The thing is, he saw you do it first.
My dear, impressionable 7
year old son, who is living with moderate autism, who thinks so highly
of you...even if you don't acknowledge it, or appreciate it.
You thought he wasn't paying attention - engrossed in his iDevice,
watching gaming videos - when you tenderly lifted my hand to your lips,
palm first so that you could kiss the consequence of my clumsiness. But
he saw you; and he absorbed your tender gesture.
I couldn't believe it. You're my ex-boyfriend. You aren't suppose to be
so loving. It's like we're still living in a mixed up land, where we
aren't together, but still long to be.
But it seems that love exists in any land...mixed up or not.
And love, no matter how it is defined - or not - is still able to procreate kindness.
The next day, my son and I went to high five each other. And as we
smacked hands, I saw his expression change. There was deep concern that
furrowed his darling brow. He grabbed my hand, looked at it, looked at
me and bent his little head so that he could kiss my boo-boo and make it
all better.
Just as he had seen you do it.
With such a marked tenderness.
You don't want to be with me, because you don't want to be with "us," -
you don't want to be a father. But you're already affecting him more
than you know.
He'll remember this - and he will be a more tender man, a more tender
lover, husband - and hopefully - father, because of this moment when you
chose to love me.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Spaghetti Dogs
This was in no way my idea. I want to make that clear from the onset. I am not this creative. I mean, I do some really cool things with food, but never this cool - not on my own.
A friend of mine posted a picture (see above*) to my Facebook wall and said something to the effect that he was surprised he hadn't already seen something this awesome from me and the Yummy-Goodness platform.
Ha! It would have never occurred to me...that's why.
And yet, I knew that my kid, who is 7 and loves to play with his food, may just fall in love with this way to eat hot dogs and spaghetti. He's taught me on more than one occasion to check before I know for sure that he's going to be on board with a new experience. And so we spent some time together checking out the picture and talking about how interesting it would be for dinner.
"Little man, we have all the things we need to make these Spaghetti Dogs. Would you like me to make them for you?"
"Oh, yes," he replied enthusiastically.
And just like that, we committed to a food adventure as a part of our dinner menu.
I was going to play it safe and just make one dog. He assured me that two would be preferable. I didn't really agree; I just decided it wouldn't be the end of the word if he didn't like them as much as he thought he was going to.
It's really as simple as the picture portrays.
Take a hot dog, chop it into pieces and stick spaghetti noddles through the wienie-bites lengthwise. Just for a reference, I got 5 pieces from one dog.
I heated a pot of water to boiling and added all 10 pieces at once. As soon as the pasta was al dente, I strained the Spaghetti Dogs and placed them in a bowl.
He inhaled them - with delight. Because he sure enough did play, but not so much as to not focus on the goal, which was to stuff his face.
I served the Spaghetti Bites with a side of ketchup, which was well received.
---
*This photo was shared from the "Dude. Wait, what?!" Reborn." Facebook Page. There wasn't a photo credit, so I am not really sure who to thank for this great idea. Whoever it is, THANK YOU - from both me and my kid.
Under (More) Pressure
In an interesting turn of events, I moved in with my ex-husband at
the beginning of the 2012 year - almost just in time to celebrate our
first full year of being divorced.
My decision to move back into the house that we shared while married was multi-layered - like an onion (a big, fat smelly one). But the 2 main factors were...a. I had no rent money (since I had just recently left my job to start publishing) and b. he never completed the mortgage edit - taking my name off the property - and couldn't move forward with an appraisal since the house was in disrepair.
Our agreement was that I would provide property management (negotiating with the HOA, cleaning, managing service providers, more cleaning, calling in all kinds of favors from friends for home improvement supplies, did I mention the cleaning?!) and in return, I would be able to live at the house for free while I pursued whatever opportunities opened for me through jab's plethora. The agreement would exist until the house was appraised, the refinance paperwork completed and my name removed from the property. And we'd figure out how to deal with the awkward part of living together again a day at a time.
And even though the agreement was cut and dry - real life has a way of creating more hoops to jump through, more pop quizzes than you've studied for, more opportunities to feel like the awkward adolescent standing in front of the class red-cheeked with embarrassment.
To put it nicely, it has been a rich experience - and has hopefully, made me a better and stronger person.
---
But now, I am just ready to move on.
I am happy to report that the agreement is coming to its fulfillment. The house has been cleaned, the HOA placated, my friends and connections thanked and thanked again. The paperwork process was initiated, the appraisal scheduled and final details submitted to the bank for processing.
Things have been moving along. Not near fast enough to please my taste, but at least there has been forward momentum.
This week, though, has been a doozie.
I was informed by one of my closest friends that she and my ex have started a connection that they plan to pursue. And though she doesn't yet want to be called his girlfriend (by god, it's too early for that) they have kissed and she does plan to come over for romantic visits (last night, her car was still in front of the house at 4am). And she really wants our friendship to remain the same...
[Can you blame me for sleeping poorly; for rolling over at some point and checking out the window and at seeing her car, checking my phone for the time? If you want to, that's fine. Live as I have for the last 8 months and maybe you'll start acting a little crazy too.]
My ex topped that tidbit with the fact that the refi appears "dead in the water;" or at least, that's what the Banker told him. He needs me to submit my divorce paperwork, because what he's already submitted didn't fulfill the requirements of the paperwork process. And he needs to find an extra $1,400 to order to complete the process - and isn't sure where that money is going to come from.
Is it any wonder that I may have indulged at the local Martini Bar on Friday night while updating my mom on all the particulars?
To be honest with you, as ready as I am to depart this household, I don't have a place to land yet. My company and my professional engagements have grown - but not quite enough just yet. Those are ends I am desperately trying to match up as quickly as possible...understanding that ultimately the journey is not in my control.
All I can do is act in a way that I can be proud of...so that when this nightmare is over, I'm not haunted by actions that were mean and childish. My record isn't spotless, but I'm doing the best I can to make sure that it stays as clean as possible.
My decision to move back into the house that we shared while married was multi-layered - like an onion (a big, fat smelly one). But the 2 main factors were...a. I had no rent money (since I had just recently left my job to start publishing) and b. he never completed the mortgage edit - taking my name off the property - and couldn't move forward with an appraisal since the house was in disrepair.
Our agreement was that I would provide property management (negotiating with the HOA, cleaning, managing service providers, more cleaning, calling in all kinds of favors from friends for home improvement supplies, did I mention the cleaning?!) and in return, I would be able to live at the house for free while I pursued whatever opportunities opened for me through jab's plethora. The agreement would exist until the house was appraised, the refinance paperwork completed and my name removed from the property. And we'd figure out how to deal with the awkward part of living together again a day at a time.
And even though the agreement was cut and dry - real life has a way of creating more hoops to jump through, more pop quizzes than you've studied for, more opportunities to feel like the awkward adolescent standing in front of the class red-cheeked with embarrassment.
To put it nicely, it has been a rich experience - and has hopefully, made me a better and stronger person.
---
But now, I am just ready to move on.
I am happy to report that the agreement is coming to its fulfillment. The house has been cleaned, the HOA placated, my friends and connections thanked and thanked again. The paperwork process was initiated, the appraisal scheduled and final details submitted to the bank for processing.
Things have been moving along. Not near fast enough to please my taste, but at least there has been forward momentum.
This week, though, has been a doozie.
I was informed by one of my closest friends that she and my ex have started a connection that they plan to pursue. And though she doesn't yet want to be called his girlfriend (by god, it's too early for that) they have kissed and she does plan to come over for romantic visits (last night, her car was still in front of the house at 4am). And she really wants our friendship to remain the same...
[Can you blame me for sleeping poorly; for rolling over at some point and checking out the window and at seeing her car, checking my phone for the time? If you want to, that's fine. Live as I have for the last 8 months and maybe you'll start acting a little crazy too.]
My ex topped that tidbit with the fact that the refi appears "dead in the water;" or at least, that's what the Banker told him. He needs me to submit my divorce paperwork, because what he's already submitted didn't fulfill the requirements of the paperwork process. And he needs to find an extra $1,400 to order to complete the process - and isn't sure where that money is going to come from.
Is it any wonder that I may have indulged at the local Martini Bar on Friday night while updating my mom on all the particulars?
To be honest with you, as ready as I am to depart this household, I don't have a place to land yet. My company and my professional engagements have grown - but not quite enough just yet. Those are ends I am desperately trying to match up as quickly as possible...understanding that ultimately the journey is not in my control.
All I can do is act in a way that I can be proud of...so that when this nightmare is over, I'm not haunted by actions that were mean and childish. My record isn't spotless, but I'm doing the best I can to make sure that it stays as clean as possible.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Happy from Afar
So, I think it's a very good thing that I am in the midst of 2012 Apple Adventures.
There's nothing like taking out your stress on a bag of apples that
need to be peeled and chopped. It's a methodical process that provides a
lot of firm sensory feedback, almost soothing to a soul that's raging
on the tumultuous waters of life.
And I am not ashamed to admit that I am the soul that needs soothing.
Today, one of my dearest friends took me out to lunch to confess that she's decided to pursue a relationship with my ex-huband. She doesn't want to be called his girlfriend (it's too soon for that) - but they have already kissed, so they intend to see where this may lead.
Did I mention that I am currently living with my ex?
Have you been following the sordid tales of my adventures this year in working with him to get a property we share ready for an appraisal? If you haven't, you're missing out - I am not going to lie. It's a great story!
And so, it's not that I begrudge their happiness.
Love happens; and attraction doesn't follow the rules. I operate a Love Letters community - I of all people know how spontaneous and imaginative the feelings of love are, and can be. So, on those terms, we're good.
I told her that it wasn't going to ruin our friendship, but that the parameters of our friendship would indeed change - there's no way to ignore or deny that fate. I also told her that she may be exactly what he needs - and that they may be very good for each other; different temperaments, like bodies, fit together differently - and some better than others.
I just don't want to tell her I told her so...when she comes to me frustrated about his behavior or about how our friendship has changed...
So, I am hoping for the best - for all of us: that they will be happy together - and that I will be able to survey their happiness from a different vantage point - not from the room down the hall.
And I am not ashamed to admit that I am the soul that needs soothing.
Today, one of my dearest friends took me out to lunch to confess that she's decided to pursue a relationship with my ex-huband. She doesn't want to be called his girlfriend (it's too soon for that) - but they have already kissed, so they intend to see where this may lead.
Did I mention that I am currently living with my ex?
Have you been following the sordid tales of my adventures this year in working with him to get a property we share ready for an appraisal? If you haven't, you're missing out - I am not going to lie. It's a great story!
And so, it's not that I begrudge their happiness.
Love happens; and attraction doesn't follow the rules. I operate a Love Letters community - I of all people know how spontaneous and imaginative the feelings of love are, and can be. So, on those terms, we're good.
I told her that it wasn't going to ruin our friendship, but that the parameters of our friendship would indeed change - there's no way to ignore or deny that fate. I also told her that she may be exactly what he needs - and that they may be very good for each other; different temperaments, like bodies, fit together differently - and some better than others.
I just don't want to tell her I told her so...when she comes to me frustrated about his behavior or about how our friendship has changed...
So, I am hoping for the best - for all of us: that they will be happy together - and that I will be able to survey their happiness from a different vantage point - not from the room down the hall.
2012 Apple Adventures: Applesauce 2 (Or Not)
Those Snarky Sweets are aptly named.
I decided to move forward with another batch of applesauce, using only the Snarky Sweets so that I could ascertain their cook-down characteristics. I feel like if you know how an apple is going to break down when the heat is applied, you'll know best how to cook with it.
And extra applesauce isn't going to go to waste around here...
I peeled and chopped roughly half my stash, which ended up yielding about 8 cups of apple flesh. Because these apples are already naturally sweet, I decided to forgo the sugar. I figured if the sauce needed some sweetening, I could handle that on an as-needed basis when the time came. Apples and water (2 cups) went into a covered stock pot on medium heat.
And, as I've done with previous batches of applesauce, I periodically stirred the pot. But on about my third visit to the pot (giggle), I noticed that these apples were acting quite differently than I was used to - even though the water was boiling and the apples were heated through, they weren't breaking down. The best I could say is that some of the pieces seemed to be breaking apart into bits, but not really turning into mush. Stirring the apples still required a hefty amount of force as they stubbornly held their constitution together.
I assumed they needed more time.
The pot went dry and the apples started sticking to the bottom.
Feeling that I could learn a thing or two about how "to stick to my guns" from these apples, I added just a little water to the pot so that I could easily stir the mixture again - mostly big pieces and some smaller pieces of Snarky Sweets covered in a light watery glaze. Oh boy.
So, no applesauce from these guys.
A Facebook connection asked if I had considered using the KitchenAid; and the answer to that is no. I didn't want to make it more of a production than it already was - and these apples...I'm telling you: they're not budging.
I updated my status:
Those Snarky Sweet apples are stubborn.
They refuse to be made into sauce.
Hurumph.
And my dear friend responded:
Lol, they sound a little like you.
Hmmm....
I decided to move forward with another batch of applesauce, using only the Snarky Sweets so that I could ascertain their cook-down characteristics. I feel like if you know how an apple is going to break down when the heat is applied, you'll know best how to cook with it.
And extra applesauce isn't going to go to waste around here...
I peeled and chopped roughly half my stash, which ended up yielding about 8 cups of apple flesh. Because these apples are already naturally sweet, I decided to forgo the sugar. I figured if the sauce needed some sweetening, I could handle that on an as-needed basis when the time came. Apples and water (2 cups) went into a covered stock pot on medium heat.
