatabon. The swim was affectionately known as the polar bear, since the water was never warm.

I didn't notice the bee hopping from clover flower to clover flower, and in my excitement to get started on the swim, I cartwheeled right onto it. Needless to say, I didn't make the swim, and the bee didn't make it to see the hive again.

My foot swelled up, and I was carried to the infirmary. I never did forget that bee, nor did I forget how much it loved that clover.

This spring, I haven't seen a single bee in my clover-covered yard. Not one. That's not good.

I've seen hornets nesting in the ground by my garage. I've seen wasps building a nest in the doorway above my laundry room. I've seen carpenter bees boring into my mailbox stand. I just haven't seen honey bees.

I know that there are bee shortages around the country. Entire hives are disappearing. Chemicals in herbicides and pesticides are said to be blamed. Early studies thought it was disease or mites.

Without the bees, we're pretty much screwed. Without bees, pollination is a whole lot harder. As a lazy gardener, I'm not all that likely to hand-pollinate my plants...one at a time, with a paintbrush or q-tip.

I'm looking forward to spying some bees in my garden. Hoping to attract them by planting some flowers. They're welcome at my house any time.

Garden(ia)

Each day, my garden grows.

The volunteer parsley, tomatillos, tomatoes, potatoes, and daikon radishes are up and thriving. So is the crab grass. I do my best to keep that in check, but there's more grass than vegetables at this point. Hoping that will change soon.

The patch of daikon is crowding out whatever grass is growing between the radishes, and thankfully what is there is weak.

I'm hoping that the melons, zucchinis, pumpkins and watermelons will make the grass and weeds feel unwelcome...and shadowed from the sun and rain. They are slow to sprout and even slower to spread out right now, but in another month I won't be able to find my way between the now fledgeling plants.

Beans, marigolds, spinach, chard and carrots have sprouted from seeds. I think I saw a cabbage sprout yesterday, too!

I'm hoping that the four, or is it five, tomato seed varieties I've scattered on the garden will germinate before the end of the summer. Some of them take months to fruit, so they'd better get moving.

My garden methodology is to scatter seeds every week or two so that there will be a rolling harvest throughout the summer and into the fall and winter. I also inspect the garden at least once per day and pull as many weeds as I can. It's not so hard when you keep it up. If I go a few days, though, especially if there's been rain, I'm inundated with garden chores. At that point, I'm not only dealing with the garden, but the yard and getting some actual mowing done.

Looking forward to weeding less and enjoying the fruits of my labor!

Gluten free (your mind)

About 10 months ago I stopped eating gluten.

I wasn't tested for sensitivity, and pretty positive I don't have celiac's, but I did have a pre-diabetic condition that was causing me to gain weight, even on a very healthy diet. My doctor suggested I try going gluten free, and doing so not only stopped the weight gain (I've since lost 25 lbs), but it also lowered my not so great blood test levels by more than half, clearing me of the danger of becoming diabetic.

All good stuff. My clothes fit better, and I got some new ones. My stomach doesn't hurt when I eat anymore...most of the time. And best of all, I sleep.

It took a while, like maybe six or seven months, but I'm no longer suffering the effects of chronic insomnia. The clarity that comes with a good night's sleep is unparalleled. Okay, maybe the clarity that came from that 2-day hunger strike in college was a LITTLE bit better, but you know what I mean. What's amazing, is that I've only had a handful of truly interrupted nights' sleep since February. That is life changing.

That said, I'm not sure I want to stay on the gluten free train. I miss challah. I miss decent pizza. I miss rye bread toast with butter. I miss real pasta. I even missed having a birthday cake.

But, it's not as much about the food. It's more about the idea of control that I'm willing to release.

I've been a vegetarian for 22 years, and the further restriction is somewhat stifling. I feel like I'm a giant pain whenever I go out to eat. I spend much of my time off cooking. I have to ask questions about everything I buy, unless it's a fruit or vegetable.

Cooking is a chore instead of a joy, and it is exhausting. I do like what I make, don't get me wrong. I still know how to rock a meal, all the fun of it has just been sucked out.

I've been thinking a lot about whether or not going gluten free has really made the difference. Is it that I've cut out something that was making me sick? Or did I cut out so many calories that I magically changed not only what I'm eating, but the amount of what I'm eating? I believe that there is a middle ground somewhere.

I have given myself a goal of a year to try this way of eating. It certainly hasn't done me any harm, so I can't imagine that harm would come from continuing.

Looking forward to seeing the results in another few months!

Girlish figure

I am not thinner than I was 20 years ago.

I'm still not skinny. I wasn't skinny then. Actually, I'm not interested in being skinny. Skinny would look weird on me. I'd look sickly. Awkward.

One thing I am is curvaceous. Some call it voluptuous. An hourglass figure.

That figure runs in the family. All the women have it. Very few of us flaunt it.

My journey towards health has inadvertently included weight loss. I'm honestly not trying. I eat ice cream, chocolate, fries and chips. I just don't crave them very often...except for the chocolate. I eat a lot of vegetables, tofu, nuts, beans, eggs and some cheese. Rice is a staple in my house, as are potatoes. I even sneak in the odd salad here and there.

