Spring is in the air.
The annual last two weeks of April deluge has dumped significant rain, and wind, and damage on the South.
My house is solid, my car is undamaged by hail, and my flowers are soggy, but they are still gorgeous and lift my spirits morning and night. The new blooms blow me away, as I relearn and remember what is planted.
From delicate periwinkles, to bold burgundies, to white and striped purple, to golden yellow, the irises in my yard make me smile, and that's good enough for me.
April 30, 2014
April 29, 2014
And...breathe
Last week I tried to take a mini vacation.
It was kind of a disaster, but it had some bright spots.
It was kind of a disaster, but it had some bright spots.
- I hiked the Appalachian Trail (okay...a very, very small portion of it).
- I got to see some beautiful butterflies and tiny little flowers on moss by a river in another state.
- I bought an adorable pair of teal shoes.
- My mom gave me two dresses, a shirt and a couple of sweaters.
- I now have my dad's axe (well, my hardware store has it, and is tightening the handle and sharpening the blade.
- I bought a vagabond healer a glass of white wine, and she lifted the hurt from my heart and the heaviness in my soul (she also asked to stay at my house, which I declined, and when she handed me her card, she told me about her PayPal account...a savvy entrepreneur if you ask me).
- I sat by a fire.
- I sunned myself on a bridge by the French Broad River.
- I bought a super cool bottle opener.
- I drank the best water I've ever tasted from a faucet.
- I had a wonderful, heartfelt hug.
- I cried more than I have in years.
- I lost 3-4 lbs without trying...but was really, really hungry.
- I learned that communication is important, and needs to go both ways.
- I was honest with an old friend.
April 28, 2014
Trail blazer
Thursday I hiked the Appalachian Trail.
Okay, so I hiked about .10 miles in order to try to meet my friend on the trail leading into Hot Springs, NC. It was kind of awesome.
I was dressed completely inappropriately. I had on mary-jane flats with worn-out soles, a pair of shorts and a long sleeved shirt. No hat. No socks. No bug spray or sunscreen. It was kind of awesome.
I walked over the bridge in town that crosses the French Broad River, a swift flowing river that feeds into the Tennessee. I found a perch on the bridge that didn't feel too dangerous and sat and waited. And waited. And waited.
After a while, some older gentlemen stopped by to post a sign about their 9th Annual Trail Angel cookout on May 1st. We chatted for a while, then I waited a while longer.
Finally, I decided to walk down the steep hill, via the makeshift steps, and follow the trail until I ran into my friend. I had very little idea of where to go or what to do, and no clue about the terrain I'd encounter, but I figured if came across anything too tough, I'd just turn back.
What I saw was beauty. There were black and yellow butterflies. Blue butterflies. Teal flying beetles. Periwinkle flowers on tiny stems growing atop moss by the river. Little red flowers. Dogwoods. Redbuds. It was all so, so beautiful.
Turns out my friend's phone doesn't work this far south on the Trail, so he didn't get my texts asking how far he and his hiking partner were from Hot Springs. Turns out it didn't matter. I ran into them as I was about to give up climbing an incline.
They were as amazed at what was there as I was. Nothing like nature to remind you of the incredible diversity that surrounds us.
Okay, so I hiked about .10 miles in order to try to meet my friend on the trail leading into Hot Springs, NC. It was kind of awesome.
I was dressed completely inappropriately. I had on mary-jane flats with worn-out soles, a pair of shorts and a long sleeved shirt. No hat. No socks. No bug spray or sunscreen. It was kind of awesome.
I walked over the bridge in town that crosses the French Broad River, a swift flowing river that feeds into the Tennessee. I found a perch on the bridge that didn't feel too dangerous and sat and waited. And waited. And waited.
After a while, some older gentlemen stopped by to post a sign about their 9th Annual Trail Angel cookout on May 1st. We chatted for a while, then I waited a while longer.
Finally, I decided to walk down the steep hill, via the makeshift steps, and follow the trail until I ran into my friend. I had very little idea of where to go or what to do, and no clue about the terrain I'd encounter, but I figured if came across anything too tough, I'd just turn back.
What I saw was beauty. There were black and yellow butterflies. Blue butterflies. Teal flying beetles. Periwinkle flowers on tiny stems growing atop moss by the river. Little red flowers. Dogwoods. Redbuds. It was all so, so beautiful.
Turns out my friend's phone doesn't work this far south on the Trail, so he didn't get my texts asking how far he and his hiking partner were from Hot Springs. Turns out it didn't matter. I ran into them as I was about to give up climbing an incline.
They were as amazed at what was there as I was. Nothing like nature to remind you of the incredible diversity that surrounds us.
April 27, 2014
Mountain girl
Wednesday I got in my car and drove East on I-40.
I'd just worked 31 hours since Monday, and had a hard time staying awake for the first 40 miles or so. I finally pulled over at a combo Wendy's/gas station in Carthage, TN to get something caffeinated and a snack to keep my eyes open...and a bathroom. It was a fairly routine pit-stop, but it was disconcerting to see an armed guard inside the door.
The first time I spent any significant amount of time in Carthage was the day that Gov. Bill Clinton announced Sen. Al Gore, Jr. as his running mate for the first time, in 1992. It was an insanely hot day. People were passing out from the heat, and the the only shade around was the big tree in front of courthouse. The fire department had a fire truck out with a water tank to make sure people were hydrating.
That was the genesis of the future signs and t-shirts professing "Bill & Al's Excellent Adventure." It was also the first time I'd heard the show "Car Talk," and while I love it now, I told my dad he should change the channel because I was sick of hearing those hillbillies talk about cars. Oy.
This trip, I was across the street from what had been the only gas station in Carthage in 1992. I settled for a small mint hot chocolate and a small bag of corn nuts to get me to Knoxville for the night. It did the trick. So did my fond memories of that trip with Dad. I'm sure I was no peach that trip, having recently returned from a semester of high school in Israel. I did not want to be back in Tennessee, or back under my parents' roof. I was a miserable, but I was interested in politics, and Dad fostered that interest well, as it was, and is, also his own.
The rest of the drive made me smile constantly. I was awake, only spilled some of my hot chocolate on myself, and was totally digging the harsh crunch of the corn nuts. And then I noticed it. I was surrounded by rolling hills. Rolling green hills. I was headed home. Not just to my parents' house, but home to East Tennessee, to the Smoky Mountains. I forgot how much vistas feed my soul. The hills were alive with the green of springtime, that misty green, that subtle, delicate green of my favorite season.
I drove in joy and looked forward to the rest of my trip.
I'd just worked 31 hours since Monday, and had a hard time staying awake for the first 40 miles or so. I finally pulled over at a combo Wendy's/gas station in Carthage, TN to get something caffeinated and a snack to keep my eyes open...and a bathroom. It was a fairly routine pit-stop, but it was disconcerting to see an armed guard inside the door.
The first time I spent any significant amount of time in Carthage was the day that Gov. Bill Clinton announced Sen. Al Gore, Jr. as his running mate for the first time, in 1992. It was an insanely hot day. People were passing out from the heat, and the the only shade around was the big tree in front of courthouse. The fire department had a fire truck out with a water tank to make sure people were hydrating.
That was the genesis of the future signs and t-shirts professing "Bill & Al's Excellent Adventure." It was also the first time I'd heard the show "Car Talk," and while I love it now, I told my dad he should change the channel because I was sick of hearing those hillbillies talk about cars. Oy.
This trip, I was across the street from what had been the only gas station in Carthage in 1992. I settled for a small mint hot chocolate and a small bag of corn nuts to get me to Knoxville for the night. It did the trick. So did my fond memories of that trip with Dad. I'm sure I was no peach that trip, having recently returned from a semester of high school in Israel. I did not want to be back in Tennessee, or back under my parents' roof. I was a miserable, but I was interested in politics, and Dad fostered that interest well, as it was, and is, also his own.
The rest of the drive made me smile constantly. I was awake, only spilled some of my hot chocolate on myself, and was totally digging the harsh crunch of the corn nuts. And then I noticed it. I was surrounded by rolling hills. Rolling green hills. I was headed home. Not just to my parents' house, but home to East Tennessee, to the Smoky Mountains. I forgot how much vistas feed my soul. The hills were alive with the green of springtime, that misty green, that subtle, delicate green of my favorite season.
I drove in joy and looked forward to the rest of my trip.
April 26, 2014
Mountain magic
Wednesday I got in my car and headed east towards Hot Springs, NC.
I made a pit stop in Knoxville to visit my parents on the way to see a friend who is hiking the Appalachian Trail. The plans were up in the air, and solely based on the pace of the hikers...who were running a day behind. Thus thus the pit stop for the night.
That pit stop was really nice. I ended up getting a lecture on my work patterns from my dad, and since there wasn't anything in the house for me to eat, I treated myself to Petro's for dinner. Silver linings everywhere. Thursday morning, I was treated to Waffle House by Dad, and had great conversations about his grandparents, long lost relatives and the genesis of anti-Semitism that apparently began with the Romans.
After breakfast, I met Mom back at the house, where she gave me some dresses. We then went to the bank so that I could sign the safety deposit box cards...in case something happens to my folks. Morbid, but necessary as the steps towards aging preparations begin.
The drive to Hot Springs from Knoxville was an easy one. I made a quick stop at Earth Fare to pick up some snacks (and nearly $40 worth of seeds for my garden) and hit the road.