And, as I've done with previous batches of applesauce, I periodically stirred the pot. But on about my third visit to the pot (giggle), I noticed that these apples were acting quite differently than I was used to - even though the water was boiling and the apples were heated through, they weren't breaking down. The best I could say is that some of the pieces seemed to be breaking apart into bits, but not really turning into mush. Stirring the apples still required a hefty amount of force as they stubbornly held their constitution together.
I assumed they needed more time.
The pot went dry and the apples started sticking to the bottom.
Feeling that I could learn a thing or two about how "to stick to my guns" from these apples, I added just a little water to the pot so that I could easily stir the mixture again - mostly big pieces and some smaller pieces of Snarky Sweets covered in a light watery glaze. Oh boy.
So, no applesauce from these guys.
A Facebook connection asked if I had considered using the KitchenAid; and the answer to that is no. I didn't want to make it more of a production than it already was - and these apples...I'm telling you: they're not budging.
I updated my status:
Those Snarky Sweet apples are stubborn.
They refuse to be made into sauce.
Hurumph.
And my dear friend responded:
Lol, they sound a little like you.
Hmmm....
The Story of the Snarky Sweets
The tree bearing these apples, the ones I've dubbed "The Snarky Sweets," can be found on the side of a road on the top of the mountain, flourishing in the space between the pavement edge and the cattle fence.
Apples littered the ground around the tree, on both sides of the fence. I approached it with care, walking tentatively among the overgrown blades of monkey grass. Most of the apples still on the tree were too high for me to reach, but there were so many apples available for pick up on the ground, so I focused my attention on the treasures available in the dirt.
It was like searching for Easter eggs, little golden-green treasures hidden among the thick, dark green tufts of vegetation. The monkey grass hid piles and piles of apples - most of which were only slightly bruised from the fall, and so were perfect picks for adding to my take-home bag.
While searching, fruit was fresh-falling from the tree...on the other side of the fence.
"I would really appreciate it if you let your fruit fall on this side of the fence, please," I told the tree. "I'm already over here trying to harvest your lovely treasures and put them to good use in my kitchen. The least you could do is make sure that the fresh-fallen fruits land in my area."
I thought it was a perfectly reasonable request.
Seconds after my petition, more fruit fell...on the other side of the fence, more than once.
Clearly, this tree has a dry sense of humor.
Its fruit, though, is tender and subtly sweet.
Imagine if a Golden Delicious could whisper in your ear; or if it could blow you a kiss - that's how I can best explain it. The skin is fairly thin and easy to peel.
At this point, I haven't yet cooked or baked with these apples, but I have sliced a few of them - just as I would a "regular" apple - and served them to my fruit-hungry 7 year old.
Stay tuned for more adventures with The Snarky Sweets...
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
2012 Apple Adventures: The Line Up
Over Labor Day weekend, I had the distinct pleasure to revisit
one of my favorite areas in Virginia. My friend’s family owns some
property near the Blue Ridge Parkway
and they have an apple tree that was planted by one of the
great-grandfathers thriving in the front yard of their mountain cabin.
Last August, I experienced the joy of harvesting apples for the first
time, which included adventures in cooking and baking with apples.
This year, I had the delight to revisit the same apple tree for its annual offering of crisp, tart apples – that, in my opinion, are perfect for creating applesauce and apple pies. In addition, I had the opportunity to pick apples from two other areas in the same neighborhood. So I have 3 distinct apple types to adventure with this coming month – and I couldn’t be more excited!
—
Note: None of these apples have been officially identified, so I’m giving each of them a nickname. Samples have been submitted to an area Cider Maker, who has in turn submitted the apples to be reviewed by an Apple Expert. This is a pretty big deal. Diane of Foggy Ridge Cider is an Apple Guru and even specializes in a plethora of “uncommon” apple species, which means that she knows all kinds of apples that the normal person wouldn’t recognize. I’d like to say the fact that she sent them higher up the Apple Chain means that these particular apples could be really special and maybe a rare type – but the truth is that all apples, whether they’re common or rare are pretty special gifts from nature. With that in mind, I anticipate what the Apple Expert will say – and I am more thankful than I can say for both of these Apple Lovers to take the time to be a part of my adventure.
This year, I had the delight to revisit the same apple tree for its annual offering of crisp, tart apples – that, in my opinion, are perfect for creating applesauce and apple pies. In addition, I had the opportunity to pick apples from two other areas in the same neighborhood. So I have 3 distinct apple types to adventure with this coming month – and I couldn’t be more excited!
—
And here’s this year’s line up: all apples, and each one very different.
Apple 1 (Left): Snarky Sweets
Apple 2 (Middle): Wilson Apples
Apple 3 (Right): Teary-Tart Leathers
Note: None of these apples have been officially identified, so I’m giving each of them a nickname. Samples have been submitted to an area Cider Maker, who has in turn submitted the apples to be reviewed by an Apple Expert. This is a pretty big deal. Diane of Foggy Ridge Cider is an Apple Guru and even specializes in a plethora of “uncommon” apple species, which means that she knows all kinds of apples that the normal person wouldn’t recognize. I’d like to say the fact that she sent them higher up the Apple Chain means that these particular apples could be really special and maybe a rare type – but the truth is that all apples, whether they’re common or rare are pretty special gifts from nature. With that in mind, I anticipate what the Apple Expert will say – and I am more thankful than I can say for both of these Apple Lovers to take the time to be a part of my adventure.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
2012 Apple Adventures - Day 1
Over Labor Day weekend, I had the distinct pleasure to revisit
one of my favorite areas in Virginia. My friend's family owns some
property near the Blue Ridge Parkway
and they have an apple tree that was planted by one of the
great-grandfathers thriving in the front yard of their mountain cabin.
Last August, I experienced the joy of harvesting apples for the first
time, which included adventures in cooking and baking with apples.
This year, I had the delight to revisit the same apple tree for its annual offering of crisp, tart apples - that, in my opinion, are perfect for creating applesauce and apple pies. In addition, I had the opportunity to pick apples from two other areas in the same neighborhood. So I have 3 distinct apple types to adventure with this coming month - and I couldn't be more excited!
---
My first day in the kitchen with this year's harvest, I decided to pursue the tried-and-true option from the get-go. I have an antsy 7 year old encouraging me to make as many apple delicacies as quickly as possible - and I needed to placate him with an offering before I started exploring outright.
And so, I decided to focus on making applesauce with the apples I was already familiar with - fairly easy with predictable results.
The apples from my friend's great-grandfather's tree were separated from the rest. I peeled and chopped apples until I had about 10 cups of apple flesh. I added the apples, 2 cups of water and 1 cup of white sugar to a stock pot, covered it and let it cook down over medium heat.
I was aiming to get a thick sauce and succeeded - although, I would remind you that thick sauce can bubble and splatter before you even realize it. My admonishment comes with a sincere spirit as my right wrist showcases a new burn mark in the shape of plop-splattered applesauce. Be careful. There's no rush to cook down the apples, so err on the side of caution and use a lower heat, if you're concerned. Make sure to use the pot cover as a shield and stir the mixture well.
These particular apples* break down really well, so there's little mashing required.
They produce a sauce that's rich and flavorful - like a fine red wine.
Once the majority of the apples were mush, I turned off the heat and periodically stirred the sauce. After about an hour, I decided I couldn't wait any longer for it to cool down. I ladled a generous portion into a bowl and added a handful of Blueberry Granola.
I declare Day 1 of 2012 Apple Adventures a complete success.
---
*Apple type is unknown. A sample has been sent to an Apple Expert for identification.
This year, I had the delight to revisit the same apple tree for its annual offering of crisp, tart apples - that, in my opinion, are perfect for creating applesauce and apple pies. In addition, I had the opportunity to pick apples from two other areas in the same neighborhood. So I have 3 distinct apple types to adventure with this coming month - and I couldn't be more excited!
---
My first day in the kitchen with this year's harvest, I decided to pursue the tried-and-true option from the get-go. I have an antsy 7 year old encouraging me to make as many apple delicacies as quickly as possible - and I needed to placate him with an offering before I started exploring outright.
And so, I decided to focus on making applesauce with the apples I was already familiar with - fairly easy with predictable results.
The apples from my friend's great-grandfather's tree were separated from the rest. I peeled and chopped apples until I had about 10 cups of apple flesh. I added the apples, 2 cups of water and 1 cup of white sugar to a stock pot, covered it and let it cook down over medium heat.
I was aiming to get a thick sauce and succeeded - although, I would remind you that thick sauce can bubble and splatter before you even realize it. My admonishment comes with a sincere spirit as my right wrist showcases a new burn mark in the shape of plop-splattered applesauce. Be careful. There's no rush to cook down the apples, so err on the side of caution and use a lower heat, if you're concerned. Make sure to use the pot cover as a shield and stir the mixture well.
These particular apples* break down really well, so there's little mashing required.
They produce a sauce that's rich and flavorful - like a fine red wine.
Once the majority of the apples were mush, I turned off the heat and periodically stirred the sauce. After about an hour, I decided I couldn't wait any longer for it to cool down. I ladled a generous portion into a bowl and added a handful of Blueberry Granola.
I declare Day 1 of 2012 Apple Adventures a complete success.
---
*Apple type is unknown. A sample has been sent to an Apple Expert for identification.
Monday, September 3, 2012
Halloween Candy in September
I saw it in the bulk isle at The Bread Basket and picked it up without thinking twice, a bag of "Autumn Mix." In this case, "Autumn Mix" refers to regular and caramel candy corn kernels and pumpkin-shaped candy. My kid loves regular candy corn - and I really wanted to try to darker kernels, the caramel flavored ones. I figured this bag o' delights was plenty of candy to suit both of our "sweet tooth" needs.
I was gone on a weekend away with my boyfriend and was adding to the "goodies" I could bring home. I left my 7 year old at home with his dad and I knew I had some making up to do. When he found out that I was headed to the mountains to pick apples without him, he was upset.
I don't blame him.
---
I made sure to return home in time for our bedtime ritual. But I was just in time - and so didn't get the chance to unload all the goodies. Instead, I talked about all the fun items we would be able to indulge in during the next day - it was the mac-daddy of bedtime stories, if I do say so myself.
"Guess what else I got," my voice was giddy with the thought of unveiling yet another surprise.
"What," he asked dutifully.
"I bought some candy corn for us to share. What do you think of that?"
"Um, candy corn is Halloween candy," he responded as if trying to educate me on one of the most obvious facts of life.
I chuckled, "Okay. Well, I guess I will just have to eat it all myself."
"Oh, no. I can eat it in September as well," he assured me.
I gave him a big hug and said, "I am sure that you can. I am sure that it will taste even better because we get it eat it a whole month before Halloween."
He grinned at me - and I knew I was forgiven for leaving him for my weekend get-a-way.
Monday, July 16, 2012
The Goat Burger
He told me about it ages ago...
"Hey, did you know that you can order a goat burger at the Saxapahaw General Store? It's so good!"
I looked at him askance, my expression meant to convey the fact that I was struggling with the idea that a goat burger could be good. I can probably count on both hands the times I've eaten goat, and most of those times, I found it unappealing.
Goat is a difficult meat to prepare well. At least, it seems that way. Looking back on my experiences, either the meat was tough, dry or poorly seasoned. And let's not even begin to review the one time I tried to prepare it at home - a dismal failure! I don't have many failures in the kitchen, and I certainly don't often wave the white flag after only one try; but I can respect when an ingredient is beyond my skill.
All of that being said, I also know that goat can be amazing. I had it once in a meal served under a Bedouin tent. Chunks of the meat were served with spiced rice...or was it couscous? Whatever. What matters is that I remember the meat! It was tasty and tender and...well, nothing short of amazing. I assume that's because a master chef was at work with a meat he knew like the back of his hand. When you know an ingredient well, you know how to manipulate it in order to bring out its best qualities.
And that's what I think gives the Sax Gen Store an upper hand in their seasonal offering of the goat burger. As locavores, they strive to support the local food economy by focusing on the edible goods that are grown and raised nearby. The goats used for the goat burger are raised on a farm that's not too far from where the shop is located. Talk about an amazing opportunity to get up-close-and-personal with your ingredient! The people at the Sax Gen Store know the farmers, know the goats and know the land. It's exactly this kind of knowing that offers a spice to local food that helps to make it so darn irresistible. Add to that the fact that the Sax Gen Store understands how to prep this meat successfully within its business model (think burger with toppings vs. roasted meat with sides) and how to creatively mix flavors.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. This guy who told me it was oh-so-good and that I most-certainly-must try it, is not just my friend, he is also a colleague. We meetup periodically to talk business and build strategy for ongoing professional networking. It was in the scheduling of such a meeting that he called dibs on our lunch spot: "Let's head to Saxapahaw and we'll get goat burgers. My treat."
Well, I've never been the kind of girl to turn down the offer of a paid meal, so I marked the day with the mental note to prepare my taste buds for something unforgettable (which offers room on both sides of the coin; I braced myself knowing that it could be unforgettably terrible or awesome).
Side note: Did you know that goat meat is generally leaner that the main competition (beef, pork...even chicken)? It's a great source of iron and potassium.
I like to adventure - and there's nothing like a good adventure when it comes to food: new ingredients, new flavors, a new twist on an old favorite. One of my old-favorites would definitely be a cheeseburger. I mean, have you seen the yummy-goodness logo?! And so, even knowing that it could be terrible instead of awesome, I looked forward to challenging my perspective, of turning an old-favorite on its head with this experience - of having an adventure at the general store within my local community!
I cannot even begin to tell you how much I enjoyed this meal. You'll notice that the burger isn't paired with a side. I promise you, it doesn't need one. This is one of those sandwiches that was made to stick to your insides. It is full, round and plump and makes you feel that way from the inside after you've eaten it. I am not taking about Thanksgiving-dinner-about-to-burst full; just that perfect, I-ate-like-royalty-and-am-content.