I remember jumping from 117-125lbs as a freshman in high school. It was not a welcome jump, but I didn't freak out. My best friend and I tried doing more sit-ups and running to lose the weight we'd both gained. I never lost, but continued to gain. She got muscular and continued to do athletics. I hung out at the games and participated in soccer and basketball city league teams with her later.

It would be strange to strive to be the weight I was at age 14. I don't want any of the other things I had then, the insecurity, the hot pink wool shorts and yellow tights, for example.

What I want now is to be healthy, to feel confident in my appearance, to fit into my clothes, and to have an active social life. I am well on my way and look forward to what lies ahead.

Itsy bitsy

Spring is upon us.

That means insects and arachnids. I've seen my fair share of both, inside and outside of my home.

This week, I found the first brown recluse of the season in my shower. Thankfully, I was not in said shower at the time. I was just home from work and getting ready for bed. About to brush my teeth, in fact.

I don't usually kill spiders. I am a firm believer in their power to rid my home of things I REALLY don't want there, but poisonous spiders are a different story. I don't want those in my home. Not at all.

Before I squished the not so little guy, I made sure it was a brown recluse. Sure enough, the brown body held a tell-tale white violin on its abdomen. The spindly legs were another sign. I've seen enough on glue traps and online to know I had one, and also that I needed to be careful.

Tissue in hand, I went for it. He jumped once, twice, and then it was over. Both of our tortuous experiences were over.

Looking forward to fearless showering...for now.

You move too fast

I am exhausted.

I'm sleeping enough, I just pushed myself too hard over the past few weeks. The idea of working four jobs is nuts. Even if one is only 45 hours in three days this year.

Luckily, I don't work the 4th one again until August, and I don't work my 3rd one again until September. That leaves me with two jobs. Only a minimum of 45 hours of work per week. It's generally a bit more than that.

I'm all about hard work. I just did too much of it recently and am paying the price...my health.

Time for another nap. A few more of those and I'll be right as rain. And fully functional again.

Looking forward to having energy again.

Over and over...

I haven't been able to mow my lawn in two weeks.

Okay, last week I sort of mowed it with my weed eater. Yup, the whole yard...with a plug-in weed eater. It took forever.

Sunday I broke down and bought a new mower. A new cordless electric mower to replace the one that crapped out on me this spring. It's definitely an upgrade (and more expensive), and has a better battery system (lithium-ion rather than lead acid) that recharges in 2 hours rather than 15.

I researched which mower to buy for at least four hours before heading to Lowe's and finding none of the ones on their website. The one they had in stock was actually a better model than I saw online...for about $30 less.

I still have to read the manuals before turning it on, but the heat and humidity and rain that we've had the last week have brought out the clover flowers in full force. The idea of mowing down flowers that could potentially bring more bees to my garden this year breaks my heart, but it has to be done.

Thankfully, my neighbors have yet to call Metro Codes on me when my grass gets too long, but you never know. Not taking any chances.

Maybe I'll find four leaves in all that clover. Looking forward to shearing it this week...and every week through October.

All the wrong places

I pretend not to be a romantic, but I wholeheartedly am one.

Yesterday I put a love letter in the mail. The man I sent it to knows that it is coming, and has already rejected me. Yes, I know I'm a glutton for punishment. Have I mentioned that I went as a moth to the flame for Halloween one year (1997or '98)?

I'm okay with further rejection from him if it comes to that, since I have decided that I will take the good things from our time together to my next attempt at love. I will take the joy I felt at his kindness and offers of help when I clearly needed it and still pushed him away. I will take the gentleness he showed me. The comfort he gave me. The safety I felt around him.

A week after I was rejected by this man, I had to go to my mechanic. I told him the story, and he said that I'm like him. I throw myself into potential relationships because I date so infrequently. Because I'm so busy. Because I don't make or have the time to put myself out there more. Like him, I give myself fewer options, and so put my everything into the option in front of me. Recipe for disaster, even if the other person has the same feelings. It puts too much pressure on them and they bolt.

Gives me hope. I always have hope. I'm a hopeful skeptic. I've had enough ludicrous dating stories to write a book, and I still have love in my heart to give.

Looking forward to finding my other half, or as Grandma likes to say of her relationship with Papa, my best friend.

What a mother!

Today is Mother's Day.

I love my mom. Most of the time. I'm sure she feels the same way about me.

She has taught me to write thank you notes, appreciate fine paper and clothing and art, and signed me up for my first cooking class at age seven.

She encouraged my love of the arts by taking me to ballet and opera performances before I entered kindergarten. She pushed me academically, and advocated for more challenging classes so I wouldn't be bored in school.

She made sure I was warm my first year in Boston by sending me at least half of the LL Bean catalog during that record-breaking snowfall year (95"). She sent me my favorite cake for birthdays every year I was in Boston (lemon pound cake from Ham'n'Goodies).

