Quiet in love Sunday, February 1, 2009

Why is it that when you first meet someone, you hold back?  You want to share all your witty, adventerous life stories, and yet, you bite your tongue, nod at your new acquaintance’s tales and when appropriate, smile, laugh, frown.  But when it’s your turn to share, you draw a blank and choose to keep it all in.

I am not afraid, is what I think.  I am not scared to share, is what I say to my friends.  I am protective, is the reality.  I am just protecting the treasured moments of my life, my history, and my dreams for the future.  I want to stick a pin in this balloon I’ve blown up, holding the latex tight so the air seeps out slowly.  I want to share my thoughts slowly, like the air, so you get to know the me behind the smile, the laugh, and the frown.  And yet, it’s easier to remain quiet.

On illness aloneness Sunday, January 11, 2009

I have a dreadful cold.  Being sick in a house by yourself gives you plenty of time to think up reasons not to be living alone the next next time you get sick.  I imagine that if I had a roommate, there would be a slight possibility that said roommate would be:

1. willing to pick up some medicine, cough drops, bad magazines, etc. from the local drugstore
2. offering to make some warm and tasty chicken noodle soup
3. checking your temperature every few hours just to make certain you were not *that* sick for the doctor’s office
4. adjusting the house temperature every few hours to accommodate your changing body temperature
5. picking up the tissues and cough drop wrappers that sway in the drafts of the house and miss the trash can
6. pouring you glasses of tea constantly to wash away the ridiculous amount of mucus produced by the obnoxious cold
7. finding you that extra blanket so you could at least pretend to be comfortable on the sofa
8. laundering your bed linens while you are relaxing on the sofa
9. turning on the hot water in the shower periodically so you could decongest your head and maybe get clean, at the same time

I won’t even try for a tenth possibility; the reality of being sick means that you have to: walk to Duane Reade or Rite-Aid yourself; stock your own pantry; monitor the thermostats; keep your own house clean; do your own laundry; and shower regularly.  Sounds the same as when you’re healthy, except a lot more whiney.  Please, let this miserable cold be done with soon.

Unexpected joy Monday, January 5, 2009

I expected to stand in line, patiently wait my turn and then sprint to the first machine available.  Thankfully, I walked right in and strolled at a gentle pace over to a treadmill.  The first Monday of the new year, and my gym was full, but not overly crowded.  No waiting 20 minutes to get on a machine.  No shrugging off the scowls once I got on a machine from those still in line.  No looking over my shoulder to find someone waiting to jump on when I finished.  No having to repeat the process when I maneuvered over to the elliptical crossramp.  Amazing.

Thank you to all the people saving their money this year and not jumping on the ‘09 resolution to lose weight and join a gym.  May you be blissfully happy with your dollars, pounds and free time after work.

Banging on the keyboard once more Saturday, January 3, 2009

Oh hey, look.  Still alive.  Just took a long and well-deserved respite from attempting to put my thoughts on paper/screen.  By mid-summer, I was incredibly frustrated with trying to maintain some level of vagueness while getting my thoughts and feelings out in entries.  It is difficult to write, “I want to grow” and leave it so vague when I really want to talk about personal and professional growth.  Try writing, “I had a good time last night” without it sounding bad, yet I don’t want to have to explain that all I did was watch tv, drink some tea and go to sleep.  Argh.

So in the hope that I’ll release some built up creativity, tension and need to tell the world about my life, I’m here once more.  I have also cleaned up about half of my previous entries.  It was burdensome to read through 300 entries, but it felt like a much-needed cleansing to file away the entries that don’t mean enough to me anymore.  Many focus on past eye candy, and some were just trivial daily activities, ad nauseum.  I want to believe that the present and future bring so many possibilities for new stories to share.