The toppings pair with the goat meat meaning to offer a deeper complexity in the richness of flavor (the Manchego, the aioli) and lighter, tarter notes of brightness (the olive salad, the tomatoes). And thank goodness for the English muffin! That can definitely throw you off: "I'm eating a burger on an English muffin?! What?!" But the meat was so juicy that a normal bready-bun would have no chance of survival; as it tried to soak up the juicy-deliciousness, it would have fallen prey to the sog-monster and lost all constitution and ability to offer an anchor to the eating process.
If you are anywhere near the Saxapahaw, NC area, go now and order one. In fact, take all your friends too! They will honor you with the Foodie Crown after having the opportunity to eat such yummy-goodness. You can even throw in the health facts as a hook!
When yummy-goodness comes at you armed with lower-in-fat-and-high-in-protein type of stats, why fight? Just admit you're toast!
"Hey, did you know that you can order a goat burger at the Saxapahaw General Store? It's so good!"
I looked at him askance, my expression meant to convey the fact that I was struggling with the idea that a goat burger could be good. I can probably count on both hands the times I've eaten goat, and most of those times, I found it unappealing.
Goat is a difficult meat to prepare well. At least, it seems that way. Looking back on my experiences, either the meat was tough, dry or poorly seasoned. And let's not even begin to review the one time I tried to prepare it at home - a dismal failure! I don't have many failures in the kitchen, and I certainly don't often wave the white flag after only one try; but I can respect when an ingredient is beyond my skill.
All of that being said, I also know that goat can be amazing. I had it once in a meal served under a Bedouin tent. Chunks of the meat were served with spiced rice...or was it couscous? Whatever. What matters is that I remember the meat! It was tasty and tender and...well, nothing short of amazing. I assume that's because a master chef was at work with a meat he knew like the back of his hand. When you know an ingredient well, you know how to manipulate it in order to bring out its best qualities.
And that's what I think gives the Sax Gen Store an upper hand in their seasonal offering of the goat burger. As locavores, they strive to support the local food economy by focusing on the edible goods that are grown and raised nearby. The goats used for the goat burger are raised on a farm that's not too far from where the shop is located. Talk about an amazing opportunity to get up-close-and-personal with your ingredient! The people at the Sax Gen Store know the farmers, know the goats and know the land. It's exactly this kind of knowing that offers a spice to local food that helps to make it so darn irresistible. Add to that the fact that the Sax Gen Store understands how to prep this meat successfully within its business model (think burger with toppings vs. roasted meat with sides) and how to creatively mix flavors.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. This guy who told me it was oh-so-good and that I most-certainly-must try it, is not just my friend, he is also a colleague. We meetup periodically to talk business and build strategy for ongoing professional networking. It was in the scheduling of such a meeting that he called dibs on our lunch spot: "Let's head to Saxapahaw and we'll get goat burgers. My treat."
Well, I've never been the kind of girl to turn down the offer of a paid meal, so I marked the day with the mental note to prepare my taste buds for something unforgettable (which offers room on both sides of the coin; I braced myself knowing that it could be unforgettably terrible or awesome).
Side note: Did you know that goat meat is generally leaner that the main competition (beef, pork...even chicken)? It's a great source of iron and potassium.
I like to adventure - and there's nothing like a good adventure when it comes to food: new ingredients, new flavors, a new twist on an old favorite. One of my old-favorites would definitely be a cheeseburger. I mean, have you seen the yummy-goodness logo?! And so, even knowing that it could be terrible instead of awesome, I looked forward to challenging my perspective, of turning an old-favorite on its head with this experience - of having an adventure at the general store within my local community!
The Goat Burger
A patty of ground local goat with melted Manchego
placed on a homemade English muffin with
olive salad, aioli, roasted tomato and fresh greens.
The goat burger: an adventure well met.
I cannot even begin to tell you how much I enjoyed this meal. You'll notice that the burger isn't paired with a side. I promise you, it doesn't need one. This is one of those sandwiches that was made to stick to your insides. It is full, round and plump and makes you feel that way from the inside after you've eaten it. I am not taking about Thanksgiving-dinner-about-to-burst full; just that perfect, I-ate-like-royalty-and-am-content.
The toppings pair with the goat meat meaning to offer a deeper complexity in the richness of flavor (the Manchego, the aioli) and lighter, tarter notes of brightness (the olive salad, the tomatoes). And thank goodness for the English muffin! That can definitely throw you off: "I'm eating a burger on an English muffin?! What?!" But the meat was so juicy that a normal bready-bun would have no chance of survival; as it tried to soak up the juicy-deliciousness, it would have fallen prey to the sog-monster and lost all constitution and ability to offer an anchor to the eating process.
If you are anywhere near the Saxapahaw, NC area, go now and order one. In fact, take all your friends too! They will honor you with the Foodie Crown after having the opportunity to eat such yummy-goodness. You can even throw in the health facts as a hook!
When yummy-goodness comes at you armed with lower-in-fat-and-high-in-protein type of stats, why fight? Just admit you're toast!
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Pork and Potatoes
I love to celebrate. It doesn't even matter what the occasion is...Thanksgiving, 4th of July, my son's birthday, Friday afternoon, lunch hour - well, you get the idea.
Father's Day is no exception. My son is 7 and experiencing a golden age for embracing manners and a deep concern for others. I wanted him to own today in a new way and take charge of honoring his father. Sure, I had to offer a few suggestions, like "Why don't you make a card for Daddy? Here's a piece of paper. Would you like to fold it long-ways or short-ways?"
After that, he was happily working on an Angry Birds Space themed Happy Father's Day card.
We also worked together to bake his father's favorite cake: yellow box cake with chocolate frosting from a tub. Really, we're both getting off easy with this one. But a man can't be blamed for what he decides is his favorite cake.
I also wanted to cook something special. I didn't want to spend the whole day slaving in the kitchen - I had much better things to do, like lounging on the couch with my kiddo - but I did want to express my appreciation to the guy by making a tasty home cooked meal.
So, pork and potatoes it was. Items that practically cook themselves.
SHREDDED PORK ROAST
This morning, I unwrapped the pork roast and cut off a little of the excessive fat. I sprinkled it with one of my all-time favorite all purpose spices (in this case, Adobo) and chucked the whole thing in a crock pot set on low. I may have turned it over once...about 4 hours into the cooking session. As soon as the roast flakes with the light pressure of a fork - that's when it's done. I turned off the heat and raked a fork across the entire roast while it was still in the crock pot (and yes, still in the juices). Then I got a BBQ like sauce and poured some in - just enough to make it wet and sticky...like great shredded pork should be! And then I let it sit and rest.
Tip: Keeping it in the crock pot helps it to stay warm for the upcoming meal.
CILANTRO ROASTED POTATOES
I grabbed a handful of potatoes out of the pantry. I washed them, chopped them into cubes and dumped them into a casserole dish. I poured in a bit of olive oil; sprinkled in a heap of dried Cilantro, some coarse salt and fresh-ground pepper; and then gave it all a thorough toss with a spatula. I covered the dish and placed it into a 400 degree oven for about an hour.
These potatoes are great hot from the oven, but they're also great when cooled.
That's how we ate them today. Cooled just a little along with pulled pork made into sandwiches on hoagie buns. It was delicious...and EASY...and homemade. He was appreciative. So much so, that we had to wait a little bit of time before there was room for box-cake.
HAPPY FATHER'S DAY
I hope you're eating good.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Freshness at the Market
While visiting my dad in New Jersey last weekend, we drove through Manhattan to run an errand. His wife wanted to drop in at her favorite salon to see if they had time to squeeze her in. He double parked and she ran out to make her inquiry.
(Well, "run" may not be the best verb choice. She's 20 weeks pregnant, carrying my half-brother. It might have been more of a waddle, since her belly is already round and prominently jutting out from the rest of her body.)
I looked around. New York is full of art. Everywhere you look, there are colors and shades and pictures - more than my eyes can hold at once. And always changing, so I don't dare look away for fear of missing something spectacular.
And I saw something.
There was a market with flowers.
There are always markets with flowers.
But there was a color that caught my eye and dug roots in my imagination.
"Oh, wow," I involuntarily gasped.
"What is it," my father asked.
"Look at those flowers. Aren't they beautiful," I was only slightly aware how dazzled my voice sounded. I was still caught in a real life daydream where colors dance and build happy lives.
"Go get some," my father's resolute command snapped me out of the indulgent romanticism of the moment and forced me into pragmatic mode. I didn't want to buy them; I didn't want to be responsible for them. I just wanted to admire them, to love them from afar - to daydream after them.
"Uh, no. I don't think that's a good idea," I answered him. "We're going to be in the car for the rest of the day. And then I have to drive back home tonight. They won't survive all that chaos. Better to leave them where they are."
"It's worth you having them only for a moment, if they make you so happy."
He called out to the guys sitting in front of the shop, "Hey, who owns the shop? We want some flowers!" Then to me, "Go out there and pick the ones you want."
I walked up to the market, a little giddy and feeling like a princess. Oh my god, I thought. They are even more beautiful up close. I didn't even bother to look at any of the other options available. I pointed to the bouquet that housed the colors, the shades that sent me spiraling out of reality.
The men completed the transaction.
The flowers were carefully wrapped and handed to me.
I went back into the car and zenned-out in a moment of nuzzling up close to these brilliant, just absolutely beautiful blooms. They smelled amazing. Each one offering its freshness to the witness available: before to the exhaust-filled city streets and now, to me.
My dad was right. They were worth having, even only for a moment. But I would have them for many moments. And even though they were in for a hard 24hours of traveling, I would take as much care of them as possible so they could last as long as possible.
For such beauty, the burden of responsibility was lighter than I had originally given it credit for - and it made me wonder: how many times do we deny and reject beautiful things for our lives, because we're worried about the responsibility or how we many have to adjust, or possibly change for them?
Thank goodness the beauty exists - calling us, tempting us to step forward, to reach higher to improve our lives. Thank goodness its there, making heavy things lighter; providing smiles to counterbalance the tears; overwhelming us with love to overpower the hate.
(Well, "run" may not be the best verb choice. She's 20 weeks pregnant, carrying my half-brother. It might have been more of a waddle, since her belly is already round and prominently jutting out from the rest of her body.)
I looked around. New York is full of art. Everywhere you look, there are colors and shades and pictures - more than my eyes can hold at once. And always changing, so I don't dare look away for fear of missing something spectacular.
And I saw something.
There was a market with flowers.
There are always markets with flowers.
But there was a color that caught my eye and dug roots in my imagination.
"Oh, wow," I involuntarily gasped.
"What is it," my father asked.
"Look at those flowers. Aren't they beautiful," I was only slightly aware how dazzled my voice sounded. I was still caught in a real life daydream where colors dance and build happy lives.
"Go get some," my father's resolute command snapped me out of the indulgent romanticism of the moment and forced me into pragmatic mode. I didn't want to buy them; I didn't want to be responsible for them. I just wanted to admire them, to love them from afar - to daydream after them.
"Uh, no. I don't think that's a good idea," I answered him. "We're going to be in the car for the rest of the day. And then I have to drive back home tonight. They won't survive all that chaos. Better to leave them where they are."
"It's worth you having them only for a moment, if they make you so happy."
He called out to the guys sitting in front of the shop, "Hey, who owns the shop? We want some flowers!" Then to me, "Go out there and pick the ones you want."
I walked up to the market, a little giddy and feeling like a princess. Oh my god, I thought. They are even more beautiful up close. I didn't even bother to look at any of the other options available. I pointed to the bouquet that housed the colors, the shades that sent me spiraling out of reality.
The men completed the transaction.
The flowers were carefully wrapped and handed to me.
I went back into the car and zenned-out in a moment of nuzzling up close to these brilliant, just absolutely beautiful blooms. They smelled amazing. Each one offering its freshness to the witness available: before to the exhaust-filled city streets and now, to me.
My dad was right. They were worth having, even only for a moment. But I would have them for many moments. And even though they were in for a hard 24hours of traveling, I would take as much care of them as possible so they could last as long as possible.
For such beauty, the burden of responsibility was lighter than I had originally given it credit for - and it made me wonder: how many times do we deny and reject beautiful things for our lives, because we're worried about the responsibility or how we many have to adjust, or possibly change for them?
Thank goodness the beauty exists - calling us, tempting us to step forward, to reach higher to improve our lives. Thank goodness its there, making heavy things lighter; providing smiles to counterbalance the tears; overwhelming us with love to overpower the hate.
date on the milk carton
"Mom, I want Cheerios and chocolate milk," he gave me a light shove as he substituted a 'Good Morning' salutation with his breakfast order.
"Ok, babe. Give me just a minute," I whispered.
He settled back into the blankets. One good thing about having a kid that's a gamer, if he's got an iPod Touch, he's golden. And it makes those early mornings on Saturdays and Sundays - heck, any day that we don't have to get up early for school - bearable. He sleeps later than typical kids, but not late enough to suit me. He's a Night Owl, though; like me. So, there's hope for even later mornings as he gets older.
I didn't want to break the early morning stillness. It had been another late night, in a series of late nights as far back as I can remember. My body ached with many pains: some instigated by my own aggression during yesterday's yard sale, I forgot the fact that I'm not in my 20's anymore; some a part of the ebb and flow of the periodic reminder that I'm a women; some because of the drastic change in weather, the surprising drop in temperature - reminders of my rheumatic heritage.
He generously gave me another 5 minutes to ponder these thoughts and just barely drift off again towards numbness, when...
"I'm going downstairs. I'm hungry. I want Cheerios and chocolate milk."