She took care of me when I was really sick. She brings me the olive oil I like from Knoxville. She was my traveling companion in Isle of Palms, Italy, Paris and Israel.

She took me on a four day tour of colleges in Ohio. She bragged on me to her friends and customers, and regaled them with stories of my exploits near and far.

She is kind and sensitive and I am grateful that she chose to have that third kid so long ago. While we drive each other nuts, we're still family, and I do love my mom.

Creature (of habit) comforts

I am predictable.

I get ready for work in the same way each morning, I have a serious case of wanderlust each spring, and I pour my heart into whatever I do.

I also get sick with consistency.

1. Throat gets scratchy.
2. Sinus congestion begins.
3. Full blown sinus infection.
4. Bronchitis.
5. Weeks of exhaustion ensue.

Not excited to be in the thick of it now. Looking forward to breathing without coughing, and having energy again. I am embracing the opportunity to rest. 

You give me fever...

I got sick this week.

I just want to whine about it and curl up in my bed for a week until it's gone.

I've got two attitudes when I'm sick: resolute and pathetic. I don't have the time to be sick this week, with way too much to do before I have a mostly day off on Saturday. That said, I'm probably sick because of the crushing schedule I've had the past few weeks. This week is no exception.

Last week I managed to work something like 52 hours or so. This week, if I don't call in sick (which I finally did today), will be 67.5 work hours from Sunday-Friday, not counting lunch/dinner breaks (which I only take at one job of my four jobs). Um, that's too much.

Even I know that. Not to self. Working too much, too often, will bring me to a full stop. Or at the very least slow me down and make my brain atrophy.

Luckily, the one job that includes sick time (and which I have nearly a week of time banked) is the one I'm where I'm finishing out my week. The only thing with getting sick, and having available time to take off and still get paid, means that I try to wait until I'm REALLY sick before I take time off. I worked hard for that time. I want it to count!

Just hoping to be better by Mother's Day. No one wants to get Grandma sick!

A truly well-earned Shabbat. I hope yours is filled with health, rest, relaxation and beauty. Mine will be filled with soup, tea and naps.

Emergence

I am a lazy gardener.

That doesn't mean that my gardens fail. Quite the opposite, in fact. The work I put into my flower beds over the past 8 years has truly paid off. The irises in front of my house are stellar. I cannot accurately express the joy they bring me each day as I prepare to meet the world, and the joy they bring me each evening as I escape from it into the comfort of my home.

My vegetable garden is springing to life. There are sprouts of all kinds coming up from the heavily worked soil, the mixture of compost, kitchen scraps, leaves, grass clippings, humus and peat moss. There are melons, radishes, spinach, lettuce, arugula, cabbages, broccoli, cauliflower, tomatoes, potatoes, zucchini, and beans beginning their lifecycles that will end on in my kitchen.

I lovingly water them from my rain barrel, sprinkling what I can squeeze out of the hose, holding it close to the ground so that it will drain properly. I search out each seedling and make sure it survives to live well into the spring and summer and the autumn if it is destined to do so.

I work the land in order to feed my belly and my soul. So far, it's working.

Poll position

I am a poll worker, not a pole worker.

Tuesday morning I was early for my 13.5 hour day manning the voting machines at precinct 10-02 with four complete strangers...all of whom were old enough to be my mom.

Thirty-three people voted, including our election officer in charge. I loved every minute of it...including the overly available nap time (which slightly made up for my due-to-excitement lack of sleep), attempting several crossword puzzles, undoing a 1/2 completed scarf that I eventually restarted from scratch, and had a lot of odd and wonderful conversation with my co-poll workers and voters.

Our supervisor was a wonderful and patient lady who helped us newbies through the process and walked us through the very few glitches we encountered. From what we heard, we were totally on top of our game, especially in comparison to one of the other precincts nearby.

During one of our slumps in voter turnout, we had a mildly heated debate about the Affordable Care Act. Kind of thinking my opposition in that one was one of the Republicans in the room. I, apparently, was one of the Democrats. The best part was after the debate ended...in my deciding to stop responding to the flimsy arguments and stories...and one of the other poll workers shoot me a look and smirked while telling me to be good, that she knew what I was thinking. My subtle partner in political savvy.

The long day was worth the experience, and the new friendships. Can't wait to do it again in August and November, and hopefully for many years to come.

Irony

Today I could not vote.

The funny thing about it is, I really enjoy voting. I look forward to it each year. I love going to my local polling place on election day and seeing my neighbors. I chat with the little old ladies who live on my street and check everyone in at the door. We catch up on a bit of street gossip and exchange pleasantries.

This year, I joined their ranks.

Unfortunately, I found out that I could be a poll worker on Friday, and early voting ended on Thursday. Wouldn't be such a big deal if I'd been assigned to my home precinct, but I wasn't. I was assigned to Goodlettsville, 30 minutes away.

At least I know for next time. Live and learn...and vote!

Monday Monday

It's Monday and I'm already exhausted.

I really, really should not have picked up an extra shift last week. Five days of manual labor while smiling is too much for me these days.

I am generally under the impression that I can do anything. Every day I am proved wrong, but I still believe it. The illusion has persisted my entire life.