Once I was off the highway and headed into Newport, TN, I was struck by not only the extreme poverty, but by the lush vegetation. Everything was green. The food pantries and thrift stores gave way to farmsteads and then just trees as neared the NC/TN border. The dogwoods I saw everywhere in Knoxville were dotted amongst the emerging maples and oaks.
And then, I spied Hot Springs. What a weird and wonderful little town. Everyone was kind. Everyone knew the hikers were coming. Everyone was there to encourage them on their journeys.
It was picturesque and I am so glad I got to experience it.
I made a pit stop in Knoxville to visit my parents on the way to see a friend who is hiking the Appalachian Trail. The plans were up in the air, and solely based on the pace of the hikers...who were running a day behind. Thus thus the pit stop for the night.
That pit stop was really nice. I ended up getting a lecture on my work patterns from my dad, and since there wasn't anything in the house for me to eat, I treated myself to Petro's for dinner. Silver linings everywhere. Thursday morning, I was treated to Waffle House by Dad, and had great conversations about his grandparents, long lost relatives and the genesis of anti-Semitism that apparently began with the Romans.
After breakfast, I met Mom back at the house, where she gave me some dresses. We then went to the bank so that I could sign the safety deposit box cards...in case something happens to my folks. Morbid, but necessary as the steps towards aging preparations begin.
The drive to Hot Springs from Knoxville was an easy one. I made a quick stop at Earth Fare to pick up some snacks (and nearly $40 worth of seeds for my garden) and hit the road.
Once I was off the highway and headed into Newport, TN, I was struck by not only the extreme poverty, but by the lush vegetation. Everything was green. The food pantries and thrift stores gave way to farmsteads and then just trees as neared the NC/TN border. The dogwoods I saw everywhere in Knoxville were dotted amongst the emerging maples and oaks.
And then, I spied Hot Springs. What a weird and wonderful little town. Everyone was kind. Everyone knew the hikers were coming. Everyone was there to encourage them on their journeys.
It was picturesque and I am so glad I got to experience it.
April 25, 2014
Mom of the year
Last week, I witnessed a woman go through the grocery store with her daughter having a raging tantrum the entire time.
I was working there at the time, and, like most everyone else, noticed the commotion. She didn't come through my line, but I could see the "I'm sorry, I can't control this situation so we're going to have to let her scream it out" look on her face.
Her transaction took WAY longer than seemed necessary, and she looked like she wanted to scream, just like her little girl, but totally held it together.
I didn't have anyone in my line, and as she started to walk out the door, I grabbed a bouquet of flowers and hustled after her and met her at her car. I handed her the flowers, told her she was a great mom, and helped get the groceries into the car while she managed her daughter.
She looked relieved and thanked me and apologized for her daughter's behavior. She was my hero that day. I'd had a minor meltdown of my own while driving from one job to the other, and knew what her little girl felt, I just couldn't wail about it and get away with it anymore. At least in public.
Patience like that mom's is more than a virtue. It is admirable and should be commended. She is a great mom. I'm sure her daughter is also a great kid. I hope they both see that in each other as I saw it in them.
I was working there at the time, and, like most everyone else, noticed the commotion. She didn't come through my line, but I could see the "I'm sorry, I can't control this situation so we're going to have to let her scream it out" look on her face.
Her transaction took WAY longer than seemed necessary, and she looked like she wanted to scream, just like her little girl, but totally held it together.
I didn't have anyone in my line, and as she started to walk out the door, I grabbed a bouquet of flowers and hustled after her and met her at her car. I handed her the flowers, told her she was a great mom, and helped get the groceries into the car while she managed her daughter.
She looked relieved and thanked me and apologized for her daughter's behavior. She was my hero that day. I'd had a minor meltdown of my own while driving from one job to the other, and knew what her little girl felt, I just couldn't wail about it and get away with it anymore. At least in public.
Patience like that mom's is more than a virtue. It is admirable and should be commended. She is a great mom. I'm sure her daughter is also a great kid. I hope they both see that in each other as I saw it in them.
April 24, 2014
Birthday boy
Today is my youngest nephew's birthday.
He is a red headed, fair skinned, blue-eyed boy in a family of olive skinned brunettes, mainly with eyes in various shades of brown.
He is vivacious and loud and only recently decided to wear pants when he's not at school. He is a snuggler and isn't greedy with hugs. He even let me give him a kiss last week, the first time in about a year...when he decided that kisses weren't allowed.
He is loud and joyful and throws fits like a champ. He's fearless and a joker and I love him like crazy.
He may be the white sheep of the family, but he's a black sheep, like the rest of us, at heart!
He is a red headed, fair skinned, blue-eyed boy in a family of olive skinned brunettes, mainly with eyes in various shades of brown.
He is vivacious and loud and only recently decided to wear pants when he's not at school. He is a snuggler and isn't greedy with hugs. He even let me give him a kiss last week, the first time in about a year...when he decided that kisses weren't allowed.
He is loud and joyful and throws fits like a champ. He's fearless and a joker and I love him like crazy.
He may be the white sheep of the family, but he's a black sheep, like the rest of us, at heart!
April 23, 2014
Bouncing quarters
I love a freshly made bed.
Actually, I love making a bed, especially with freshly laundered sheets. I find the process as satisfying as frosting a cake.
Each sheet is like another layer, smoothed and ready to dive into. Folding each hospital corner like my paternal grandma taught me.
On a cool night, the warm sheets envelope you, comfort you under the weight of the blankets. On a hot night, leaving the covers off and turning on the ceiling fan.
Sleep tight. I will.
Actually, I love making a bed, especially with freshly laundered sheets. I find the process as satisfying as frosting a cake.
Each sheet is like another layer, smoothed and ready to dive into. Folding each hospital corner like my paternal grandma taught me.
On a cool night, the warm sheets envelope you, comfort you under the weight of the blankets. On a hot night, leaving the covers off and turning on the ceiling fan.
Sleep tight. I will.
April 22, 2014
Refridgerator roullette
I've been a vegetarian for 22 years.
It's a lifestyle choice, not a health thing, not an animal cruelty thing. I just don't like meat. Haven't since I was a little girl.
I do, however, like to take chances...sometimes. The biggest chances I tend to take are speeding on the highway and eating food that is past its prime.
Saturday, I took a chance on some tofu with a January expiration date. I figured there's no harm in it, as long as it doesn't smell weird, and it doesn't have a slimy film on it. Just to be sure, I tried a sliver sitting on top of the block when I opened the package. Didn't taste funny.
I then cubed it, separated it onto parchment paper on a baking sheet, and popped it into the oven while I prepped baked apples (which joined the tofu in the oven), boiled potatoes to have for breakfast, made a one-pot meal of potatoes, green beans and tomato sauce with extra garlic, and whipped up a lemon-orange sponge cake (which joined the tofu and apples in the oven). The tofu came out browned and puffed and chewy, just like tofu that hadn't passed its best by date.
Of course, I couldn't help but try some. Minutes later, my belly began to ache.
No big deal...it's probiotics!
It's a lifestyle choice, not a health thing, not an animal cruelty thing. I just don't like meat. Haven't since I was a little girl.
I do, however, like to take chances...sometimes. The biggest chances I tend to take are speeding on the highway and eating food that is past its prime.
Saturday, I took a chance on some tofu with a January expiration date. I figured there's no harm in it, as long as it doesn't smell weird, and it doesn't have a slimy film on it. Just to be sure, I tried a sliver sitting on top of the block when I opened the package. Didn't taste funny.
I then cubed it, separated it onto parchment paper on a baking sheet, and popped it into the oven while I prepped baked apples (which joined the tofu in the oven), boiled potatoes to have for breakfast, made a one-pot meal of potatoes, green beans and tomato sauce with extra garlic, and whipped up a lemon-orange sponge cake (which joined the tofu and apples in the oven). The tofu came out browned and puffed and chewy, just like tofu that hadn't passed its best by date.
Of course, I couldn't help but try some. Minutes later, my belly began to ache.
No big deal...it's probiotics!
April 21, 2014
Mighty neighborly of you
Saturday morning I mowed the lawn, sort of.
I lugged my trusty electric lawnmower out of the garage and went for it. Sadly, the battery is dying, and has been for over a year. I tried. I really did. I even kept raising the blade so that it wouldn't have to struggle so much. Sadly, it just stopped. Outright stopped.
Just before that, a man who'd been doing yard work two houses over came walking up to my chain link fence and offered his push mower. He also offered to help me figure out how to thread my weed eater...and when he couldn't, he used his to trim what I couldn't reach with the mower.
Turns out he's one of the sons of the woman who lived at the house two doors down. She passed away a few weeks ago, and he and his brothers have been keeping up the yard while they decide what to do with the house.
He gave me some history of my house. He remembers the two giant tulip poplars in the front yard (the biggest trees on the street) as small trees. He remembers when the original owners built the garage. He has no idea, though, who installed a shower in my laundry room...then turned the shower stall into a toilet stall...that is non-functional at the moment. While we were in the laundry room, he leaned on the dryer, laughed, and fixed the wobble.
He said, "I hope you don't take this the wrong way. You seem like a very self-sufficient woman, but you need a man around." I agreed with him and told him I was working on it. I didn't take offense. I do agree with him. I'd love to have a man in my life, not to be my fix-it guy, but to be my partner. To be each other's partner. To fix things together. To dine together. To laugh together. And all the other stuff.