He started to throw off the covers and I woke up - for real this time.
(There's nothing like the threat of spilled milk - all over the kitchen floor - to wake a mother. And it's not that I'd be crying over it. It's just the fact that I would have to clean it. Not really up for all that effort today.)
I plodded downstairs after him - slowly, painfully.
He happily made his way to the table, as I made my way to the counter and sink to survey the mess left the night before and start preparations for a cereal breakfast.
I was in auto-mode. Most definitely not thinking about much more than getting a fresh pot of coffee on the brew.
Put away the dishes.
Grab a clean bowl.
I need coffee...
Return the silverware to the drawer.
Walk to the pantry to get the cereal.
I need strong coffee...
Clean off the counter.
Add dirty dishes to the sink.
I think I'll add an extra spoon of sugar to my coffee...
Pour cereal into the bowl.
Grab a clean cup.
I should definitely use the dark roast...
Go to the fridge...grab the chocolate syrup.
Grab the milk.
Look at the date.
Stop dead in my tracks.
Because the date on the milk jug is our anniversary.
The date I have treasured each year since I was with you.
The date I always count down to...
But not this year.
This year, I am more alive than ever.
This year: your memory has never been fainter.
I'm going to be honest. I completely forgot about it, about you.
It only took how many years to truly forget, and not just pretend to forget?
I am back at the counter absolutely stunned.
I mix milk with chocolate syrup and pour the result into a bowl filled with Cheerios.
"Babe, I've got your breakfast ready," I say and place the bowl on the table. Then I'm back at the counter: thinking, but not thinking; feeling, but not feeling.
It's too damn early for this shit, I think.
I pour yesterday's coffee into a mug and stomp to the microwave.
It'll have to do.
"Ok, babe. Give me just a minute," I whispered.
He settled back into the blankets. One good thing about having a kid that's a gamer, if he's got an iPod Touch, he's golden. And it makes those early mornings on Saturdays and Sundays - heck, any day that we don't have to get up early for school - bearable. He sleeps later than typical kids, but not late enough to suit me. He's a Night Owl, though; like me. So, there's hope for even later mornings as he gets older.
I didn't want to break the early morning stillness. It had been another late night, in a series of late nights as far back as I can remember. My body ached with many pains: some instigated by my own aggression during yesterday's yard sale, I forgot the fact that I'm not in my 20's anymore; some a part of the ebb and flow of the periodic reminder that I'm a women; some because of the drastic change in weather, the surprising drop in temperature - reminders of my rheumatic heritage.
He generously gave me another 5 minutes to ponder these thoughts and just barely drift off again towards numbness, when...
"I'm going downstairs. I'm hungry. I want Cheerios and chocolate milk."
He started to throw off the covers and I woke up - for real this time.
(There's nothing like the threat of spilled milk - all over the kitchen floor - to wake a mother. And it's not that I'd be crying over it. It's just the fact that I would have to clean it. Not really up for all that effort today.)
I plodded downstairs after him - slowly, painfully.
He happily made his way to the table, as I made my way to the counter and sink to survey the mess left the night before and start preparations for a cereal breakfast.
I was in auto-mode. Most definitely not thinking about much more than getting a fresh pot of coffee on the brew.
Put away the dishes.
Grab a clean bowl.
I need coffee...
Return the silverware to the drawer.
Walk to the pantry to get the cereal.
I need strong coffee...
Clean off the counter.
Add dirty dishes to the sink.
I think I'll add an extra spoon of sugar to my coffee...
Pour cereal into the bowl.
Grab a clean cup.
I should definitely use the dark roast...
Go to the fridge...grab the chocolate syrup.
Grab the milk.
Look at the date.
Stop dead in my tracks.
Because the date on the milk jug is our anniversary.
The date I have treasured each year since I was with you.
The date I always count down to...
But not this year.
This year, I am more alive than ever.
This year: your memory has never been fainter.
I'm going to be honest. I completely forgot about it, about you.
It only took how many years to truly forget, and not just pretend to forget?
I am back at the counter absolutely stunned.
I mix milk with chocolate syrup and pour the result into a bowl filled with Cheerios.
"Babe, I've got your breakfast ready," I say and place the bowl on the table. Then I'm back at the counter: thinking, but not thinking; feeling, but not feeling.
It's too damn early for this shit, I think.
I pour yesterday's coffee into a mug and stomp to the microwave.
It'll have to do.
Saturday, June 2, 2012
stuffed with kisses
We were indulging in a little before-sleepy-time-snuggle, me and the kid. Hunkered under the quilt and listing to the high powered fan cut through the quiet night.
I kissed the tip of my finger and dramatically space-shipped it up-and-over to his face. I made sure that it landed on the tip of his nose.
He giggled.
"Aw, man. I'm stuffed," he expressed delightedly.
"Wait. What?" I answered. "You're stuffed with kisses?"
"Yep," his answer was thick with amusement. "I'm not hungry anymore, because I'm stuffed!" He said it dramatically, with lots of emphasis on the word "stuffed."
"So, no more kisses?" I was checking. This momma wants to get in all the kisses I can, while I still can.
"No. I'm stuffed."
He used it perfectly - just as any of us would have after Thanksgiving dinner. And two thoughts immediately hit me...
One
I am so proud of how he's developed and progressed this past year in his ability to express himself. The kid has HFA (High Functioning Autism) and has experienced delays in many areas of development - speech being one of the major ones. We've worked hard, first with different Early Intervention Strategies and then with consistent Speech Therapy, in both a school and clinical setting.
The fact that he's internalized this idiom and is able to express it, thrills my heart. Sure, the usage is a little nontraditional but if you were a part of our family, you'd know that we feast regularly on a diet of big, fat, juicy kisses.
Two
I am so proud to have established a home environment where my kid can say - delightedly - that he's stuffed with kisses. It's been a goal to make sure that love is expressed in our household. It doesn't meant that we're happy-go-lucky all the time; but it does mean that we take every single opportunity to express affection and sincere love.
It'll change soon. Before I know it, kisses will go out of vogue. I'll have to transition to something a little more manly, like fist bumps. But, it'll be a love-expression all the same!
I kissed the tip of my finger and dramatically space-shipped it up-and-over to his face. I made sure that it landed on the tip of his nose.
He giggled.
"Aw, man. I'm stuffed," he expressed delightedly.
"Wait. What?" I answered. "You're stuffed with kisses?"
"Yep," his answer was thick with amusement. "I'm not hungry anymore, because I'm stuffed!" He said it dramatically, with lots of emphasis on the word "stuffed."
"So, no more kisses?" I was checking. This momma wants to get in all the kisses I can, while I still can.
"No. I'm stuffed."
He used it perfectly - just as any of us would have after Thanksgiving dinner. And two thoughts immediately hit me...
One
I am so proud of how he's developed and progressed this past year in his ability to express himself. The kid has HFA (High Functioning Autism) and has experienced delays in many areas of development - speech being one of the major ones. We've worked hard, first with different Early Intervention Strategies and then with consistent Speech Therapy, in both a school and clinical setting.
The fact that he's internalized this idiom and is able to express it, thrills my heart. Sure, the usage is a little nontraditional but if you were a part of our family, you'd know that we feast regularly on a diet of big, fat, juicy kisses.
Two
I am so proud to have established a home environment where my kid can say - delightedly - that he's stuffed with kisses. It's been a goal to make sure that love is expressed in our household. It doesn't meant that we're happy-go-lucky all the time; but it does mean that we take every single opportunity to express affection and sincere love.
It'll change soon. Before I know it, kisses will go out of vogue. I'll have to transition to something a little more manly, like fist bumps. But, it'll be a love-expression all the same!
Friday, June 1, 2012
a frog story
It's a small story. One that I won't take too long to tell.
(Oh, my. I heard that sigh of relief. Am I really that long winded?)
I pulled up into the driveway this evening, mind filled with tasks to get ready for the yard sale I have scheduled way too early in the morning. And as I pulled up, I noticed a blot on my white garage door. At first I thought it was a leaf - we did have some righteous storms this afternoon and evening.
But the closer I got to the garage, the more I noticed its shape. A frog.
A sign of good luck - as far as I'm concerned. Of vitality...of peace...
Of course, this could be because of Peace Frogs.
I also had a frog volleyball tee in high school when I was playing on the varsity team.
Whatever the reason, frogs give me a good feeling.
Hope mixed with determination and a bit of the organic spice that flavors life.
(You can call me weirdo - that's okay. I get it a lot.)
I kept the lights on and got out of my car to take a closer look - and to snap a pic. He had his head angled just so, as if he were posing for the shot.
"Hey, buddy. That was a good shot. But I am going to come closer for another one. Stay put. I'd rather you not jump off while I am trying to get closer."
He didn't move. And I got a great shot.
"Thanks, man. That one was even better."
Then I realized we had a problem.
"Hey, man. I'm gonna need you to move. I've got to get in and start getting the signs ready for tomorrow's sale. I'd rather not have to lift the door with you still attached. Um, I'm pretty sure that you don't want me to either. So, if you could go ahead and make plans to be somewhere else, I'd appreciate that."
He lifted his head and turned it just a bit.
I'm not sure if it was an action of rebellion: "Who are you to tell me what to do, woman?!"
It might have been an action of acquiescence: "Of course. I understand and will act while you're away."
Either way, I didn't push the issue.
I left him to deal with things inside the house. I'll be back out soon enough and will deal with the situation then.
I really hope he hops away.
(Oh, my. I heard that sigh of relief. Am I really that long winded?)
I pulled up into the driveway this evening, mind filled with tasks to get ready for the yard sale I have scheduled way too early in the morning. And as I pulled up, I noticed a blot on my white garage door. At first I thought it was a leaf - we did have some righteous storms this afternoon and evening.
But the closer I got to the garage, the more I noticed its shape. A frog.
A sign of good luck - as far as I'm concerned. Of vitality...of peace...
Of course, this could be because of Peace Frogs.
I also had a frog volleyball tee in high school when I was playing on the varsity team.
Whatever the reason, frogs give me a good feeling.
Hope mixed with determination and a bit of the organic spice that flavors life.
(You can call me weirdo - that's okay. I get it a lot.)
I kept the lights on and got out of my car to take a closer look - and to snap a pic. He had his head angled just so, as if he were posing for the shot.
"Hey, buddy. That was a good shot. But I am going to come closer for another one. Stay put. I'd rather you not jump off while I am trying to get closer."
He didn't move. And I got a great shot.
"Thanks, man. That one was even better."
Then I realized we had a problem.
"Hey, man. I'm gonna need you to move. I've got to get in and start getting the signs ready for tomorrow's sale. I'd rather not have to lift the door with you still attached. Um, I'm pretty sure that you don't want me to either. So, if you could go ahead and make plans to be somewhere else, I'd appreciate that."
He lifted his head and turned it just a bit.
I'm not sure if it was an action of rebellion: "Who are you to tell me what to do, woman?!"
It might have been an action of acquiescence: "Of course. I understand and will act while you're away."
Either way, I didn't push the issue.
I left him to deal with things inside the house. I'll be back out soon enough and will deal with the situation then.
I really hope he hops away.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Top 5 in Floyd
While in Virgina this weekend, I visited the small town of Floyd. And in fact, this is not my first time stopping in for a visit. When in the area, I try to make sure that Floyd gets on the itinerary. And I encourage you to do the same.
Floyd incorporates many attractive features that makes it a great place to visit. It's a place where artists of all kinds meet and mingle. It's populated by mountain folk, who - in my opinion - tend to be among the most friendly and independent of people. It offers a wide range of cultures and cuisine. And, you can get full bars on your 4G network in the heart of downtown!
There are many, many things that I like about Floyd, but I'll stick to my Top 5. That way, if you get a chance to go, you'll still have the chance to adventure for yourself.
1. Friday Night Jamboree
The Floyd County Store is the home of the Friday Night Jamboree. But the whole town comes out to celebrate in the festivities of the evening. It's true - you can go to the Country Store (get there early to find a seat) and sit a spell to enjoy the music that's being played right there on the stage in the back of the store; but you can also just walk down the main road through downtown. Musicians (and dancers) set up in the little nooks and crannies on the sidewalk and set to collaborative playing. You'll see any sort of instruments; and hear bluegrass and hillbilly tunes that span from twang to a kind of renaissance flair.
All the shops stay open a little later to take advantage of the crowds. Take advantage of their availability. You aren't going to want to miss out on the treasures that fill up the shops to overflowing. Floyd is the perfect place to find a gift for that hard-to-shop-for person. The items are unique and range from hippie-punk to delicate and flowery - there's also a little sturdy and reliable thrown in there for good measure. We are in the mountains, after all. Check out the New Mountain Mercantile - it's one of my favorite shops!
2. Dogtown Roadhouse
Not your ordinary pizza place! At least, to be truthful, I didn't expect this kind of place to exist somewhere on the Blue Ridge Parkway in the middle of Virgina. Dogtown specializes in wood-fired pizza with creative toppings. I had a pizza there once that sported a Butternut Squash sauce topped with Arugula and Green Apples (among other tasty toppings). I am assuming that you can order the regulars (cheese and pepperoni), but why would you when you can adventure a little further from the safety of the beautiful Sun Music Hall?
Did I mention they also have beer? A variety of taps with some really great local offerings. Come to eat and they stay for the music. They often have performances going on a little later in the evenings. Check out their Facebook page to stay on top of the latest news!
Visit Dogtown Roadhouse - 302 South Locust Street, Floyd, VA
3. Red Rooster Coffee
I learned of Red Rooster Coffee through their Kickstarter project. They were raising money for a new roaster, which would come in handy for the annual Floyd Fest event. Check out their website for more information on the specific kinds of coffees they roast and share with the community (meaning right there in Floyd through their small shop and around the world via their online shop).