As I near my fourth decade, I find that I am not able to stay up late and rally the next day. I can't go out drinking and function normally in the morning anymore. I even get annoyed when someone calls after 8pm. I am turning into an old woman!

How did this happen? How did I go from being the life of the party, the first one on the dance floor, to the fuddy-duddy in the corner with the inhaler who only stays for an hour. Good grief!

If I've said it once, I've said it a hundred times. I need a vacation. I'm ready!

Leg(itim)acy

On Tuesday I will join the ranks of elderly women across the country making sure you are able to vote.

That's right, I will be a poll worker!

My 80+ year old neighbor has been working our precinct for eight years and has been practically begging me to replace her there for the past several months. I finally got around to sending in my application a couple of weeks ago and hadn't heard anything from the folks in charge since.

I called a few days ago to follow-up with them and heard that they are swamped with training folks who had sent in their paperwork in a timely fashion. Of course, they were more diplomatic, but the point was made clearly. I let them know I'd be happy to help in any way I could since I had the day off and they said they'd get back to me.

There had been newspaper columns and notices about the lack of new poll workers and the need to begin replacing those who are no longer able to continue working the long days (at least 12 hours). Basically, they need new blood.

I told Grandma I had applied last week when I took her out for dinner, and she surprised me by saying that she'd done the same thing when they'd lived in Florida. Not only had she worked at the polls, but a handful of other civic duties until she'd finally had enough and quit to have more free time.

It was nice to know I was continuing a family legacy.

I've always thought that voting was one of our biggest privileges as citizens. It allows us to have a voice in the political process. It gives us a say in government through our elected officials, and puts people in office who we hope will use our voices as their own. It also gives us the right to vote people out of office if they are not good stewards of the Constitution or our rights.

Mom used to bring me with her to my elementary school gymnasium to vote. Those were the days of true voting booths. It felt magical, like we were about to see the Wizard in Oz. We drew the curtains around us, we selected the candidates we wanted to see in office, and we pulled the lever to cast our ballot. It was always a special treat and I couldn't wait to sign my voter registration card when I turned 18.

There was a group of women registering seniors at a table set up in front of the cafeteria. Getting to sign that card was almost more exciting than the upcoming graduation, almost. Voting is great and all, but getting to go 900 miles from home was a lot better.

Anyway...I'm really looking forward to learning the ropes, being part of this experience, and doing my civic duty. Of course, I'm not replacing my neighbor yet. Since I sent in my paperwork so late, I'm assigned to a precinct 30 minutes and 20 miles away, in Goodlettsville. Apparently it's not one of the voting hot spots. I may be able to catch up on some knitting, reading or napping while there! Considering the rest of the week's schedule, I'm hoping for the latter.

Ladies' lunch

Yesterday I got to see an old friend.

She was in town for an overnight conference, and I was lucky enough to spend the afternoon with her before she headed back to Boston.

We managed to fit in some hilarious clothes shopping which included an inordinate amount of see-through tops, most of which I told her were not going to fly in Boston. Honestly, I'm not sure they would fly in most parts of Nashville.

We wandered the streets of Lower Broadway, taking in the sights and sounds, and catching up on each others' lives. She was a breath of fresh air on a beautiful day. A blast from the past and a welcome surprise on my day off.

We found an appropriately Southern dining establishment with outdoor-ish seating, where she satisfied her craving for BBQ, then made our way to a fabulously kitchy dress shop and tried on more duds. We looked hot, but left empty handed. I may go back for the sassy sundress everyone loved on me. Maybe.

The afternoon also entailed enjoying the posters at Hatch Show Prints and some pink grapefruit sorbet at the candy store and sunning ourselves while eating said sorbet on the plaza in front of the Ryman Auditorium.

It was a quick and dirty Nashville moment, but it was wonderful. It's going to carry me through another grueling week.

Union, yes.

I used to be a union organizer.

It ruined me for life, well, that and the incredible benefits I had while an employee at Harvard way back in the day. I don't mean it was a terrible place to work, I mean that it gave me the autonomy and confidence that I could do anything I put my mind to. I was very good at it, and I completely believed in it. I still do.

I was ruined for any other employer, for any other organization.

I keep trying to bring what I learned at HUCTW (Harvard Union of Clerical and Technical Workers) to every other workplace. Sometimes the ideals I bring with me are welcome, sometimes they are not.

The ideals are simple: cooperation, collaboration, communication, participation, and building a solid middle class. You'd think that those would be easy enough to translate into other arenas. Not always.

Yesterday was May Day, and I worked a little over 12 hours between two jobs. The day before was a longer day. What's interesting is that I think I worked fewer hours as an exempt employee, making more money than I do now.

When I was a union member, I valued the ability to participate in the running of my workplace in some way. I valued having a voice in my workplace, the camaraderie of meetings, the learning process for problem solving, and I even enjoyed the case management with those who were laid off.

As a union organizer, I was often tasked with tackling the most resistant workplaces and individuals. My kindness and smiling face were my tools. It was a fun challenge.

