Music was a huge part of my childhood, and, as a result, plays a crucial role in so many of my memories growing up. Although my immediate family members lacked the natural musical talent that so many inherit, we are passionate about the songs and artists we love. The record player was constantly spinning in the living room. For years, I could not fall asleep without someone crooning in the background. On Saturdays, my mom would coerce Grant and I into doing chores by letting us choose the albums. Some days, we would dust and mop to Led Zeppelin or the Dead. Other times, we made slightly cheesier selections, all the better to dance to! Billy Joel singing about his Uptown Girl or Manhattan Transfer convincing me to fall in love with a fictional boy from New York City...
August 27, 1990, one of my most poignant memories of my dad. Quinn had come to pick Grant and I up from daycare. When we got into the old clunky T-bird, tears were streaming down Quinn's face. This was unusual. I had seen him cry before at funerals, but never in the context of our real life. Stevie Ray Vaughan had been killed in a helicopter crash. I had just turned 10, and I remember feeling confused. Why was my daddy so distressed when he did not even know this man? My parents and their partners in crime (my extended family) had seen Stevie perform countless times at little clubs in Lubbock, Austin, Dallas. Those songs, Stevie's voice, his guitar playing... They were a part of our story, a part of our life soundtrack. To this day, I tear up when I hear Texas Flood. Although I did not grasp the impact fully at the time, Quinn lost a dear friend that day. Whenever I have a visceral response to a song, when it transports me to the past, I remember this moment as the first time I grasped the impact that music can have on life.
Somewhere along my path to adulthood, my beliefs and ideals veered astray. As a result, I've learned it is best not to bring up politics when Quinn and I get together. Although we will never have a civil discussion about gun control or who we voted for in the last election, we can always bond over music. Last night, after returning home from our 4th of July celebration, we spent a few hours comparing notes on newer loves (Old Crow Medicine Show) and debating the merits of old favorites (he posits that Frank Zappa's live version of Whipping Post is the best, but the Allman Brothers will always win my vote). I am forever grateful that we share this common ground.
Well you've heard about love givin' sight to the blind
My baby's lovin' cause the sun to shine
She's my sweet little thing, she's my pride and joy
She's my sweet little baby, I'm her little lover boy
-SRV
Friday, July 5, 2013
Friday, May 31, 2013
I recently read a New York Times article on the Gift of Siblings. The author talks about how "family closeness isn’t a happy accident", but a series of decisions and "many overlapping memories, which are in turn our glue." We don't choose our siblings, so our early years are entwined by necessity. Once we reach adulthood, we make an active effort to protect that closeness; we choose to maintain the relationship for the remainder of our lives.
I've been thinking about Big G a lot this week, as we rapidly approach his 28th birthday (how is this even possible? In my mind, he is still a goofy 13 year who awkwardly flirted with my friends and only showed affection with name calling and punches... Hmmm, maybe not so much has changed). The article choked me up, reminded me of all the events in my life that would not have been the same without him. He is the one person in the world who can rip me apart with a single comment- he knows my weaknesses, my insecurities. He knows exactly which buttons to push that result in total destruction. That power comes from sharing a core. As different as we are in outward appearance and action, we are remarkably (scarily) the same. He is also the first person I call when I'm really excited about something in my life or I need to vent. I don't always tell him my deepest, darkest secrets, but after a bad day, I can talk about nothing with him and instantly feel better.
In my state of emotional foolishness, I called him up to tell him about the article and make sure he knows how much I love and miss him. As he is apt to do, he immediately ruined the moment. "Wait... You mean when I get old enough, I can choose to not hang out with you anymore???" Ba-dum-ching.
Happy 28th to my favorite monster. Here's hoping we can put up with each other for at least another few decades...
I've been thinking about Big G a lot this week, as we rapidly approach his 28th birthday (how is this even possible? In my mind, he is still a goofy 13 year who awkwardly flirted with my friends and only showed affection with name calling and punches... Hmmm, maybe not so much has changed). The article choked me up, reminded me of all the events in my life that would not have been the same without him. He is the one person in the world who can rip me apart with a single comment- he knows my weaknesses, my insecurities. He knows exactly which buttons to push that result in total destruction. That power comes from sharing a core. As different as we are in outward appearance and action, we are remarkably (scarily) the same. He is also the first person I call when I'm really excited about something in my life or I need to vent. I don't always tell him my deepest, darkest secrets, but after a bad day, I can talk about nothing with him and instantly feel better.
In my state of emotional foolishness, I called him up to tell him about the article and make sure he knows how much I love and miss him. As he is apt to do, he immediately ruined the moment. "Wait... You mean when I get old enough, I can choose to not hang out with you anymore???" Ba-dum-ching.
Happy 28th to my favorite monster. Here's hoping we can put up with each other for at least another few decades...
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Memory Care?
