There's nothing like a good dose of procrastination.
I am very, very good at it. It's not that I like the adrenaline rush of getting an assignment in at the last minute, it's usually that I'd rather do something else and know I can get both accomplished. Either that, or I never really wanted to do the initial thing at all.
That's the joy of being an adult. You can make choices not to do things if you just don't feel like it. Okay, not everything. Well, actually...you don't have to do things, but you do have to live with the consequences.
Take for instance, if you fail to pay your mortgage on time, eventually, you will lose your house or have your credit score lowered. If you fail to clean your home, you may be embarrassed to have people over for social occasions. If you fail to show up for work, you will hear about it from your employer and put your income at risk. If you fail to wash the dishes, you may not have enough pots and pans to cook your next meal.
I'm more of a leave the clean, folded laundry on the couch kind of gal. I also have a bad habit of not getting to the dishes until there are enough to fill the dishwasher. Not the best habit, I admit, but I'd rather sit down after being on my feet all day than spend another 20 minutes emptying and refilling the dishwasher when I get home.
Here's the thing. I know, logically, that I feel better when my laundry and dishes are put away. I like having a clean sink and countertop and enough room to stretch out on the couch without fear of knocking over a stack of t-shirts or wiggling my feet under three pairs of neatly folded flannel pajamas.
Luckily, I do put my things away when I need or want to. No one is forcing me to keep a spotless home. I don't feel pressure to do so. That said, the sense of accomplishment when surfaces are cleared, when closets and drawers are full (and not my sofa), and I can think about something other than the things I need to put away.
Welcome to days off, when lists get written and crossed off, when errands supplant household chores, and when juggling both brings in Shabbat with a sense of pride and calm, peace of mind that is allowed when you can focus your mind on creative pursuits, on the next book to read, on being with friends and family, on planning that trip or garden.
I look forward to that calm this Shabbat, once I figure out how to prioritize my list.
January 31, 2014
January 30, 2014
Having a ball
A couple of years ago I went on a cooking jag of sorts. All I wanted to make was round food. It was a personal challenge, and I got pretty adept at it.
As a longtime vegetarian, there are only so many round foods to make without owning a deep fryer. If I did, I'm pretty sure I'd be as big as my house from gorging myself on hush puppies, falafel and arancini.
Instead, my round foods mostly came out oblong, sort of football shaped, with a flat side from baking most of them.
I made matzah balls, tofu "meat"balls, eggplant "meat"balls, ginger-fig truffles, kubbeh. Wow, I guess I didn't make that many round foods. I did talk about them an awful lot, though.
For a while I thought I'd end up writing a cookbook: Saucy Balls; Sweet & Spicy Balls; Baked & Buttery Balls; Mouth Full of Balls. I'd giggle for hours and call my friends in far away places with similar middle school senses of humor. I thought I was totally hilarious. Making up inappropriate cookbook titles was almost as fun as cooking and eating those tasty balls. Ooh! Tasty Balls: Getting a Round.
Last night I made sweet and sour tofu balls for the first time. The recipe is a little fussy, and while it says to cook them for a total of 40 minutes, I'm pretty sure mine were in the oven for almost 2 hours. They must be done, right? They look crispy and browned.
My personal philosophy with tofu is: if it's crunchy it's done. Actually, I like most of my food well-done. Guess that's why I'm a vegetarian. Meat didn't taste great when it was cooked beyond recognition, but I couldn't handle bloody juices. Totally freaked me out. I would burst into tears if there was any meat liquid on my plate. Runny eggs are the same way. If you want to see me cry, bring on underdone eggs. Actually, I'll just send them back until they're right. Ask my parents. They cringe every time we go out for breakfast.
After several unhappy restaurant experiences with omelets, I just order scrambled over well at this point. It's easier for everyone that way.
Back to the balls. I've always wanted to make popcorn balls. Maybe someday. Maybe that will be part of my continuing cookbook development. Now, who's coming over for dinner?!
As a longtime vegetarian, there are only so many round foods to make without owning a deep fryer. If I did, I'm pretty sure I'd be as big as my house from gorging myself on hush puppies, falafel and arancini.
Instead, my round foods mostly came out oblong, sort of football shaped, with a flat side from baking most of them.
I made matzah balls, tofu "meat"balls, eggplant "meat"balls, ginger-fig truffles, kubbeh. Wow, I guess I didn't make that many round foods. I did talk about them an awful lot, though.
For a while I thought I'd end up writing a cookbook: Saucy Balls; Sweet & Spicy Balls; Baked & Buttery Balls; Mouth Full of Balls. I'd giggle for hours and call my friends in far away places with similar middle school senses of humor. I thought I was totally hilarious. Making up inappropriate cookbook titles was almost as fun as cooking and eating those tasty balls. Ooh! Tasty Balls: Getting a Round.
Last night I made sweet and sour tofu balls for the first time. The recipe is a little fussy, and while it says to cook them for a total of 40 minutes, I'm pretty sure mine were in the oven for almost 2 hours. They must be done, right? They look crispy and browned.
My personal philosophy with tofu is: if it's crunchy it's done. Actually, I like most of my food well-done. Guess that's why I'm a vegetarian. Meat didn't taste great when it was cooked beyond recognition, but I couldn't handle bloody juices. Totally freaked me out. I would burst into tears if there was any meat liquid on my plate. Runny eggs are the same way. If you want to see me cry, bring on underdone eggs. Actually, I'll just send them back until they're right. Ask my parents. They cringe every time we go out for breakfast.
After several unhappy restaurant experiences with omelets, I just order scrambled over well at this point. It's easier for everyone that way.
Back to the balls. I've always wanted to make popcorn balls. Maybe someday. Maybe that will be part of my continuing cookbook development. Now, who's coming over for dinner?!
January 29, 2014
"The stars at night are big and bright..."
I have always loved stargazing.
My dad used to point out the constellations in the night sky, especially on winter nights.
There's something about a winter night, the lack of humidity allowing cloudless clarity and bringing brilliance to the stars. When I got home from work tonight, I walked to the mailbox and noticed the stars seeming to hover above me. I wanted to stay outside and search for my favorites, but it is crazy cold out there!
Last week, I managed to stay out for about 10 minutes, finding the dippers, Orion...known best by his bedazzled belt and his dog star, Caseopia, Scorpio. At least I think that's what I was looking at. I mean, I was pretty young when Dad taught me about the stars.
As a teenager, my friends and I used to go camping whenever we could. Now that I'm thinking about it, we spent more time drinking around the campfire (and some of them making out in the woods) than looking at the stars.
At summer camp I used to sneak out to see the Northern Lights. The counselors knew I wasn't interested in anything else and let me lie in the grass with whomever I convinced to come with me. I was such an innocent. Still am half the time.
I love the simple things, or, like the stars, complex things that seem simple.
One of my favorite classes in college was astronomy. Stars became something more to me than pretty twinkling lights in the sky then. White dwarfs and black holes, red giants and supergiants. They sounds like characters in Chaucer.
Of course, after college, I learned about "Red Dwarf," which is about space, but that's about as close as it gets to being about stars.
I may not be dripping with jewels, but I will always have bling in my life...every night that the stars shine for me.
My dad used to point out the constellations in the night sky, especially on winter nights.
There's something about a winter night, the lack of humidity allowing cloudless clarity and bringing brilliance to the stars. When I got home from work tonight, I walked to the mailbox and noticed the stars seeming to hover above me. I wanted to stay outside and search for my favorites, but it is crazy cold out there!
Last week, I managed to stay out for about 10 minutes, finding the dippers, Orion...known best by his bedazzled belt and his dog star, Caseopia, Scorpio. At least I think that's what I was looking at. I mean, I was pretty young when Dad taught me about the stars.
As a teenager, my friends and I used to go camping whenever we could. Now that I'm thinking about it, we spent more time drinking around the campfire (and some of them making out in the woods) than looking at the stars.
At summer camp I used to sneak out to see the Northern Lights. The counselors knew I wasn't interested in anything else and let me lie in the grass with whomever I convinced to come with me. I was such an innocent. Still am half the time.
I love the simple things, or, like the stars, complex things that seem simple.
One of my favorite classes in college was astronomy. Stars became something more to me than pretty twinkling lights in the sky then. White dwarfs and black holes, red giants and supergiants. They sounds like characters in Chaucer.
Of course, after college, I learned about "Red Dwarf," which is about space, but that's about as close as it gets to being about stars.
I may not be dripping with jewels, but I will always have bling in my life...every night that the stars shine for me.
January 28, 2014
Refuse, recycle, replace
Over the past year I've noticed more and more of my things wearing out.
A dish or glass breaks, a pair of jeans develop unseemly holes, so does a pillowcase. It's like my house is trying to clean itself out. Instead of getting upset or replacing the items, I first try to repair it, and if that isn't possible, I chuck it and don't think about it anymore.
I mean really, how many dishes do I need? Even when the dishwasher is full, I have plenty of silverware and glasses and plates and bowls and pots and pans. I can make due with a different pair of pants, or use another pillow on the couch.
The summer of 2012, I got rid of a lot of stuff. I sold books, had a big yard sale and donated several bags of clothes and household items to Goodwill. I still have a lot of stuff. At the time, I wasn't having luck in the Nashville job market and was hoping to sell my house and move to a city with more prospects. That didn't end up happening.
When I moved to Nashville, I had something like 14 boxes of books...for my kitchen. Besides clothes, that was my biggest moving expense. I don't regret it, and I have not thinned my collection of cookbooks much. I enjoy reading the cookbooks, and often do cross referencing for an ingredient I have too much of or haven't used before.
Most of the items that break or come to the end of their usefulness I don't bother replacing. The most recently re-purchased item was my sugar bowl, which I actually use for salt...and use every day. Somehow I've shattered three of them in the last few years.
I'm not sure if this is the most effective way to purge my home. My mom and sister tend to go room by room, ruthlessly ridding them of anything outgrown or unused in the past six months. My dad, brother and I tend to hold onto items a bit longer, like forever.
It's not that we think the bits and pieces of ephemera from our lives are valuable, but they are sentimental. In 1997 I had most of my jewelry stolen from my room in a seven-bedroom home in Brighton, MA. Four room mates had just moved out, and I am still convinced that it was one of them, but could never prove it. The thief managed to grab the ring my parents gave me for my bat mitzvah, the bracelet they gave me for my 18th birthday, and the earrings they gave me for my 21st. I can still picture them all. Thankfully, the pearls must've looked fake, and they were left on the table in my room. The necklace they left was a wedding gift from my dad to my mom, and was given to me on my 16th birthday.
Despite the loss of the baubles, I did not lose the affection my parents were showing me with their gifts. In subsequent years, I have come to appreciate emotional connection more than glittering jewels. A meaningful conversation holds my attention longer than a sparkling gem. Of course, I put my shiny things in safer places now, and I still appreciate them and the intent with which they were given.
I do not mourn the loss of stuff anymore. I embrace what I have, which encompasses much more than material things.
A dish or glass breaks, a pair of jeans develop unseemly holes, so does a pillowcase. It's like my house is trying to clean itself out. Instead of getting upset or replacing the items, I first try to repair it, and if that isn't possible, I chuck it and don't think about it anymore.