I loved getting out and meeting new members, loved the excitement of the problem solving process, loved the encouragement from the women and men who had worked 17 years to formalize the union.

I value every minute I was a union member and organizer. I pull from those years on a regular basis, using the lessons I learned on the job to continue teaching me how to be the best I can be wherever I am in my career. I will continue to bring the ideals of HUCTW to my jobs, and keep them in my heart.

May-be

Happy May Day!

On this day that the rest of the world celebrates the labor movement, I am celebrating the end of my 50+ hour work week.

The benefits of juggling jobs and working long hours are there. Somewhere. It's not a hamster wheel I'm on, right?

The biggest benefit is that I am able to pay all of my bills, and lately have savings.

That savings is hopefully going to build to be my emergency fund, retirement fund(s) and hopefully grow enough so that I can have a vacation fund.

After my last couple of disaster trips, I've decided that my next trip should be to a beach, by myself, without access to communication...other than to the nice looking young man who will bring me my cocktails by the water, adjust the cabana when I need some shade, resupply my fresh fruit platter when it's looking depleted, and make sure I'm appropriately sunscreened for a golden tan.

 I'd better start putting that dough away faster so I can get to that beach!

Petal-tacular

Spring is in the air.

The annual last two weeks of April deluge has dumped significant rain, and wind, and damage on the South.

My house is solid, my car is undamaged by hail, and my flowers are soggy, but they are still gorgeous and lift my spirits morning and night. The new blooms blow me away, as I relearn and remember what is planted.

From delicate periwinkles, to bold burgundies, to white and striped purple, to golden yellow, the irises in my yard make me smile, and that's good enough for me.

And...breathe

Last week I tried to take a mini vacation.

It was kind of a disaster, but it had some bright spots.

1. I hiked the Appalachian Trail (okay...a very, very small portion of it).
2. I got to see some beautiful butterflies and tiny little flowers on moss by a river in another state.
3. I bought an adorable pair of teal shoes.
4. My mom gave me two dresses, a shirt and a couple of sweaters.
5. I now have my dad's axe (well, my hardware store has it, and is tightening the handle and sharpening the blade.
6. I bought a vagabond healer a glass of white wine, and she lifted the hurt from my heart and the heaviness in my soul (she also asked to stay at my house, which I declined, and when she handed me her card, she told me about her PayPal account...a savvy entrepreneur if you ask me).
7. I sat by a fire.
8. I sunned myself on a bridge by the French Broad River.
9. I bought a super cool bottle opener.
10. I drank the best water I've ever tasted from a faucet.
11. I had a wonderful, heartfelt hug.
12. I cried more than I have in years.
13. I lost 3-4 lbs without trying...but was really, really hungry.
14. I learned that communication is important, and needs to go both ways.
15. I was honest with an old friend.

It was a lot of driving, and my car suffered for it, but I am ultimately glad I went. Next time, I'm getting a hotel room in advance and booking some time at the spa and hot springs. That way, all of my expectations will be met and anything else will be icing on the cake!

Trail blazer

Thursday I hiked the Appalachian Trail.

Okay, so I hiked about .10 miles in order to try to meet my friend on the trail leading into Hot Springs, NC. It was kind of awesome.

I was dressed completely inappropriately. I had on mary-jane flats with worn-out soles, a pair of shorts and a long sleeved shirt. No hat. No socks. No bug spray or sunscreen. It was kind of awesome.

I walked over the bridge in town that crosses the French Broad River, a swift flowing river that feeds into the Tennessee. I found a perch on the bridge that didn't feel too dangerous and sat and waited. And waited. And waited.

After a while, some older gentlemen stopped by to post a sign about their 9th Annual Trail Angel cookout on May 1st. We chatted for a while, then I waited a while longer.

Finally, I decided to walk down the steep hill, via the makeshift steps, and follow the trail until I ran into my friend. I had very little idea of where to go or what to do, and no clue about the terrain I'd encounter, but I figured if came across anything too tough, I'd just turn back.

What I saw was beauty. There were black and yellow butterflies. Blue butterflies. Teal flying beetles. Periwinkle flowers on tiny stems growing atop moss by the river. Little red flowers. Dogwoods. Redbuds. It was all so, so beautiful.

Turns out my friend's phone doesn't work this far south on the Trail, so he didn't get my texts asking how far he and his hiking partner were from Hot Springs. Turns out it didn't matter. I ran into them as I was about to give up climbing an incline.

They were as amazed at what was there as I was. Nothing like nature to remind you of the incredible diversity that surrounds us.

Mountain girl

Wednesday I got in my car and drove East on I-40.

I'd just worked 31 hours since Monday, and had a hard time staying awake for the first 40 miles or so. I finally pulled over at a combo Wendy's/gas station in Carthage, TN to get something caffeinated and a snack to keep my eyes open...and a bathroom. It was a fairly routine pit-stop, but it was disconcerting to see an armed guard inside the door.