They have a Facebook page as well. I follow it and can't help but wish I was in Floyd more often to get my hands on some of their small batch roasts that always sound so good. I read their updates and can't help but smell coffee on the brew.
Visit Red Rooster Coffee - 117 South Locust Street, Floyd, VA
4. The Bread Basket
This jewel of a bakery is a little ways past the downtown area on HWY 8. I would say about 5 minutes, although it always seems longer to me. I think that's only because I am always so darn excited about getting there.
This little place is run by Mennonite women who are stellar shop-keepers. The place is always neat and clean and filled to the brim with tasty things to eat. Check out their fresh baked corner - I would HIGHLY recommend the Snickerdoodle cookies. (Ehem, you may be counted a fool if you don't add them to your basket.) They're also known for their deli (you can order a fresh-made sandwich) and their shelves of bulk items (the veggie chips are the BEST IN THE WORLD). They also house a variety of locally made items: soaps, creams, carved wood items, knitted goods, etc...
Now, I might be a little biased (not that you couldn't tell by my wording), but the best way to know for sure is to visit it for yourself. I would say around lunch time. Order a sandwich, grab some chips (the veggie kind, that way you won't feel guilty when you eat an extra Snickerdoodle) and a drink. If the weather is nice, sit out at the comfy picnic tables in front. A local craftsman made them.
Visit the Bread Basket - 2167 Webbs Mill Road North, Floyd, VA
5. Chateau Morrisette Winery
This is a little bit of a stretch since it's not located in the town of Floyd but in the county of Floyd - ah...details, details. This winery is located off the Blue Ridge Parkway not far from Floyd proper and it is definitely worth the extra traveling, so make sure that you add it to your list of must-sees.
There's isn't anything I don't like about this winery: the tours are interesting, the tastings are generous, the variety of wine types is plentiful, the grounds are lovely, the people are friendly, the restaurant is both beautiful and offers tasty food that highlights local produce...
Oops, my description ran away from me. The point is, if you like wine, take a minute to stop and enjoy all that Chateau Morrisette has to offer, because there's plenty. Stay in touch with them on Facebook to hear about their upcoming events and make reservations online through their website.
If I lived closer, they'd see me every Sunday at their Sunday Sounds events. If you're in the area on the day of rest, sit a spell and jam-out to any sort of talented local musicians.
Visit Chateau Morrisette - 287 Winery Road Southwest, Floyd, VA
------
And so, that ends my Top 5. I would love you to tell me what makes it on your Top 5 list after you get a chance to visit this awesome place.
Adventure on, my friends!
Floyd incorporates many attractive features that makes it a great place to visit. It's a place where artists of all kinds meet and mingle. It's populated by mountain folk, who - in my opinion - tend to be among the most friendly and independent of people. It offers a wide range of cultures and cuisine. And, you can get full bars on your 4G network in the heart of downtown!
There are many, many things that I like about Floyd, but I'll stick to my Top 5. That way, if you get a chance to go, you'll still have the chance to adventure for yourself.
1. Friday Night Jamboree
The Floyd County Store is the home of the Friday Night Jamboree. But the whole town comes out to celebrate in the festivities of the evening. It's true - you can go to the Country Store (get there early to find a seat) and sit a spell to enjoy the music that's being played right there on the stage in the back of the store; but you can also just walk down the main road through downtown. Musicians (and dancers) set up in the little nooks and crannies on the sidewalk and set to collaborative playing. You'll see any sort of instruments; and hear bluegrass and hillbilly tunes that span from twang to a kind of renaissance flair.
All the shops stay open a little later to take advantage of the crowds. Take advantage of their availability. You aren't going to want to miss out on the treasures that fill up the shops to overflowing. Floyd is the perfect place to find a gift for that hard-to-shop-for person. The items are unique and range from hippie-punk to delicate and flowery - there's also a little sturdy and reliable thrown in there for good measure. We are in the mountains, after all. Check out the New Mountain Mercantile - it's one of my favorite shops!
2. Dogtown Roadhouse
Not your ordinary pizza place! At least, to be truthful, I didn't expect this kind of place to exist somewhere on the Blue Ridge Parkway in the middle of Virgina. Dogtown specializes in wood-fired pizza with creative toppings. I had a pizza there once that sported a Butternut Squash sauce topped with Arugula and Green Apples (among other tasty toppings). I am assuming that you can order the regulars (cheese and pepperoni), but why would you when you can adventure a little further from the safety of the beautiful Sun Music Hall?
Did I mention they also have beer? A variety of taps with some really great local offerings. Come to eat and they stay for the music. They often have performances going on a little later in the evenings. Check out their Facebook page to stay on top of the latest news!
Visit Dogtown Roadhouse - 302 South Locust Street, Floyd, VA
3. Red Rooster Coffee
I learned of Red Rooster Coffee through their Kickstarter project. They were raising money for a new roaster, which would come in handy for the annual Floyd Fest event. Check out their website for more information on the specific kinds of coffees they roast and share with the community (meaning right there in Floyd through their small shop and around the world via their online shop).
They have a Facebook page as well. I follow it and can't help but wish I was in Floyd more often to get my hands on some of their small batch roasts that always sound so good. I read their updates and can't help but smell coffee on the brew.
Visit Red Rooster Coffee - 117 South Locust Street, Floyd, VA
4. The Bread Basket
This jewel of a bakery is a little ways past the downtown area on HWY 8. I would say about 5 minutes, although it always seems longer to me. I think that's only because I am always so darn excited about getting there.
This little place is run by Mennonite women who are stellar shop-keepers. The place is always neat and clean and filled to the brim with tasty things to eat. Check out their fresh baked corner - I would HIGHLY recommend the Snickerdoodle cookies. (Ehem, you may be counted a fool if you don't add them to your basket.) They're also known for their deli (you can order a fresh-made sandwich) and their shelves of bulk items (the veggie chips are the BEST IN THE WORLD). They also house a variety of locally made items: soaps, creams, carved wood items, knitted goods, etc...
Now, I might be a little biased (not that you couldn't tell by my wording), but the best way to know for sure is to visit it for yourself. I would say around lunch time. Order a sandwich, grab some chips (the veggie kind, that way you won't feel guilty when you eat an extra Snickerdoodle) and a drink. If the weather is nice, sit out at the comfy picnic tables in front. A local craftsman made them.
Visit the Bread Basket - 2167 Webbs Mill Road North, Floyd, VA
5. Chateau Morrisette Winery
This is a little bit of a stretch since it's not located in the town of Floyd but in the county of Floyd - ah...details, details. This winery is located off the Blue Ridge Parkway not far from Floyd proper and it is definitely worth the extra traveling, so make sure that you add it to your list of must-sees.
There's isn't anything I don't like about this winery: the tours are interesting, the tastings are generous, the variety of wine types is plentiful, the grounds are lovely, the people are friendly, the restaurant is both beautiful and offers tasty food that highlights local produce...
Oops, my description ran away from me. The point is, if you like wine, take a minute to stop and enjoy all that Chateau Morrisette has to offer, because there's plenty. Stay in touch with them on Facebook to hear about their upcoming events and make reservations online through their website.
If I lived closer, they'd see me every Sunday at their Sunday Sounds events. If you're in the area on the day of rest, sit a spell and jam-out to any sort of talented local musicians.
Visit Chateau Morrisette - 287 Winery Road Southwest, Floyd, VA
------
And so, that ends my Top 5. I would love you to tell me what makes it on your Top 5 list after you get a chance to visit this awesome place.
Adventure on, my friends!
Friday, May 18, 2012
revisiting mountain zen (with mom)
My friend's family owns property in Meadows of Dan, Virgina. For the last
year, I've had the pleasure of visiting the cabin on a handful of
occasions and have really come to love the area.
It may help that the area is just off of the Blue Ridge Parkway, too that it's near a handful of wineries; also that it nurtures a creative vibe that seems to breed around mountain folk - a creative vibe that's passionate about the land, the people of the land and the love of it all.
Talk about some of the best things in life coming together in one place! It's an area of the country that's full of beauty and creation. Even in the ugly-duck-phase of winter, there is still a resonance of lively things about to burst forth in joyful appreciation of the land and lives around it.
My friend's cabin sits on old family property that's still-green with life. There is an apple tree just in front of the cabin that is laden in the month of August. I made my first homemade applesauce from its harvest last year. There's a dip in the land just beyond the tree and the view from the porch opens up into a vast field. I've picnicked in this field, letting the bright sun and vibrant blue sky remind me of the dreams in my soul. At night, the field and tree line mix into a shared blackness, so that all your attention is focused on the sky chock-full of dazzling stars. On several occasions, covered by the darkness of mountain-night, I've made peace in my heart.
It's a quiet place. It's a perfect space to hide from the busyness of the world, from the insanity of your schedule and focus instead on the untapped creativity that simmers within. Being at the cabin and soaking in the creative vibe that suffuses the local communities is among my most favorite of experiences. I've nicknamed the experience "mountain-zen."
And I've come to crave and appreciate each new opportunity that may come with living through the experience of mountain-zen.
------
In a couple of days, I'm taking my mom to the cabin and introducing her to the pleasure that exists on top of the mountain.
My friend has been encouraging me to invite her to this place for some time now. And finally, the right time has come. The perfect combination of availability on many fronts has provided an opportunity for me to share this zen space with mom, and I couldn't be more excited. It's a belated Mother's Day gift, but it's a perfect gift and honors the idiom: "Good things come to those who wait."
If there's anyone I know who deserves zen, it's my mom. She works hard - all the time. In the face of roadblocks and cliff-edges, she carves for herself a new path. And she does it in her own special way, with grace and a resolute spirit. Her example continues to challenge me. She encourages me through her actions to join the matriarchs of my family who exhibit strong characteristics of determination, persistence, ingenuity, creativity and passion.
In the last several months, my mother has proven to me that her support in my development as a writer isn't just lip service, it lives in the actions she takes to provide for my well-being. In this way, she feeds the future of my dreams.
And I stand in awe of her sacrifice; and I swear to myself that her investments won't be in vain.
We're leaving Monday morning to share in mountain-zen. I hope she loves it as much as I do. I hope that the juices of creativity will seep in and add its unmistakable spice to the already simmering pot of her soul.
Like many moms and daughters, we share a special connection - a consequence of both the nature and nurture of our relationship. I hope that we can share this too: the delight and renewed sense of spirit that mountain-zen is known to bring.
It may help that the area is just off of the Blue Ridge Parkway, too that it's near a handful of wineries; also that it nurtures a creative vibe that seems to breed around mountain folk - a creative vibe that's passionate about the land, the people of the land and the love of it all.
Talk about some of the best things in life coming together in one place! It's an area of the country that's full of beauty and creation. Even in the ugly-duck-phase of winter, there is still a resonance of lively things about to burst forth in joyful appreciation of the land and lives around it.
My friend's cabin sits on old family property that's still-green with life. There is an apple tree just in front of the cabin that is laden in the month of August. I made my first homemade applesauce from its harvest last year. There's a dip in the land just beyond the tree and the view from the porch opens up into a vast field. I've picnicked in this field, letting the bright sun and vibrant blue sky remind me of the dreams in my soul. At night, the field and tree line mix into a shared blackness, so that all your attention is focused on the sky chock-full of dazzling stars. On several occasions, covered by the darkness of mountain-night, I've made peace in my heart.
It's a quiet place. It's a perfect space to hide from the busyness of the world, from the insanity of your schedule and focus instead on the untapped creativity that simmers within. Being at the cabin and soaking in the creative vibe that suffuses the local communities is among my most favorite of experiences. I've nicknamed the experience "mountain-zen."
And I've come to crave and appreciate each new opportunity that may come with living through the experience of mountain-zen.
------
In a couple of days, I'm taking my mom to the cabin and introducing her to the pleasure that exists on top of the mountain.
My friend has been encouraging me to invite her to this place for some time now. And finally, the right time has come. The perfect combination of availability on many fronts has provided an opportunity for me to share this zen space with mom, and I couldn't be more excited. It's a belated Mother's Day gift, but it's a perfect gift and honors the idiom: "Good things come to those who wait."
If there's anyone I know who deserves zen, it's my mom. She works hard - all the time. In the face of roadblocks and cliff-edges, she carves for herself a new path. And she does it in her own special way, with grace and a resolute spirit. Her example continues to challenge me. She encourages me through her actions to join the matriarchs of my family who exhibit strong characteristics of determination, persistence, ingenuity, creativity and passion.
In the last several months, my mother has proven to me that her support in my development as a writer isn't just lip service, it lives in the actions she takes to provide for my well-being. In this way, she feeds the future of my dreams.
And I stand in awe of her sacrifice; and I swear to myself that her investments won't be in vain.
We're leaving Monday morning to share in mountain-zen. I hope she loves it as much as I do. I hope that the juices of creativity will seep in and add its unmistakable spice to the already simmering pot of her soul.
Like many moms and daughters, we share a special connection - a consequence of both the nature and nurture of our relationship. I hope that we can share this too: the delight and renewed sense of spirit that mountain-zen is known to bring.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
RAMPS Explained
I had no idea what they were talking about. I kept hearing the word "ramps," but I wasn't sure if my ears were playing tricks on me.
I finally had to fess up.
I looked at them and said, "I have no idea what you're talking about! What are ramps?"
They looked at me with a bit of mild shock around their eyes. It was one of those disconnects in cultural heritage: something they had grown up knowing about along with their mother's milk and something I had never known.
"Well now, ramps are like a wild onion that's got a bit of garlic mixed into the flavor. They grow all over the place in this area. You pick them and add them to whatever you're cooking. They're good in home fries."