After he left, I finished working in the garden and pulled a few more weeds, got cleaned up, ate some lunch and went to the hardware store...where they threaded my weed eater. Much later, I heard from a friend I'm meeting in North Carolina. Someone I'd love to have in my life.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I really like my neighbors, and my neighborhood.
I lugged my trusty electric lawnmower out of the garage and went for it. Sadly, the battery is dying, and has been for over a year. I tried. I really did. I even kept raising the blade so that it wouldn't have to struggle so much. Sadly, it just stopped. Outright stopped.
Just before that, a man who'd been doing yard work two houses over came walking up to my chain link fence and offered his push mower. He also offered to help me figure out how to thread my weed eater...and when he couldn't, he used his to trim what I couldn't reach with the mower.
Turns out he's one of the sons of the woman who lived at the house two doors down. She passed away a few weeks ago, and he and his brothers have been keeping up the yard while they decide what to do with the house.
He gave me some history of my house. He remembers the two giant tulip poplars in the front yard (the biggest trees on the street) as small trees. He remembers when the original owners built the garage. He has no idea, though, who installed a shower in my laundry room...then turned the shower stall into a toilet stall...that is non-functional at the moment. While we were in the laundry room, he leaned on the dryer, laughed, and fixed the wobble.
He said, "I hope you don't take this the wrong way. You seem like a very self-sufficient woman, but you need a man around." I agreed with him and told him I was working on it. I didn't take offense. I do agree with him. I'd love to have a man in my life, not to be my fix-it guy, but to be my partner. To be each other's partner. To fix things together. To dine together. To laugh together. And all the other stuff.
After he left, I finished working in the garden and pulled a few more weeds, got cleaned up, ate some lunch and went to the hardware store...where they threaded my weed eater. Much later, I heard from a friend I'm meeting in North Carolina. Someone I'd love to have in my life.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I really like my neighbors, and my neighborhood.
April 20, 2014
50 shades of Miriam
Last week I returned a sweater.
Nothing earth shattering about that, but while I was there, one of the saleswomen and I had a bonding moment. She and I are both olive complected, and we started talking about what happens every year. We have a different skin tone for every season.
She commented that if she wore foundation that she'd have at least 50 shades. I only have two...and don't wear foundation. And, I hardly ever wear either of them. I do have some eye liner. I think I wore it twice last year. One of those times was when I put on lipstick.
As winter turns to spring turns to summer, my undertones of yellowish green will turn to beige and then to honeyed tan. The saleswoman could relate.
The last couple of weekends have been a good start. Welcome back, tan lines. Welcome back, melatonin. Welcome back, rosy glow.
I look forward to keeping my compact in the bathroom drawer, and giving my dermatologist something to do as I get older. Tan on, y'all!
Nothing earth shattering about that, but while I was there, one of the saleswomen and I had a bonding moment. She and I are both olive complected, and we started talking about what happens every year. We have a different skin tone for every season.
She commented that if she wore foundation that she'd have at least 50 shades. I only have two...and don't wear foundation. And, I hardly ever wear either of them. I do have some eye liner. I think I wore it twice last year. One of those times was when I put on lipstick.
As winter turns to spring turns to summer, my undertones of yellowish green will turn to beige and then to honeyed tan. The saleswoman could relate.
The last couple of weekends have been a good start. Welcome back, tan lines. Welcome back, melatonin. Welcome back, rosy glow.
I look forward to keeping my compact in the bathroom drawer, and giving my dermatologist something to do as I get older. Tan on, y'all!
April 19, 2014
Back to our regularly scheduled programming
The past few days I've been off my game.
My schedule has been insane. There were two seders: one late, the other later. Working 1/2 of one of my two precious days off. Considering working 1/2 of my second, and reconsidering.
Worst of all, I was kind of mean to my mom. She got over it, and so did I, but I can't shake the feeling that there was more going on than just being in a bad mood or still being in work mode when I saw her, or being hungry or merely slipping into bad teenage habits. I've come to the conclusion that it was the matzo balls.
I know, I know. How could a matzo ball be a problem? Well, let's start with the fact that it was made with matzah. Wheat flour and water. Water's no big deal; I drink that all day long, and often in the middle of the night.
The flour is the culprit. I'm almost positive. Having been gluten free for nearly a year, I have noticed that I have chilled out. I mean, I'm still fairly tightly wound when it comes to certain topics, but I don't get frustrated as easily. I don't get pissy. I go with the flow more easily. I think that also has to do with getting more sleep, too, but this week was markedly different.
I said things before thinking about them, or their consequences. I was pointed and sharp when I am usually a good bit softer. I was short. I mean, physically I will always be short, but verbally, this was out of character.
I'm back on the gluten free bandwagon. I'm being good to myself so that I can be better to others. Next year I'm picking up some of that gluten free matzah meal...or making a different kind of soup for seder.
My schedule has been insane. There were two seders: one late, the other later. Working 1/2 of one of my two precious days off. Considering working 1/2 of my second, and reconsidering.
Worst of all, I was kind of mean to my mom. She got over it, and so did I, but I can't shake the feeling that there was more going on than just being in a bad mood or still being in work mode when I saw her, or being hungry or merely slipping into bad teenage habits. I've come to the conclusion that it was the matzo balls.
I know, I know. How could a matzo ball be a problem? Well, let's start with the fact that it was made with matzah. Wheat flour and water. Water's no big deal; I drink that all day long, and often in the middle of the night.
The flour is the culprit. I'm almost positive. Having been gluten free for nearly a year, I have noticed that I have chilled out. I mean, I'm still fairly tightly wound when it comes to certain topics, but I don't get frustrated as easily. I don't get pissy. I go with the flow more easily. I think that also has to do with getting more sleep, too, but this week was markedly different.
I said things before thinking about them, or their consequences. I was pointed and sharp when I am usually a good bit softer. I was short. I mean, physically I will always be short, but verbally, this was out of character.
I'm back on the gluten free bandwagon. I'm being good to myself so that I can be better to others. Next year I'm picking up some of that gluten free matzah meal...or making a different kind of soup for seder.
April 18, 2014
Must be the full moon
I'm usually pretty cool.
I mean, I juggle three jobs that work me 46+ hours per week, sneak in visits with Grandma, the occasional arts & crafts project, cook enough so that I only eat one meal out per week, do the laundry, wash the dishes and weed, plant and maintain my gardens. Occasionally I even clean my house.
I manage it pretty well most of the time. Days off include giant checklists that get whittled down bit by bit, enough sitting down to make up for the job that's 30+ hours on my feet, and plenty of catching up on TV shows.
I take it all in stride. I work hard and I rest hard. When I'm able, I sleep 9-12 hours per night, which makes up for the seasonal insomnia and short nights between 14 hour days.
I'm not sharing this so you feel sorry for me. I don't feel sorry for myself. I love what I do. I'm just exhausted.
Yesterday, I had a moment of panic. I felt like I was adrift. Like I was being batted around by the forces of the universe without a way to redirect myself. Without a way to just stop for a minute, an hour, a day, a week.
I mean, I clearly need a vacation. It's also springtime. My usual season for wanderlust, for entropy, for ennui. I was due for a freak out and got one...during the 30 minutes I had to think while going from one job to another.
It will all work out. Always does. Eventually. In the meantime, I am going to focus on putting away the clean laundry from last week, clearing off the coffee table and getting new tires on my car so I can hit the road when the urge, and the opportunity strike.
End freak out. Begin looking at the flowers outside the house again.
I mean, I juggle three jobs that work me 46+ hours per week, sneak in visits with Grandma, the occasional arts & crafts project, cook enough so that I only eat one meal out per week, do the laundry, wash the dishes and weed, plant and maintain my gardens. Occasionally I even clean my house.
I manage it pretty well most of the time. Days off include giant checklists that get whittled down bit by bit, enough sitting down to make up for the job that's 30+ hours on my feet, and plenty of catching up on TV shows.
I take it all in stride. I work hard and I rest hard. When I'm able, I sleep 9-12 hours per night, which makes up for the seasonal insomnia and short nights between 14 hour days.
I'm not sharing this so you feel sorry for me. I don't feel sorry for myself. I love what I do. I'm just exhausted.
Yesterday, I had a moment of panic. I felt like I was adrift. Like I was being batted around by the forces of the universe without a way to redirect myself. Without a way to just stop for a minute, an hour, a day, a week.
I mean, I clearly need a vacation. It's also springtime. My usual season for wanderlust, for entropy, for ennui. I was due for a freak out and got one...during the 30 minutes I had to think while going from one job to another.
It will all work out. Always does. Eventually. In the meantime, I am going to focus on putting away the clean laundry from last week, clearing off the coffee table and getting new tires on my car so I can hit the road when the urge, and the opportunity strike.
End freak out. Begin looking at the flowers outside the house again.
April 17, 2014
Dayenu!
Tuesday night I got to experience my first Persian seder.
It was stellar. From now on, I want more laughter at every seder I attend. More smacking each other with scallions while we sing Dayenu (enough). More spices and fruits. More rice. More green things. More sweet wine. More hugging and kissing. More getting it all done together.
I cannot say enough about how much love I have for the family that took me in for the second seder this year, and for many a shabbat. They are warm and kind and funny and welcoming.
I hope to build my own family like theirs some day. This year, I was not only free from slavery, I was free from the drudgery that can accompany a second seder. This year, I was free to learn new customs, eat new holiday foods, and enjoy the holiday with much loved friends.