I mean really, how many dishes do I need? Even when the dishwasher is full, I have plenty of silverware and glasses and plates and bowls and pots and pans. I can make due with a different pair of pants, or use another pillow on the couch.
The summer of 2012, I got rid of a lot of stuff. I sold books, had a big yard sale and donated several bags of clothes and household items to Goodwill. I still have a lot of stuff. At the time, I wasn't having luck in the Nashville job market and was hoping to sell my house and move to a city with more prospects. That didn't end up happening.
When I moved to Nashville, I had something like 14 boxes of books...for my kitchen. Besides clothes, that was my biggest moving expense. I don't regret it, and I have not thinned my collection of cookbooks much. I enjoy reading the cookbooks, and often do cross referencing for an ingredient I have too much of or haven't used before.
Most of the items that break or come to the end of their usefulness I don't bother replacing. The most recently re-purchased item was my sugar bowl, which I actually use for salt...and use every day. Somehow I've shattered three of them in the last few years.
I'm not sure if this is the most effective way to purge my home. My mom and sister tend to go room by room, ruthlessly ridding them of anything outgrown or unused in the past six months. My dad, brother and I tend to hold onto items a bit longer, like forever.
It's not that we think the bits and pieces of ephemera from our lives are valuable, but they are sentimental. In 1997 I had most of my jewelry stolen from my room in a seven-bedroom home in Brighton, MA. Four room mates had just moved out, and I am still convinced that it was one of them, but could never prove it. The thief managed to grab the ring my parents gave me for my bat mitzvah, the bracelet they gave me for my 18th birthday, and the earrings they gave me for my 21st. I can still picture them all. Thankfully, the pearls must've looked fake, and they were left on the table in my room. The necklace they left was a wedding gift from my dad to my mom, and was given to me on my 16th birthday.
Despite the loss of the baubles, I did not lose the affection my parents were showing me with their gifts. In subsequent years, I have come to appreciate emotional connection more than glittering jewels. A meaningful conversation holds my attention longer than a sparkling gem. Of course, I put my shiny things in safer places now, and I still appreciate them and the intent with which they were given.
I do not mourn the loss of stuff anymore. I embrace what I have, which encompasses much more than material things.
January 27, 2014
No articles, just pictures.
I got my first seed catalog of the year in the mail last week.
I've thumbed through it half a dozen times already, and am sitting on my hands so that I don't buy the whole thing. I mean really, do I NEED seven varieties of cherry tomatoes?! Kind of. At least, I'd really, really like to try growing them.
I found flowers and fruits and veggies that look like they would make my yard into my own homestead. Of course, I would need an industrial strength tiller, or farmhands to have enough turned soil to grow everything I'd like to sow.
As of now, the ground (and air) temperatures forbid me from doing anything in the yard other than adding to the compost heap.
In the meantime, I should inventory my current seed collection and make the lists of what will actually fit in the garden plot I have. I tend towards seed hoarding, or at the very least over-exuberance. For a while, all I had were packets and packets of arugula. No one needs that much. It reseeds in a matter of weeks!
This year, I'm hoping to have more luck with zucchini and heirloom winter squash. I'd love to expand my tomatoes, and more than anything, I'd like to keep the weeds at bay. I think that will take more than a good catalog order. That will take discipline.
I've thumbed through it half a dozen times already, and am sitting on my hands so that I don't buy the whole thing. I mean really, do I NEED seven varieties of cherry tomatoes?! Kind of. At least, I'd really, really like to try growing them.
I found flowers and fruits and veggies that look like they would make my yard into my own homestead. Of course, I would need an industrial strength tiller, or farmhands to have enough turned soil to grow everything I'd like to sow.
As of now, the ground (and air) temperatures forbid me from doing anything in the yard other than adding to the compost heap.
In the meantime, I should inventory my current seed collection and make the lists of what will actually fit in the garden plot I have. I tend towards seed hoarding, or at the very least over-exuberance. For a while, all I had were packets and packets of arugula. No one needs that much. It reseeds in a matter of weeks!
This year, I'm hoping to have more luck with zucchini and heirloom winter squash. I'd love to expand my tomatoes, and more than anything, I'd like to keep the weeds at bay. I think that will take more than a good catalog order. That will take discipline.
January 26, 2014
Vanishing act
Over the summer I went for a check-up and mentioned that although I was eating healthily, swimming and doing yoga that I was gaining weight. A simple blood test found both my insulin and blood sugar levels too high, and I was put on a glucofage (a medication that basically eats blood sugar and helps your insulin do what it should...eat insulin), and my doctor suggested trying a low glycemic index diet, and that I might want to read "Wheat Belly" and try going gluten free. I didn't have diabetes, yet, but was on my way without some adjustments.
I think part of the problem was that I was eating WAY too much fruit. I've always loved fruit, and had developed a particularly bad fruit habit. I was making my way through a case of champagne mangoes and three pineapples a week. And yes, I was eating all of that myself. So, so good!
I had heard from friends about their successes doing either gluten free or paleo diets and I was loathe to cut out more foods from my plate. I've been an ovo-lacto vegetarian for something like 22 years, and cutting out bread and pasta seemed like my version of a nightmare. For years, my version of therapy has been baking. Making challah each Friday of the past year or so was a labor of love. Making cookies, cakes and brownies to share with family, friends and coworkers both filled my home with delicious scents and put me in everyone's good graces.
Thinking back, I probably ate a few too many of those cookies, maybe one or two too many slices of cake, and certainly a few extra squares of brownies. I take full responsibility for those.
I also take responsibility for occasionally becoming a breadandcheesitarian. Rye bread toast and butter was my nightly routine after work. Open-faced melted cheese for breakfast. Cheese sandwich for lunch. Homemade pizza (including dough) once each week. It was just so easy.
I thought that going gluten free was going to be a struggle. Instead, it became a challenge, like the painting assignment I had in college to paint a white egg on a white plate on a white piece of paper. It also brought back my interest in cooking.
Several months later, I have lost nearly 25 lbs. My insulin and blood sugar levels normalized within the first two months, and after that, I noticed that my stomach didn't hurt with each meal anymore. I know, I know, it shouldn't hurt to eat. I'd just been so used to it for so long that it seemed normal. You don't always notice pain until it's missing from your daily life.
The people I see every day are starting to notice the changes to my body. I think that has something to do with my renewed confidence in wearing clothes that fit, rather than baggy, shapeless forms to hide my squishy parts. I don't know that I have had any of the seemingly magical changes that others have touted with their gluten free eating, but I do have more self-confidence. I am excited to find outfits in my closet again. I do not criticize my body as much, and embrace the dropping needle on my scale each morning.
I'm going to try keeping up the gluten free thing for a year and see what happens. Hopefully it's that I lose another 25 lbs and need to go shopping. Maybe I'll learn to embrace that by then, too.
I think part of the problem was that I was eating WAY too much fruit. I've always loved fruit, and had developed a particularly bad fruit habit. I was making my way through a case of champagne mangoes and three pineapples a week. And yes, I was eating all of that myself. So, so good!
I had heard from friends about their successes doing either gluten free or paleo diets and I was loathe to cut out more foods from my plate. I've been an ovo-lacto vegetarian for something like 22 years, and cutting out bread and pasta seemed like my version of a nightmare. For years, my version of therapy has been baking. Making challah each Friday of the past year or so was a labor of love. Making cookies, cakes and brownies to share with family, friends and coworkers both filled my home with delicious scents and put me in everyone's good graces.
Thinking back, I probably ate a few too many of those cookies, maybe one or two too many slices of cake, and certainly a few extra squares of brownies. I take full responsibility for those.
I also take responsibility for occasionally becoming a breadandcheesitarian. Rye bread toast and butter was my nightly routine after work. Open-faced melted cheese for breakfast. Cheese sandwich for lunch. Homemade pizza (including dough) once each week. It was just so easy.
I thought that going gluten free was going to be a struggle. Instead, it became a challenge, like the painting assignment I had in college to paint a white egg on a white plate on a white piece of paper. It also brought back my interest in cooking.
Several months later, I have lost nearly 25 lbs. My insulin and blood sugar levels normalized within the first two months, and after that, I noticed that my stomach didn't hurt with each meal anymore. I know, I know, it shouldn't hurt to eat. I'd just been so used to it for so long that it seemed normal. You don't always notice pain until it's missing from your daily life.
The people I see every day are starting to notice the changes to my body. I think that has something to do with my renewed confidence in wearing clothes that fit, rather than baggy, shapeless forms to hide my squishy parts. I don't know that I have had any of the seemingly magical changes that others have touted with their gluten free eating, but I do have more self-confidence. I am excited to find outfits in my closet again. I do not criticize my body as much, and embrace the dropping needle on my scale each morning.
I'm going to try keeping up the gluten free thing for a year and see what happens. Hopefully it's that I lose another 25 lbs and need to go shopping. Maybe I'll learn to embrace that by then, too.
January 25, 2014
Out of mind/body
In an attempt to squash my continuing middle-of-the-night insomnia, I managed to get a last minute appointment with my acupuncturist last week.
I started seeing him a few years ago because of a similar bought of insomnia, which was actually much worse. The sessions weren't just about getting me to sleep, they were about reducing the pain from a three week muscle spasm in my neck that kept me from turning my head, and about balancing my life so that I took time for myself, something I was oblivious to the need for at the time.
The funny thing is that years ago, 1998/9, I realized that I was doing what all my friends wanted, but not being vocal about what I wanted to do. I had no problems going along with my urban family to shows and parties, but sometimes I just wanted to go to a matinee. So, I started instituting Miriam Day every once in a while. I would take a day off and walk to a theater 40 minutes away, see a film, walk to a favorite restaurant a couple more miles away and then join my friends later on in the evening. It was a way to totally unwind, get some exercise and do a tremendous amount of people watching.
Similarly, when I turned 30, I instituted 30 Days of Birthday. I did one thing I wanted to do for 30 straight days. Anyone who wanted to join me was welcome, but not necessary for my enjoyment. That was a really good birthday month.
These days, most of my week is spent dealing with other peoples' needs. I love it in the moment, but it takes an exorbitant amount of energy that is not always easy to turn off. The same can be said for my other main job, which requires a great deal of strategic planning and research before I have incredibly intense conversations with very busy people whom I'm trying to get involved in controversial public policy issues. Those conversations tend to run on a repeat cycle in my head at 3:00 or 4:00am.
Acupuncture helps me let go of some of that energy and mental clutter. Last week it also helped me have a pretty trippy out-of-body experience.
While lying on my stomach, my back, shoulders and neck chock full of tiny pins, I felt my body become heavy. I don't mean regular heavy, I mean like G-force heavy, like it was trying to separate from itself. There was a duality to this feeling of weight with a feeling of weightlessness. I decided to go with it, embrace it, and see where it took me. What resulted was what can only be described as turning into breath. I was conscious of my body, but it was virtually nonexistent. I was there and not there. It lasted about 10 minutes.