I journaled my way through Scotland- this lovely little notebook with a crushed velvet cover, filled with silly observations, bad poems, sketches, and a long list of all the lit I read while I was there. My little book made an excellent companion when I was ever so lonely in that slightly foreign land. Given the similarities to my current setting, I attempted to start a new paper journal in January. It didn't work out so well. Part of the blog therapy is in the typing and erasing. On paper, there are scribbles and strike-throughs that look ugly and betray me, a constant reminder that my indecision knows no bounds... With typing, I can write a whole novel and erase it, leaving perfect white/empty space with one key stroke. And that is comfort, as if it never happened. With whatever I publish, I give the false illusion that the perfect words always come to me at the perfect moment, a finished product before it leaves my fingertips, sounding just the way I want the first time around, rather than the 25th.
All of this is a roundabout way of explaining my return after such a lengthy hiatus. I missed writing, and I missed the occasional insights that sporadically result from my ramblings. Be patient as I get back into the swing.
.....
They moved Nana to the third floor this past weekend. I was home during the transition phase, when she was only spending days upstairs. The upper level is a safety precaution masked as a kindness- they have more sunshine, a rooftop patio where they sit in 85 degree weather, bundled up in sweaters and long pants. It is an uncomfortable environment. During our first visit, I immediately honed in on several women giving Nana the evil eye. I'm overly sensitive to female bullying- the undercurrents; subtle ousting from the inner circle; deliberate/catty comments and gestures... By kindergarten, girls have mastered this art, and it becomes more refined and vicious with age. When we walk her over for lunch, one woman actively shakes her head "no" as Nana sits down at her table. Luckily, Nana is oblivious (although I'm quite certain once she feels more comfortable, she'll be engaged in ostracizing other newcomers- she has a knack for picking out flaws and disliking people based solely on appearance).
Hank, the Sunrise mascot, an old, overweight lab mix, rides the elevator until someone punches in the code to get off on the third floor. He is a scavenger, and his odds of finding treasure are much higher amongst the forgetful. There are always random bits dropped on the floor, and sometimes he gets truly lucky when a resident sacrifices their whole plate for the valiant cause of maintaining his growing belly.
On the second day, Eden accompanied us. Every woman on the floor crowded around. The first to approach commented "I never thought I would see you again, my beautiful girl!" She beamed, the brightest smile you can imagine, and asked for a hug. Eden was immediately compliant, but the woman would not let her go, I could see fear creep into Eden's eyes, so I held her hand and gently pried her away. Eden refused to leave my side until the visiting middle school volunteers invited her to join their bingo game. One of the staff members (my favorite, thus far) sang and danced to Golden Oldies blaring from a small portable radio. As she watered the flowers on the patio, she stopped to check on each resident, kissing them on the head, complimenting their choice of outfits, checking about current pain levels and overall comfort.
This is the most painful part of the whole ordeal. Nana's timeline is not intact- the dates and events are confused. They ebb and flow, no longer carrying any semblance of linearity. Since Christmas, she relives Papa's death on a near daily basis. She frets about funeral arrangements and questions what made him get sick so quickly. After she works herself up into a frenzy, crying forever-fresh tears of grief, she realizes that Papa has been gone for awhile, but she is never quite sure how long. Last week, last year? We have long past the five year mark... Selfishly, I don't want this process to go more quickly, because we don't know when we lose her recognition of us, but it is beyond cruel for her to suffer in this way. How many times can you lose a husband? How many times can you be torn away from your house and the red dirt community that is all you've ever known?
On top of the time travel, Nana's delusions continue to become more unusual. During mother's day brunch, her mouth was burning. She asked over an over why I put pepper sauce in the fruit salad, and she did not approve of jalapeno-flavored chocolate peanut butter cups. She slept in her chair the night before because there were bugs crawling in her bed. She couldn't understand why the little cats and dogs in her room refused to eat the snacks she left out for them. This is how our brains, our anatomy betray us.
She did not say much during our visits. She held my hand, staring into the distance, asking me occasionally if I had found a husband yet (as if this status was likely to change overnight- a visit would be incomplete without a few reminders of my profound failure in all feminine duties). Her silence speaks volumes- the confusion and frustration bottled up, likely to explode later when only Deb-Deb is around to pick up the pieces.
I want more than anything to take her pain away, to pick a happy moment for her to focus and fixate on. I don't know what her choice would be, so I will remember her from photos laughing on a cruise ship with Papa by her side or square dancing in one of her ridiculously fluffy skirts. I will remember her creating masterpieces behind her easel with paint brushes and photographs strewn across the room; shelling bushels of black eyed peas from the garden; happily telling us stories of Deb-Deb and Steve when they were little... I will remember all of us gathered around the kitchen island in her impecably decorated house, eating watermelon (sprinkled with salt) with giant spoons. If I remember hard enough, maybe my memories will find their way back to her.