Happy Passover, indeed!
It was stellar. From now on, I want more laughter at every seder I attend. More smacking each other with scallions while we sing Dayenu (enough). More spices and fruits. More rice. More green things. More sweet wine. More hugging and kissing. More getting it all done together.
I cannot say enough about how much love I have for the family that took me in for the second seder this year, and for many a shabbat. They are warm and kind and funny and welcoming.
I hope to build my own family like theirs some day. This year, I was not only free from slavery, I was free from the drudgery that can accompany a second seder. This year, I was free to learn new customs, eat new holiday foods, and enjoy the holiday with much loved friends.
Happy Passover, indeed!
April 16, 2014
Violet, you're turning violet.
Every time I mow the grass I think of the bees.
This time of year, and throughout mowing season, there is not only grass in my yard(s), but various wild plants (weeds), clover, and flowering things, including teeny tiny violets. Most of them are purple, but there is also the odd purple and white striped one to be found.
I know that some little bee must dine on the violets with their delicate bottom lip of a petal inviting them to have a bite of nectar and take some pollen home for the larvae. Each time I mow one down I feel a twinge, an anxious feeling that I've done damage to the local bee population.
This is totally ridiculous, but the feeling is there. I know that the weed killer my neighbors use is doing more damage than my irregular mowing. I know that there will be more flowers covering my yard(s) in another day or two.
In a lot of ways, I wish I could remove all of the grass and just leave the clover and violets to do their thing all year. They are more green, more lush, more vibrant than the crabgrass I constantly pull out of my flower and vegetable beds.
If I weren't so afraid of something hiding in tall grass and biting me, I'd mow more rarely. For now, I will continue to reluctantly shred the violets as I make sure to keep within yard ordinances. I'll also continue to admire them, and leave patches of purple blossoms whenever and wherever I am able.
This time of year, and throughout mowing season, there is not only grass in my yard(s), but various wild plants (weeds), clover, and flowering things, including teeny tiny violets. Most of them are purple, but there is also the odd purple and white striped one to be found.
I know that some little bee must dine on the violets with their delicate bottom lip of a petal inviting them to have a bite of nectar and take some pollen home for the larvae. Each time I mow one down I feel a twinge, an anxious feeling that I've done damage to the local bee population.
This is totally ridiculous, but the feeling is there. I know that the weed killer my neighbors use is doing more damage than my irregular mowing. I know that there will be more flowers covering my yard(s) in another day or two.
In a lot of ways, I wish I could remove all of the grass and just leave the clover and violets to do their thing all year. They are more green, more lush, more vibrant than the crabgrass I constantly pull out of my flower and vegetable beds.
If I weren't so afraid of something hiding in tall grass and biting me, I'd mow more rarely. For now, I will continue to reluctantly shred the violets as I make sure to keep within yard ordinances. I'll also continue to admire them, and leave patches of purple blossoms whenever and wherever I am able.
April 15, 2014
Once we were slaves. Now we are free...to eat quinoa.
I love bread. Rye bread in particular.
Since going gluten free last summer, I haven't had it. It hasn't been a struggle. Being homeless would be a struggle. Cutting out a food from my diet is a choice, and an easy one at that.
That said, there are still difficulties to be made during Passover. My diet will remain fairly constant, but I will feel a twinge of guilt if I eat beans, rice, corn or tofu this week. While I believe that there are arbitrary limitations placed on eating these foods in Ashkanazi Jewish traditions, I also believe in tradition. Coming from a long line of people who followed tradition, and somehow managed to survive with them through millennia of persecution, I feel like I owe something to my ancestors by following in their footsteps...for the most part.
I also believe that it's okay to harken back to my Sephardi roots that can theoretically be traced back to 1509, when the entire Jewish population of Chavez, Portugal fled to Poland. Grandma Reb was from Warsaw. If 25 generations ago my family was eating kitniot, I'm pretty comfortable doing it, too. That said, I didn't grow up with Sephardi customs. No one taught me how to inspect rice to make sure it is kosher, or whether fresh, dried or canned beans are okay to eat.
With my giant cookbook collection, I have a healthy number of Passover cookbooks, as well as Sephardi cookbooks. I've done my research there, and online, and by asking friends with different traditions. Everyone has something different to say. Something different to add or subtract.
When I was in Israel for a semester of high school, it was the first time I ate corn and beans during Passover. The rabbis there said it was okay, since you never want to offend your host. It was a revelation. It was like I was freed like the slaves in Egypt! It was my own personal breaking free.
With my family, I follow the tradition we grew up with, the tradition of lots and lots of beige food. At home I will add spices, I'll add color, I'll add texture. At home, I will think of my Portuguese ancestors (who probably had ancestors from Babylonia) while I cook up some Spanish rice to go with my beans and cumin...and I will continue to feel lucky to have such a rich tradition upon which to build.
Since going gluten free last summer, I haven't had it. It hasn't been a struggle. Being homeless would be a struggle. Cutting out a food from my diet is a choice, and an easy one at that.
That said, there are still difficulties to be made during Passover. My diet will remain fairly constant, but I will feel a twinge of guilt if I eat beans, rice, corn or tofu this week. While I believe that there are arbitrary limitations placed on eating these foods in Ashkanazi Jewish traditions, I also believe in tradition. Coming from a long line of people who followed tradition, and somehow managed to survive with them through millennia of persecution, I feel like I owe something to my ancestors by following in their footsteps...for the most part.
I also believe that it's okay to harken back to my Sephardi roots that can theoretically be traced back to 1509, when the entire Jewish population of Chavez, Portugal fled to Poland. Grandma Reb was from Warsaw. If 25 generations ago my family was eating kitniot, I'm pretty comfortable doing it, too. That said, I didn't grow up with Sephardi customs. No one taught me how to inspect rice to make sure it is kosher, or whether fresh, dried or canned beans are okay to eat.
With my giant cookbook collection, I have a healthy number of Passover cookbooks, as well as Sephardi cookbooks. I've done my research there, and online, and by asking friends with different traditions. Everyone has something different to say. Something different to add or subtract.
When I was in Israel for a semester of high school, it was the first time I ate corn and beans during Passover. The rabbis there said it was okay, since you never want to offend your host. It was a revelation. It was like I was freed like the slaves in Egypt! It was my own personal breaking free.
With my family, I follow the tradition we grew up with, the tradition of lots and lots of beige food. At home I will add spices, I'll add color, I'll add texture. At home, I will think of my Portuguese ancestors (who probably had ancestors from Babylonia) while I cook up some Spanish rice to go with my beans and cumin...and I will continue to feel lucky to have such a rich tradition upon which to build.
April 14, 2014
From slavery unto freedom
Tonight Passover begins.
I've always loved this holiday. It meant going on vacation to Florida as a kid, to have seders with the entire extended family. To swim in my great aunt and uncle's pool, to swim in the ocean, and of course to find the Afikomen.
It was a time to learn about my family history, to spend time with great grandmothers who were immigrants from Kiev and Warsaw at the turn of the 20th Century. To watch them cook, to hear the stories of how they came to America, how they met their husbands, how they spent time with my mom, where they lived in New York City and the businesses their husbands went into.
Later, Passover became the holiday to come home to from college. The holiday to find a friend's home to go to after college. To host my own seders for many years afterward.
When I moved to Nashville, it became the holiday to spend at my sister's house. I gave up the role of singing the Four Questions to my niece, then nephew, then another niece, and another two nephews.
Now, we have seders early enough that the kids can last the night, or most of it...and so can Grandma.
We coordinate over email and text about who is bringing what. We take into consideration that someone can't have salt, someone isn't eating gluten, and another one can only have plain food, and not much of that. We have three kinds of haroset: with wine, without wine, and without cinnamon. I bring at least one dessert and the mock chopped liver.
I love the philosophy built into the Hagaddah. I always want to talk about the teachings of the rabbis and the ideas about the number of plagues. Everyone else is really, really ready to eat by then. My sister is studying how we all put the drops of wine on our plates: are they in a line? random, a single puddle? lining the rim of the plate?
Dad assigns the reading of the four sons according to whom he thinks is being the wicked son that week. It's his little joke on us. Good one, Dad.
I love Passover. It's a holiday with some serious meaning built into it. We have to read the story each year and it reminds me not only of the injustice the Jewish people have survived and overcome over millennia, but of our obligation to stop injustice when we witness it, to be a part of undoing racism, of creating equal opportunities, for freeing each other from the bonds of slavery of all kinds.
Maybe that's why I embrace social justice work so whole-heartedly. I grew up feeling like a part of the story. Miriam was one of my heroes. She protected her brother. She liked to dance, sometimes at inappropriate times. She was the water bearer. She was also a little too honest about how she felt about her sibling's sweetheart. When she was punished, her people stood by her. She may not have made it to Canaan, but Miriam sure enjoyed the journey. Shake your timbrels, y'all. Shake your timbrels.
I've always loved this holiday. It meant going on vacation to Florida as a kid, to have seders with the entire extended family. To swim in my great aunt and uncle's pool, to swim in the ocean, and of course to find the Afikomen.
It was a time to learn about my family history, to spend time with great grandmothers who were immigrants from Kiev and Warsaw at the turn of the 20th Century. To watch them cook, to hear the stories of how they came to America, how they met their husbands, how they spent time with my mom, where they lived in New York City and the businesses their husbands went into.