This was not the first such experience I've had while pin cushioned. Given time, I may tell you about others. I can say that I feel a sense of calm afterward. I feel lighter, less burdened by the pressures of the world, the emotional baggage of others, the stresses of work and relationships, responsibilities and self-inflicted guilt.
While I still woke up for a little over an hour or so in the middle of that night, when I went back to sleep I did so for another seven hours...getting out of bed at nearly 1:00pm. Needless to say, I slept. Let's hope it happens when everyone else does soon. If not, I'm looking forward to going back to acupuncture and seeing what happens next.
I started seeing him a few years ago because of a similar bought of insomnia, which was actually much worse. The sessions weren't just about getting me to sleep, they were about reducing the pain from a three week muscle spasm in my neck that kept me from turning my head, and about balancing my life so that I took time for myself, something I was oblivious to the need for at the time.
The funny thing is that years ago, 1998/9, I realized that I was doing what all my friends wanted, but not being vocal about what I wanted to do. I had no problems going along with my urban family to shows and parties, but sometimes I just wanted to go to a matinee. So, I started instituting Miriam Day every once in a while. I would take a day off and walk to a theater 40 minutes away, see a film, walk to a favorite restaurant a couple more miles away and then join my friends later on in the evening. It was a way to totally unwind, get some exercise and do a tremendous amount of people watching.
Similarly, when I turned 30, I instituted 30 Days of Birthday. I did one thing I wanted to do for 30 straight days. Anyone who wanted to join me was welcome, but not necessary for my enjoyment. That was a really good birthday month.
These days, most of my week is spent dealing with other peoples' needs. I love it in the moment, but it takes an exorbitant amount of energy that is not always easy to turn off. The same can be said for my other main job, which requires a great deal of strategic planning and research before I have incredibly intense conversations with very busy people whom I'm trying to get involved in controversial public policy issues. Those conversations tend to run on a repeat cycle in my head at 3:00 or 4:00am.
Acupuncture helps me let go of some of that energy and mental clutter. Last week it also helped me have a pretty trippy out-of-body experience.
While lying on my stomach, my back, shoulders and neck chock full of tiny pins, I felt my body become heavy. I don't mean regular heavy, I mean like G-force heavy, like it was trying to separate from itself. There was a duality to this feeling of weight with a feeling of weightlessness. I decided to go with it, embrace it, and see where it took me. What resulted was what can only be described as turning into breath. I was conscious of my body, but it was virtually nonexistent. I was there and not there. It lasted about 10 minutes.
This was not the first such experience I've had while pin cushioned. Given time, I may tell you about others. I can say that I feel a sense of calm afterward. I feel lighter, less burdened by the pressures of the world, the emotional baggage of others, the stresses of work and relationships, responsibilities and self-inflicted guilt.
While I still woke up for a little over an hour or so in the middle of that night, when I went back to sleep I did so for another seven hours...getting out of bed at nearly 1:00pm. Needless to say, I slept. Let's hope it happens when everyone else does soon. If not, I'm looking forward to going back to acupuncture and seeing what happens next.
January 24, 2014
Eye on the ba(/i)ll
Remember that time I told you that my credit card debt was paid off? Well, I just got my latest statement from said credit card company, only to find that they are charging me a fee of $1.50.
Really? $1.50. Is that even worth the paper, data processing and stamp? $1.50?!
Of course, being the child of two business people who taught me to read the fine print, I called to dispute it.
This is not the first billing charge I've ever disputed. I do it whenever called for, it's my money after all.
I try to remember to be nice. The person on the other end of the line did not make up whatever rule the company has used to charge me extra money. They're just doing their job. As someone who also works in customer service, I wouldn't want to get nasty and risk the bad karma sure to come my way if I pull out all the stops.
In the moment, however, all bets are off, and I occasionally pull out my Boston unintentionally. Yup, I call my most aggressive, forthright, hard-ass tone and attitude my Boston.Obviously, that's where I honed it.
John, the operator who answered my call about the $1.50 charge I received after fully paying off my credit card balance was kind, patient, and answered all my questions in a calm manner, despite my debating the ridiculousness of the new bill. He also, incidentally, wiped the charge from my files.
This was a good interaction. The ones I've had with my cable provider, on the other hand, have resulted in my standing in line at their branch office for over an hour only to have the person at the counter tell me that the people on the phone when I call customer service have no recourse for anything they may promise and to never trust them. G-R-E-A-T. Not sure that qualifies as customer service, maybe something closer to improv.
The moral of this story is: read your bills and pull out your Boston if you have to, it will keep your credit score high and your bank account in the black.
Really? $1.50. Is that even worth the paper, data processing and stamp? $1.50?!
Of course, being the child of two business people who taught me to read the fine print, I called to dispute it.
This is not the first billing charge I've ever disputed. I do it whenever called for, it's my money after all.
I try to remember to be nice. The person on the other end of the line did not make up whatever rule the company has used to charge me extra money. They're just doing their job. As someone who also works in customer service, I wouldn't want to get nasty and risk the bad karma sure to come my way if I pull out all the stops.
In the moment, however, all bets are off, and I occasionally pull out my Boston unintentionally. Yup, I call my most aggressive, forthright, hard-ass tone and attitude my Boston.Obviously, that's where I honed it.
John, the operator who answered my call about the $1.50 charge I received after fully paying off my credit card balance was kind, patient, and answered all my questions in a calm manner, despite my debating the ridiculousness of the new bill. He also, incidentally, wiped the charge from my files.
This was a good interaction. The ones I've had with my cable provider, on the other hand, have resulted in my standing in line at their branch office for over an hour only to have the person at the counter tell me that the people on the phone when I call customer service have no recourse for anything they may promise and to never trust them. G-R-E-A-T. Not sure that qualifies as customer service, maybe something closer to improv.
The moral of this story is: read your bills and pull out your Boston if you have to, it will keep your credit score high and your bank account in the black.
January 23, 2014
Off and on (my couch)
I started both of my days off last week with twelve hours of sleep. Yup. I slept!
The funny thing about getting that much sleep is that it is almost as disruptive to your brain and body as not getting enough sleep.
After so many days and weeks of not getting enough rest, however, I am not complaining. I relish the opportunity to shut off for a couple of days.
That's not to say that I merely lounge around. I get up. I shower. I cook. I clean (a little bit). I even managed to do three loads of laundry, three loads of dishes, cook up three recipes of beans, cleaned out the fridge, and ran errands for and spent quality time with Grandma.
For those who know me, you know I cannot stay still for long. A few years ago, I had a low-grade fever that lasted for weeks. My doctor never quite figured out what it was, but to make sure I didn't give whatever it was to anyone else, I worked from home. It was miserable. Finally, I just stopped taking my temperature and eventually it went away, most of the time. Around that time, there was also a storm that shut down the city for four or five days. After three days of not leaving my modest suburban homestead, all 1/5 acre of it, I had a raging case of cabin fever.
Despite warnings, I managed to maneuver my AWD Suburu up steep hills to venture to a Michael's craft store across town for whatever it was I just had to get that day. Several icy patches later, I made it there and back and decided to stay put in order to avoid any further near collisions with untested winter drivers.
I cherish my time off. I rarely feel like I'm missing out if I don't go to a show or a party. My daily life is full of people, full of being on, full of maintaining an emotional high, a smile and a friendly word. In my downtime, I feel confident in curling up, taking a nap, putting on a pot of something comforting to simmer on the stove and sliding my feet into a pair of fuzzy slippers.
I used to be horrified by my mom's nightly routine when she came home from work. She would go directly to she and Dad's bedroom, put on her slippers and robe and commence with putting dinner on the table. I didn't understand then the importance of shedding evidence of the day, of the need to physically change your clothes to signify the mental shift to home life from work life.
I get it now. I embrace it. I also embrace my worn out yoga pants I've been wearing since 2003, especially when I have no intention of doing yoga while donning them.
The funny thing about getting that much sleep is that it is almost as disruptive to your brain and body as not getting enough sleep.
After so many days and weeks of not getting enough rest, however, I am not complaining. I relish the opportunity to shut off for a couple of days.
That's not to say that I merely lounge around. I get up. I shower. I cook. I clean (a little bit). I even managed to do three loads of laundry, three loads of dishes, cook up three recipes of beans, cleaned out the fridge, and ran errands for and spent quality time with Grandma.
For those who know me, you know I cannot stay still for long. A few years ago, I had a low-grade fever that lasted for weeks. My doctor never quite figured out what it was, but to make sure I didn't give whatever it was to anyone else, I worked from home. It was miserable. Finally, I just stopped taking my temperature and eventually it went away, most of the time. Around that time, there was also a storm that shut down the city for four or five days. After three days of not leaving my modest suburban homestead, all 1/5 acre of it, I had a raging case of cabin fever.
Despite warnings, I managed to maneuver my AWD Suburu up steep hills to venture to a Michael's craft store across town for whatever it was I just had to get that day. Several icy patches later, I made it there and back and decided to stay put in order to avoid any further near collisions with untested winter drivers.
I cherish my time off. I rarely feel like I'm missing out if I don't go to a show or a party. My daily life is full of people, full of being on, full of maintaining an emotional high, a smile and a friendly word. In my downtime, I feel confident in curling up, taking a nap, putting on a pot of something comforting to simmer on the stove and sliding my feet into a pair of fuzzy slippers.
I used to be horrified by my mom's nightly routine when she came home from work. She would go directly to she and Dad's bedroom, put on her slippers and robe and commence with putting dinner on the table. I didn't understand then the importance of shedding evidence of the day, of the need to physically change your clothes to signify the mental shift to home life from work life.
I get it now. I embrace it. I also embrace my worn out yoga pants I've been wearing since 2003, especially when I have no intention of doing yoga while donning them.
January 22, 2014
(Roe v) Wad(e)ing knee deep
Today marks the 41st anniversary of Roe v Wade, the 1973 US Supreme Court decision that set the stage for safe and legal abortion access for women around our country.
I spend part of each week working to protect that freedom. It is often heartbreaking work, especially the testimonials I come across about what life was like for women who could not carry their pregnancies to term, for whatever reason.
When I started this work, nearly a year ago, I had a conversation about it with Grandma and her friends at dinner one night. One woman told me about her work with battered women and children in Washington, DC, and how she could never oppose abortion because she could not imagine forcing a woman to bring a child into an abusive home. Another woman could not stop shouting that abortion is murder. Thus began my work.
I support safe and legal access to contraceptives, sex education and abortion services as part of a comprehensive approach to reproductive health care. As a form of health care, I believe that such a personal decision should not be barred by legislative action, but that it should be a made in conversation with whomsoever the woman making that decision chooses, be that her doctor, faith leader or family.
This week, I saw a short film that focuses on four adult children of women who lost their lives due to unsafe abortions. Before 1973, women had few choices and if they could not find a doctor willing to help them, they resorted to using objects, like knitting needles, that could puncture not only the uterus, but the abdominal wall and colon, causing lethal infections. Poisonous chemicals were another alternative. The chemicals would cause an abortion, but they could also burn holes through the woman's uterus and again, death.
There were wards in hospitals dedicated to women who were ravaged by these attempts, often they were women with other children.
