8 posts tagged “musings”

Phil told me recently that some people believe whatever you do on New Year's Day you will do all year. I like this idea, and I've decided to do these things today:

Work on something that I know will make me real, live, actual money.
Post on my blogs.
Cook.
Write (other than on my blog.)

I cooked today, did some work for real, live money (although my employer may be disappointed to learn that I'm still having trouble finding what I'm looking for), and here's a blog post. That just leaves writing something other than this. I will try to work on my memoir, which I have neglected for months.

Unfortunately, I also had a meltdown today because I can't do much of anything for myself right now, and I'm feeling a lot crappier than I expected I would two weeks after my surgery. I was reminded that I have a foreign object in my body, and the adjustment is not going to be easy.
I yelled at JP during the meltdown so I think he's a little worried. Poor guy.

The only resolution I made is to work harder at keeping in touch with my family and my friends. I suck at it, but I will be making an effort to call and e-mail more often.

Saying good-bye to 2007 doesn't mean a fresh start for me. Life doesn't run in 12 month cycles, and there are some things I have no control over. I don't know what will happen this year, and I've never been much for rituals. I just know that I'm glad I'm still around.

I kind of hate St. Patrick's Day. Maybe hate isn't the right word. I just don't care about it. I have no desire to go to a bar full of people desperately trying to get drunk and act like even bigger fools than they usually do. It's amateur night. But I'm braving Tyler's tonight with some of my girlfriends. At least the Duke students are on spring break. That will make it bearable.
St. Patrick's Day was kind of a big deal in  my family. My Italian mother would make corned beef and cabbage and we always had dinner together. My brother Georg would wear an orange shirt just to annoy my mother. My father, who was Irish, never cared, but my mother would chastise Georg every year. I think my sister is now having the dinner at her house. I suppose my brother will wear orange.

My cat Molly has been quite the hunter this week. She's caught at least four voles in the backyard. She almost brought one into the house this morning, but only got as far as the utility room before I stopped her. Poor little guys. It doesn't take much to kill them.
Molly's bummed out because our neighbors put up a pen for their dog, and he's outside most of the time now. And visible. Other neighbors have dogs, but she can't see them. This one is on the other side of our fence and right in her face. It takes her forever to get up the nerve to venture into the yard now. The Lure of the Vole seems to be what gets her out there.

The Farmer's Market turned down my application for a vendor stand. They already have enough bakers/crafters this year. I will complain only long enough to say that you'd think they would want as many vendors as possible. I applied at the end of the application period. I doubt I would have been taking a space that would go to a farmer. I'm trying to find out who runs the crafts market that's set up in the Measurement Inc. parking lot. I think they allow food vendors. If anyone knows, please fill me in. The Durham Farmer's Market board are the only people who seem to think my bread won't sell.
Despite my irritation at not getting a stand, I love the market. It starts its Spring/Summer season the first Saturday in April. Make sure to go. If attendance continues to increase, maybe next year they'll let me in.

I  just noticed that some of the flowers in my yard are starting to bloom. The azaleas, which did nothing last year, are opening,  and the wild flowers in the front and back are coming up. I swear a new flower shows up in my yard every year. My hydrangea bush looked like hell last year. There were very few flowers and the ones that did grow were tiny. My neighbor Des' were huge and gorgeous. I asked her what special spell she had cast on them. All she did was put coffee grounds in them every day. I've been doing that for a couple weeks now.  Although it's way too early for them to bloom yet, they already look healthier.
My camelias are also blooming and looking a little better than years past. I really don't know how to take care of them. Should I deadhead them or let them go? Do they need lots of care after they bloom? I know they do better in shade than sunlight. Other than that, it's just pure luck that they grow at all.

Spring cleaning? I suppose I have to.

Diner Girl cooks her way through The French Laundry Cookbook.
Is this why I'm so cranky these days? I've been telling people off left and right.
Jericho is back on television. Yay! Supernatural is on hiatus for a month. Boo!
Joe's food blog. Joe can cook circles around me. I even let him use my favorite wooden spoon.
Beautywatch. This girl knows more about clothes than Anna Wintour.
I would totally suck if I didn't provide a link to JP's blog.
Since I still don't know how to put people in my neighborhood or friends list, and I don't know how to set up tabs, I have to go to Safari to get all these links. I hate Safari.
Music is not important to me. I don't want music playing when I'm writing. It distracts me.
We finally got a speed bump on our street. It would be nice of the DOT would paint the damned things so people could see them.
The theme song from Laverne and Shirley is running through my head right now. I do not want to suffer alone. However, I gained new respect for that song when I realized one of the lines is Hassenfeffer Incorporated.