Later, Passover became the holiday to come home to from college. The holiday to find a friend's home to go to after college. To host my own seders for many years afterward.
When I moved to Nashville, it became the holiday to spend at my sister's house. I gave up the role of singing the Four Questions to my niece, then nephew, then another niece, and another two nephews.
Now, we have seders early enough that the kids can last the night, or most of it...and so can Grandma.
We coordinate over email and text about who is bringing what. We take into consideration that someone can't have salt, someone isn't eating gluten, and another one can only have plain food, and not much of that. We have three kinds of haroset: with wine, without wine, and without cinnamon. I bring at least one dessert and the mock chopped liver.
I love the philosophy built into the Hagaddah. I always want to talk about the teachings of the rabbis and the ideas about the number of plagues. Everyone else is really, really ready to eat by then. My sister is studying how we all put the drops of wine on our plates: are they in a line? random, a single puddle? lining the rim of the plate?
Dad assigns the reading of the four sons according to whom he thinks is being the wicked son that week. It's his little joke on us. Good one, Dad.
I love Passover. It's a holiday with some serious meaning built into it. We have to read the story each year and it reminds me not only of the injustice the Jewish people have survived and overcome over millennia, but of our obligation to stop injustice when we witness it, to be a part of undoing racism, of creating equal opportunities, for freeing each other from the bonds of slavery of all kinds.
Maybe that's why I embrace social justice work so whole-heartedly. I grew up feeling like a part of the story. Miriam was one of my heroes. She protected her brother. She liked to dance, sometimes at inappropriate times. She was the water bearer. She was also a little too honest about how she felt about her sibling's sweetheart. When she was punished, her people stood by her. She may not have made it to Canaan, but Miriam sure enjoyed the journey. Shake your timbrels, y'all. Shake your timbrels.
April 13, 2014
Open(ing) up
Each day I inspect my garden...at least once.
I walk to the front of the house and see what has come up overnight by the mailbox and the street. The daffodils have come and gone. The fritillaria have their little blue belled flowers stacked along the their stems, which have all fallen over into the grass from weight and wind and rain. The iris leaves are green swords rising from the Earth like the underside of the stone in which Excalibur was thrust. A single red and white striped tulip survived my planting of many similar bulbs six or seven years earlier. The rest have likely rotted or been eaten by moles whose homes I trip over every time I walk through the yard.
The flowerbeds by the house are overflowing with ever-increasing daylily leaves, lazily flopping over next to their stiffer cousins, the irises. A single iris bud has formed in the bed under the living room window. That bed is home to gorgeous and gag-worthy iris color combinations. It will be a surprise to find out which will emerge. It could be one of the frilly pink guys, or one of the variegated tan numbers. Let's hope it's a purple and white or yellow blossom. Honestly, I'll be happy with any of them. Geez, it's like I'm pregnant with them or something. "I'll love my flowers no matter what color combinations they show when they open up."
Moving on, the bed on the other side of the front door is home to what will soon be peonies. The white ones are just fronds pushing their way skyward through a layer of tulip poplar leaves I patently refused to rake or mow last fall, knowing that they'd get blown by nature into their true homes, as mulch for my flowers. The pink peonies are thigh high and growing, the buds are multiplying daily and within a week or two they should show the world their seemingly endless array of petals, perfuming the air and attracting a long line of ants to their fruity centers. The daylilies and irises in that bed are spreading out and digging in, making their bed and lying in it.
Once I've seen what's new and wonderful in the front of the house, I check out the back yard and vegetable bed. Last fall I meant to plant a full bed of garlic. Interest and reality did not merge. Somehow, however, despite my lack of actual gardening, my garden is completely full of garlic. I don't mean one side of the garden, I mean the whole, giant bed. All 6'x20+' of it. Some are tiny nubs of single cloves just beginning to make their mark as actual plants. The others are clearly going to be meaningful heads of garlic, eventually to make their way into hummus, stir fries, pickles and sauces over the course of 2014/15.
These daily inspections are currently without the need for watering. Spring in Nashville is still maintaining reasonable temperatures and enough rain to make my hoses and rain barrel obsolete. June, July, August, September and October will be different, but for now I can spend as much time as I like in my garden, admiring the hard work of previous years that I put in each weekend, surrounding my home with beauty the calms my nerves and feeds my soul.
Can't wait to see what's new tomorrow.
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| What I hope comes up again this year. |
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| The precursors to this year's single, stunted tulip. |
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| Will the mystery blossom be a purple one or the tri-color weirdo up front? |
Moving on, the bed on the other side of the front door is home to what will soon be peonies. The white ones are just fronds pushing their way skyward through a layer of tulip poplar leaves I patently refused to rake or mow last fall, knowing that they'd get blown by nature into their true homes, as mulch for my flowers. The pink peonies are thigh high and growing, the buds are multiplying daily and within a week or two they should show the world their seemingly endless array of petals, perfuming the air and attracting a long line of ants to their fruity centers. The daylilies and irises in that bed are spreading out and digging in, making their bed and lying in it.
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| There's the peonie last year...with far fewer blossoms...and later in the spring. |
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| 2012's garlic harvest. |
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| One of many double petaled daylilies transplanted from my parents' house eight years ago. |
April 12, 2014
Sunshine day
There is very little more soothing than watching the clouds drift by on a sunny day.
Yesterday afternoon, I was lucky enough to get off work at 4pm and rush home to pull my lounge chair out of the garage and set it up on my patio between the carport and garage. This is the one flat-ish spot I have to place it in the late day sun.
I went inside and changed into sunbathing attire, grabbed a book, my cell phone, a pair of sunglasses and some water. Smiling, I propped up the back of the chair and cracked open my book. It took less than a second to realize that I wouldn't be reading. The book went to my side. The back of the chair went flat, and I closed my eyes and took a nap.
When I woke up, the sun was playing peek-a-boo with me behind thin white clouds that crisscrossed each other in the sky. They were fluffy and full of promise. There was a light breeze that belied the 80+ degree temperature, and I did nothing but enjoy it.
When the clouds turned grey, then charcoal, I took my things inside, re-folded the chair and put it back into the garage. I came into the house warmed from the sun, feeling refreshed from the vitamin D, the fresh air and the snooze.
It was a lovely way to start the weekend. Looking forward to continuing springtime wonders reminding me why I love this season so much.
Yesterday afternoon, I was lucky enough to get off work at 4pm and rush home to pull my lounge chair out of the garage and set it up on my patio between the carport and garage. This is the one flat-ish spot I have to place it in the late day sun.
I went inside and changed into sunbathing attire, grabbed a book, my cell phone, a pair of sunglasses and some water. Smiling, I propped up the back of the chair and cracked open my book. It took less than a second to realize that I wouldn't be reading. The book went to my side. The back of the chair went flat, and I closed my eyes and took a nap.
When I woke up, the sun was playing peek-a-boo with me behind thin white clouds that crisscrossed each other in the sky. They were fluffy and full of promise. There was a light breeze that belied the 80+ degree temperature, and I did nothing but enjoy it.
When the clouds turned grey, then charcoal, I took my things inside, re-folded the chair and put it back into the garage. I came into the house warmed from the sun, feeling refreshed from the vitamin D, the fresh air and the snooze.
It was a lovely way to start the weekend. Looking forward to continuing springtime wonders reminding me why I love this season so much.
April 11, 2014
Wind me up
There are a lot of things I like about spring.
Daylight is extended a little bit more each day. The weather is getting warmer. The world is full of color and life. And, the wind blows. Oh, my. How the wind blows!
As the weather warms, I find myself turning off the fan inside my car and rolling down the windows. Even if it is cold outside, I turn on my seat heater, and the wind makes me feel like I'm on an adventure.
I lean my left arm on the windowsill. My head leans a little bit to the left, towards the air. Towards the movement that I fail to feel when the windows are closed.
My hair lifts from the back of my head. It swirls forward, up and down and towards my eyes. I tuck one long curl behind my ear, away from my line of sight. I lean my head closer to the air. Closer to the wind. Close to the outdoors.
Sometimes I think I must have been a dog in a former life. If it were possible, I'd stick my head right out of that window, catch some bugs in my teeth, wind pushing my hair and my skin backward.
The closest I get to that is sticking my hand out the window and riding the airwaves. Surfing with my palm. Finding the rhythm of the unseen and my place within it.
Daylight is extended a little bit more each day. The weather is getting warmer. The world is full of color and life. And, the wind blows. Oh, my. How the wind blows!
As the weather warms, I find myself turning off the fan inside my car and rolling down the windows. Even if it is cold outside, I turn on my seat heater, and the wind makes me feel like I'm on an adventure.
I lean my left arm on the windowsill. My head leans a little bit to the left, towards the air. Towards the movement that I fail to feel when the windows are closed.
My hair lifts from the back of my head. It swirls forward, up and down and towards my eyes. I tuck one long curl behind my ear, away from my line of sight. I lean my head closer to the air. Closer to the wind. Close to the outdoors.
Sometimes I think I must have been a dog in a former life. If it were possible, I'd stick my head right out of that window, catch some bugs in my teeth, wind pushing my hair and my skin backward.
The closest I get to that is sticking my hand out the window and riding the airwaves. Surfing with my palm. Finding the rhythm of the unseen and my place within it.
April 10, 2014
Family plot
We all have crazy families.
Seriously. Don't think yours is so special. I hear about the wildest family relationships and dysfunction on a daily basis. Some make me laugh while others make me sob.