All of this is a roundabout way of explaining my return after such a lengthy hiatus. I missed writing, and I missed the occasional insights that sporadically result from my ramblings. Be patient as I get back into the swing.
.....
They moved Nana to the third floor this past weekend. I was home during the transition phase, when she was only spending days upstairs. The upper level is a safety precaution masked as a kindness- they have more sunshine, a rooftop patio where they sit in 85 degree weather, bundled up in sweaters and long pants. It is an uncomfortable environment. During our first visit, I immediately honed in on several women giving Nana the evil eye. I'm overly sensitive to female bullying- the undercurrents; subtle ousting from the inner circle; deliberate/catty comments and gestures... By kindergarten, girls have mastered this art, and it becomes more refined and vicious with age. When we walk her over for lunch, one woman actively shakes her head "no" as Nana sits down at her table. Luckily, Nana is oblivious (although I'm quite certain once she feels more comfortable, she'll be engaged in ostracizing other newcomers- she has a knack for picking out flaws and disliking people based solely on appearance).
Hank, the Sunrise mascot, an old, overweight lab mix, rides the elevator until someone punches in the code to get off on the third floor. He is a scavenger, and his odds of finding treasure are much higher amongst the forgetful. There are always random bits dropped on the floor, and sometimes he gets truly lucky when a resident sacrifices their whole plate for the valiant cause of maintaining his growing belly.
On the second day, Eden accompanied us. Every woman on the floor crowded around. The first to approach commented "I never thought I would see you again, my beautiful girl!" She beamed, the brightest smile you can imagine, and asked for a hug. Eden was immediately compliant, but the woman would not let her go, I could see fear creep into Eden's eyes, so I held her hand and gently pried her away. Eden refused to leave my side until the visiting middle school volunteers invited her to join their bingo game. One of the staff members (my favorite, thus far) sang and danced to Golden Oldies blaring from a small portable radio. As she watered the flowers on the patio, she stopped to check on each resident, kissing them on the head, complimenting their choice of outfits, checking about current pain levels and overall comfort.
This is the most painful part of the whole ordeal. Nana's timeline is not intact- the dates and events are confused. They ebb and flow, no longer carrying any semblance of linearity. Since Christmas, she relives Papa's death on a near daily basis. She frets about funeral arrangements and questions what made him get sick so quickly. After she works herself up into a frenzy, crying forever-fresh tears of grief, she realizes that Papa has been gone for awhile, but she is never quite sure how long. Last week, last year? We have long past the five year mark... Selfishly, I don't want this process to go more quickly, because we don't know when we lose her recognition of us, but it is beyond cruel for her to suffer in this way. How many times can you lose a husband? How many times can you be torn away from your house and the red dirt community that is all you've ever known?
On top of the time travel, Nana's delusions continue to become more unusual. During mother's day brunch, her mouth was burning. She asked over an over why I put pepper sauce in the fruit salad, and she did not approve of jalapeno-flavored chocolate peanut butter cups. She slept in her chair the night before because there were bugs crawling in her bed. She couldn't understand why the little cats and dogs in her room refused to eat the snacks she left out for them. This is how our brains, our anatomy betray us.
She did not say much during our visits. She held my hand, staring into the distance, asking me occasionally if I had found a husband yet (as if this status was likely to change overnight- a visit would be incomplete without a few reminders of my profound failure in all feminine duties). Her silence speaks volumes- the confusion and frustration bottled up, likely to explode later when only Deb-Deb is around to pick up the pieces.
I want more than anything to take her pain away, to pick a happy moment for her to focus and fixate on. I don't know what her choice would be, so I will remember her from photos laughing on a cruise ship with Papa by her side or square dancing in one of her ridiculously fluffy skirts. I will remember her creating masterpieces behind her easel with paint brushes and photographs strewn across the room; shelling bushels of black eyed peas from the garden; happily telling us stories of Deb-Deb and Steve when they were little... I will remember all of us gathered around the kitchen island in her impecably decorated house, eating watermelon (sprinkled with salt) with giant spoons. If I remember hard enough, maybe my memories will find their way back to her.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
My suitcase is full of books...
A lovely TED talk by Susan Cain.
When she described her grandfather's apartment, I was immediately transported to the farm. My Mema's house contained furniture and all the usual items necessary for human occupation, but this could not disguise its true purpose as a repository for books. Bookcases lined every room except the kitchen, and if you happened to peer inside any given closet, you would find bags overflowing with miscellaneous paperbacks. I remember sitting together but in solitude, reading for hours, only occasionally breaking the silence to compare notes on a story or relate a particularly amusing passage. Precious, happy hours, when I did not have to fight to hide my social awkwardness.
The interview process at INS made me painfully aware of my own introversion. I left Montreal feeling exhausted and drained, fearful that my lack of social grace might impede my career development. This talk was a much needed reminder that the other things I bring to the table are just as valuable as a loud and powerful voice.