The first time I spent any significant amount of time in Carthage was the day that Gov. Bill Clinton announced Sen. Al Gore, Jr. as his running mate for the first time, in 1992. It was an insanely hot day. People were passing out from the heat, and the the only shade around was the big tree in front of courthouse. The fire department had a fire truck out with a water tank to make sure people were hydrating.

That was the genesis of the future signs and t-shirts professing "Bill & Al's Excellent Adventure." It was also the first time I'd heard the show "Car Talk," and while I love it now, I told my dad he should change the channel because I was sick of hearing those hillbillies talk  about cars. Oy.

This trip, I was across the street from what had been the only gas station in Carthage in 1992. I settled for a small mint hot chocolate and a small bag of corn nuts to get me to Knoxville for the night. It did the trick. So did my fond memories of that trip with Dad. I'm sure I was no peach that trip, having recently returned from a semester of high school in Israel. I did not want to be back in Tennessee, or back under my parents' roof. I was a miserable, but I was interested in politics, and Dad fostered that interest well, as it was, and is, also his own.

The rest of the drive made me smile constantly. I was awake, only spilled some of my hot chocolate on myself, and was totally digging the harsh crunch of the corn nuts. And then I noticed it. I was surrounded by rolling hills. Rolling green hills. I was headed home. Not just to my parents' house, but home to East Tennessee, to the Smoky Mountains. I forgot how much vistas feed my soul. The hills were alive with the green of springtime, that misty green, that subtle, delicate green of my favorite season.

I drove in joy and looked forward to the rest of my trip.

Mountain magic

Wednesday I got in my car and headed east towards Hot Springs, NC.

I made a pit stop in Knoxville to visit my parents on the way to see a friend who is hiking the Appalachian Trail. The plans were up in the air, and solely based on the pace of the hikers...who were running a day behind. Thus thus the pit stop for the night.

That pit stop was really nice. I ended up getting a lecture on my work patterns from my dad, and since there wasn't anything in the house for me to eat, I treated myself to Petro's for dinner. Silver linings everywhere. Thursday morning, I was treated to Waffle House by Dad, and had great conversations about his grandparents, long lost relatives and the genesis of anti-Semitism that apparently began with the Romans.

After breakfast, I met Mom back at the house, where she gave me some dresses. We then went to the bank so that I could sign the safety deposit box cards...in case something happens to my folks. Morbid, but necessary as the steps towards aging preparations begin.

The drive to Hot Springs from Knoxville was an easy one. I made a quick stop at Earth Fare to pick up some snacks (and nearly $40 worth of seeds for my garden) and hit the road.

Once I was off the highway and headed into Newport, TN, I was struck by not only the extreme poverty, but by the lush vegetation. Everything was green. The food pantries and thrift stores gave way to farmsteads and then just trees as neared the NC/TN border. The dogwoods I saw everywhere in Knoxville were dotted amongst the emerging maples and oaks.

And then, I spied Hot Springs. What a weird and wonderful little town. Everyone was kind. Everyone knew the hikers were coming. Everyone was there to encourage them on their journeys.

It was picturesque and I am so glad I got to experience it.

Mom of the year

Last week, I witnessed a woman go through the grocery store with her daughter having a raging tantrum the entire time.

I was working there at the time, and, like most everyone else, noticed the commotion. She didn't come through my line, but I could see the "I'm sorry, I can't control this situation so we're going to have to let her scream it out" look on her face.

Her transaction took WAY longer than seemed necessary, and she looked like she wanted to scream, just like her little girl, but totally held it together.

I didn't have anyone in my line, and as she started to walk out the door, I grabbed a bouquet of flowers and hustled after her and met her at her car. I handed her the flowers, told her she was a great mom, and helped get the groceries into the car while she managed her daughter.

She looked relieved and thanked me and apologized for her daughter's behavior. She was my hero that day. I'd had a minor meltdown of my own while driving from one job to the other, and knew what her little girl felt, I just couldn't wail about it and get away with it anymore. At least in public.

Patience like that mom's is more than a virtue. It is admirable and should be commended. She is a great mom. I'm sure her daughter is also a great kid. I hope they both see that in each other as I saw it in them.

Birthday boy

Today is my youngest nephew's birthday.

He is a red headed, fair skinned, blue-eyed boy in a family of olive skinned brunettes, mainly with eyes in various shades of brown.

He is vivacious and loud and only recently decided to wear pants when he's not at school. He is a snuggler and isn't greedy with hugs. He even let me give him a kiss last week, the first time in about a year...when he decided that kisses weren't allowed.

He is loud and joyful and throws fits like a champ. He's fearless and a joker and I love him like crazy.

He may be the white sheep of the family, but he's a black sheep, like the rest of us, at heart!

Bouncing quarters

I love a freshly made bed.

Actually, I love making a bed, especially with freshly laundered sheets. I find the process as satisfying as frosting a cake.

Each sheet is like another layer, smoothed and ready to dive into. Folding each hospital corner like my paternal grandma taught me.

On a cool night, the warm sheets envelope you, comfort you under the weight of the blankets. On a hot night, leaving the covers off and turning on the ceiling fan.

Sleep tight. I will.