We cannot allow these conditions to exist again. Women in desperation will find a way to end a pregnancy, regardless of the law. Let's make sure that desperation is no longer a factor. By funding sex education in public schools (instead of abstinence only education), by making contraceptives free and widely available, we will see a drop in abortions rates, and teen pregnancy rates.
Let's work on that. I am. Will you?
I spend part of each week working to protect that freedom. It is often heartbreaking work, especially the testimonials I come across about what life was like for women who could not carry their pregnancies to term, for whatever reason.
When I started this work, nearly a year ago, I had a conversation about it with Grandma and her friends at dinner one night. One woman told me about her work with battered women and children in Washington, DC, and how she could never oppose abortion because she could not imagine forcing a woman to bring a child into an abusive home. Another woman could not stop shouting that abortion is murder. Thus began my work.
I support safe and legal access to contraceptives, sex education and abortion services as part of a comprehensive approach to reproductive health care. As a form of health care, I believe that such a personal decision should not be barred by legislative action, but that it should be a made in conversation with whomsoever the woman making that decision chooses, be that her doctor, faith leader or family.
This week, I saw a short film that focuses on four adult children of women who lost their lives due to unsafe abortions. Before 1973, women had few choices and if they could not find a doctor willing to help them, they resorted to using objects, like knitting needles, that could puncture not only the uterus, but the abdominal wall and colon, causing lethal infections. Poisonous chemicals were another alternative. The chemicals would cause an abortion, but they could also burn holes through the woman's uterus and again, death.
There were wards in hospitals dedicated to women who were ravaged by these attempts, often they were women with other children.
We cannot allow these conditions to exist again. Women in desperation will find a way to end a pregnancy, regardless of the law. Let's make sure that desperation is no longer a factor. By funding sex education in public schools (instead of abstinence only education), by making contraceptives free and widely available, we will see a drop in abortions rates, and teen pregnancy rates.
Let's work on that. I am. Will you?
January 21, 2014
The little (old lady) things
Friday afternoon I ran a few errands for Grandma and had the opportunity to visit with her for a little while.
She was in good spirits, having slept until 10am that morning. I could relate, having slept until noon.
She'd asked me to pick up some pills and some juice, and I surprised her with one of her favorite by-request cookies, Keebler chocolate covered graham crackers. I also brought a box of four frozen creme brulee's. She was thrilled when I arrived.
I unpacked the groceries upon entering her apartment, and rearranged several other snacks in her cabinet so that she could reach them...and opened the pills so that she didn't have to struggle with the bottle cap.
She reported that she'd called Parnassus Books to have them deliver another book in a series she's reading, and I could see that she'd managed to read at least 50 pages already that day.
We talked about every day things, about her tummy ache the day before, about her excitement to eat the 2nd 1/2 of her tongue sandwich from lunch, and the fact that the vegetable soup they were serving in the dining room was actually edible.
Even though I didn't have much time to spend with her that day, having Grandma argue with me about her swollen ankles (she didn't want to put them up) made me happy, too. I'd rather have her feisty and telling me to call her a stubborn old woman (which I gladly did) than lethargic and cooperative.
I hope I'm a pain in the ass when I get old, and that I have family stopping by to pester me about my health and well-being, too.
She was in good spirits, having slept until 10am that morning. I could relate, having slept until noon.
She'd asked me to pick up some pills and some juice, and I surprised her with one of her favorite by-request cookies, Keebler chocolate covered graham crackers. I also brought a box of four frozen creme brulee's. She was thrilled when I arrived.
I unpacked the groceries upon entering her apartment, and rearranged several other snacks in her cabinet so that she could reach them...and opened the pills so that she didn't have to struggle with the bottle cap.
She reported that she'd called Parnassus Books to have them deliver another book in a series she's reading, and I could see that she'd managed to read at least 50 pages already that day.
We talked about every day things, about her tummy ache the day before, about her excitement to eat the 2nd 1/2 of her tongue sandwich from lunch, and the fact that the vegetable soup they were serving in the dining room was actually edible.
Even though I didn't have much time to spend with her that day, having Grandma argue with me about her swollen ankles (she didn't want to put them up) made me happy, too. I'd rather have her feisty and telling me to call her a stubborn old woman (which I gladly did) than lethargic and cooperative.
I hope I'm a pain in the ass when I get old, and that I have family stopping by to pester me about my health and well-being, too.
January 20, 2014
Walking the walk
This morning I was lucky to be able to attend the annual march from Jefferson Street to Tennessee State University, in honor of those who marched in the 1960s for civil rights in Nashville, as part of the Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Day celebrations.
I arrived early at Jefferson Street Missionary Baptist Church to find my rabbi, whom I marched with last year, and see friends from the neighborhood and my community organizing work, and to meet new people. It's funny, although my jobs involve being overly extroverted, I often find myself shy to introduce myself, not wanting to impose on anyone.
To be honest, I had a great time meeting new people this morning! As the march was about to start, I was looking for the rabbi, walking alongside the gathering crowd, and a woman with a red hat and cane commented on my skirt. She warned me that with a skirt like that, I was looking to "get jacked for it." Of course, I had to introduce myself and make friends.
Delores and I walked together with another friend of hers, a man about my age. We took our time, stopping twice to rest her knee and catch our breath. We talked about her life and careers, my organizing work, and met more friends of all of ours along the way.
Thinking of Dr. King, I can imagine he would smile at our easy acquaintance, at the conversation we had, and at the multi-generational connection we made.
I don't always think of Dr. King when working on social justice issues, but I do think of people like Delores, who has marched for each of the last 44 years, including in rain and snow. I think of all those who lost their lives working for peace and equality, of everyone who has struggled and those who continue to struggle for a fair chance.
It wasn't just a walk in the sunshine this morning, although that was nice, too. It was a walk towards freedom and justice, together.
I arrived early at Jefferson Street Missionary Baptist Church to find my rabbi, whom I marched with last year, and see friends from the neighborhood and my community organizing work, and to meet new people. It's funny, although my jobs involve being overly extroverted, I often find myself shy to introduce myself, not wanting to impose on anyone.
To be honest, I had a great time meeting new people this morning! As the march was about to start, I was looking for the rabbi, walking alongside the gathering crowd, and a woman with a red hat and cane commented on my skirt. She warned me that with a skirt like that, I was looking to "get jacked for it." Of course, I had to introduce myself and make friends.
Delores and I walked together with another friend of hers, a man about my age. We took our time, stopping twice to rest her knee and catch our breath. We talked about her life and careers, my organizing work, and met more friends of all of ours along the way.
Thinking of Dr. King, I can imagine he would smile at our easy acquaintance, at the conversation we had, and at the multi-generational connection we made.
I don't always think of Dr. King when working on social justice issues, but I do think of people like Delores, who has marched for each of the last 44 years, including in rain and snow. I think of all those who lost their lives working for peace and equality, of everyone who has struggled and those who continue to struggle for a fair chance.
It wasn't just a walk in the sunshine this morning, although that was nice, too. It was a walk towards freedom and justice, together.
January 19, 2014
A light in the darkness
Each Friday night, I light Shabbat candles.
Generally, they burn for three to four hours, giving me pause from the workweek, and the ability to focus on what it means to stop, to relax, to step away from the hustle bustle of every day and to give my brain and body a break from the norm.
I started this tradition a dozen years ago, while I was a fellow with the Jewish Organizing Initiative (now JOIN for Justice). We had a retreat focusing on the importance of Shabbat and stepping back in order to step forward.
My senior year in high school, I performed the havdallah service each Saturday night, marking the end of Shabbat. I had grown used to doing it as part of my high school in Israel experience and found it to be a profound and beautiful tradition marking the return to every day life. Upon going to college, where lighting candles was forbidden in the dorms, I was forced to end this tradition and have yet to pick it back up again.
Several years after graduating college, and having searched for a meaningful Jewish connection, lighting candles each Friday night became a beacon of sorts, lighting my way to reflection and reconnection.
There is a Roald Dahl novel that I read in high school called "The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Six More." One of the stories was about a man who could tell the future by staring at a candle. Of course, I tried, but it didn't work.
My candles simply burn. They burn away stress, anxiety, fear and self-recrimination and replace these feelings with a sense of calm, of looking forward to the last puff of smoke from the candlesticks, usually marking the time I should be in bed.
I light candles each Shabbat not out of a sense of religiosity, but as an obligation to myself to remember to take time out for self care, for meditation, for relaxation. Also, candles are pretty. There's always that.
Generally, they burn for three to four hours, giving me pause from the workweek, and the ability to focus on what it means to stop, to relax, to step away from the hustle bustle of every day and to give my brain and body a break from the norm.
I started this tradition a dozen years ago, while I was a fellow with the Jewish Organizing Initiative (now JOIN for Justice). We had a retreat focusing on the importance of Shabbat and stepping back in order to step forward.
My senior year in high school, I performed the havdallah service each Saturday night, marking the end of Shabbat. I had grown used to doing it as part of my high school in Israel experience and found it to be a profound and beautiful tradition marking the return to every day life. Upon going to college, where lighting candles was forbidden in the dorms, I was forced to end this tradition and have yet to pick it back up again.
Several years after graduating college, and having searched for a meaningful Jewish connection, lighting candles each Friday night became a beacon of sorts, lighting my way to reflection and reconnection.
There is a Roald Dahl novel that I read in high school called "The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Six More." One of the stories was about a man who could tell the future by staring at a candle. Of course, I tried, but it didn't work.
My candles simply burn. They burn away stress, anxiety, fear and self-recrimination and replace these feelings with a sense of calm, of looking forward to the last puff of smoke from the candlesticks, usually marking the time I should be in bed.
I light candles each Shabbat not out of a sense of religiosity, but as an obligation to myself to remember to take time out for self care, for meditation, for relaxation. Also, candles are pretty. There's always that.
January 18, 2014
Fruity and delicious
On Thursday I did something a little crazy. Okay, it's not that crazy, and it really started before Thursday.
Last week I bought a bag of tangelos. They're pretty good, but not as tart as I like my citrus. So far, I've only eaten one and juiced one for a sauce. Slightly disappointed, they remain on my kitchen cart looking lovely and round in their orange mesh bag.
Wednesday, I decided I needed something more satisfying, so I bought a pineapple and the last organic pink lady in the store.
The next day, while at the store, I saw a great deal on grapefruits and minneolas, which are both favorites, so of course I had to pick those up, too. I also bought four or five more pink ladies and four organic bananas (I find bananas repulsive, but find that I feel better as a result of eating them).
And then I realized that I live alone and that I don't need to eat only fruit for the next week. Maybe I was just subconsciously celebrating Tu B'Shvat!
For those of you who don't know, Tu B'Shvat is the Jewish celebration of trees, specifically fruit trees. If you've ever been to Israel, it's like fruit tree heaven.
December 2006/January 2007 I was in Israel and bore witness to the overwhelming amount of fruit trees. There are grapefruit, orange, lemon, lime and pommelo trees lining the winding drive to Ben Gurion Airport. Every home and apartment building has fruit trees. The streets are lined with olive and almond trees.