When she described her grandfather's apartment, I was immediately transported to the farm. My Mema's house contained furniture and all the usual items necessary for human occupation, but this could not disguise its true purpose as a repository for books. Bookcases lined every room except the kitchen, and if you happened to peer inside any given closet, you would find bags overflowing with miscellaneous paperbacks. I remember sitting together but in solitude, reading for hours, only occasionally breaking the silence to compare notes on a story or relate a particularly amusing passage. Precious, happy hours, when I did not have to fight to hide my social awkwardness.
The interview process at INS made me painfully aware of my own introversion. I left Montreal feeling exhausted and drained, fearful that my lack of social grace might impede my career development. This talk was a much needed reminder that the other things I bring to the table are just as valuable as a loud and powerful voice.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Match...
A year has passed, and I'm back in the same strange position- my future riding on the results of a computer algorithm. Interviews in early February in freezing Montreal, before my fate is decided on February 29. Obsessive email checking is near the end. From 10 applications, I have 9 interviews, and only one site left to hear from. I shouldn't be so anxious/excited to hear from the last place. As it stands, I can make a decision based on training opportunities and fit, but if Dallas gets into the mix, things suddenly become more complicated. Family and familiarity, all wrapped up into one tidy bundle... Impossible to predict how much that will alter the composition of my decision making tree.
As ready as I am for a change, it will be harder than I ever imagined to leave my desert home.
As ready as I am for a change, it will be harder than I ever imagined to leave my desert home.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Formulating a null hypothesis
Ryan Gosling can even make statistics sexy... Stolen from our former (and favorite!) stats TA.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
When life hands you lemons...
Walking home yesterday, I found myself thinking about Miss Mary Ann. It always catches me off guard- how quickly the memories (and the tears) well up and overflow... No matter how many years pass, the thought of her smile and her infectious laugh remains bright and powerful. Mary was eternally optimistic. Of late, my heart has been so bogged down- with anger and sadness and worry. I wish that I could capture even a bit of her spirit.
I suppose I am becoming more superstitious in my old age, but as soon as I thought of her, the song I was listening to ended and shuffle landed on an Elliott Smith song that I never paid attention to before.
"Talking to Mary, you know you don't have to shout
She can hear what you're thinking, like you were saying it right out loud..."
I miss you, my beautiful friend.
I suppose I am becoming more superstitious in my old age, but as soon as I thought of her, the song I was listening to ended and shuffle landed on an Elliott Smith song that I never paid attention to before.
"Talking to Mary, you know you don't have to shout
She can hear what you're thinking, like you were saying it right out loud..."
I miss you, my beautiful friend.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Down too far to care
Carlotta's wedding was lovely. My favorite moment of the whole weekend: we were waiting in the back room for the ceremony to begin. Her level of anticipation was visible; she hovered between tears and elation, exuding this ecstatic nervous energy that was truly beautiful. In 16 years, I've never seen her look so in love or so happy.
Despite the occasional downpour, Chicago in May is a much more pleasant place to be than the below-freezing tundra I visited back in January. I love the architecture and the vibrance, although I'm not quite ready to trade my mountains for a skyline view.
After only a day at home, I packed up again for Utah/Colorado tour 2011. Durango, Canyonlands, Moab, Arches, and Mesa Verde- 1200+ miles covered with minimal planning. 6 years into my NM residence, I am appalled at my lack of exploration. It helped having good company to push me into action.
Arches
Anasazi ruins at Mesa Verde
Since the two things I was looking forward to have drawn to a conclusion, I've fallen into a post-adventure slump. I've been spending too much time playing with google maps, estimating driving times, and wishing for a real summer...
I believe these lyrics have made an appearance here before, but the Old 97's have been haunting my inner monologue all week.
"And I wonder where I'll wind up, but I'm heading west I know, wind my way through Texas and into New Mexico. And I don't know what you've been told, the streets of where I'm from are paved with hearts instead of gold"
Despite the occasional downpour, Chicago in May is a much more pleasant place to be than the below-freezing tundra I visited back in January. I love the architecture and the vibrance, although I'm not quite ready to trade my mountains for a skyline view.
After only a day at home, I packed up again for Utah/Colorado tour 2011. Durango, Canyonlands, Moab, Arches, and Mesa Verde- 1200+ miles covered with minimal planning. 6 years into my NM residence, I am appalled at my lack of exploration. It helped having good company to push me into action.
Arches
Anasazi ruins at Mesa Verde
Since the two things I was looking forward to have drawn to a conclusion, I've fallen into a post-adventure slump. I've been spending too much time playing with google maps, estimating driving times, and wishing for a real summer...
I believe these lyrics have made an appearance here before, but the Old 97's have been haunting my inner monologue all week.