I have tons of crap to do, and don't want to do any of them:
Clean up the kitchen. My stove top is disgusting.
Go through a pile of clothes to see what fits.
Clean out my toaster. It's a fire hazard.
Send in my application to the farmer's market. It's due next week.
Make hair appointments. JP is approaching Eraserhead levels, and my hair has gone from "all over it" to annoyed with it.
Do some real writing and look for publications that would be interested in my little moments of brilliance.
Call/e-mail people I haven't talk to lately.

My resolution for today is to take a walk.

I think I  may have inadvertently offended some people in my last post, which wouldn't be the only time I've done it in the last 24 hours.
I said I was over "foodies". I think I need to clarify what I mean by that.
A foodie is not someone who loves good food and loves to cook; nor is it someone who likes to experiment. My definition of a foodie is someone who is more interested in the latest food trend (whether it's pesto or pomegranate juice) and cooking/kitchen equipment as status symbol than in great, simple food. It's someone who is more interested in the  buzz surrounding a new restaurant than in the quality of its food. It's someone who thinks that old fashioned food, like mashed potatoes or macaroni and cheese, need a gourmet twist. It's someone who eats ironically. (Do you really like those Apple Jacks, or are you just trying to prove that you're in on the joke?) It's someone who tries too damned hard. It's FOAM, and all that implies.
Anyway, I know that quite a few people who love to cook read my blog. I just wanted to pass that on.

What I did this week:
Laundry
Took naps
Spent too much time online posting on my favorite boards, two of which are in the midst of a board war.
Watched Gilmore Girls (including a rerun or two), Rome (I love Titus. When did he get so wise? JP wants to know), BSG, Supernatural, Before Sunset (twice in one week).
Forgot again that Law & Order is now on Friday.
Made Italian sausage in red sauce.
Conversed with my e-mail friends.
Went to an art opening at Through This Lens. Saw photos of Durham's Central Park area. Durham's Central Park has been "Coming Soon" for as long as we've been here, probably longer.
Had a few drinks and moules frites at Rue Cler. We loved it, even if I can't smoke there. Saw Beth, who was working her butt off as usual.
Thought about getting a stand at the Durham Farmer's Market to sell baked goods. Kept thinking of everything I'd have to do to get ready for it every Saturday. Considered that maybe my mother is at least partially right. It might not be a good idea. Decided to keep thinking about it.
Made bread.
Thought about working on my memoir. Screwed around online instead.
Fed my neighbor's cats.
Thanked God I live in NC instead of most of the rest of the country. I do not miss snow one bit.
Spoiled my cat.
Smoked too many cigarettes.
Finally accepted that my hair is going gray.
Pondered the spelling of gray/grey.
Refused to worry about the Salmonella in Peanut Butter scare.
Continued to feel bad about  Anna Nicole Smith.

That's enough for one week I think.

Roller Disco Wedding, y'all. JP did the slideshow.

It was a wedding of camp, goofiness and flat out love. My philosophy about any big party or function is as long as no one gets shot or arrested, everything will be fine. There were no shootings and the police didn't show up, so I see that as a success. Almost everyone fell at some point, except those of us who had the sense (or were ordered by the bride) not to skate. Mike, the groom, beat out his father in the relay skate, but I'm convinced it's because his father let him win. DaddySchmidt kicked some butt on the rink.

Porn 'staches abounded, and the scariest thing was how great all the guys looked in their '70's clothes, 'dos and tawdry facial hair. And I was sporting a serious 'fro. All those months learning pin curls in beauty school finally paid off.

Despite the setting, and Mike and Des' desire to have a campy wedding, there was a lot of sweetness to the ceremony. I got teary, because I'm a big mush. And watching Des skate alone to her soon-to-be husband, of her own freel will and with no one giving her away, was more moving than you'd expect. She was, after all, on roller skates. But her statement was apparent - I do this because I want to. I belong to  no one but myself, but I will share myself with him forever.

It was an honor to be part of their wedding. I'm generally not a believer in soulmates, but if any exist, it's Mike and Des.

My best and oldest friend, Lynn, came to visit JP and me this past weekend. I haven't laid eyes on her in almost two years and I can't remember the last time we spent any time together. We both suck at keeping in touch with people, so we don't even talk or e-mail all that much. When she called me a few weeks ago to say she was coming in, I was so excited you would have thought it was Christmas, my birthday and an Aretha  Franklin concert all rolled up in one.
Lynn and I were raging liberals and budding feminists in the late sixties/early seventies. We supported McGovern although we were still too young to vote. We read Germaine Greer and worshipped Daniel and Phillip Berrigan.

I have gone from liberal to irritated and progressive. Lynn has become more conservative over the years. I don't discuss politics with many people. I admit I'm not well versed enough to have an in-depth discussion. I generally go with my gut feeling and what I was brought up to believe by my eternally Democratic family.
I accepted long ago that Lynn had become more conservative, because it's not my place to not accept it. But I can say I was shocked to find out she voted for Rick Santorum in the last election. I was almost speechless. All I could say was "You did?", with wonderment. She said she hated his opponent Bob Casey so much she had no choice but to vote for Santorum.OK. I can't knock her for that. I was an avid Kerry supporter because I despise Bush with a hot, flaming passion. But then she said he really isn't that bad. I just didn't know what to say.