Ramps as explained by Wikipedia
"You've got to be careful, though. Their flavor is so strong that if you eat a lot of them, you'll actually smell like them as you sweat. The "ramps" essence escapes through your pours."
Someone else chimed in: "Yea. It's actually best if you parboil them first. It helps release some of the pungency."
I kept nodding my head trying my best to keep up with the conversation. In my head, I was trying to figure out if parboiling was the same as blanching. I think I know so much about cooking; but the more I live, the more I learn. And that's probably why I love food and preparing it so much -- it's like a lifetime love affair that never gets dull, because there are always new things to learn.
A look of amusing nostalgia swept over his face and he chuckled: "I remember being a kid waiting for the school bus. When the doors would open, this wave of stale, ramp-smelling air would rush out and bowl me over. You couldn't deny it was Spring and that all the families had been out picking and cooking with ramps. Ugh."
We all laughed at the obvious misery of the situation.
The next day, he took me to the other side of the fish pond, where the ramps grow on their land. He showed me how to pick them and we talked about how to cook them.
The adventures in "cooking with ramps" begins...
I finally had to fess up.
I looked at them and said, "I have no idea what you're talking about! What are ramps?"
They looked at me with a bit of mild shock around their eyes. It was one of those disconnects in cultural heritage: something they had grown up knowing about along with their mother's milk and something I had never known.
"Well now, ramps are like a wild onion that's got a bit of garlic mixed into the flavor. They grow all over the place in this area. You pick them and add them to whatever you're cooking. They're good in home fries."
Ramps as explained by Wikipedia
"You've got to be careful, though. Their flavor is so strong that if you eat a lot of them, you'll actually smell like them as you sweat. The "ramps" essence escapes through your pours."
Someone else chimed in: "Yea. It's actually best if you parboil them first. It helps release some of the pungency."
I kept nodding my head trying my best to keep up with the conversation. In my head, I was trying to figure out if parboiling was the same as blanching. I think I know so much about cooking; but the more I live, the more I learn. And that's probably why I love food and preparing it so much -- it's like a lifetime love affair that never gets dull, because there are always new things to learn.
A look of amusing nostalgia swept over his face and he chuckled: "I remember being a kid waiting for the school bus. When the doors would open, this wave of stale, ramp-smelling air would rush out and bowl me over. You couldn't deny it was Spring and that all the families had been out picking and cooking with ramps. Ugh."
We all laughed at the obvious misery of the situation.
The next day, he took me to the other side of the fish pond, where the ramps grow on their land. He showed me how to pick them and we talked about how to cook them.
The adventures in "cooking with ramps" begins...
Monday, April 2, 2012
this won't hurt a bit
Sometimes, you just have to close your eyes, grit you teeth and take it.
You tell yourself: "This won't hurt a bit."
But it's going to hurt like hell, and you know it.
There's no fooling yourself this time around, because you've traveled this path before and you know how the pricks will draw blood.
------
Thank goodness the body replenishes the supply. Otherwise, you'd die of the choices you make. Each hot drop, sparking like a ruby in the sunlight, escaping through tears and gashes in your skin, in your heart.
When you run through the nettles and thorns, what else can you expect? Whether you like it or not, you suffer the consequences of the company you keep.
You tell yourself: "This won't hurt a bit."
But it's going to hurt like hell, and you know it.
There's no fooling yourself this time around, because you've traveled this path before and you know how the pricks will draw blood.
------
Thank goodness the body replenishes the supply. Otherwise, you'd die of the choices you make. Each hot drop, sparking like a ruby in the sunlight, escaping through tears and gashes in your skin, in your heart.
When you run through the nettles and thorns, what else can you expect? Whether you like it or not, you suffer the consequences of the company you keep.
the colors of my dreams
This was the last picture I took during this past weekend's mountain-zen trip. It was a long overdue trip meant for rest and relaxation. I did a lot of drinking in the colors around me; the colors that brighten the sometimes (lately, often) dull-gray moments of the daily grind.
These are the colors my dreams are made of...
It's nice to leave home base and find a place to catch your breath.
It's nice to survey your daily routine from a different perspective.
Distance can often give us the opportunity to accept new bits of wisdom: it gives us new eyes to see with, new ears to hear with...maybe even a new heart to feel with.
I am thankful for this opportunity to recharge (because I also did a lot of sleeping); and it was nice to have a whole weekend of brilliant colors to enjoy, whether I was awake or asleep.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
thoughts on single motherhood
I spent the better part
of my day sitting with a friend in the Clinic, first at her doc's
appointment and then at her Pre-Op appointment. These were both in
preparation for her surgery that's scheduled this coming Friday.
I don't see this friend often, but she is extremely dear to my heart. She's been there for me through my crazy growth and development, and has given me a sounding board to think through decisions of life and love. I really appreciate her patience as we worked together to sift through my insanity to find nuggets of truth in order to move forward with a better sense of self-determination and awareness.
She's been struggling with Endometriosis for approximately 10 years, but in the last 3 months or so, managing its symptoms has been almost impossible. Hence the surgery on Friday. It's the next step to finding out answers on how she can move forward with the life she wants to live.
She wants children.
This condition will not make it easy for her.
She's been waiting for Mr. Right.
Her heart longs for the romance, the wedding, the marriage, the new family, the happy household...
But time is ticking...
Her window to produce a healthy child and carry it to term is closing...even faster now with the ever-worsening developments of her condition in the last few months.
After we made it through the appointments (she had me sit-in with her on both of them for moral support), we talked through the last 6 to 8 months of life, which was a bit fuzzy for the both of us since we hadn't done a very good job keeping in touch. It was good to catch up. I've missed her.
I could also tell the conversation was precursory; there was something more pressing on her mind.
"What's it like being a single mom?"
I knew this was coming. She had already mentioned it a couple of times: how waiting for the right guy to share a family with didn't seem like a viable option anymore, how at least she could move forward with an important piece of that dream - if she did it now - and start a family of her own.
I didn't blame her for thinking that way. Not under her circumstances, for sure. But I really wouldn't wish single motherhood on anyone, especially my friends. Mothering is hard in a committed relationship where you have backup, never mind when you're alone.
I told her that if she was really, truly thinking about it that she needed to explore mommy-baby support groups within her local community.
I told her:
This isn't something you can (or should) do completely alone. You're going to need to have other people in your life to share the highs and lows with. And believe you me, you've no idea what highs and lows will come with motherhood until you are one. If you think you've seen dark days, just wait until you have a kid. You don't understand the meaning of dark until you're stretched beyond logic and reason to be bigger, a more selfless person than ever. But you've also never seen the sun, not until you've looked into your kid's face.
I want her to have a support group, even if that means she moves back to her home place to be close to her parents. I told her there was no point in being too worried about job loyalty when having a kid was going to challenge all loyalties within her heart for further examination.
Having kids makes you reevaluate everything.
And some things stay the same, but oh-so-many more things change.
Including yourself.
It helps to have someone outside of yourself be a witness to the change, a sounding board for the growing pains, a shoulder to cry on...
I don't doubt for an instant that she's strong enough to go it alone.
But, even strong people need support from time to time.
I don't see this friend often, but she is extremely dear to my heart. She's been there for me through my crazy growth and development, and has given me a sounding board to think through decisions of life and love. I really appreciate her patience as we worked together to sift through my insanity to find nuggets of truth in order to move forward with a better sense of self-determination and awareness.
She's been struggling with Endometriosis for approximately 10 years, but in the last 3 months or so, managing its symptoms has been almost impossible. Hence the surgery on Friday. It's the next step to finding out answers on how she can move forward with the life she wants to live.
She wants children.
This condition will not make it easy for her.
She's been waiting for Mr. Right.
Her heart longs for the romance, the wedding, the marriage, the new family, the happy household...
But time is ticking...
Her window to produce a healthy child and carry it to term is closing...even faster now with the ever-worsening developments of her condition in the last few months.
After we made it through the appointments (she had me sit-in with her on both of them for moral support), we talked through the last 6 to 8 months of life, which was a bit fuzzy for the both of us since we hadn't done a very good job keeping in touch. It was good to catch up. I've missed her.
I could also tell the conversation was precursory; there was something more pressing on her mind.
"What's it like being a single mom?"
I knew this was coming. She had already mentioned it a couple of times: how waiting for the right guy to share a family with didn't seem like a viable option anymore, how at least she could move forward with an important piece of that dream - if she did it now - and start a family of her own.
I didn't blame her for thinking that way. Not under her circumstances, for sure. But I really wouldn't wish single motherhood on anyone, especially my friends. Mothering is hard in a committed relationship where you have backup, never mind when you're alone.
I told her that if she was really, truly thinking about it that she needed to explore mommy-baby support groups within her local community.
I told her:
This isn't something you can (or should) do completely alone. You're going to need to have other people in your life to share the highs and lows with. And believe you me, you've no idea what highs and lows will come with motherhood until you are one. If you think you've seen dark days, just wait until you have a kid. You don't understand the meaning of dark until you're stretched beyond logic and reason to be bigger, a more selfless person than ever. But you've also never seen the sun, not until you've looked into your kid's face.
I want her to have a support group, even if that means she moves back to her home place to be close to her parents. I told her there was no point in being too worried about job loyalty when having a kid was going to challenge all loyalties within her heart for further examination.
Having kids makes you reevaluate everything.
And some things stay the same, but oh-so-many more things change.
Including yourself.
It helps to have someone outside of yourself be a witness to the change, a sounding board for the growing pains, a shoulder to cry on...
I don't doubt for an instant that she's strong enough to go it alone.
But, even strong people need support from time to time.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
An opportunity to feel special
"I like feeling special."
It's what you confirmed to me while we were talking and kissing in your bed.
I like that feeling too.
There's nothing much like having an opportunity to feel special.
And even though I am pretty sure you've had many more bed partners than I have, you do a really good job of making me feel special and unique when we share bed-space.
And we should be confident that those opportunities together are truly unique, and we should revel in the special feelings, because for those moments shared, we've chosen each other. And they have been beautiful happy moments; moments of raging desire and tender snuggles.
I'm still not sure how we manage the balance between two such different perspectives of sex, the fine line of fucking and making love. And maybe it isn't a balancing act after all. Maybe, instead, it is a teeter-totter, a see-saw between the two.
Back and forth, in and out, enough that both our Id's and Ego's are satisfied with the experience.
------
Our conversation is a mix of dialogues from a porn movie and the Real World.
We covered protection last time, but I mentioned it again this time in preparation for what I hope to be: a next time.
"Next time, we'll have to use a condom. I'm having my IUD removed."
"We can get one now, if you want," you offered generously.
"Nah. Next time is will be fine enough."
I was being greedy. I wanted to feel you.
I was being generous. I wanted to give you a opportunity for mental preparation, a kind of "we'd better enjoy this, because it won't happen this exact way ever again."
Come to think of it...
Nothing ever happens the exact way ever again.
------
Feeling you inside of me challenges me to accept new dimensions of myself. My senses are pushed to the next level; everything pulses as if about to explode.
I told you this time, "This is the stuff that magic is made of," because I couldn't figure out a way to describe it any better; and "ohh, this feeeellls soooooo goooooodddd," seemed trite and cliche.
------
I went all-girl on you and cried.
I didn't mean to.
And I'm sorry if it made you feel uncomfortable.
I didn't want it to.
But I couldn't help myself.
Somewhere along the way...
with all the pressures of real life,
with all the insecurities of being me,
with all the unknowns of my future,
with all the denials of my real feelings,
with all the past rejections of my heart,
our shared moment called me out;
and I gave into...
the beauty of confidence,
the pain of your aggression,
the sensual nature of my womanhood,
the hunger for your body,
the pleasure of our union,
the comfort of being held,
the tenderness of our relation to each other.
I was tapped.
And the tears came.
And I wasn't sure what to do.
And I didn't think you would mind,
But I was still scared that you would.
My vulnerability had been stripped bare.
I had nothing left.
And I was overwhelmed by the raw-glory of the moment.
(and I was happy to share it with you -- it's easy to feel that way when I feel sure that I'm wanted)
------
I am heading to the doctor this week to take care of that damned IUD.
I was surprised to get one so quickly, but it most certainly needs to happen. I'm not sure whether I should worry about coming up with a story explaining the bruises you left on my thighs; or, if I should just...not worry about it.
She may decide to commit me, if I told her they make me feel special.
It's what you confirmed to me while we were talking and kissing in your bed.
I like that feeling too.
There's nothing much like having an opportunity to feel special.
And even though I am pretty sure you've had many more bed partners than I have, you do a really good job of making me feel special and unique when we share bed-space.
And we should be confident that those opportunities together are truly unique, and we should revel in the special feelings, because for those moments shared, we've chosen each other. And they have been beautiful happy moments; moments of raging desire and tender snuggles.
I'm still not sure how we manage the balance between two such different perspectives of sex, the fine line of fucking and making love. And maybe it isn't a balancing act after all. Maybe, instead, it is a teeter-totter, a see-saw between the two.
Back and forth, in and out, enough that both our Id's and Ego's are satisfied with the experience.
------
Our conversation is a mix of dialogues from a porn movie and the Real World.
We covered protection last time, but I mentioned it again this time in preparation for what I hope to be: a next time.
"Next time, we'll have to use a condom. I'm having my IUD removed."
"We can get one now, if you want," you offered generously.
"Nah. Next time is will be fine enough."
I was being greedy. I wanted to feel you.
I was being generous. I wanted to give you a opportunity for mental preparation, a kind of "we'd better enjoy this, because it won't happen this exact way ever again."
Come to think of it...