"And I wonder where I'll wind up, but I'm heading west I know, wind my way through Texas and into New Mexico. And I don't know what you've been told, the streets of where I'm from are paved with hearts instead of gold"
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Moving is a dangerous endeavor for a girl prone to clumsiness. Covered in bruises and surrounded by piles of boxes, I am settling into my new casa, although you wouldn't guess it from the mess. Three days in, the munchkins remain overwhelmed. Their food dish is virtually untouched (especially unusual for Lear), and they oscillate between super-cuddle mode and instigating semi-malicious acts of destruction.
On Thursday, one of CRC's closest friends (and one of my favorites from his bunch) was hit while riding his bicycle. He was wearing a helmet, but he sustained a severe head injury and remains in a coma- a stark reminder of the random cruelty that exists in our universe. Although I am a step removed, the waiting is awful. I rarely long for religion, but in times of helplessness, I recognize the appeal. Sending all the positive energy I have to Matt, his family, and his Angela.
Just a little breath on the water now is all we need
Just a little strength in our hearts
Enough to heal
-Heather Nova
On Thursday, one of CRC's closest friends (and one of my favorites from his bunch) was hit while riding his bicycle. He was wearing a helmet, but he sustained a severe head injury and remains in a coma- a stark reminder of the random cruelty that exists in our universe. Although I am a step removed, the waiting is awful. I rarely long for religion, but in times of helplessness, I recognize the appeal. Sending all the positive energy I have to Matt, his family, and his Angela.
Just a little breath on the water now is all we need
Just a little strength in our hearts
Enough to heal
-Heather Nova
Friday, April 22, 2011
Is there any real magic?
For two months, I spent more hours than I care to reveal trawling through this. Seriously, xkcd- too close to my reality for comfort. Although the new casa is likely Minotaur-free, I have never been more excited to cease and desist frequent craigslist use. Paying the deposit on Wednesday, I felt an intense and immediate sense of relief- none of the usual anxiety that haunts me post-big decisions... Which is remarkable, considering the place is unfinished, a work in progress. I've committed to living there without seeing the end product- feels a bit like I've slipped a quarter into one of those grocery store vending machines, and now I wait to see what prize falls in my lap. I'm counting down the days until I leave this uncomfortably tenuous residence for a place that feels safe and inviting- repairing my sense of self by reconstructing my idea of home.
I'm no soothsayer
I don't speak in tongues
I don't say these things
To make you run, run, run
A parliament of owls
Had seen this coming
Took you for a field mouse
When they spied you running
Crying save me
From the fires
That I have lit
Oh, it was exciting
But it stung like a whip...
-The Lovely Sparrows
I'm no soothsayer
I don't speak in tongues
I don't say these things
To make you run, run, run
A parliament of owls
Had seen this coming
Took you for a field mouse
When they spied you running
Crying save me
From the fires
That I have lit
Oh, it was exciting
But it stung like a whip...
-The Lovely Sparrows
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Tears for fears
Another year in Abq, and here I am, packing up for an in-town move. After the January debacle of preparing my Nana's house for auction, I am downsizing- cleaning out old files, throwing away extra copies of pictures, deciding what kitchen gadgets I can live without... It's all a little heartbreaking- throwing away pieces of my past. I inherited my family's tendency towards hoarding (what if some day I finally have an occasion to wear that adorable skirt that hasn't left my closet in three years?), but I'm determined to break the chain.
In the midst of all my old photos, I found little scraps of paper with quotations and song lyrics written on them. They littered my bulletin board in college- words I admired and wanted to remember. One seemed particularly relevant.
"We imagine that we remember things as they were, while in fact all we carry into the future are fragments which reconstruct a wholly illusory past."
-John Banville
In other news, I am slowly increasing my yoga practice and on Sunday, I realized why I have resisted this interest for so long. When I run, I lose myself- in songs and energy- taking out whatever aggressions the world dealt me that day on the pavement. With yoga, I'm stuck inside my head, and that's not always such a pretty place to be. Hoping that as my flexibility increases, I also learn to quiet my mind.
Quiet mind, strong heart...
In the midst of all my old photos, I found little scraps of paper with quotations and song lyrics written on them. They littered my bulletin board in college- words I admired and wanted to remember. One seemed particularly relevant.
"We imagine that we remember things as they were, while in fact all we carry into the future are fragments which reconstruct a wholly illusory past."
-John Banville
In other news, I am slowly increasing my yoga practice and on Sunday, I realized why I have resisted this interest for so long. When I run, I lose myself- in songs and energy- taking out whatever aggressions the world dealt me that day on the pavement. With yoga, I'm stuck inside my head, and that's not always such a pretty place to be. Hoping that as my flexibility increases, I also learn to quiet my mind.
Quiet mind, strong heart...
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Six
In order of completed interviews: Albuquerque, Columbus, Baltimore, Phoenix, Houston, Chicago... My future is decided by a computer matching program on February 25. Ready for some closure, ready for some change.