I've been thinking about that conversation since then. As an adult, I have tended to gravitate towards people with the same political views as mine. It makes social situations much easier. Despite my general discomfort with political discussions, I've spent more than one evening talking about conservative assholes with no clue about what's going on in this country - post 9/11 behavior by our government, rabid anti-abortionist demonstrations (in addition to less acceptable forms of protest), anti-gay scare tactics used to distract citizens from other, more important issues. Everyone's in agreement. And I do have a major problem with extreme conservatives. But I've read quite a few colums and heard several commentators over the last year stating the political atmosphere in America has become so combative and divisive that it could be irreparable. We only read columnists we agree with, and listen to commentators to say what we believe. We judge actors by their politics. We throw names at people because they're members of the opposite political party.
I hate to think that, if I had met Lynn as an adult, I would have rejected her as a friend because of her moderate conservative views, a conservatism that makes her disgusted with Bill O'Reilly and Sean Hannity. She's always been a patriot, in addition to being just plain awesome. I would have been worse off not to know her and claim her as my best friend. I hate to think I would reject anyone as a friend because their political views didn't match mine exactly.

It could just be our history that allows me to not care about Lynn's politics. Or it could be that I know people are complicated and interesting enough to bring them into my life even if I don't agree with everything they believe in.
I could never give up Lynn's friendship. She brought me dark chocolate Hershey kisses.

I realized that I haven't posted anything in a week. I keep coming here thinking I should post something or people will stop reading. If in fact, anyone is reading. But do I just want to babble on about nothing so I can say I posted something?
Writing about writing is probably one of the great sins of writing. Not as bad as writing in the second person singular (McInerney, I am so looking in your direction), but it's up there. Still, that's what I'll do. I accept my time in purgatory.

I think I've finally accepted that I have something to say, and that other people want to hear it. It's all about how the idea is expressed. If I'm just using the same words and phrases as anyone else, what's the point? I'm not much for deep analysis of everyday life and objects, partly because my brain doesn't work that way, and partly because I don't think anyone really wants to hear about the deep significance of my mother's baking dish and what it means to me. It's been done a million times (baking dish, hair brush, watch. It's all the same damned thing.). I hated it the first time I read that kind of essay, and I hate it now.
I can write about the people in my life, but I think they deserve some privacy. It's hard for me to express how I feel about them, and how important they are to me, without sounding corny and dramatic. Still, I love them.
I can write about Molly, our cat. She's a special cat, but all animals are special to their owners. She did catch a 10" rat in the pouring rain one night, and tried to bring it in the house. So there's that. And she has developed a deep fixation on JP at night, getting all perky and excited when he comes to bed. She and I have our routine in the morning, when I cater to her every whim.  Then I cater to her whim for the rest of the day too. But, you know, other than that, what's there to say? She's pretty, she's weird, she's skittish and I love her to death.

So I rant, talk about movies, post my recipes and make lists. I think this still gives y'all an idea of what I'm about.
When I sit at the computer and stare at the screen, with nothing to say, I think if my favorite scene from Julia. Jane Fonda, portraying Lilliann Hellman, sits in the beach house she shares with Dashielle Hammet. She's staring at the typewriter. She has a cigarette hanging out of her mouth and a glass of whiskey on the desk.  She types a little, looks at the paper, rips it out and starts again. She types some more, looks at the paper, stands up, screams, and throws the typewriter out the window. I've often wanted to do that. But our kitchen window is made of  unbreakable glass.

So writing is a struggle for me. It's too important to be left to just anybody. I'm supposedly working on my memoir, but I might as well just open a vein. It's easier and not as messy.
No imagination? Writer's block? Boredom? Lack of motivation? I don't know. When I have something important to say, I'll write some more.But that's all I have to say about writing tonight.

TV shows I'm excited are back:
Rome. Vorenus is A Son of Hades. And I want to marry Pullo and call him honey.
Battlestar Galatica. Helo is a righteous man. Roslin shouldn't fuck with him.
24. Damn. The neck. The neck.
Gilmore Girls. When will Lorelai and Chris finally break up? Will Luke take her back? Why doesn't Taylor just go away? Will Rory ever read a book again? Where's Morey? And will I be able to keep posting in Television Without Pity's GG forum without wanting to reach through the screen and strangle the insane fan girls?
Supernatural. Aww, Sammy might turn into a vicious killer, and Dean might have to put him down like a rabid dog.
Still waiting for Jericho. Will the townspeople get any smarter? I don't know and I don't care. I'll just keep watching. It's my cheesy fun for the week.