I didn’t die. I took a sabbatical. Sunday, November 23, 2008

Procrastination Thursday, July 3, 2008

It’s difficult being a Type A and a procrastinator.  Nine-tenths of me works diligently to be the best, always giving more than 100 percent, meeting deadlines and frustrated when others or objects delay my intentions.  It’s why my work is competitive, whether it’s truly at the office or playing sports.  It’s half the logic behind my always clean house, not just the “clean before people come over” kind of house.  After genetics, it’s how I justify my stubbornness and sometimes bossy tendencies.  The remaining 10 percent of me doesn’t so much give in to the laidback, easygoing Type B personality, but instead still wants to accomplish a task, yet stalls.  Surfs the web.  Reads other people’s blogs.  Finds a new hobby.  Begins a different task, preferably one that has a later deadline.  Volunteers to do someone else’s work.  You get the idea.

And so I’ve procrastinated writing here lately, and it seems I’m not the only one.  Many of the kazillions of blogs I lurk seem to be going through some writing lulls — whether it’s the seasonal warmth that draws bloggers outdoors and away from their keyboards or they’re experiencing writing block — and yet, while someone else’s entry may spark a topic of my own, I ponder the idea… And days later, I’ve accepted that I’m not ready to write something, anything here.

Objects in mirror are closer than they appear Monday, June 9, 2008

Not that I really wanted to see what the inside mechanism of my sideview mirror looked like, but I DIY’ed the installation of a new mirror on my car this evening.  No instructions, no manual.  Just me, a Heineken Light, and some tools that fit around the nuts and got the old ones off and tightened the new ones.  The power mirror even works properly.  My dad should be proud.

The second photo is what remains of the old mirror.  Not much — just some plastic, some rubber, and a little more plastic.

The noise next door Friday, May 23, 2008

It’s constant, each weekday morning throughout the school year, from about 6 a.m. until 8 a.m.  Often it can be heard at random intervals throughout the day or early evening.  It’s a venomous sound — the hissing of a bad mother — that hurts me to my soul as I listen to her yell, scream and curse at her children, over and over and over again.  I call her a bad mother, and I know it’s wrong to be so harsh and judgemental.  But I’ve listened for the past two years to the sound — always so angry and full of expletives — as it berates the three young children next door.

On a selfish note, it angers me to be woken up most mornings to the yelling.  But as I lay there in bed, waiting for the inevitable noise to silence itself, I’m angered by the fact that any human being, especially a mother who has given her life and soul to these children, would allow themselves to act so horribly.  I want to reprimand the mother for speaking yelling at her children so cruely — I want to slap her and remind her that she gave birth to these young people who need a mother to love them and teach them by her own actions — I want to call Social Services and tell them the children are verbally abused at least once a day — I want to take the children away to a safe environment where they’d know that it’s not okay to treat people that way.

Our walls are too thin.

So much to say Sunday, May 18, 2008

It’s been hard to write lately — a combination of writer’s block and frustration in life — and I’m really trying hard to overcome both, but it may take time and be sporadic, at best.

Time for tart Sunday, April 13, 2008

Tonight was a night for baking.  I made my favorite tart, roasted eggplant and tomato tart with basil, from the Once Upon a Tart cookbook.  I adore the recipes provided by Frank Mentesana and Jerome Audureau from their cute New York City cafe.  Several years ago, I ran across a recipe and review of the book online and immediately ran to the nearby public library to find a copy I could borrow for a little while.  I ended up keeping the book for several months, constantly renewing it so I could try different recipes.

I returned the book, but kept a few recipes written on notepaper in my kitchen.  Finally, I decided to just buy the cookbook so I could devour all of the recipes.  My favorites include sauteed spinach and mushroom tart with ricotta cheese, the roasted eggplant and tomato tart I made tonight, and the roasted red pepper tart with black olive tapenade and parmesan cheese.  Each are savory and rich, but I must admit that I cheat.  I’m not skilled at making pastry or dough, so I use pre-made pie crusts.  I know a true tart should be made from scratch, and I’ll practice more one day.  In the mean time, or at least past four or five years, pre-made works for me.

Tonight’s tart was awesome — easy to make, made my house smell wonderfully of herbs, and tasted amazing.  I have three-quarters left; anyone want leftovers?