I even saw a landscaping crew dragging a tarp loaded with fruit that had fallen in someone's yard to the curb. The bounty is everywhere, but it is seemingly invisible to the residents.
Here in Nashville there are cherry trees lining one street on the east side of town. The fruit of the pervasive hackberry trees is actually sweet, like dates. I've tasted persimmons shaken loose from one of the trees at Long Hungry Creek Farm (which also supplies my farm share and keeps me in veggies year round). There are blackberry bushes in Shelby Park, and I'm sure my forager friend could tell me all of the things I could eat from my lawn that I think are just weeds.
The point is, there is food everywhere, and we should all be able to access it. We should all be able to plant a garden, share with our friends and neighbors, grow enough to supplement what we can't.
One of my greatest joys is using the canned goods I put up over the summer. Each time I open a jar of jam or tomato sauce I think of the heat and sweat and time on my feet in front of the counter, juices dripping down my arms, seeds and skins piled in a bowl, waiting to be chucked into the compost. I savor those dishes. I eat every last bite. I don't want to waste the hours of energy I put into those jars, the planning and forethought, the late nights simmering sauces, the scalded fingertips from screwing on the lids.
Despite the time I spend making meals, making ingredients for meals, I simply enjoy food. I also think it is important to know where your food is from, who is growing it, and what your body needs.
Apparently, my body needs a LOT of fruit salad.
Last week I bought a bag of tangelos. They're pretty good, but not as tart as I like my citrus. So far, I've only eaten one and juiced one for a sauce. Slightly disappointed, they remain on my kitchen cart looking lovely and round in their orange mesh bag.
Wednesday, I decided I needed something more satisfying, so I bought a pineapple and the last organic pink lady in the store.
The next day, while at the store, I saw a great deal on grapefruits and minneolas, which are both favorites, so of course I had to pick those up, too. I also bought four or five more pink ladies and four organic bananas (I find bananas repulsive, but find that I feel better as a result of eating them).
And then I realized that I live alone and that I don't need to eat only fruit for the next week. Maybe I was just subconsciously celebrating Tu B'Shvat!
For those of you who don't know, Tu B'Shvat is the Jewish celebration of trees, specifically fruit trees. If you've ever been to Israel, it's like fruit tree heaven.
December 2006/January 2007 I was in Israel and bore witness to the overwhelming amount of fruit trees. There are grapefruit, orange, lemon, lime and pommelo trees lining the winding drive to Ben Gurion Airport. Every home and apartment building has fruit trees. The streets are lined with olive and almond trees.
I even saw a landscaping crew dragging a tarp loaded with fruit that had fallen in someone's yard to the curb. The bounty is everywhere, but it is seemingly invisible to the residents.
Here in Nashville there are cherry trees lining one street on the east side of town. The fruit of the pervasive hackberry trees is actually sweet, like dates. I've tasted persimmons shaken loose from one of the trees at Long Hungry Creek Farm (which also supplies my farm share and keeps me in veggies year round). There are blackberry bushes in Shelby Park, and I'm sure my forager friend could tell me all of the things I could eat from my lawn that I think are just weeds.
The point is, there is food everywhere, and we should all be able to access it. We should all be able to plant a garden, share with our friends and neighbors, grow enough to supplement what we can't.
One of my greatest joys is using the canned goods I put up over the summer. Each time I open a jar of jam or tomato sauce I think of the heat and sweat and time on my feet in front of the counter, juices dripping down my arms, seeds and skins piled in a bowl, waiting to be chucked into the compost. I savor those dishes. I eat every last bite. I don't want to waste the hours of energy I put into those jars, the planning and forethought, the late nights simmering sauces, the scalded fingertips from screwing on the lids.
Despite the time I spend making meals, making ingredients for meals, I simply enjoy food. I also think it is important to know where your food is from, who is growing it, and what your body needs.
Apparently, my body needs a LOT of fruit salad.
January 17, 2014
Spring forward
All winter I dream of springtime.
It might be because my birthday is in March. There has to be some innate, subconscious connection between celebration and the pale green flush on every branch of every tree. Maybe that's why the Spring Equinox, Easter and Passover are all celebrated then, too. Oh, and May Day, the ultimate in flower power celebrations.
My flora fantasies are generally more mundane. I'm not the type to strip bare, make a garland of wildflowers and frolic in the fields of tall grass. I prefer to dig in the dirt.
Yup, all winter I think about my garden soil. I spy and occasionally pick up bags of leaves from other people's curbs. I wonder if I dug deep enough when turning the bed, knowing full well I couldn't get past the giant roots in my way or the thick clay a shovel-blade length down.
I wonder if my good hoe is sharp enough, and where I can get a pick axe, and if I can have a new handle put on that one shovel I broke last spring. I think about which seeds I will plant, whether I will put them straight into the ground or if I'll attempt to sprout seedlings.
Will it be a wet or dry growing season? Will the stink bugs and leaf-footed bugs kill the squashes and cucumbers again? Will I have blossom end rot on the tomatoes? Will the loofah bloom and fruit before first frost? Will the the opossum in the yard hiss at me again?
When I think of my garden now, I think of freshly turned soil, and the next day, when the dew shines on a myriad of horizontal spider webs, a feast of dirt bugs unearthed for the taking. I think of the never-ending parsley patch, green even in the dead of winter, hanging on for dear life in the underbrush of old stalks and stems, each with dozens of seeds falling with the strongest winds.
When I think of spring, I think of the herbs that will flourish first, of the daffodils and crocuses and irises I long to see all winter. I think of the color and the flavor, the heat and humidity, the sheen of pollen on every single surface. I think of the carpenter bees followed by the yellow jackets and mud daubers and wasps and honey and bumble bees.
I think of the ants that inevitably find the honey I put in my morning tea, and the lightning bugs that make their homes everywhere. I think of early morning walks and rising with the sun.
Springtime, you cannot come soon enough.
It might be because my birthday is in March. There has to be some innate, subconscious connection between celebration and the pale green flush on every branch of every tree. Maybe that's why the Spring Equinox, Easter and Passover are all celebrated then, too. Oh, and May Day, the ultimate in flower power celebrations.
My flora fantasies are generally more mundane. I'm not the type to strip bare, make a garland of wildflowers and frolic in the fields of tall grass. I prefer to dig in the dirt.
Yup, all winter I think about my garden soil. I spy and occasionally pick up bags of leaves from other people's curbs. I wonder if I dug deep enough when turning the bed, knowing full well I couldn't get past the giant roots in my way or the thick clay a shovel-blade length down.
I wonder if my good hoe is sharp enough, and where I can get a pick axe, and if I can have a new handle put on that one shovel I broke last spring. I think about which seeds I will plant, whether I will put them straight into the ground or if I'll attempt to sprout seedlings.
Will it be a wet or dry growing season? Will the stink bugs and leaf-footed bugs kill the squashes and cucumbers again? Will I have blossom end rot on the tomatoes? Will the loofah bloom and fruit before first frost? Will the the opossum in the yard hiss at me again?
When I think of my garden now, I think of freshly turned soil, and the next day, when the dew shines on a myriad of horizontal spider webs, a feast of dirt bugs unearthed for the taking. I think of the never-ending parsley patch, green even in the dead of winter, hanging on for dear life in the underbrush of old stalks and stems, each with dozens of seeds falling with the strongest winds.
When I think of spring, I think of the herbs that will flourish first, of the daffodils and crocuses and irises I long to see all winter. I think of the color and the flavor, the heat and humidity, the sheen of pollen on every single surface. I think of the carpenter bees followed by the yellow jackets and mud daubers and wasps and honey and bumble bees.
I think of the ants that inevitably find the honey I put in my morning tea, and the lightning bugs that make their homes everywhere. I think of early morning walks and rising with the sun.
Springtime, you cannot come soon enough.
January 16, 2014
(Prep)rarin' to go
Life keeps me on my toes. I juggle three part time jobs, which often means I'm out of the house 12-15 hours per day between two of them.
I'm not complaining, life is good. My house, car and person are all in reasonably good working order. And, my fridge and pantry are full of good, farm fresh produce from Long Hungry Creek Farm. Actually, I have more food than I usually have the energy to prepare after a long day.
Most of my cooking is done on one or both days off per week. I tend to make one or two giant pots of soup or chili, a casserole or something else I can throw together and simmer for a while. Since I'm overwhelmed with sweet potatoes, potatoes and winter squash at the moment, most of my recipes contain one or more of each. I also compose something with beans and rice and dish everything up in portion-sized containers for the week.
Of course, eating the same three meals over and over all week can get a little old after a while. I mean, I am a creature of habit, but let's get real. You can only eat so many bowls of soup each week before you start to float away.
That's when I rally and make a stir fry. Okay, I know that's not ambitious. Ambitious is what happens when I literally have nothing else to do...or I have housework and don't want to wash the floors.
I know what you're thinking, why not go to the local Chinese take-out place? Y'all know I live in Nashville, right? Good Chinese food here is a commodity I'd be willing to pay for. In lieu of that, I make my own. Luckily, my brother and sister-in-law gave me a giant cast iron wok!
In 20 minutes, I cranked up the oven, cubed some tofu, laid it out on a parchment-lined baking pan and popped in the oven. While the tofu browned, I sliced up 1/2 and onion, a clove of garlic, a chunk of ginger, a carrot, a handful of asparagus and 1/2 a small cabbage. I also juiced a tangelo and pulled the tamari sauce and sesame oil out of the fridge.
You know the rest. De-lish!
Seriously, though. Cooking's not hard. You just have to figure out what you like that tastes good together, gather the ingredients, and roast, braise, stew, steam, bake, broil, boil, fry or grill it up! Now, get to it.
I'm not complaining, life is good. My house, car and person are all in reasonably good working order. And, my fridge and pantry are full of good, farm fresh produce from Long Hungry Creek Farm. Actually, I have more food than I usually have the energy to prepare after a long day.
Most of my cooking is done on one or both days off per week. I tend to make one or two giant pots of soup or chili, a casserole or something else I can throw together and simmer for a while. Since I'm overwhelmed with sweet potatoes, potatoes and winter squash at the moment, most of my recipes contain one or more of each. I also compose something with beans and rice and dish everything up in portion-sized containers for the week.
Of course, eating the same three meals over and over all week can get a little old after a while. I mean, I am a creature of habit, but let's get real. You can only eat so many bowls of soup each week before you start to float away.
That's when I rally and make a stir fry. Okay, I know that's not ambitious. Ambitious is what happens when I literally have nothing else to do...or I have housework and don't want to wash the floors.
I know what you're thinking, why not go to the local Chinese take-out place? Y'all know I live in Nashville, right? Good Chinese food here is a commodity I'd be willing to pay for. In lieu of that, I make my own. Luckily, my brother and sister-in-law gave me a giant cast iron wok!
In 20 minutes, I cranked up the oven, cubed some tofu, laid it out on a parchment-lined baking pan and popped in the oven. While the tofu browned, I sliced up 1/2 and onion, a clove of garlic, a chunk of ginger, a carrot, a handful of asparagus and 1/2 a small cabbage. I also juiced a tangelo and pulled the tamari sauce and sesame oil out of the fridge.