And it's hard to be a human being
And it's harder as anything else
And I'm lonesome when you're around
And I'm never lonesome when I'm by myself
And I miss you when you're around
-Modest Mouse
And it's hard to be a human being
And it's harder as anything else
And I'm lonesome when you're around
And I'm never lonesome when I'm by myself
And I miss you when you're around
-Modest Mouse
Saturday, November 20, 2010
the firefighters put out my fires, took all my matches...
It's been a Jets to Brazil sort of afternoon.
Here we are again at holiday time, and I'm feeling the gloom. I'll be home in December, so I opted out of a turkey day trip which was a mistake. The past few months have left me drained, and I'm not coping well with the ambiguity. Dissertation is proposed, and internship applications are in. So far, I've had two rejections (no Minnesota in my near future, and one of my Chicago sites was a miss) and one invitation (Hello, Columbus!). Hoping for more good news post-Thanksgiving.
With all this uncertainty about next year, I find myself missing the fam. I want to be able to menu plan and cook with Deb Deb and Pa Joe, go to shows with Big G (now that he's finally developed tastes beyond gangsta rap), drink margaritas with Quinn and Angela, and see my little monkey more than three times a year. Our skype visits are great, but blowing her kisses is not the same as real hugs. On the flip side, I can't imagine being happy in Dallas. I'm becoming less tolerant of intolerance with old age. I wish I could pick them all up and transport them some place a little more liberal and a lot more outdoorsy.
I'm making an effort to recover from the burn out, mentally and physically. My stack of non-school related books continues to grow, but I'm making more of an effort. Tooley started up a book club, which is mostly an excuse to have brunch and chat. We're in the middle of Harvest Home (1970's gothic horror). The heavy handed foreshadowing has me a bit apprehensive about what bizarre bloody rituals are about to go down in the last 100 pages- pretty sure rape and human sacrifice are on the menu. Starship Troopers is next- love me some Heinlein!
The chill and early dark have been deterring my runs, so I joined a gym this week. My plan is to use treadmill time as an opportunity to increase my pace. I'm also discovering that I quite like yoga. Here's to a healthier, happier end for 2010.
I'm tired of fighting, so I'm demolished - that's the way
Some make exhaustion a mode of expression and that's their way
I'm just a question knowing my answer, I hope I'm wrong
but I know the answer, it's four in the morning
I'm right again and I'm chinatown...
-Jets to Brazil
Here we are again at holiday time, and I'm feeling the gloom. I'll be home in December, so I opted out of a turkey day trip which was a mistake. The past few months have left me drained, and I'm not coping well with the ambiguity. Dissertation is proposed, and internship applications are in. So far, I've had two rejections (no Minnesota in my near future, and one of my Chicago sites was a miss) and one invitation (Hello, Columbus!). Hoping for more good news post-Thanksgiving.
With all this uncertainty about next year, I find myself missing the fam. I want to be able to menu plan and cook with Deb Deb and Pa Joe, go to shows with Big G (now that he's finally developed tastes beyond gangsta rap), drink margaritas with Quinn and Angela, and see my little monkey more than three times a year. Our skype visits are great, but blowing her kisses is not the same as real hugs. On the flip side, I can't imagine being happy in Dallas. I'm becoming less tolerant of intolerance with old age. I wish I could pick them all up and transport them some place a little more liberal and a lot more outdoorsy.
I'm making an effort to recover from the burn out, mentally and physically. My stack of non-school related books continues to grow, but I'm making more of an effort. Tooley started up a book club, which is mostly an excuse to have brunch and chat. We're in the middle of Harvest Home (1970's gothic horror). The heavy handed foreshadowing has me a bit apprehensive about what bizarre bloody rituals are about to go down in the last 100 pages- pretty sure rape and human sacrifice are on the menu. Starship Troopers is next- love me some Heinlein!
The chill and early dark have been deterring my runs, so I joined a gym this week. My plan is to use treadmill time as an opportunity to increase my pace. I'm also discovering that I quite like yoga. Here's to a healthier, happier end for 2010.
I'm tired of fighting, so I'm demolished - that's the way
Some make exhaustion a mode of expression and that's their way
I'm just a question knowing my answer, I hope I'm wrong
but I know the answer, it's four in the morning
I'm right again and I'm chinatown...
-Jets to Brazil
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Girls can tell...
I gotta change my mind tonight
I can still change my mind tonight
Merging in traffic cross the lanes and then we become
Something bigger than just any one
Oh, and everything hits at once
What we needs is just what we wants
I go to sleep but think that you're next to me
I go to sleep but think that you're next to me
-Spoon
I can still change my mind tonight
Merging in traffic cross the lanes and then we become
Something bigger than just any one
Oh, and everything hits at once
What we needs is just what we wants
I go to sleep but think that you're next to me
I go to sleep but think that you're next to me
-Spoon
Monday, October 4, 2010
Yeah, I'm afraid of sharks, but not the dark...