So many of us have recovering, or active, addicts in our lives. Parents or siblings who have nothing nice to say, ever. Family members who do not know the meaning of the word support, regardless of its context as emotional or financial. We have liars and attention hogs, narcissists, golden boys and lost children. We have abusive relationships, physical, verbal, emotional. We have heartbreak and sorrow. We have aggression and grudges and cutting people off and out.
We also have unconditional love. We have forgiveness. We have letting it go. We have moving on. We have our chosen families, our friends, our coworkers, our meaningful conversations and passing smiles to strangers. We can choose to wallow in the black hole of ludicrous actions and reactions that we were all born into (despite what you think is the perfect family...I've seen the underbelly of some of those, and they are truly, truly ugly), or we can raise our heads to the sky, let out a primal scream and live our own lives.
That's right. I said it. Your family is just that, family. You are your own person. Do that. Be that. Live like you count, on your own. You do.
I believe that we have something to learn from even the worst family dynamics. I try to turn my own around. It has taken me a long, long time, but I have learned forgiveness. I have learned to identify the positive, even in the meanest, most hateful and most cowardly people who were supposed to be my role models, my heroes.
I also choose to take my family as they are, with their limitations, rather than expecting them to be the movie or television versions that I've lived my life hoping they would become. We could have a sit-com. Maybe a dram-edy. We're not quite Dallas, but we're definitely not Nashville. We're more like Matlock meets Designing Women meets Melrose Place meets Seinfeld meets The Wonder Years meets The Victory Garden meets The Barefoot Contessa.
Not a bad combo, especially since we're not anywhere close to The Sopranos or Justified...or Shameless. Although, an argument could be made that we have a little bit of each of those, too. Could always be worse! Love 'em or leave 'em. I choose to love my family. With all of our quirks, at least we're interesting.
Seriously. Don't think yours is so special. I hear about the wildest family relationships and dysfunction on a daily basis. Some make me laugh while others make me sob.
So many of us have recovering, or active, addicts in our lives. Parents or siblings who have nothing nice to say, ever. Family members who do not know the meaning of the word support, regardless of its context as emotional or financial. We have liars and attention hogs, narcissists, golden boys and lost children. We have abusive relationships, physical, verbal, emotional. We have heartbreak and sorrow. We have aggression and grudges and cutting people off and out.
We also have unconditional love. We have forgiveness. We have letting it go. We have moving on. We have our chosen families, our friends, our coworkers, our meaningful conversations and passing smiles to strangers. We can choose to wallow in the black hole of ludicrous actions and reactions that we were all born into (despite what you think is the perfect family...I've seen the underbelly of some of those, and they are truly, truly ugly), or we can raise our heads to the sky, let out a primal scream and live our own lives.
That's right. I said it. Your family is just that, family. You are your own person. Do that. Be that. Live like you count, on your own. You do.
I believe that we have something to learn from even the worst family dynamics. I try to turn my own around. It has taken me a long, long time, but I have learned forgiveness. I have learned to identify the positive, even in the meanest, most hateful and most cowardly people who were supposed to be my role models, my heroes.
I also choose to take my family as they are, with their limitations, rather than expecting them to be the movie or television versions that I've lived my life hoping they would become. We could have a sit-com. Maybe a dram-edy. We're not quite Dallas, but we're definitely not Nashville. We're more like Matlock meets Designing Women meets Melrose Place meets Seinfeld meets The Wonder Years meets The Victory Garden meets The Barefoot Contessa.
Not a bad combo, especially since we're not anywhere close to The Sopranos or Justified...or Shameless. Although, an argument could be made that we have a little bit of each of those, too. Could always be worse! Love 'em or leave 'em. I choose to love my family. With all of our quirks, at least we're interesting.
April 9, 2014
Sugar and spice
I love to cook.
I tend to cook something I love over and over again until I am thoroughly over it. I think that's why I like dishes that are holiday specific. Hamentaschen are for Purim. Anything with matzah is for Passover. Latkes for Hanukkah.
Usually, I pull out a handful of cookbooks from the giant bookcase in the kitchen, and pore over them for hours...or days. On big holidays, like Passover, I try to incorporate at least one new recipe into the mix, revamping the tried and true dishes that seem to be crowd pleasers.
For the past year or two, I've been in a bit of a cooking slump. Soup was about the most exciting thing I made all winter. My spices haven't veered much from cumin, turmeric, oregano and pepper. I was starting to get bored. That leads to rotten eating habits, like making soup more interesting by eating it with potato chips. Thankfully, I've kicked that habit.
A little over a week ago, I got a new cookbook that I cannot stop using. I've made olive-lentil burgers, butternut-sweet potato-pinto bean enchiladas and tofu sloppy joes with coconut creamed spinach. I'm salivating just thinking about them!
The next recipe I'm slated to try is a chickpea-zucchini kofta recipe. Is it wrong that I'm so excited about cooking? If you tried this food, you wouldn't think so.
I tend to cook something I love over and over again until I am thoroughly over it. I think that's why I like dishes that are holiday specific. Hamentaschen are for Purim. Anything with matzah is for Passover. Latkes for Hanukkah.
Usually, I pull out a handful of cookbooks from the giant bookcase in the kitchen, and pore over them for hours...or days. On big holidays, like Passover, I try to incorporate at least one new recipe into the mix, revamping the tried and true dishes that seem to be crowd pleasers.
For the past year or two, I've been in a bit of a cooking slump. Soup was about the most exciting thing I made all winter. My spices haven't veered much from cumin, turmeric, oregano and pepper. I was starting to get bored. That leads to rotten eating habits, like making soup more interesting by eating it with potato chips. Thankfully, I've kicked that habit.
A little over a week ago, I got a new cookbook that I cannot stop using. I've made olive-lentil burgers, butternut-sweet potato-pinto bean enchiladas and tofu sloppy joes with coconut creamed spinach. I'm salivating just thinking about them!
The next recipe I'm slated to try is a chickpea-zucchini kofta recipe. Is it wrong that I'm so excited about cooking? If you tried this food, you wouldn't think so.
April 8, 2014
What've you got?
I love a good trade.
Last week, I was lucky enough to gain nineteen books from a friend's collection. She is cleaning house and decided to let her friends have their pick before giving the rest away. I ended up with a couple of psychology books, a pamphlet on the US Constitution, and a LOT of gardening books. I didn't have much to give in return as a thank you gift, except my last jar of pickled green tomatoes that I put up in November. She was glad to have them, and glad I thinned her piles considerably.
Last night, I traded two buckets full of daylily shoots and roots for some eggs fresh from another friend's farm. Well, more precisely, her chickens. I do my best to supply her with empty egg cartons, too. My neighbor gives them to me, and I give she and her husband eggs in return when I get them from the farm. Her husband and her son love to pickle them and eat them when they go hunting. (Edit: didn't get the eggs, but I got a great night out with some incredibly hilarious women!)
My sister and my mom clean out their closets once or twice each year. When they do, they tend to ask me if I want anything. They let me sort through and try on as many outfits as I'd like. I have even less than pickled tomatoes and egg cartons to give to them. All I can give them is an ear to listen, a hug when I see them, and a fresh perspective on whatever troubles them.
When I lost my job a couple of years ago, I had to get used to receiving, rather than giving. I like trade a good deal better, but I don't always have much to offer. I hope that a smile, a good recipe, and a good story are enough. Some days, that's all I have to give, and it will have to do.
Last week, I was lucky enough to gain nineteen books from a friend's collection. She is cleaning house and decided to let her friends have their pick before giving the rest away. I ended up with a couple of psychology books, a pamphlet on the US Constitution, and a LOT of gardening books. I didn't have much to give in return as a thank you gift, except my last jar of pickled green tomatoes that I put up in November. She was glad to have them, and glad I thinned her piles considerably.
Last night, I traded two buckets full of daylily shoots and roots for some eggs fresh from another friend's farm. Well, more precisely, her chickens. I do my best to supply her with empty egg cartons, too. My neighbor gives them to me, and I give she and her husband eggs in return when I get them from the farm. Her husband and her son love to pickle them and eat them when they go hunting. (Edit: didn't get the eggs, but I got a great night out with some incredibly hilarious women!)
My sister and my mom clean out their closets once or twice each year. When they do, they tend to ask me if I want anything. They let me sort through and try on as many outfits as I'd like. I have even less than pickled tomatoes and egg cartons to give to them. All I can give them is an ear to listen, a hug when I see them, and a fresh perspective on whatever troubles them.
When I lost my job a couple of years ago, I had to get used to receiving, rather than giving. I like trade a good deal better, but I don't always have much to offer. I hope that a smile, a good recipe, and a good story are enough. Some days, that's all I have to give, and it will have to do.
April 7, 2014
Bottoms up
Tonight I'm going out for drinks with two friends.
It is rare these days that I go out for socializing. Most of my free time is spent doing laundry, cooking, gardening, grocery shopping, running errands, pretending to clean my house, visiting with family, or having quiet time.
One of the friends I've only seen for a few minutes since October, or was it September? She asked me to meet her a couple of weeks ago so that she could give me a gift. Hot pink unlined leather gloves with brown piping and vent snaps below the wrist. She brought them back for me from Italy as a special treat. Before she went on her trip, she asked what I'd like. I said jokingly, hot pink leather gloves. She is one in a million! One of my favorite birthday gifts of all time.