Nothing ever happens the exact way ever again.
------
Feeling you inside of me challenges me to accept new dimensions of myself. My senses are pushed to the next level; everything pulses as if about to explode.
I told you this time, "This is the stuff that magic is made of," because I couldn't figure out a way to describe it any better; and "ohh, this feeeellls soooooo goooooodddd," seemed trite and cliche.
------
I went all-girl on you and cried.
I didn't mean to.
And I'm sorry if it made you feel uncomfortable.
I didn't want it to.
But I couldn't help myself.
Somewhere along the way...
with all the pressures of real life,
with all the insecurities of being me,
with all the unknowns of my future,
with all the denials of my real feelings,
with all the past rejections of my heart,
our shared moment called me out;
and I gave into...
the beauty of confidence,
the pain of your aggression,
the sensual nature of my womanhood,
the hunger for your body,
the pleasure of our union,
the comfort of being held,
the tenderness of our relation to each other.
I was tapped.
And the tears came.
And I wasn't sure what to do.
And I didn't think you would mind,
But I was still scared that you would.
My vulnerability had been stripped bare.
I had nothing left.
And I was overwhelmed by the raw-glory of the moment.
(and I was happy to share it with you -- it's easy to feel that way when I feel sure that I'm wanted)
------
I am heading to the doctor this week to take care of that damned IUD.
I was surprised to get one so quickly, but it most certainly needs to happen. I'm not sure whether I should worry about coming up with a story explaining the bruises you left on my thighs; or, if I should just...not worry about it.
She may decide to commit me, if I told her they make me feel special.
Friday, March 16, 2012
Tom Kha Smiles
Restaurant: Anna’s Thai Cafe in Burlington, NC
Oh, I hate mushrooms, but I love this soup! If you haven’t tried Tom Kha, I would high recommend it.
Tom Kha is a traditional Thai soup that uses coconut milk and lemongrass as predominate ingredients. There are others that come-and-go based on the specific flavor you’re going after. It’s spicy, but not uncomfortably so. In fact, it’s just about perfect if you’re congested from a cold or a killer case of allergies.
I had forgotten that Tom Kha at Anna’s was served with big fat mushroom chunks. The rich earthy flavor of mushrooms is a treasure and I accept that readily; but their texture still gets the better of me.
I looked at my friends, looked down at my soup and started fishing around.
“What are you doing?” one asked quizzically.
“You’ll see,” I answered with a playful gleam in my eye.
A few quick adjustments and I was done.
“Viola!” I said with flourish.
The two successful, thirty-something women across the table from me looked at me incredulously and then giggled. I had just successfully tackled their serious sense of decorum and propriety, and reminded them how much fun it was to play with their food.
Then I offered-up my now-famous mushrooms to my hungry friends (just because I don’t like to eat mushrooms doesn’t mean they should go to waste) and got down to business.
Tom Kha is smooth and creamy soup – a little bit of a paradox because it’s creamy and tart all at the same time (thanks to the lemongrass). As I mentioned before, expect the spices to hit your sinuses more than anything else.
By default, Anna’s serves the soup with cubed tofu, which I personally think is the perfect addition. You can order chicken and it would go along splendidly with the flavors, but the tofu supports the “lightness” of the soup.
If you’re hungry, get the chicken. It’s not going to hurt a thing.
And enjoy! Tell Anna I sent you.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
sitting in a non-moment
We were snuggled on the couch; two people suspended in a happy-quicksand moment of beer and live music, and shared company.
I was soaking in your warmth, the solid feeling of your body so close to mine, the acceptance that comes along with being familiarly close with someone I appreciate and who I believe appreciates me.
It was a moment of peace.
A moment of being absolutely 100% in the present...and happy.
We have a history, but it is left mostly untouched.
There's no reliving the moment, only tentative comments from both us every now and then.
As if we're asking each other, "Did that really happen? Did we really do that?"
And the answer is yes.
But, we don't explore much past the affirmative.
We journey forward in a friendly manner.
Supporting each other as best we can from our different places in life.
It's a kind caring; a mutual kind of encouragement for each other.
A very human love.
------
"Aw, you guys are so cute together."
She was loud, brash...and drunk.
She invaded our space with her assumption, with her challenge.
"Um, we're not actually together."
Maybe, that's not what I should have said.
She became angry, almost insulted that I had denied such an obvious fact.
"What do you mean you're not together?! Why not? I can tell that you like him."
I didn't realize that my "we're not together" could be translated into "I don't like him." I reminded myself she was drunk. I reminded myself that it didn't matter what she thought.
"You're a fucking coward."
Oh. Well. That is true on so many levels, but I decided it wasn't really prudent to start down that path of conversation with a drunk woman who just seemed to want the fairy tale to make sense in her head.
I couldn't blame her for that.
We all want the fairy tale to make sense in our heads.
------
Unfortunately, reality isn't the fairy tale we want for our lives.
It doesn't really give us the neatly tied package of happily ever after. It gives us struggle after struggle to battle, to do our best to overcome.
Our happily ever after, should we choose to accept it, is an endless process of fight-and-win.
And tonight, I wasn't fighting. Nor was I winning.
I was sitting in a non-moment, in a time-out.
I was "just being" on the couch close to you.
And it seems, my reality was calling me out...again.
I was soaking in your warmth, the solid feeling of your body so close to mine, the acceptance that comes along with being familiarly close with someone I appreciate and who I believe appreciates me.
It was a moment of peace.
A moment of being absolutely 100% in the present...and happy.
We have a history, but it is left mostly untouched.
There's no reliving the moment, only tentative comments from both us every now and then.
As if we're asking each other, "Did that really happen? Did we really do that?"
And the answer is yes.
But, we don't explore much past the affirmative.
We journey forward in a friendly manner.
Supporting each other as best we can from our different places in life.
It's a kind caring; a mutual kind of encouragement for each other.
A very human love.
------
"Aw, you guys are so cute together."
She was loud, brash...and drunk.
She invaded our space with her assumption, with her challenge.
"Um, we're not actually together."
Maybe, that's not what I should have said.
She became angry, almost insulted that I had denied such an obvious fact.
"What do you mean you're not together?! Why not? I can tell that you like him."
I didn't realize that my "we're not together" could be translated into "I don't like him." I reminded myself she was drunk. I reminded myself that it didn't matter what she thought.
"You're a fucking coward."
Oh. Well. That is true on so many levels, but I decided it wasn't really prudent to start down that path of conversation with a drunk woman who just seemed to want the fairy tale to make sense in her head.
I couldn't blame her for that.
We all want the fairy tale to make sense in our heads.
------
Unfortunately, reality isn't the fairy tale we want for our lives.
It doesn't really give us the neatly tied package of happily ever after. It gives us struggle after struggle to battle, to do our best to overcome.
Our happily ever after, should we choose to accept it, is an endless process of fight-and-win.
And tonight, I wasn't fighting. Nor was I winning.
I was sitting in a non-moment, in a time-out.
I was "just being" on the couch close to you.
And it seems, my reality was calling me out...again.
the red, burnt-orange light
It spoke to me again.
This light knows no kindness.
It's a lustful beast of heat and desire, of touch and taste.
It teases me now.
That we're not together.
It reminds me everyday of how it wanted to see us touch, to see us taste.
Its reminders keep you close to my mind.
Infuriating.
Lusting.
Of all people to share this light, to share this beautiful red-insanity...
I wanted it to be you.
I wanted you to touch my face with your green-eyed intensity. I wanted the balance of lust and trust, of dominance and submission, to be tested within the clarifying light of this late afternoon mind trip.
This light knows no kindness.
It's a lustful beast of heat and desire, of touch and taste.
It teases me now.
That we're not together.
It reminds me everyday of how it wanted to see us touch, to see us taste.
Its reminders keep you close to my mind.
Infuriating.
Lusting.
Of all people to share this light, to share this beautiful red-insanity...
I wanted it to be you.
I wanted you to touch my face with your green-eyed intensity. I wanted the balance of lust and trust, of dominance and submission, to be tested within the clarifying light of this late afternoon mind trip.
Pineapple Tongue
I kiss your tongue.
It's wild and tropical, like pineapple so tart and sweet. It's juicy and I drink of your essence, knowing that this will be among the last kisses I ever give to you.
My flavor is dark and spicy, heavy with things like coffee and nuts and chocolate. We make our own nectar in this moment; a sticky, memory-binding kind of paste. It'll prove a lasting topping to the experiences that have led up to this moment. It'll encase things like stars and crosses, electricity and fire, food and love.
Young love.
The kind that will never be forgotten.
The kind that forgives easily.
The kind that explores with a dynamic zest.
------
It's the kind of love we all wish to go back to, but after you've had it, after you've made such a nectar, there's nothing quite like it.
There's a freedom in its zest.
A freedom that becomes timid, tired even, after heartbreak.
It's wild and tropical, like pineapple so tart and sweet. It's juicy and I drink of your essence, knowing that this will be among the last kisses I ever give to you.
My flavor is dark and spicy, heavy with things like coffee and nuts and chocolate. We make our own nectar in this moment; a sticky, memory-binding kind of paste. It'll prove a lasting topping to the experiences that have led up to this moment. It'll encase things like stars and crosses, electricity and fire, food and love.
Young love.
The kind that will never be forgotten.
The kind that forgives easily.
The kind that explores with a dynamic zest.
------
It's the kind of love we all wish to go back to, but after you've had it, after you've made such a nectar, there's nothing quite like it.
There's a freedom in its zest.
A freedom that becomes timid, tired even, after heartbreak.
Monday, February 20, 2012
Chicken Roll Ups
At least that’s what my friend calls it.
He mixes cooked chicken, a couple “cream of” soups, some shredded cheese and a some veggies in a bowl. Then he makes dumplings by wrapping the mixture in some crescent roll dough. He pops them in a casserole dish, pours the rest of the mixture over the dumplings and sticks the whole thing in the oven.
Low heat for a while. You don’t want the dough to stay tacky. You need it to dry out and cook through.
—-
He made this for me the first time around this same time last year.
We were learning how to be friends. We were eager to spend time together. We enjoyed cooking together.
I have a picture of what it looked like. I have another picture with our faces smushed up together, both of us with silly, happy grins on our faces…like life had all of the sudden opened up a surprise box and we got to pick whatever we wanted from the choices inside – and we chose each other.
Those were good days back then..before a lot of the growing pains crept into the relationship; the easy days. And I wouldn’t lie to you and say that I don’t miss them, but we’re in a good place now too…it’s just different, more complex.
Our most recent experience with Chicken Roll Ups was on the day before Valentine’s Day. He made dinner and I brought a gift. I finally put my money where my mouth is and handed him a love letter, instead of just posting it to a public blog. He received it warmly; he received me warmly. It was a small step in progress of moving beyond the growing pains…
I feel like we’ve been friends for life, instead of just the year.
I want to share the light...
There's a light that exists in my room in the peak of the afternoon...
It washes my room in a burnt-orange-rose-colored glow. Everything is hazy and warm, and I want to share this light with you.
Let me usher you into my room around 3pm, so that you can see what I see, feel what I feel. I want to see how your skin reacts to the colored light. See how your smile looks heated by the sanguine-like passion in the air.
I want to run my hand down your bare chest and feel whether the light creates a difference, an added tenderness to the moment of my eager fingers touching your firm body.
Let's wrap the light around us as we enjoy the different perspective this light gives.
Come with me.
Breathe in the rose-air and feel the heat of it burn your chest with the desire.
----
This light whispers its own desires to me.
It asks me to share it with someone I love.
It taunts me with stories of what it - if given a body - would do.
It challenges me to see things differently; to be bolder.
Let me share this light with you...
So you too will know of its desires.
It washes my room in a burnt-orange-rose-colored glow. Everything is hazy and warm, and I want to share this light with you.
Let me usher you into my room around 3pm, so that you can see what I see, feel what I feel. I want to see how your skin reacts to the colored light. See how your smile looks heated by the sanguine-like passion in the air.
I want to run my hand down your bare chest and feel whether the light creates a difference, an added tenderness to the moment of my eager fingers touching your firm body.
Let's wrap the light around us as we enjoy the different perspective this light gives.
Come with me.
Breathe in the rose-air and feel the heat of it burn your chest with the desire.
----
This light whispers its own desires to me.
It asks me to share it with someone I love.
It taunts me with stories of what it - if given a body - would do.
It challenges me to see things differently; to be bolder.
Let me share this light with you...
So you too will know of its desires.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
your memory vs. my body
He's got you on his shelf dusted with care. You're out - front and center - you can't be missed. I see you clear as day and can only assume he means to keep you close in that way. A memory honored until the bitter end.
He's got me in his bed, moist and ready for his attention. I'm present, but packed up and hidden; a kind of embarrassing truth to his current existence. I'm kept at arms length - just close enough to feel some warmth, but not close enough to feel the commitment of his arms around me.
I look in the mirror and wonder who he loves more...
your memory or my body.
He's got me in his bed, moist and ready for his attention. I'm present, but packed up and hidden; a kind of embarrassing truth to his current existence. I'm kept at arms length - just close enough to feel some warmth, but not close enough to feel the commitment of his arms around me.
I look in the mirror and wonder who he loves more...
your memory or my body.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Sometimes, Beauty Can't Travel
I recently roadtripped to Teaneck, NJ to visit my dad. He took me to Costco to shop for some of the lil man's favorite foods, so that we would be properly stocked for the weekend. It was a kind gesture. It's always nice to have some familiar foods on hand - a comfort-thing, I suppose.
I saw this orchid - and it stopped me in my tracks.
Now, I am not usually an orchid kind of girl, but it was lovely. And, keep in mind, it was only one in an entire display of them. It's beauty was powerful, overwhelming.