For the record, life is sucking right now, so rather than bore you with my tales of misery and woe, I'm hiding out. Reminding myself that I chose this grad school path-o'-horror doesn't seem to eliminate or even alleviate the bitterness.
Things that are keeping me afloat... I made a Black Pearl Cake for Liz's birthday on Saturday night. Although the wasabi was undetectable, the end result was beyond tasty. I heart all things ginger.
CocoRosie was amazing. Made me wish for an operatic voice or at least mad beatbox skills. Spoon is tonight, so I'm looking forward to another few hours of respite before I take the plunge and don't emerge until November 1.
Midnight to noon
I'm a desert child
And mountains make me nauseous
I like to look up wild, at an infinite sky
Twinkling with diamonds
It's true, I get depressed in fancy hotel rooms
Undressed with nothing to flaunt but my loneliness
Thinking of the night song of your hair
Premature as evening falls
It calls to me
Interrupted by the sirens in the street
-CocoRosie
Things that are keeping me afloat... I made a Black Pearl Cake for Liz's birthday on Saturday night. Although the wasabi was undetectable, the end result was beyond tasty. I heart all things ginger.
CocoRosie was amazing. Made me wish for an operatic voice or at least mad beatbox skills. Spoon is tonight, so I'm looking forward to another few hours of respite before I take the plunge and don't emerge until November 1.
Midnight to noon
I'm a desert child
And mountains make me nauseous
I like to look up wild, at an infinite sky
Twinkling with diamonds
It's true, I get depressed in fancy hotel rooms
Undressed with nothing to flaunt but my loneliness
Thinking of the night song of your hair
Premature as evening falls
It calls to me
Interrupted by the sirens in the street
-CocoRosie
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Piroshky Piroshky!
Daring cooks challenge for August: Pierogies!
I must admit that I never had the pleasure of eating pierogies until our May trip to Seattle. While enjoying the wonders of the Public Market, JA recommended that we grab a bite to eat at the Russian bakery- Piroshky Piroshky. I am a huge fan of all foods that involve stuffing tasty fillings into vessels of dough (samosas, fried pies, empanadas, etc.), so it's really a wonder that pierogies had never crossed my path before.
Despite my best intentions to get started early this month, I waited until the last possible minute for my experimentation. I decided on the Russian-style dough (flour, egg, and water as opposed to the cream/milk based-dough), mixing it up by incorporating half whole wheat flour and a few tablespoons of ground flax seed. The filling consisted of ground turkey (sauteed with onion, fennel seed, and cracked red pepper) and mashed red potatoes. Feeling a bit lazy, my pierogies were somewhat over-sized (less stuffing involved). I followed the traditional boil-and-pan-fry method for most, but also baked a few to compare textures. Not the prettiest pierogies ever, but delish! I served them with a green salad and sauteed kale from the garden.
I must admit that I never had the pleasure of eating pierogies until our May trip to Seattle. While enjoying the wonders of the Public Market, JA recommended that we grab a bite to eat at the Russian bakery- Piroshky Piroshky. I am a huge fan of all foods that involve stuffing tasty fillings into vessels of dough (samosas, fried pies, empanadas, etc.), so it's really a wonder that pierogies had never crossed my path before.
Despite my best intentions to get started early this month, I waited until the last possible minute for my experimentation. I decided on the Russian-style dough (flour, egg, and water as opposed to the cream/milk based-dough), mixing it up by incorporating half whole wheat flour and a few tablespoons of ground flax seed. The filling consisted of ground turkey (sauteed with onion, fennel seed, and cracked red pepper) and mashed red potatoes. Feeling a bit lazy, my pierogies were somewhat over-sized (less stuffing involved). I followed the traditional boil-and-pan-fry method for most, but also baked a few to compare textures. Not the prettiest pierogies ever, but delish! I served them with a green salad and sauteed kale from the garden.
Friday, July 23, 2010
eat, pray, love
I was already counting down the days until my Dallas trip- I've been missing the fam like crazy these past few months. I just got an email from mi madre that pushed the excitement over the edge. Thank goodness there's no video surveillance- a rather embarrassing happy dance just occurred.
I'm catching the tail end of Restaurant Week, and we now have a reservation at Loft 610! My top choices were already booked (Charlie Palmer's, Craft, Five Sixty, Stephan Pyles), but I am more than happy with this fine consolation prize. While other ladies I know are swooning over handsome actors, I have a bad habit of falling for Top Chef contestants. Seriously, gentlemen. The kitchen door is probably the fastest way to my heart. Tre Wilcox happens to be one of my faves (right behind Harold- *le sigh*; this season, there's unfortunately no one crush-worthy). I have no idea if he will actually be chef'ing when we patronize the Loft, but a girl can dream.