The other friend is another traveler whom I haven't seen in months. We were at a bat mitzvah together that turned into a Persian Shabbat dinner extravaganza with another friend's family. Prior to that, I think it had been since August when we played Mah Jongg by the pool with a handful of other ladies.
These two women are who I aspire to be. They are headstrong and smart and fearless. They take chances and make their own fun. They are creative and passionate. They are fashionable and love to eat. We laugh whenever we get together, talk about all of life's possibilities, and encourage each others' crazy ideas.
I can only hope to be as brave as they are with my own life. Tonight, I'll settle for looking fabulous and enjoying my friends' company. L'chaim!
It is rare these days that I go out for socializing. Most of my free time is spent doing laundry, cooking, gardening, grocery shopping, running errands, pretending to clean my house, visiting with family, or having quiet time.
One of the friends I've only seen for a few minutes since October, or was it September? She asked me to meet her a couple of weeks ago so that she could give me a gift. Hot pink unlined leather gloves with brown piping and vent snaps below the wrist. She brought them back for me from Italy as a special treat. Before she went on her trip, she asked what I'd like. I said jokingly, hot pink leather gloves. She is one in a million! One of my favorite birthday gifts of all time.
The other friend is another traveler whom I haven't seen in months. We were at a bat mitzvah together that turned into a Persian Shabbat dinner extravaganza with another friend's family. Prior to that, I think it had been since August when we played Mah Jongg by the pool with a handful of other ladies.
These two women are who I aspire to be. They are headstrong and smart and fearless. They take chances and make their own fun. They are creative and passionate. They are fashionable and love to eat. We laugh whenever we get together, talk about all of life's possibilities, and encourage each others' crazy ideas.
I can only hope to be as brave as they are with my own life. Tonight, I'll settle for looking fabulous and enjoying my friends' company. L'chaim!
April 6, 2014
Light(e)ning the load
Last Wednesday night heat lightning filled the sky.
The rain was coming down in a drizzle with the occasional group of large drops making me shorten the timing of my intermittent windsheild wipers.
The sky lit up in the distance. There was no thunder, just light. A single flash from the wall of clouds like an amorphous polka dot to the northwest.
I've always loved heat lightning. I know it is dangerous, as is all lightning. I just think it's pretty. And fascinating.
The best heat lightning is at night, when it really shows off. One night in 1993 I remember pulling over on my way home to sit on the hood of my car and watch the lightning shoot rays of light across the sky in the distance. Not my most brilliant move, but I figured, if I got hit by some, at least the car was sitting on rubber tired and I'd be okay. Stupid teenage brain. Not to be counted on for brilliance when it comes to risk taking.
Heat lightning also tells me that spring is really here. Summer is hot on its tail, and I do mean hot. Heat lightning is often accompanied by oppressive humidity. Welcome to the leap from dead winter straight into summer. Spring is in there somewhere.
In the meantime, I will enjoy the light show.
The rain was coming down in a drizzle with the occasional group of large drops making me shorten the timing of my intermittent windsheild wipers.
The sky lit up in the distance. There was no thunder, just light. A single flash from the wall of clouds like an amorphous polka dot to the northwest.
I've always loved heat lightning. I know it is dangerous, as is all lightning. I just think it's pretty. And fascinating.
The best heat lightning is at night, when it really shows off. One night in 1993 I remember pulling over on my way home to sit on the hood of my car and watch the lightning shoot rays of light across the sky in the distance. Not my most brilliant move, but I figured, if I got hit by some, at least the car was sitting on rubber tired and I'd be okay. Stupid teenage brain. Not to be counted on for brilliance when it comes to risk taking.
Heat lightning also tells me that spring is really here. Summer is hot on its tail, and I do mean hot. Heat lightning is often accompanied by oppressive humidity. Welcome to the leap from dead winter straight into summer. Spring is in there somewhere.
In the meantime, I will enjoy the light show.
April 5, 2014
Watch me now!
I look at my watch all the time.
It's basically an appendage. I got it years ago. At least 10 years ago, when a much nicer watch I was wearing popped apart when I snagged it on a keyboard tray. I didn't want that to happen again, so I got a sturdy looking Skagen with a stainless steel band and a rose face. The thing I was most excited about was that it had the date movement, too. Just the number, not the month or year or anything fancy.
I didn't want fancy. I wanted practical.
For these many years, it has been entirely practical. I've lost the occasional pin, had a battery or five replaced, and have beaten the stuffing out it. The scratched crystal and band are proof enough of that.
Over the past year, I've noticed that condensation has been collecting, like a small fogged window, on the interior of the crystal after washing dishes...usually at work. I asked a local watchmaker about it, and he said that the parts alone would cost more than the watch.
This week, the watch fell off of my couch and onto my hardwood living room floor. That fall dislodged the crystal. Apparently an insufficient seal caused the fog.
For the next hour after my watch fell apart, I searched online for a new one. I thought that it might be time to update my accessory wardrobe, even with my still uncertain job future. I saw watch after watch. If they had the right band, they had the wrong face. If they had the right face, they had fake diamonds on them. If they had the date function, they were too fancy.
Finally, I looked up the warranty information on the Skagen website. Turns out that all they cover is watch movements, the internal mechanisms. I called to find out how much it would be to fix my watch, and it turns out that it is only $45. That's it. For that price, they will put in a brand new crystal, clean and provide maintenance for the movements and replace the band! They'll even re-seal the watch if need be. I just have to write "refurbish" on the form I send in with my watch and check.
Look out world, my watch will be shiny and like new in 2-4 weeks. Couldn't ask for anything better to make my day.
It's basically an appendage. I got it years ago. At least 10 years ago, when a much nicer watch I was wearing popped apart when I snagged it on a keyboard tray. I didn't want that to happen again, so I got a sturdy looking Skagen with a stainless steel band and a rose face. The thing I was most excited about was that it had the date movement, too. Just the number, not the month or year or anything fancy.
I didn't want fancy. I wanted practical.
For these many years, it has been entirely practical. I've lost the occasional pin, had a battery or five replaced, and have beaten the stuffing out it. The scratched crystal and band are proof enough of that.
Over the past year, I've noticed that condensation has been collecting, like a small fogged window, on the interior of the crystal after washing dishes...usually at work. I asked a local watchmaker about it, and he said that the parts alone would cost more than the watch.
This week, the watch fell off of my couch and onto my hardwood living room floor. That fall dislodged the crystal. Apparently an insufficient seal caused the fog.
For the next hour after my watch fell apart, I searched online for a new one. I thought that it might be time to update my accessory wardrobe, even with my still uncertain job future. I saw watch after watch. If they had the right band, they had the wrong face. If they had the right face, they had fake diamonds on them. If they had the date function, they were too fancy.
Finally, I looked up the warranty information on the Skagen website. Turns out that all they cover is watch movements, the internal mechanisms. I called to find out how much it would be to fix my watch, and it turns out that it is only $45. That's it. For that price, they will put in a brand new crystal, clean and provide maintenance for the movements and replace the band! They'll even re-seal the watch if need be. I just have to write "refurbish" on the form I send in with my watch and check.
Look out world, my watch will be shiny and like new in 2-4 weeks. Couldn't ask for anything better to make my day.
April 4, 2014
Shabbat sha-yum, y'all
I used to bake challah every Friday.
That changed last summer when i decided to cut wheat out of my diet per my doctor's recommendation.
My house used to smell delicious each Friday night as the fluffy, stringy dough baked its golden crust. The process of mixing the dough by hand, kneading it lovingly and with enthusiasm, working out the frustrations of the week and working in the hopes for a peaceful and restful Shabbat.
Now, I think about my food needs for the week. How many meals do I need to bring with me each day? Will I have time to make breakfast or do I need to grab something on the run?
These days, Shabbat is about cooking as much as resting. It's about finding a new recipe I want to exhaust, about learning a new ways to prepare foods I'm familiar with and have cooked repeatedly.
Last week, I got a new cookbook to add to my vast collection filling up the tall bookcase in my kitchen. Honestly, I'm not sure where it will physically fit. I have a feeling it won't be put away for quite some time.
Last Friday and Saturday I made two recipes out of Isa Does It. I've been a huge fan of Isa Chandra Moskowitz's cookbooks for years now, making vegan waffles and sausages, cakes and cookies. This, her newest cookbook, is a glorious tome, full of cute typefaces, great photography, and Isa's signature step-savers.
I made the olive-lentil burgers Friday night, and doubled the recipe on Saturday they were so good! On Saturday, I also made the enchiladas. Of course, I wouldn't be me if I didn't swap some ingredients. I left out the potatoes and mushrooms int he enchiladas and put in roasted butternut squash and sweet potato, and corn I had left over from my CSA. I also didn't make the cashew cream, but topped it with sharp cheddar cheese (Surprise! I'm not a vegan. That only lasted for a month in 1997.) and black olives.
I cannot wait to test out more recipes. My belly's going to thank me.
That changed last summer when i decided to cut wheat out of my diet per my doctor's recommendation.
My house used to smell delicious each Friday night as the fluffy, stringy dough baked its golden crust. The process of mixing the dough by hand, kneading it lovingly and with enthusiasm, working out the frustrations of the week and working in the hopes for a peaceful and restful Shabbat.
Now, I think about my food needs for the week. How many meals do I need to bring with me each day? Will I have time to make breakfast or do I need to grab something on the run?