Refridgerator roullette

I've been a vegetarian for 22 years.

It's a lifestyle choice, not a health thing, not an animal cruelty thing. I just don't like meat. Haven't since I was a little girl.

I do, however, like to take chances...sometimes. The biggest chances I tend to take are speeding on the highway and eating food that is past its prime.

Saturday, I took a chance on some tofu with a January expiration date. I figured there's no harm in it, as long as it doesn't smell weird, and it doesn't have a slimy film on it. Just to be sure, I tried a sliver sitting on top of the block when I opened the package. Didn't taste funny.

I then cubed it, separated it onto parchment paper on a baking sheet, and popped it into the oven while I prepped baked apples (which joined the tofu in the oven), boiled potatoes to have for breakfast, made a one-pot meal of potatoes, green beans and tomato sauce with extra garlic, and whipped up a lemon-orange sponge cake (which joined the tofu and apples in the oven). The tofu came out browned and puffed and chewy, just like tofu that hadn't passed its best by date.

Of course, I couldn't help but try some. Minutes later, my belly began to ache.

No big deal...it's probiotics!

Mighty neighborly of you

Saturday morning I mowed the lawn, sort of.

I lugged my trusty electric lawnmower out of the garage and went for it. Sadly, the battery is dying, and has been for over a year. I tried. I really did. I even kept raising the blade so that it wouldn't have to struggle so much. Sadly, it just stopped. Outright stopped.

Just before that, a man who'd been doing yard work two houses over came walking up to my chain link fence and offered his push mower. He also offered to help me figure out how to thread my weed eater...and when he couldn't, he used his to trim what I couldn't reach with the mower.

Turns out he's one of the sons of the woman who lived at the house two doors down. She passed away a few weeks ago, and he and his brothers have been keeping up the yard while they decide what to do with the house.

He gave me some history of my house. He remembers the two giant tulip poplars in the front yard (the biggest trees on the street) as small trees. He remembers when the original owners built the garage. He has no idea, though, who installed a shower in my laundry room...then turned the shower stall into a toilet stall...that is non-functional at the moment. While we were in the laundry room, he leaned on the dryer, laughed, and fixed the wobble.

He said, "I hope you don't take this the wrong way. You seem like a very self-sufficient woman, but you need a man around." I agreed with him and told him I was working on it. I didn't take offense. I do agree with him. I'd love to have a man in my life, not to be my fix-it guy, but to be my partner. To be each other's partner. To fix things together. To dine together. To laugh together. And all the other stuff.

After he left, I finished working in the garden and pulled a few more weeds, got cleaned up, ate some lunch and went to the hardware store...where they threaded my weed eater. Much later, I heard from a friend I'm meeting in North Carolina. Someone I'd love to have in my life.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I really like my neighbors, and my neighborhood.

50 shades of Miriam

Last week I returned a sweater.

Nothing earth shattering about that, but while I was there, one of the saleswomen and I had a bonding moment. She and I are both olive complected, and we started talking about what happens every year. We have a different skin tone for every season.

She commented that if she wore foundation that she'd have at least 50 shades. I only have two...and don't wear foundation. And, I hardly ever wear either of them. I do have some eye liner. I think I wore it twice last year. One of those times was when I put on lipstick.

As winter turns to spring turns to summer, my undertones of yellowish green will turn to beige and then to honeyed tan. The saleswoman could relate.

The last couple of weekends have been a good start. Welcome back, tan lines. Welcome back, melatonin. Welcome back, rosy glow.

I look forward to keeping my compact in the bathroom drawer, and giving my dermatologist something to do as I get older. Tan on, y'all!

Back to our regularly scheduled programming

The past few days I've been off my game.

My schedule has been insane. There were two seders: one late, the other later. Working 1/2 of one of my two precious days off. Considering working 1/2 of my second, and reconsidering.

Worst of all, I was kind of mean to my mom. She got over it, and so did I, but I can't shake the feeling that there was more going on than just being in a bad mood or still being in work mode when I saw her, or being hungry or merely slipping into bad teenage habits. I've come to the conclusion that it was the matzo balls.

I know, I know. How could a matzo ball be a problem? Well, let's start with the fact that it was made with matzah. Wheat flour and water. Water's no big deal; I drink that all day long, and often in the middle of the night.

The flour is the culprit. I'm almost positive. Having been gluten free for nearly a year, I have noticed that I have chilled out. I mean, I'm still fairly tightly wound when it comes to certain topics, but I don't get frustrated as easily. I don't get pissy. I go with the flow more easily. I think that also has to do with getting more sleep, too, but this week was markedly different.

I said things before thinking about them, or their consequences. I was pointed and sharp when I am usually a good bit softer. I was short. I mean, physically I will always be short, but verbally, this was out of character.

I'm back on the gluten free bandwagon. I'm being good to myself so that I can be better to others. Next year I'm picking up some of that gluten free matzah meal...or making a different kind of soup for seder.

Must be the full moon

I'm usually pretty cool.