You know the rest. De-lish!
Seriously, though. Cooking's not hard. You just have to figure out what you like that tastes good together, gather the ingredients, and roast, braise, stew, steam, bake, broil, boil, fry or grill it up! Now, get to it.
January 15, 2014
All (green) thumbs
Every year since I got out of college (16, for those of you counting), I've had a garden. The first was a small patch that I painstakingly cleared and planted with onions and tomatoes. Three years later, I moved and had a small strip of garden, that was mostly in the shade, which I split into a flowerbed and a tomato and herb bed. In the five years I lived there, I even harvested enough oregano that I was able to give it as Christmas gifts to friends.
When I moved to Nashville, I started with potted tomatoes, then an arugula bed, and have progressed over the years to much larger spaces with everything from watermelons to pumpkins, yellow squash, zucchini, parsley, mint, sage, lavender, tomatoes, cucumbers, loofahs, green beans, soy beans, lentils, corn, peas, beets, radishes, chard, and whatever else I can fit into the space.
I even started a garden at my synagogue...which is turning into a true community garden.
All that said, I can kill a houseplant faster than you can say "potting soil."
I don't kill them right away, and I definitely don't do it on purpose. It's uncanny how I can make an outdoor garden thrive, even in the midst of weeds and invasive insects, and can just as easily over-water or under-water a plant to death in a matter of weeks or months.
I don't remember the name of the movie, but there was a guy who had to keep a plant alive for a year before having a relationship, as part of his addiction recovery. The point of the exercise was to show that he could care for something other than himself in a positive way, in a way that the plant needed.
While I am not an addict, recovering or otherwise, I often focus outwardly. I'd rather work on the garden than clean the inside of the house. I'd rather help someone with their issues than work on my own, and I'd clearly rather do anything than figure out how much water the plants inside my house really need.
I have successfully kept four plants alive for over a year. Two are in my bathroom, an African violet, and a Christmas cactus. Neither have flowered since I first got them three years ago. That might be because they've never been fertilized.
The other two are baskets of houseplants that a friend gave me when she moved 1.5 years ago. Not only are they alive, but they've grown. I put them in a semi-lit spot in my living room, and give them the remains of the glass of water I bring to bed each night.
Of course, since I got those two plants, I've also managed to kill an air plant, an orchid and am on the way to doing away with two of three papaya seedlings I got over the summer.
Still those two plants in my living room give me hope. They make me believe that I will be able to give others in my life just enough light and space and nourishment.
When I moved to Nashville, I started with potted tomatoes, then an arugula bed, and have progressed over the years to much larger spaces with everything from watermelons to pumpkins, yellow squash, zucchini, parsley, mint, sage, lavender, tomatoes, cucumbers, loofahs, green beans, soy beans, lentils, corn, peas, beets, radishes, chard, and whatever else I can fit into the space.
I even started a garden at my synagogue...which is turning into a true community garden.
All that said, I can kill a houseplant faster than you can say "potting soil."
I don't kill them right away, and I definitely don't do it on purpose. It's uncanny how I can make an outdoor garden thrive, even in the midst of weeds and invasive insects, and can just as easily over-water or under-water a plant to death in a matter of weeks or months.
I don't remember the name of the movie, but there was a guy who had to keep a plant alive for a year before having a relationship, as part of his addiction recovery. The point of the exercise was to show that he could care for something other than himself in a positive way, in a way that the plant needed.
While I am not an addict, recovering or otherwise, I often focus outwardly. I'd rather work on the garden than clean the inside of the house. I'd rather help someone with their issues than work on my own, and I'd clearly rather do anything than figure out how much water the plants inside my house really need.
I have successfully kept four plants alive for over a year. Two are in my bathroom, an African violet, and a Christmas cactus. Neither have flowered since I first got them three years ago. That might be because they've never been fertilized.
The other two are baskets of houseplants that a friend gave me when she moved 1.5 years ago. Not only are they alive, but they've grown. I put them in a semi-lit spot in my living room, and give them the remains of the glass of water I bring to bed each night.
Of course, since I got those two plants, I've also managed to kill an air plant, an orchid and am on the way to doing away with two of three papaya seedlings I got over the summer.
Still those two plants in my living room give me hope. They make me believe that I will be able to give others in my life just enough light and space and nourishment.
January 14, 2014
(Awe) inspired
My chosen profession, the community organizing part, affords me the privilege of getting to know people on a deep level.
I often start conversations by asking someone's background, what brought them to their professional or personal place in life, what drives them.
The answers are various, often profound, as often as not, the just decided it was time to follow their dreams, start a second or third career, or get involved in their communities because of an experience that impacted them.
My current organizing project primarily involves clergy members, and I am having a blast! I have never been so glad that I paid attention in Sunday School, Hebrew School, Jewish summer camp, and in my Islamic and Middle Eastern Studies courses. We have meaningful conversations about the nature of community, of faith, of clergy impact, of social justice, and of leadership. We also talk politics.
Some of you may know me from way, way back. Back when I used to refuse to sing in the Bearden Middle School Christmas concert because it had the word Christmas in it and we were singing Christmas carols in a public school. Or, when I protested the carol-ringing gigantic wreath hanging in Bearden High School, or drove off the youth pastors who decided it was a good idea to invite the Jewish girl to bible study during the week of Passover (my response, "No thank you. Would you like some matzah? Oh, and you need to leave school grounds if you have not checked in with the principal's office...and you cannot evangelize on school property, you are not a student. I'm sure you're a lovely person, but please leave or I will report you.").
I have no problem with churches or the state. I do have a problem with public institutions getting religious, and it seems like that is happening more and more.
I am truly in awe of the clergy members I get to speak and work with. They inspire me to learn more, to focus on things outside of myself, to look at the world through a lens of compassion, patience and respect. I enjoy our philosophical and spiritual conversations and wish I could carry the feeling of calm I feel with them into every interaction I have.
Pretty sure you're going to be inspired by them soon, too.
I often start conversations by asking someone's background, what brought them to their professional or personal place in life, what drives them.
The answers are various, often profound, as often as not, the just decided it was time to follow their dreams, start a second or third career, or get involved in their communities because of an experience that impacted them.
My current organizing project primarily involves clergy members, and I am having a blast! I have never been so glad that I paid attention in Sunday School, Hebrew School, Jewish summer camp, and in my Islamic and Middle Eastern Studies courses. We have meaningful conversations about the nature of community, of faith, of clergy impact, of social justice, and of leadership. We also talk politics.
Some of you may know me from way, way back. Back when I used to refuse to sing in the Bearden Middle School Christmas concert because it had the word Christmas in it and we were singing Christmas carols in a public school. Or, when I protested the carol-ringing gigantic wreath hanging in Bearden High School, or drove off the youth pastors who decided it was a good idea to invite the Jewish girl to bible study during the week of Passover (my response, "No thank you. Would you like some matzah? Oh, and you need to leave school grounds if you have not checked in with the principal's office...and you cannot evangelize on school property, you are not a student. I'm sure you're a lovely person, but please leave or I will report you.").
I have no problem with churches or the state. I do have a problem with public institutions getting religious, and it seems like that is happening more and more.
I am truly in awe of the clergy members I get to speak and work with. They inspire me to learn more, to focus on things outside of myself, to look at the world through a lens of compassion, patience and respect. I enjoy our philosophical and spiritual conversations and wish I could carry the feeling of calm I feel with them into every interaction I have.
Pretty sure you're going to be inspired by them soon, too.
January 13, 2014
(A) list(er) work
I admit it, I am list maker.
It's not that I can't remember things, I am just a visual learner. I absorb more from the written page than from auditory cues. My childhood skills tests prove it. Seriously. I always did exceptionally well on reading comprehension and was well below average on listening comprehension. Guess which skill I've been working on my whole life?
I know what you're thinking, "Miriam, but you've been a community organizer for nearly 12 years! Your whole job is to listen to people and comprehend what they're saying." Yup. I practice. It works.
Back to the lists. When I make lists, I do so with the intention that I will accomplish at least some of the items on it. If I get 1/2 way through a list, that is a HUGE feat. H-U-G-E.
My lists are compartmentalized most of the time into: what to make (foodstuffs), what to clean (parts of the house, or subparts like the coffee table or counters), who to see (Grandma, friends), other household chores (mow, garden, gutters, bills), errands (fill tires, return stuff bought last weekend) and what to purchase (groceries).
Each week, my lists make the all important transfer from one page to the next.
As I was cleaning off the coffee table this week, in order to pay bills (two things crossed off the list in one fell swoop!), I noticed a full notepad of lists. Making sure I had not missed something huge, I found that the notepad was filled with key information from one of my job interviews that will make work more streamlined when I bring it up again, and the name and phone number of the gentleman I met with last summer who negotiated my lower property tax rate for 2011 (more on that at a later date).
Several years ago, I read "Mountains Beyond Mountains" by Dr. Paul Farmer of Partners for Health. It was a book that all of the combined organizing teams read at my job with the Harvard Union of Clerical and Technical workers, and it made a huge impact on me. It taught me to take risks in order to change systemic inequities, and to always work for justice. It also taught me about the importance of lists.
Of course, my lists tend to be more mundane than Farmer's. I'm not trying to combat the rise of drug resistant tuberculosis. I'm just trying to keep on top of my dishes and laundry.
It's not that I can't remember things, I am just a visual learner. I absorb more from the written page than from auditory cues. My childhood skills tests prove it. Seriously. I always did exceptionally well on reading comprehension and was well below average on listening comprehension. Guess which skill I've been working on my whole life?
I know what you're thinking, "Miriam, but you've been a community organizer for nearly 12 years! Your whole job is to listen to people and comprehend what they're saying." Yup. I practice. It works.
Back to the lists. When I make lists, I do so with the intention that I will accomplish at least some of the items on it. If I get 1/2 way through a list, that is a HUGE feat. H-U-G-E.
My lists are compartmentalized most of the time into: what to make (foodstuffs), what to clean (parts of the house, or subparts like the coffee table or counters), who to see (Grandma, friends), other household chores (mow, garden, gutters, bills), errands (fill tires, return stuff bought last weekend) and what to purchase (groceries).
Each week, my lists make the all important transfer from one page to the next.
As I was cleaning off the coffee table this week, in order to pay bills (two things crossed off the list in one fell swoop!), I noticed a full notepad of lists. Making sure I had not missed something huge, I found that the notepad was filled with key information from one of my job interviews that will make work more streamlined when I bring it up again, and the name and phone number of the gentleman I met with last summer who negotiated my lower property tax rate for 2011 (more on that at a later date).
Several years ago, I read "Mountains Beyond Mountains" by Dr. Paul Farmer of Partners for Health. It was a book that all of the combined organizing teams read at my job with the Harvard Union of Clerical and Technical workers, and it made a huge impact on me. It taught me to take risks in order to change systemic inequities, and to always work for justice. It also taught me about the importance of lists.
Of course, my lists tend to be more mundane than Farmer's. I'm not trying to combat the rise of drug resistant tuberculosis. I'm just trying to keep on top of my dishes and laundry.