These days, Shabbat is about cooking as much as resting. It's about finding a new recipe I want to exhaust, about learning a new ways to prepare foods I'm familiar with and have cooked repeatedly.
Last week, I got a new cookbook to add to my vast collection filling up the tall bookcase in my kitchen. Honestly, I'm not sure where it will physically fit. I have a feeling it won't be put away for quite some time.
Last Friday and Saturday I made two recipes out of Isa Does It. I've been a huge fan of Isa Chandra Moskowitz's cookbooks for years now, making vegan waffles and sausages, cakes and cookies. This, her newest cookbook, is a glorious tome, full of cute typefaces, great photography, and Isa's signature step-savers.
I made the olive-lentil burgers Friday night, and doubled the recipe on Saturday they were so good! On Saturday, I also made the enchiladas. Of course, I wouldn't be me if I didn't swap some ingredients. I left out the potatoes and mushrooms int he enchiladas and put in roasted butternut squash and sweet potato, and corn I had left over from my CSA. I also didn't make the cashew cream, but topped it with sharp cheddar cheese (Surprise! I'm not a vegan. That only lasted for a month in 1997.) and black olives.
I cannot wait to test out more recipes. My belly's going to thank me.
April 3, 2014
Petal to the...
Spring has sprung!
I know, I know, you already realize I can wax poetic about the bloom of flowers, the gentle, bright blush of green that springs forth each, well, spring.
The early magnolias were the first to break through their chilled branches. The crocuses came and went. The daffodils are unfurling their butter yellow and white and orange-hued petals. The single and double headed daffodils in my yard taunt me with their ability to stay outside when I must go to work...or anywhere inside.
The blue fritillaria I planted in all the wrong places are coming up around my water meter, where I inexplicably put them in 2006. Thankfully, they are also blooming where the other flowers will be...near the house and near the street, like a picture frame around the yard, or asymmetrical stripes of flora.
Over the weekend, I noticed peony stems nearly a foot tall, reaching their tender baby leaves towards the sun and clouds. I can only hope that their pink and white blossoms survive this month and any potential frosts we see. When they do, they will play host to a parade of ants, drawn by their perfume, their sweetness, their never ending cushion of layer upon layer.
The daylilies are expanding at a faster rate than I can theoretically divide them or give them away. The irises are showing off, coming up in new places and giving telltale signs of which group of green spears will yield blossoms beyond my wildest dreams. Edged in blues and browns and yellows, whites, purples, burgundies and pinks. Frothy petals brimming over with seductive innuendo.
The hyacinths from my birthday two weeks ago are opening one bud at a time. They fill my outdoor seating area with the fragrance of hope, of winds of change, of clean air and sunshine, of shaking off the dust and stagnation of winter.
I can't wait to see what happens next!
I know, I know, you already realize I can wax poetic about the bloom of flowers, the gentle, bright blush of green that springs forth each, well, spring.
The early magnolias were the first to break through their chilled branches. The crocuses came and went. The daffodils are unfurling their butter yellow and white and orange-hued petals. The single and double headed daffodils in my yard taunt me with their ability to stay outside when I must go to work...or anywhere inside.
The blue fritillaria I planted in all the wrong places are coming up around my water meter, where I inexplicably put them in 2006. Thankfully, they are also blooming where the other flowers will be...near the house and near the street, like a picture frame around the yard, or asymmetrical stripes of flora.
Over the weekend, I noticed peony stems nearly a foot tall, reaching their tender baby leaves towards the sun and clouds. I can only hope that their pink and white blossoms survive this month and any potential frosts we see. When they do, they will play host to a parade of ants, drawn by their perfume, their sweetness, their never ending cushion of layer upon layer.
The daylilies are expanding at a faster rate than I can theoretically divide them or give them away. The irises are showing off, coming up in new places and giving telltale signs of which group of green spears will yield blossoms beyond my wildest dreams. Edged in blues and browns and yellows, whites, purples, burgundies and pinks. Frothy petals brimming over with seductive innuendo.
The hyacinths from my birthday two weeks ago are opening one bud at a time. They fill my outdoor seating area with the fragrance of hope, of winds of change, of clean air and sunshine, of shaking off the dust and stagnation of winter.
I can't wait to see what happens next!
April 2, 2014
I'm really sensitive
"Do you have an adhesive allergy?" "Um, kind of."
One of the worst bandage experiences I've had was after I had biopsies on both breasts 2.5 years ago. Don't freak out. I'm fine. Lucky, and fine. The bandages, however, liked my skin so much that one of them tore off some it to keep forever. That resulted in an infection. Not my favorite part of the whole shebang. Actually, when the anesthesia didn't work on the right side, and there was a second, internal infection a month later that verged on being an abscess, that wasn't so cool, either.
So, when my physical therapist asked if I had a problem with adhesives when he wanted to tape my shoulder/back/neck last week, I was honest. He said he did, too, but that there were two kinds of tape, and he'd put the one that works for him under the other on me.
That was okay the first time. Kind of tricky to remove it myself. He recommended pulling the skin from the bandage, which is hard to do when it is in the middle of your back and there is no one around to assist you. I did it anyway. No real damage. Coconut oil on the reddened skin seemed to soothe it. The next day, he re-taped me.
Two days later, I removed it again. I didn't have time to put on the coconut oil before heading to the physical therapy office and when I got there, the therapist who worked on me that day (a nice lady), said she wasn't going to tape me. I asked why, and she said she noticed some irritation. I looked at my right arm and saw what looked like a peeling sunburn. Um, I wasn't sunburned. Gross.
The redness lasted three more days, even with more oil on it.
I'm not saying the tape didn't help. It felt like a comfortable restraint, like a corset you don't have to wear all the time, or a bra. Like it was doing something important. Something necessary for support and strength.
That said, I may keep it on a little longer next time. Ripping off a giant band aid by yourself is no fun, but having to do it every other day is way, way worse. Looking forward to not needing it anymore.
One of the worst bandage experiences I've had was after I had biopsies on both breasts 2.5 years ago. Don't freak out. I'm fine. Lucky, and fine. The bandages, however, liked my skin so much that one of them tore off some it to keep forever. That resulted in an infection. Not my favorite part of the whole shebang. Actually, when the anesthesia didn't work on the right side, and there was a second, internal infection a month later that verged on being an abscess, that wasn't so cool, either.
So, when my physical therapist asked if I had a problem with adhesives when he wanted to tape my shoulder/back/neck last week, I was honest. He said he did, too, but that there were two kinds of tape, and he'd put the one that works for him under the other on me.
That was okay the first time. Kind of tricky to remove it myself. He recommended pulling the skin from the bandage, which is hard to do when it is in the middle of your back and there is no one around to assist you. I did it anyway. No real damage. Coconut oil on the reddened skin seemed to soothe it. The next day, he re-taped me.
Two days later, I removed it again. I didn't have time to put on the coconut oil before heading to the physical therapy office and when I got there, the therapist who worked on me that day (a nice lady), said she wasn't going to tape me. I asked why, and she said she noticed some irritation. I looked at my right arm and saw what looked like a peeling sunburn. Um, I wasn't sunburned. Gross.
The redness lasted three more days, even with more oil on it.
I'm not saying the tape didn't help. It felt like a comfortable restraint, like a corset you don't have to wear all the time, or a bra. Like it was doing something important. Something necessary for support and strength.
That said, I may keep it on a little longer next time. Ripping off a giant band aid by yourself is no fun, but having to do it every other day is way, way worse. Looking forward to not needing it anymore.
April 1, 2014
Fool for love
I've decided to have a baby.
I'm actively looking for the father of my child. Ideally, he'll be handsome, intelligent, creative, love reading and movies, be kind and passionate and driven to succeed, no matter what he's doing.
He doesn't need to be in my life, but he does need to have strong swimmers. Bonus if he's already a dad. I'd like to have proof of purchase.
We can either conceive by traditional methods, or he can mail me his little guys and gals in a frozen container insulated in a retro Coleman cooler packed with dry ice. Enclosed should also be $250,000 for the child's first 10 years' child support. I anticipate needing to de-lead my windows, add a second bathroom, and pre-pay for private school and preschool.
After 10 years, I will expect annual payments of $15,000 for the next eight years. Following that, I will send the child to its father for college tuition, supportive parenting and the male perspective.
If the child decides to return to me at that time, it will be sorely disappointed. I will be gone until I am an invalid, in my 80s or need something, whichever comes first.
Wait, there's something else.
April Fool's! Or is it?
I'm actively looking for the father of my child. Ideally, he'll be handsome, intelligent, creative, love reading and movies, be kind and passionate and driven to succeed, no matter what he's doing.
He doesn't need to be in my life, but he does need to have strong swimmers. Bonus if he's already a dad. I'd like to have proof of purchase.
We can either conceive by traditional methods, or he can mail me his little guys and gals in a frozen container insulated in a retro Coleman cooler packed with dry ice. Enclosed should also be $250,000 for the child's first 10 years' child support. I anticipate needing to de-lead my windows, add a second bathroom, and pre-pay for private school and preschool.
After 10 years, I will expect annual payments of $15,000 for the next eight years. Following that, I will send the child to its father for college tuition, supportive parenting and the male perspective.
If the child decides to return to me at that time, it will be sorely disappointed. I will be gone until I am an invalid, in my 80s or need something, whichever comes first.
Wait, there's something else.
April Fool's! Or is it?
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