I'm catching the tail end of Restaurant Week, and we now have a reservation at Loft 610! My top choices were already booked (Charlie Palmer's, Craft, Five Sixty, Stephan Pyles), but I am more than happy with this fine consolation prize. While other ladies I know are swooning over handsome actors, I have a bad habit of falling for Top Chef contestants. Seriously, gentlemen. The kitchen door is probably the fastest way to my heart. Tre Wilcox happens to be one of my faves (right behind Harold- *le sigh*; this season, there's unfortunately no one crush-worthy). I have no idea if he will actually be chef'ing when we patronize the Loft, but a girl can dream.
Friday, July 2, 2010
I'd break every law of physics...
I'm in denial that summer is half over. June taught me I could never survive a career that demands 80+ hours/week. I like sleep and me-time wayyy too much. Not to mention that when things return to normal pace, I shut down. Take yesterday, for example. My assessment was rescheduled, giving me back 6 lovely hours of potential productivity. Reports could have been written, articles read... And instead? I watched Kathy Griffin take on Alaska.
Happenings of 6/2010:
My belief in love-at-first-sight was renewed, thanks to Josh Ritter. Charming, contagiously happy, handsome (in a bookish kind of way)... It's really too bad he's already married- he has ties to neuroscience, and I'm pretty sure he would sing me to sleep on a nightly basis... The show made my Top 5 list. His band was spot on. It didn't hurt that his bass player did a stellar rendition of Wicked Games.
If you haven't listened to him, you should check out The Curse.
Teaching was a-okay. I would definitely do it again, but probably not during summer. 2 hours of talking, 5 days a week leaves a girl a little sick of the sound of her own voice. The internets saved my butt on more than one occasion- thank you, Nova!
My running log hit 109.96 miles. July will easily top that. Gwennie-poo is posting updates counting down the minutes and seconds until start time. We're making packing lists, training at altitude once a week, fitting in 2-a-days... Yet, I still wish we had one more month to train. I forgot how easily running could take over my whole existence. Gradually, I'm getting faster- had my personal best 10K. At this rate of improvement, maybe I'll qualify for Boston on my 80th birthday.
I've slacked on my last two Daring Kitchen assignments. I wish life would stay out of my chef-time...
Well, there's one more thing
I'll tell you if I can
It is not love
that makes a non-stick frying pan
but a top secret, trademark conglomerated,
most likely carcinogenic, polyeurothane compound
spreading of microthin substance over a negatively charged layer
of aluminum, copper, iron, lead, vhs, fyi, apple pie, FBI,
and some other elements too
but since you're gone
I wish I'd stuck to you...
-Josh Ritter
Happenings of 6/2010:
My belief in love-at-first-sight was renewed, thanks to Josh Ritter. Charming, contagiously happy, handsome (in a bookish kind of way)... It's really too bad he's already married- he has ties to neuroscience, and I'm pretty sure he would sing me to sleep on a nightly basis... The show made my Top 5 list. His band was spot on. It didn't hurt that his bass player did a stellar rendition of Wicked Games.
If you haven't listened to him, you should check out The Curse.
Teaching was a-okay. I would definitely do it again, but probably not during summer. 2 hours of talking, 5 days a week leaves a girl a little sick of the sound of her own voice. The internets saved my butt on more than one occasion- thank you, Nova!
My running log hit 109.96 miles. July will easily top that. Gwennie-poo is posting updates counting down the minutes and seconds until start time. We're making packing lists, training at altitude once a week, fitting in 2-a-days... Yet, I still wish we had one more month to train. I forgot how easily running could take over my whole existence. Gradually, I'm getting faster- had my personal best 10K. At this rate of improvement, maybe I'll qualify for Boston on my 80th birthday.
I've slacked on my last two Daring Kitchen assignments. I wish life would stay out of my chef-time...
Well, there's one more thing
I'll tell you if I can
It is not love
that makes a non-stick frying pan
but a top secret, trademark conglomerated,
most likely carcinogenic, polyeurothane compound
spreading of microthin substance over a negatively charged layer
of aluminum, copper, iron, lead, vhs, fyi, apple pie, FBI,
and some other elements too
but since you're gone
I wish I'd stuck to you...
-Josh Ritter
Monday, June 14, 2010
The easy way out...
My first Daring Cooks challenge hosted by Valerie, from The Chocolate Bunny, and Evelyne, from Cheap Ethnic Eatz!: pâté & bread. To be 100% honest, I took the easy way out. Although I shifted my diet to include poultry and sea-meat over 5 years ago, I still eat veggie most days of the week. I'm not totally comfortable preparing meat, especially of the offal kind, and my palate is not fond of pâté texture. So... I opted for the tri-color vegetarian pâté with homemade baguettes. Despite my lack of bravery, both turned out delicious! You can find the recipes if you follow the link for the Daring Kitchen.
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