January 12, 2014
(In)somn(i)ambulator
I have never been much of a sleeper.
When I was a little girl, I used to ask for at least five glasses of water. Partially I was thirsty, the other part was not wanting to miss out on anything. As the youngest in the family, I was put to bed first, so there was always something happening after my bedroom door closed and the lights were off.
I quickly learned that reading was the trick to staying up until everyone else had to go to bed. It also kept me from having to take naps, or at the very least gave me the ability to fake a nap by just being quiet with my book.
In high school, my brother and sister were out of the house, but Mom and Dad were asleep, so I couldn't keep the TV on or listen to the radio. I would listen to my Walkman sometimes, but more often than not, I would play solitaire--with actual playing cards--until 2:00am. I also made my way through most of H.G. Wells' and Rudyard Kipling's works, as well as writing letters to friends around the country.
These days, I have no problem falling asleep. I welcome it. At the end of the day, I make myself stay up until at least 10:00pm, just so I don't feel like my grandparents, whom I used to watch fall asleep in front of the their evening programs.
The issues come in the dark of night, when the world is at rest, when no one is awake for me to call. A couple of years ago, I used to awaken in the wee morning hours due to stress. I was worried about finding a job, finding health insurance, paying my bills, keeping on top of my community organizing career. These days I just wake up. There are no thoughts in my head other than, "Oh, crap. Why aren't I asleep?!"
I know I should get up and do something else, but I always think that any minute now I'll fall back asleep. Any. Minute. Now.
When I was a little girl, I used to ask for at least five glasses of water. Partially I was thirsty, the other part was not wanting to miss out on anything. As the youngest in the family, I was put to bed first, so there was always something happening after my bedroom door closed and the lights were off.
I quickly learned that reading was the trick to staying up until everyone else had to go to bed. It also kept me from having to take naps, or at the very least gave me the ability to fake a nap by just being quiet with my book.
In high school, my brother and sister were out of the house, but Mom and Dad were asleep, so I couldn't keep the TV on or listen to the radio. I would listen to my Walkman sometimes, but more often than not, I would play solitaire--with actual playing cards--until 2:00am. I also made my way through most of H.G. Wells' and Rudyard Kipling's works, as well as writing letters to friends around the country.
These days, I have no problem falling asleep. I welcome it. At the end of the day, I make myself stay up until at least 10:00pm, just so I don't feel like my grandparents, whom I used to watch fall asleep in front of the their evening programs.
The issues come in the dark of night, when the world is at rest, when no one is awake for me to call. A couple of years ago, I used to awaken in the wee morning hours due to stress. I was worried about finding a job, finding health insurance, paying my bills, keeping on top of my community organizing career. These days I just wake up. There are no thoughts in my head other than, "Oh, crap. Why aren't I asleep?!"
I know I should get up and do something else, but I always think that any minute now I'll fall back asleep. Any. Minute. Now.
January 11, 2014
Soup(er Douper)
I admit it. I love soup. I've always loved soup.
When I was little, it was a treat to go to Harold's Delicatessen in Knoxville for a bialy and a bowl of vegetable soup. They even found some for me when it wasn't on the menu.
Matzah ball soup was has been on the menu at every family holiday meal. Campbell's was a staple growing up, supplanted over time by Progresso...until the day I found a bug in a can and couldn't open one again.
As I gained culinary skills, I started making my own soups. They weren't hard. Chop some things, put them in a pot with water, throw in some herbs and spices. Doneso.
Tomato basil. Chili with cashews. Chickpea and pumpkin. Coconut curried red lentil.
Most of my soups are spicy and hearty. If there's a noodle included, it's even better. But lately, I've found the one thing that really makes it sing. Potato chips.
I know, I know. Potato chips are not healthy. They're not conducive to a well-rounded diet. They're not good for you. I get it. That said, they taste exceptional floating atop my jalapeno butternut squash soup. That is no joke.
Potato chips are the new crackers. You heard it here first, folks!
When I was little, it was a treat to go to Harold's Delicatessen in Knoxville for a bialy and a bowl of vegetable soup. They even found some for me when it wasn't on the menu.
Matzah ball soup was has been on the menu at every family holiday meal. Campbell's was a staple growing up, supplanted over time by Progresso...until the day I found a bug in a can and couldn't open one again.
As I gained culinary skills, I started making my own soups. They weren't hard. Chop some things, put them in a pot with water, throw in some herbs and spices. Doneso.
Tomato basil. Chili with cashews. Chickpea and pumpkin. Coconut curried red lentil.
Most of my soups are spicy and hearty. If there's a noodle included, it's even better. But lately, I've found the one thing that really makes it sing. Potato chips.
I know, I know. Potato chips are not healthy. They're not conducive to a well-rounded diet. They're not good for you. I get it. That said, they taste exceptional floating atop my jalapeno butternut squash soup. That is no joke.
Potato chips are the new crackers. You heard it here first, folks!
January 10, 2014
Live and Let Go
My natural instinct is to dwell. I have always been a contemplative type. I had my first car for 14 years, the last three of which I looked for something else, the last one and an half of which I searched for the car I have now...six years later. Let's just say, I should've traded it in some time ago.
I have a photo album that contains my universal hall pass from my independent study teacher in middle school, and a picture of my friends from our lunch table in 8th grade. I have the good and the bad art I produced in college, the newspapers and magazines I've written for over the years, and the cassette tape of the interview I did with the Violent Femmes in 1991 for my high school paper.
I hold onto the past, but two years ago, I decided to let some of it go. That was one of my New Year's resolutions: let shit go. That, and get more books from the library. They went hand in hand, really.
I managed to stick to my resolutions, and I continue to try to let go of mental and physical clutter to the best of my ability. By doing so, I've allowed myself to see more clearly, to move things or ideas or people out of the way of my living a fulfilled life. Oftentimes, I have to move myself out of the way.
Yesterday started out with a minor crisis at one job and continuing crisis at a second job. I did what I could to mitigate the first while spending the bulk of the day at the second, making the most of that, too. Upon coming home and checking Job #1's email, not only did I find the crisis resolved, but in a way that buoyed my spirits and lifted my faith in humanity and those willing to take risks because I asked.
By letting go of my concern, I was able to enjoy the resolution of the crisis and look forward to a new work week, which is sure to have more crises, more uncertainty, more drama, and more fun.
Let it go, y'all. It feels really, really good.
I have a photo album that contains my universal hall pass from my independent study teacher in middle school, and a picture of my friends from our lunch table in 8th grade. I have the good and the bad art I produced in college, the newspapers and magazines I've written for over the years, and the cassette tape of the interview I did with the Violent Femmes in 1991 for my high school paper.
I hold onto the past, but two years ago, I decided to let some of it go. That was one of my New Year's resolutions: let shit go. That, and get more books from the library. They went hand in hand, really.
I managed to stick to my resolutions, and I continue to try to let go of mental and physical clutter to the best of my ability. By doing so, I've allowed myself to see more clearly, to move things or ideas or people out of the way of my living a fulfilled life. Oftentimes, I have to move myself out of the way.
Yesterday started out with a minor crisis at one job and continuing crisis at a second job. I did what I could to mitigate the first while spending the bulk of the day at the second, making the most of that, too. Upon coming home and checking Job #1's email, not only did I find the crisis resolved, but in a way that buoyed my spirits and lifted my faith in humanity and those willing to take risks because I asked.
By letting go of my concern, I was able to enjoy the resolution of the crisis and look forward to a new work week, which is sure to have more crises, more uncertainty, more drama, and more fun.
Let it go, y'all. It feels really, really good.
January 9, 2014
Hair Brain(iac)
The other night, I was bored. I mean, really bored. I couldn't get online, and had worked my part time desk job for 11 hours straight. I was restless and punchy and definitely didn't want to do any of the things on my list.
I wasn't paying attention to whatever was on TV, and I started thinking about the day before, when I was at my other, main, part time job at your favorite specialty grocery store, when I was making a mustache and a beard out of my braids. Let's just say the beard was pretty metal. The mustache was more like a giant curly handlebar gone awry.
Left alone (and did I mention, bored?), I went much, much farther.
My hair had been down all day, and it was lookin' good! The curls were keeping their shape, it wasn't too dry, it wasn't too greasy. It was the just right porridge of hair days...without the danger of being eaten by a family of bears.
First, I started making the mustache. I tucked the front strands behind my ears and took locks from either side of my head about two inches back. I double knotted them in between my nose and mouth and then wound one lock behind the knot so that they both stood out horizontally...making a long, lustrous mustache the envy of any hipster.
The beard was the next step. No easy feat. It took doing, but I finally figured out that an ascot-type loose knot was the winner to make me look full-bearded. Upon showing it to some coworkers the next day, one commented that I looked like one of the guys on Duck Dynasty.
I think that may have squelched my interest in sporting a beard. Then again, if there's another cold snap like the one we had this week, it could definitely add some much- needed warmth to my wardrobe!
I wasn't paying attention to whatever was on TV, and I started thinking about the day before, when I was at my other, main, part time job at your favorite specialty grocery store, when I was making a mustache and a beard out of my braids. Let's just say the beard was pretty metal. The mustache was more like a giant curly handlebar gone awry.
Left alone (and did I mention, bored?), I went much, much farther.
My hair had been down all day, and it was lookin' good! The curls were keeping their shape, it wasn't too dry, it wasn't too greasy. It was the just right porridge of hair days...without the danger of being eaten by a family of bears.
First, I started making the mustache. I tucked the front strands behind my ears and took locks from either side of my head about two inches back. I double knotted them in between my nose and mouth and then wound one lock behind the knot so that they both stood out horizontally...making a long, lustrous mustache the envy of any hipster.
The beard was the next step. No easy feat. It took doing, but I finally figured out that an ascot-type loose knot was the winner to make me look full-bearded. Upon showing it to some coworkers the next day, one commented that I looked like one of the guys on Duck Dynasty.
I think that may have squelched my interest in sporting a beard. Then again, if there's another cold snap like the one we had this week, it could definitely add some much- needed warmth to my wardrobe!
January 8, 2014
(Dis)connected
Who knew that a little piece of plastic and copper wire could be so important, or that I am such a complete neophyte when it comes to updating my access to technology and the outside world?!
Saturday afternoon, my modem cord died. That's right. I have a DSL modem. No router. It plugs into my telephone wire in my kitchen, and I only plug it into the wall jack when I'm using the computer online...which it turns out is not that often.
Although you read earlier this week that I am now a bit more solvent, I am loathe to spend $100 for AT&T to send me a new modem for lousy internet service. Of course, it's pretty inexpensive, but I could probably upgrade to something that lets me download videos in under four hours for less if I combined it with my cable service.
Fingers crossed that the new, free cord shows up soon, and that I enter the 21st Century before it's over.
Saturday afternoon, my modem cord died. That's right. I have a DSL modem. No router. It plugs into my telephone wire in my kitchen, and I only plug it into the wall jack when I'm using the computer online...which it turns out is not that often.
Although you read earlier this week that I am now a bit more solvent, I am loathe to spend $100 for AT&T to send me a new modem for lousy internet service. Of course, it's pretty inexpensive, but I could probably upgrade to something that lets me download videos in under four hours for less if I combined it with my cable service.