I mean, I juggle three jobs that work me 46+ hours per week, sneak in visits with Grandma, the occasional arts & crafts project, cook enough so that I only eat one meal out per week, do the laundry, wash the dishes and weed, plant and maintain my gardens. Occasionally I even clean my house.

I manage it pretty well most of the time. Days off include giant checklists that get whittled down bit by bit, enough sitting down to make up for the job that's 30+ hours on my feet, and plenty of catching up on TV shows.

I take it all in stride. I work hard and I rest hard. When I'm able, I sleep 9-12 hours per night, which makes up for the seasonal insomnia and short nights between 14 hour days.

I'm not sharing this so you feel sorry for me. I don't feel sorry for myself. I love what I do. I'm just exhausted.

Yesterday, I had a moment of panic. I felt like I was adrift. Like I was being batted around by the forces of the universe without a way to redirect myself. Without a way to just stop for a minute, an hour, a day, a week.

I mean, I clearly need a vacation. It's also springtime. My usual season for wanderlust, for entropy, for ennui. I was due for a freak out and got one...during the 30 minutes I had to think while going from one job to another.

It will all work out. Always does. Eventually. In the meantime, I am going to focus on putting away the clean laundry from last week, clearing off the coffee table and getting new tires on my car so I can hit the road when the urge, and the opportunity strike.

End freak out. Begin looking at the flowers outside the house again.

Dayenu!

Tuesday night I got to experience my first Persian seder.

It was stellar. From now on, I want more laughter at every seder I attend. More smacking each other with scallions while we sing Dayenu (enough). More spices and fruits. More rice. More green things. More sweet wine. More hugging and kissing. More getting it all done together.

I cannot say enough about how much love I have for the family that took me in for the second seder this year, and for many a shabbat. They are warm and kind and funny and welcoming.

I hope to build my own family like theirs some day. This year, I was not only free from slavery, I was free from the drudgery that can accompany a second seder. This year, I was free to learn new customs, eat new holiday foods, and enjoy the holiday with much loved friends.

Happy Passover, indeed!

Violet, you're turning violet.

Every time I mow the grass I think of the bees.

This time of year, and throughout mowing season, there is not only grass in my yard(s), but various wild plants (weeds), clover, and flowering things, including teeny tiny violets. Most of them are purple, but there is also the odd purple and white striped one to be found.

I know that some little bee must dine on the violets with their delicate bottom lip of a petal inviting them to have a bite of nectar and take some pollen home for the larvae. Each time I mow one down I feel a twinge, an anxious feeling that I've done damage to the local bee population.

This is totally ridiculous, but the feeling is there. I know that the weed killer my neighbors use is doing more damage than my irregular mowing. I know that there will be more flowers covering my yard(s) in another day or two.

In a lot of ways, I wish I could remove all of the grass and just leave the clover and violets to do their thing all year. They are more green, more lush, more vibrant than the crabgrass I constantly pull out of my flower and vegetable beds.

If I weren't so afraid of something hiding in tall grass and biting me, I'd mow more rarely. For now, I will continue to reluctantly shred the violets as I make sure to keep within yard ordinances. I'll also continue to admire them, and leave patches of purple blossoms whenever and wherever I am able.

Once we were slaves. Now we are free...to eat quinoa.

I love bread. Rye bread in particular.

Since going gluten free last summer, I haven't had it. It hasn't been a struggle. Being homeless would be a struggle. Cutting out a food from my diet is a choice, and an easy one at that.

That said, there are still difficulties to be made during Passover. My diet will remain fairly constant, but I will feel a twinge of guilt if I eat beans, rice, corn or tofu this week. While I believe that there are arbitrary limitations placed on eating these foods in Ashkanazi Jewish traditions, I also believe in tradition. Coming from a long line of people who followed tradition, and somehow managed to survive with them through millennia of persecution, I feel like I owe something to my ancestors by following in their footsteps...for the most part.

I also believe that it's okay to harken back to my Sephardi roots that can theoretically be traced back to 1509, when the entire Jewish population of Chavez, Portugal fled to Poland. Grandma Reb was from Warsaw. If 25 generations ago my family was eating kitniot, I'm pretty comfortable doing it, too. That said, I didn't grow up with Sephardi customs. No one taught me how to inspect rice to make sure it is kosher, or whether fresh, dried or canned beans are okay to eat.

With my giant cookbook collection, I have a healthy number of Passover cookbooks, as well as Sephardi cookbooks. I've done my research there, and online, and by asking friends with different traditions. Everyone has something different to say. Something different to add or subtract.

When I was in Israel for a semester of high school, it was the first time I ate corn and beans during Passover. The rabbis there said it was okay, since you never want to offend your host. It was a revelation. It was like I was freed like the slaves in Egypt! It was my own personal breaking free.

With my family, I follow the tradition we grew up with, the tradition of lots and lots of beige food. At home I will add spices, I'll add color, I'll add texture. At home, I will think of my Portuguese ancestors (who probably had ancestors from Babylonia) while I cook up some Spanish rice to go with my beans and cumin...and I will continue to feel lucky to have such a rich tradition upon which to build.