My dad noticed that I had fallen behind. When he looked at me, I am sure that he saw stars in my eyes. I felt like I had been hit with some kind of beauty-potion, a character paused-in-play until it would wear off.
"Let's get it. You can take it home," he said resolutely.
His words broke the spell...and in a way, my heart.
"Are you kidding?! This is beautiful. It would not be once I got it home. It won't survive the roadtrip back to NC. I promise."
(I have a small Saturn. It's usually packed to the brim with things to distract the kid en route.)
"Are you sure?" He really wanted to get me something. My birthday was close coming, and I could tell that he wanted to spoil me rotten.
I looked at him. I was sad. I would have loved to have admired this beauty for as long as it would survive under my care. But, 9 hours stuffed in a crevice in a car with a looney and careless Latina and a clumsy-though-well-meaning 6 year old. I sighed deep. It had no chance.
"I'm sure."
I snapped this picture to remind me of the beauty that exists in places that I cannot be...beauty that cannot travel with me.
Dutch Gouda Cheese Biscuits
Dutch Gouda Cheese Biscuits
In a bowl, mix Bisquick and a generous amount of shredded cheese (any is fine). Add milk until batter is a thick paste. Spoon onto nonstick surface. Bake at 400 for approximately 15mins.
You want to talk about EASY yummy-goodness. Do it, people. Super easy!
------
No, I don't particularly think this recipe is dependent on Gouda cheese. Any kind of cheese biscuit is a good thing...that is, of course, if you like cheese. If you don't, well then, this recipe isn't really for you then, huh? Sorry about that.
Me? I wouldn't normally have Gouda on hand.
I am normally a Cheddar kind of girl. But my dad, as a parting gift, packed me an $11 wedge of Gouda and some crackers...with a plastic knife. Not really the easiest thing to manage on a road trip from NJ to NC being the only driver, but it's the thought that counts, right?
Anyway, I used a decent chunk of the wedge on these biscuits - DELISH!!
living with the ex
Did you know that I was living with the ex?
Yea. It's true.
Let's talk about how that's an interesting pick up line. No...really, it's not.
Most people don't really let it process when I say it...and when it finally hits, "OMG, you're living with your ex-husband?!" - their eyes get big and a bit panicked.
At this point, a month into this project, I can chuckle; but only because I've wrestled down the dirty monster of panic.
It's a delicate, mixed bag of tricks:
I've started and invested just about everything I have - time and money - into my new writing career. The time came when I had run out of money and needed to make some big changes in living arrangements (i.e. I couldn't pay rent any longer).
I am thankful to report that I really had a lot of options...people who would accept me into their homes, even with the little man in tow. But they're all out of state. Which means that I'd be uprooting the little man, mid-year, and starting the IEP process in an unknown environment; or that I'd be giving his dad 24/7 parenting responsibilities. Either option wasn't really an acceptable option for me.
And...
Even though I asked my ex to remove my name from the mortgage 2 years ago, he still hasn't managed to get that paperwork completed. And this is with the incentive of 100% of the financial gain - I told him that I would forfeit any portion of the equity at resale, all he had to do was remove my name.
He tried to complete the paperwork over this past summer, but come to find out, an appraisal is required as a part of the process. He didn't want to schedule a meetup for the appraisal, because he hasn't been taking care of the property.
(The neighbor told me a story...
The Girl Scouts came around selling cookies and asked her if it was safe to visit the house just because it looked so bad on the outside. I responded that if they thought it looked bad on the outside, only the things of horror-stories lived on the inside. Sigh.)
And so...
The choice became clear. I would move back into still-my house and become the property manager, moving towards the final solution of getting my name off the mortgage & deed of the house and surrounding property. It would be the almost-best solution for the kid. And it would give me a little more time to get a successful marketing campaign up and running for the books that I had just published.
I would just have to live with the ex...
So, I've done what I always do...
I've started a blog: livingwiththeex
Enjoy the insanity!
Yea. It's true.
Let's talk about how that's an interesting pick up line. No...really, it's not.
Most people don't really let it process when I say it...and when it finally hits, "OMG, you're living with your ex-husband?!" - their eyes get big and a bit panicked.
At this point, a month into this project, I can chuckle; but only because I've wrestled down the dirty monster of panic.
It's a delicate, mixed bag of tricks:
I've started and invested just about everything I have - time and money - into my new writing career. The time came when I had run out of money and needed to make some big changes in living arrangements (i.e. I couldn't pay rent any longer).
I am thankful to report that I really had a lot of options...people who would accept me into their homes, even with the little man in tow. But they're all out of state. Which means that I'd be uprooting the little man, mid-year, and starting the IEP process in an unknown environment; or that I'd be giving his dad 24/7 parenting responsibilities. Either option wasn't really an acceptable option for me.
And...
Even though I asked my ex to remove my name from the mortgage 2 years ago, he still hasn't managed to get that paperwork completed. And this is with the incentive of 100% of the financial gain - I told him that I would forfeit any portion of the equity at resale, all he had to do was remove my name.
He tried to complete the paperwork over this past summer, but come to find out, an appraisal is required as a part of the process. He didn't want to schedule a meetup for the appraisal, because he hasn't been taking care of the property.
(The neighbor told me a story...
The Girl Scouts came around selling cookies and asked her if it was safe to visit the house just because it looked so bad on the outside. I responded that if they thought it looked bad on the outside, only the things of horror-stories lived on the inside. Sigh.)
And so...
The choice became clear. I would move back into still-my house and become the property manager, moving towards the final solution of getting my name off the mortgage & deed of the house and surrounding property. It would be the almost-best solution for the kid. And it would give me a little more time to get a successful marketing campaign up and running for the books that I had just published.
I would just have to live with the ex...
So, I've done what I always do...
I've started a blog: livingwiththeex
Enjoy the insanity!
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
let's pull up our own pants
Okay...so, I find this interesting...
There's a faith-based (Christian) spoken word video that has over 3+ million hits. The description is...
"Marriage today is struggling. Divorces, adultery, misconceptions, etc are plaguing not only the marriage itself but products of those marriages (my generation and the next). My hope in this poem is to highlight the most frequent and problematic issues marriages face today while also pointing to Jesus as the ultimate healer, redeemer, and restorer of every marriage. Whether single or married, my intention would be that this poem would allow you to look more deeply to Jesus to either better your current marriage, or prepare for your future marriage."
And I am pretty much good with all of that...really.
The faith part isn't what's interesting. What's interesting is that the video owner has enabled ads in order to generate some capital (via Google AdSense, I think)...and the current video ad that's running before his message is of popular movie clips that show couples in different stages of love and kissing (Fox Movies: "Own The Moments You Love") and all I can think is none of these movie moments support what I am about to listen to...
And, so, I am distracted away from the heart of the message even before I can begin to listen to it (being raised in a Christian environment, I'm pretty much up to date on what he's going to say, anyway...I'm only checking in to hear the beauty of his word play, the passion in his delivery, the hope in his expression)...
My underlying question(s):
Does the video owner not care about the fact that the video is showing -- in a positively sexy these-are-awesome-movies-and-you-know-you-love-them-no-matter-your-beliefs kind of way -- clips of relationships that are built on the "frequent and problematic issues" that create the marital problems that he is, in fact, about to highlight as really serious no-nos.
Is he not paying attention?
Not that I'm fussing. I wouldn't want to check my video each and every day to make sure that I supported the message of the ad that plays before it.
Is the temptation to make a buck from G Ads too tempting to worry about what the ads are marketing? The argument being..."people usually click 'Skip this Ad' anyway, so those who don't probably aren't paying too close attention anyway" (running to grab a drink in the 60 seconds that are available...or maybe their Bible to confirm any actual Biblical passages that he may use...)
------
I'm just wondering.
Because, if I believed in something so strongly and wanted to get the message out; if I was representing something sacred, a faith-based message that was super important to me...
Then I'd pay attention to what ads were running; or, I'd cut my losses with AdSense, remove the ad option from that particular video and proclaim my faith without the hope of collecting.
But that's just me.
And, while we're talking about it anyway...
The issues that plague marriages today and the consequences of how those problems are dealt with are indeed a serious problem. Hell, basic relationships are riddled with a myriad of issues that partners can't seem to deal with appropriately...we can't even get to the committed marriage part these days.
Being selfish, having sex and throwing in the towel are "easy" things. No one seems to want to do the hard work that it takes to make a relationship (or a marriage) survive.
Faith doesn't even have a fair chance anymore, because no one seems to have the basic characteristics required for long-term relationship maintenance: patience, concern for another, self-discipline, fill-in-the-blank with some high moralistic personality trait that betrays integrity and long suffering, etc...
Wait. Strike that. We have them in abundance as along as we're happy. The moment things get hard or uncomfortable, the moment we're sad, we seem to run fresh out of anything that would count for vulnerability or selflessness with/for our partner.
And true, the younger generation "suffers" from seeing inappropriate patterns in their elders, but if we (can I still say we? - another birthday is coming up this Saturday) could just pull up our own pants for once instead of always blaming things on "how we were raised" maybe we could fulfill 1 Timothy 4:12.
Imagine: Taking responsibility for our own actions. Finally working as hard as we play, in order to revel in a moment of genuine accomplishment; to really understand, to own the reward of earning something.
(Wow. What a novel idea.)
We reap what we sow, people.
If our relationships, our commitments really (REALLY) mattered to us, we'd do the work and stop bitching about it, because we'd understand that there are sacrifices involved in sharing our lives with someone else.
And, yea, if faith (if Jesus) is going to help you "deny yourself" and walk the road less traveled, then by all means, look more deeply to him for guidance and help for your day-to-day life. But by golly, all I'm saying, is don't use him as an excuse or a crutch.
Own your life. Honor your faith by putting in a little effort.
There's a faith-based (Christian) spoken word video that has over 3+ million hits. The description is...
"Marriage today is struggling. Divorces, adultery, misconceptions, etc are plaguing not only the marriage itself but products of those marriages (my generation and the next). My hope in this poem is to highlight the most frequent and problematic issues marriages face today while also pointing to Jesus as the ultimate healer, redeemer, and restorer of every marriage. Whether single or married, my intention would be that this poem would allow you to look more deeply to Jesus to either better your current marriage, or prepare for your future marriage."
And I am pretty much good with all of that...really.
The faith part isn't what's interesting. What's interesting is that the video owner has enabled ads in order to generate some capital (via Google AdSense, I think)...and the current video ad that's running before his message is of popular movie clips that show couples in different stages of love and kissing (Fox Movies: "Own The Moments You Love") and all I can think is none of these movie moments support what I am about to listen to...
And, so, I am distracted away from the heart of the message even before I can begin to listen to it (being raised in a Christian environment, I'm pretty much up to date on what he's going to say, anyway...I'm only checking in to hear the beauty of his word play, the passion in his delivery, the hope in his expression)...
My underlying question(s):
Does the video owner not care about the fact that the video is showing -- in a positively sexy these-are-awesome-movies-and-you-know-you-love-them-no-matter-your-beliefs kind of way -- clips of relationships that are built on the "frequent and problematic issues" that create the marital problems that he is, in fact, about to highlight as really serious no-nos.
Is he not paying attention?
Not that I'm fussing. I wouldn't want to check my video each and every day to make sure that I supported the message of the ad that plays before it.
Is the temptation to make a buck from G Ads too tempting to worry about what the ads are marketing? The argument being..."people usually click 'Skip this Ad' anyway, so those who don't probably aren't paying too close attention anyway" (running to grab a drink in the 60 seconds that are available...or maybe their Bible to confirm any actual Biblical passages that he may use...)
------
I'm just wondering.
Because, if I believed in something so strongly and wanted to get the message out; if I was representing something sacred, a faith-based message that was super important to me...
Then I'd pay attention to what ads were running; or, I'd cut my losses with AdSense, remove the ad option from that particular video and proclaim my faith without the hope of collecting.
But that's just me.
And, while we're talking about it anyway...
The issues that plague marriages today and the consequences of how those problems are dealt with are indeed a serious problem. Hell, basic relationships are riddled with a myriad of issues that partners can't seem to deal with appropriately...we can't even get to the committed marriage part these days.
Being selfish, having sex and throwing in the towel are "easy" things. No one seems to want to do the hard work that it takes to make a relationship (or a marriage) survive.
Faith doesn't even have a fair chance anymore, because no one seems to have the basic characteristics required for long-term relationship maintenance: patience, concern for another, self-discipline, fill-in-the-blank with some high moralistic personality trait that betrays integrity and long suffering, etc...
Wait. Strike that. We have them in abundance as along as we're happy. The moment things get hard or uncomfortable, the moment we're sad, we seem to run fresh out of anything that would count for vulnerability or selflessness with/for our partner.
And true, the younger generation "suffers" from seeing inappropriate patterns in their elders, but if we (can I still say we? - another birthday is coming up this Saturday) could just pull up our own pants for once instead of always blaming things on "how we were raised" maybe we could fulfill 1 Timothy 4:12.
Imagine: Taking responsibility for our own actions. Finally working as hard as we play, in order to revel in a moment of genuine accomplishment; to really understand, to own the reward of earning something.
(Wow. What a novel idea.)
We reap what we sow, people.
If our relationships, our commitments really (REALLY) mattered to us, we'd do the work and stop bitching about it, because we'd understand that there are sacrifices involved in sharing our lives with someone else.
And, yea, if faith (if Jesus) is going to help you "deny yourself" and walk the road less traveled, then by all means, look more deeply to him for guidance and help for your day-to-day life. But by golly, all I'm saying, is don't use him as an excuse or a crutch.
Own your life. Honor your faith by putting in a little effort.
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