Fingers crossed that the new, free cord shows up soon, and that I enter the 21st Century before it's over.
January 7, 2014
Handy(wo)man
About a month ago I had a horribly clogged shower drain. It was the kind of thing you've seen in a horror film. Seriously. There was black sludge coming up from the shower every time I used the sink...and nothing would drain.
Of course, the tub was totally full because I'd taken a much deserved bath. I'd even bought new bubble bath and everything! Needless to say, the water never got really hot, and the plumber cost an obscene amount of money to pull out a giant hairball the next morning, so...it was not the relaxing moment I imagined when I went for the soak.
While he was there, and told me about the total repiping my bathroom needed, he also told me that I need to have the guts of the toilet rebuilt, too, to stop it from running. Prior to that, I simply jiggled the handle if it failed to fill properly.
I waited a few more weeks, and finally, just before having a New Year's Day open house, I flushed the toilet and couldn't get the jiggle to do the trick. Finally, I took off the top of the tank, moved the chain around so it wouldn't catch anymore and voila!
Um, yeah. Sure I need to rebuild my toilet. Sure I do.
Of course, the tub was totally full because I'd taken a much deserved bath. I'd even bought new bubble bath and everything! Needless to say, the water never got really hot, and the plumber cost an obscene amount of money to pull out a giant hairball the next morning, so...it was not the relaxing moment I imagined when I went for the soak.
While he was there, and told me about the total repiping my bathroom needed, he also told me that I need to have the guts of the toilet rebuilt, too, to stop it from running. Prior to that, I simply jiggled the handle if it failed to fill properly.
I waited a few more weeks, and finally, just before having a New Year's Day open house, I flushed the toilet and couldn't get the jiggle to do the trick. Finally, I took off the top of the tank, moved the chain around so it wouldn't catch anymore and voila!
Um, yeah. Sure I need to rebuild my toilet. Sure I do.
January 6, 2014
Sing(ling) Out
I've been single for a while, and living in my own place for even longer. So, I've developed some funny little habits.
Lately, I wake up singing. One day it was "You Give Me Fever." The next, it was "Missing You." Today it was "Good Day Sunshine" over and over and over again.
When I lived in Boston, there was a winter when I couldn't get out of bed in the dead of winter, and out from under my seven wool blankets, without doing the "Brr, it's cold in here. There must be some Toros in the atmosphere" cheer from "Bring It On." Seriously.
At least the songs have gotten better.
Lately, I wake up singing. One day it was "You Give Me Fever." The next, it was "Missing You." Today it was "Good Day Sunshine" over and over and over again.
When I lived in Boston, there was a winter when I couldn't get out of bed in the dead of winter, and out from under my seven wool blankets, without doing the "Brr, it's cold in here. There must be some Toros in the atmosphere" cheer from "Bring It On." Seriously.
At least the songs have gotten better.
January 5, 2014
Cash(ing) Out/In
 |
| Truer words were never neoned. |
I got close, though. I picked up additional work where I could, my salary increased over time, and I loved what I was doing. I loved it so much, I took another vacation (to a conference) in August 2011, and lost my job due to more budget cuts and my job being shifted to a Metro Nashville agency. Unfortunately, I had bought myself a seriously indulgent pair of fabulous boots while out of town.
 |
| Said boots. |
Let 's just say my credit card bills have been consistently above $0.00.
I was a regular payer. I was never late. I did have some anxiety, though. I do not like to be in debt. I have a home loan, but no note on my car. No college debt (thank you Mom and Dad!). I even paid off my car repair loan over a year ago. I did, however, have around $3000 in credit card debt, and I felt icky about it, to say the least.
Having gainful employment, affordable insurance, and manageable household bills, I decided it was time to nip the credit card monster in the bud. I used one of those 0% APR rate checks they send you with your bill to put my plan into motion. I figured out that I could pay off my balance over the course of the offer and as of this week, I have.
It feels good to start the new year debt free. I hope to be more careful with my spending, save up for the expenses I will incur on trips before leaving town, have cash on hand for impulse buys, and maybe, just maybe create a real budget for a change.
It's going to feel good to have money left over at the end of each month. Here's to solvency, y'all! And, hopefully, another vacation.
January 4, 2014
Grand(ma) View
Grandma and I talk about books a lot. Well, that and which parts of her ache these days.
I don't remember a time when Grandma didn't have a bag of library books by her chair. Even in the days when she still drove, even when she still drove golf balls.
For the past two or three years, she's been waiting for the last book in a trilogy by Ken Follett. The kind folks at Parnassus Books let us know it's not slated to come out for at least another year or so, but recommended another author who writes epic novels spanning the centuries. Grandma loves those.
We have a date today to peruse the offerings at McKay's, and grab an early dinner.
I'm hoping we'll find enough to keep her interested for at least the next year. We had lunch together on Christmas Day and joked that although she's ready to go anytime, that she had too many books she'd like to finish before the year is out...or at least too many to read until well after she turns 95 in March.
Let's hope we all find something worthwhile to keep us going in our old age. I can't wait to fall back on Grandma's favorites...and mine.
I don't remember a time when Grandma didn't have a bag of library books by her chair. Even in the days when she still drove, even when she still drove golf balls.
For the past two or three years, she's been waiting for the last book in a trilogy by Ken Follett. The kind folks at Parnassus Books let us know it's not slated to come out for at least another year or so, but recommended another author who writes epic novels spanning the centuries. Grandma loves those.
We have a date today to peruse the offerings at McKay's, and grab an early dinner.
I'm hoping we'll find enough to keep her interested for at least the next year. We had lunch together on Christmas Day and joked that although she's ready to go anytime, that she had too many books she'd like to finish before the year is out...or at least too many to read until well after she turns 95 in March.
Let's hope we all find something worthwhile to keep us going in our old age. I can't wait to fall back on Grandma's favorites...and mine.
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| Christmas lunch at Chinatown with Grandma |
January 3, 2014
Another Day Another Nap-ortunity
I have plenty to do. P-L-E-N-T-Y.
I could empty and refill the dishwasher. I could wash the kitchen and bathroom floors. I could start designing this year's Valentine's cards. I could read a book, finish knitting one of two half-completed scarves to donate next Christmas to homeless families, I could spend an hour honing my yoga skills. I could make butternut squash soup with the ingredients I left on my counter last night. I could read a book.
Instead, I took a nap. That's not to say that I won't get to some of those things today, on my day off. But, I may take another nap.
My first nap was only a cat nap. You know, the kind that you desperately need because your body is shutting down on its own anyway and you might as well save yourself some trouble by grabbing the nearest blanket (one of four in my living room) and curling up into the cushions of the nearest sofa.
If I snooze again this afternoon, I would go for the all out hour plus-er. Those are my favorites. They have the best dreams, the weirdest subconscious theories swimming to the surface, the most beautiful hopes and dreams evolving into moving pictures in your head.
Then again, there is always tomorrow.
Shabbat Shalom, y'all!
I could empty and refill the dishwasher. I could wash the kitchen and bathroom floors. I could start designing this year's Valentine's cards. I could read a book, finish knitting one of two half-completed scarves to donate next Christmas to homeless families, I could spend an hour honing my yoga skills. I could make butternut squash soup with the ingredients I left on my counter last night. I could read a book.
Instead, I took a nap. That's not to say that I won't get to some of those things today, on my day off. But, I may take another nap.
My first nap was only a cat nap. You know, the kind that you desperately need because your body is shutting down on its own anyway and you might as well save yourself some trouble by grabbing the nearest blanket (one of four in my living room) and curling up into the cushions of the nearest sofa.
If I snooze again this afternoon, I would go for the all out hour plus-er. Those are my favorites. They have the best dreams, the weirdest subconscious theories swimming to the surface, the most beautiful hopes and dreams evolving into moving pictures in your head.
Then again, there is always tomorrow.
Shabbat Shalom, y'all!
January 2, 2014
Bird is the Word
On my way to my second job today, I happened to see a GIANT bird of prey hanging out in the front yard of a mansion in one of the swankiest neighborhoods in Nashville. I wanted to stop and check it out, take a picture, sketch it, study it, or at least get a closer look to be able to ask someone if it was a hawk, falcon or eagle of some kind, but, I kept driving.
Instead of being sad that I couldn't commune with nature, I started giggling, remembering that one of my coworkers' dad's has decided to become a falconer. You know, the guy with the giant glove that has a bird that can peck his eye out if he looks at him funny on his hand. I couldn't wait to tell her what I saw and ask about the bird her dad has. Of course, I forgot as soon as I got to work and had to muscle my way into a parking space. That, and she wasn't there today.
That giggly moment made my day. I hope something majestic made yours, too.
Instead of being sad that I couldn't commune with nature, I started giggling, remembering that one of my coworkers' dad's has decided to become a falconer. You know, the guy with the giant glove that has a bird that can peck his eye out if he looks at him funny on his hand. I couldn't wait to tell her what I saw and ask about the bird her dad has. Of course, I forgot as soon as I got to work and had to muscle my way into a parking space. That, and she wasn't there today.
That giggly moment made my day. I hope something majestic made yours, too.
January 1, 2014
Intro/Extro-Spective
Not normally one for New Year's resolutions, I decided during the height of the holiday season to change my perspective.
It's easy to focus on the negative, to wallow in fear or loneliness or what you perceive as other people's judgements, but that doesn't seem to help anything. It doesn't make you feel safe or loved or appreciated. What it does is build up walls.
I'm a fairly open book to those who know me. I am an open processor, an over-sharer, and I have the kind of face you can read at 100 yards.
I also tend to think a little bit too much about my interaction with others.
Given that, I've decided to focus less on what I assume other people think this year and shift to a focus on at least one good thing each day.
It has been easy so far! This morning, I am am already excited about getting the chance to sleep in, having the time to do some yoga, put up a pot of Moroccan-inspired black-eyed peas to share with whichever friends and family decide to stop by this afternoon and got the notice the the city is picking up my giant pile of brush from the street in two weeks.
Good things don't have to be complicated. I'm looking forward to a year of focusing on the little things and letting the big things fall into place without over-thinking them.
Happy 2014, y'all!
It's easy to focus on the negative, to wallow in fear or loneliness or what you perceive as other people's judgements, but that doesn't seem to help anything. It doesn't make you feel safe or loved or appreciated. What it does is build up walls.
I'm a fairly open book to those who know me. I am an open processor, an over-sharer, and I have the kind of face you can read at 100 yards.
I also tend to think a little bit too much about my interaction with others.
Given that, I've decided to focus less on what I assume other people think this year and shift to a focus on at least one good thing each day.
It has been easy so far! This morning, I am am already excited about getting the chance to sleep in, having the time to do some yoga, put up a pot of Moroccan-inspired black-eyed peas to share with whichever friends and family decide to stop by this afternoon and got the notice the the city is picking up my giant pile of brush from the street in two weeks.
Good things don't have to be complicated. I'm looking forward to a year of focusing on the little things and letting the big things fall into place without over-thinking them.
Happy 2014, y'all!
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