Under the Table and Dreaming

Home Is Where The Heart Is

This could be a long post. There also could be some salty language. (I like to put my disclaimers up front.)

I am finally home from my "vacation" in Palm Desert. It's the first time I've ever spent any time in the desert. I have only driven through it when I drive to my aunt's in Yucaipa and take the back way through Tehachapi. This time, I drove the Grapevine and took the 210 to the 10 to Palm Desert. I have to say except for a backup where the 210 hits the Inland Empire and in Beaumont, and some fucking nutty drivers, it wasn't that bad. For those of you unfamiliar with this part of California, I'll try to describe it for you.

Palm Springs and Palm Desert lie in a small valley between two mountain rangers. Whether they are the same range, I don't know. What I do know is driving through that arid land with nothing but tumbleweed bushes and brown is unnerving. Maybe it was because I'd never been down there before, but the drive started to get to me during hour 5. The wind in Fontana was so bad that it was blowing my mom's car all over. When I got to the desert, I really just wanted to be out of the car. I had been in the car for almost 6 hours. Driving through the desert made feel claustrophobic. I can't really explain it. I just felt like the mountains were going to close in on me. It was a very unnerving experience. I thought that it was because I was tired and had already been in the car 6 hours. But I got the same feeling driving home in pouring rain. The desert and I just don't get along. Not to mention that the absolute lack of moisture in the air messed my skin up and made my itchy. But that's pretty much the only complaints I had, aside from being away from Michael.

I got to the resort in Palm Desert where my parents were staying - Shadow Ridge. It was nice - if you like golf. There is a great pool and a water slide for the kids. A basketball court. It was warm, but not overly hot. I didn't pack well, but it's hard to pack summer clothes when you're wearing sweats. I walked with my mom and played lots of basketball with Patrick. Shadow Ridge itself is like a giant hotel. But the rooms have great rooms and kitchens. It was nice, but I wouldn't choose to do Thanksgiving like that again. Patrick was really happy to see me and it was good to see my brother and niece and nephew. But I missed Michael horribly.

Thanksgiving Day, my mom and I walked a couple of miles and then cooked. And cooked. My aunt, uncle, cousin and his wife joined my parents, brother, niece, nephew and Patrick and I. It was a full house, but a good afternoon. We ate and talked and laughed. And that is why Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Family and food. No gifts, no expectations. Just a lot of good food and a reminder that I have a lot to be thankful for. I played more basketball with Patrick. And went to bed early. And slept badly.

Yesterday, Patrick and I got up early and played basketball. We went to the pool and swam (too hot for laps). We went to the outlet mall in Cabazon - which was a mistake. I never shop the day after Thanksgiving. Ever. And yesterday, I remembered why. Too many people. I can't take that much humanity at one time. Especially since I only bought a couple little things for Felicity and that was it. We went to dinner with my aunt, uncle, cousin and his wife. It was nice, but I was spent by the time we got home. I went to bed early and was up in the middle of the night again. Thankfully TCM was showing Singin In The Rain, so there was something good to watch.

This morning, we got up and headed for home. I've never been happier to get home. The drive seemed to take forever, but in reality, it took less time to get home than it took to get there. It just felt long because I wanted so badly to be home. Getting home and seeing Michael and Felicity was the best feeling ever.

I have spent the afternoon unpacking and marveling at all the yard sale stuff that got sold. We have one more day of yard sale. Whatever doesn't get sold will get donated to somewhere so we can get rid of it. I have papers to grade and some things to do around the house. But that's good. I'm just glad to be home.

More than any other time I can think of, my heart really wasn't in this trip. I missed out on Thanksgiving with Michael. I'm making a Thanksgiving dinner next weekend for him and the kids because I so missed being with him. Absence does not always make the heart grow fonder. Sometimes, it just makes the heart fill with longing. But now, all is right with the world. I am hope and will sleep better tonight because I have someone to curl up next to.

One Funeral And A Dinner

I went to a funeral for a friend today. It was a full Mass. I hadn't been to anything resembling full Mass since Andrew and I used to make the Midnight Mass rounds at Christmas time. I will preface this by saying I'm not good at funerals. I'm generally not good at anything where emotion is "required". You are expected to cry at weddings and funerals. I'm not really good with that. Most especially funerals.

This was my first funeral Mass and I have to say I hope it's my last. Not being Catholic, I don't follow or understand all the parts where you're supposed to speak up. There were hymns and readings from the Bible. I have to say that while I know Kathleen was devout, there really wasn't much of her in the service. Not until the Eulogies by her sister, brother and two of her best friends. That is when Kathleen appeared at the service. They were lovely speeches. And they got me thinking about life and death and funerals.

I was thinking about if it were my funeral, what would I have wanted. I would have played this song or that, had this reading or that. But then I realized, why the hell would I care? I'll be dead. So if I left explicit instructions as to how I wanted my funeral, that would be a bit narcissistic of me. I'll be dead. None of it will matter to me. What matters is what will help those who mourn me. Assuming, of course, that there will be those who mourn me.

Funerals are always hard. I think that we, in the West and most especially in this country, do not deal with death well. We are expected to take two or three days to grieve and be appropriately stoic with no emotional "outbursts". We are supposed to move on with our lives in a few days. But for those who are close to the person that died, that is awfully unrealistic. I doubt that Kathleen's family and friends will be done with their grief in two or three days. I know that if something ever happened to Patrick or Michael or anyone in my family, it would take me longer than a few days to recover. And it's not fair to expect a person to take three days, recover, and go on like nothing ever happened.

I would not want my funeral to be about pomp and circumstance. I would want my funeral to be...well...fun. I would want people to eat and drink and remember the happy times. I would want people to tell stories - like the time I threw the volleyball and hit some chick in the head or the time I gave myself a black eye trying to close a bay door. I would want people to remember the good things and smile and laugh. I would not want a bunch of black and sadness. I'm not saying that people wouldn't be sad or have a right to be sad. I just don't want my funeral to be a big downer. I would want people to leave feeling better, comforted. Anyway, I know this is morbid and morose. I was just thinking about all this yesterday.

After the funeral, a group of friends took dinner to another friend, whose mother just passed away. She was in Tennessee for three weeks. She took care of her mom and the memorial and the cremation and her dad and a litany of other things while being away from her husband and kids for three weeks. I felt so bad for her having to do all that and be so far away from home. (Though Tennessee is her home, too.) I just felt like she shouldn't have to worry about making dinner for her family when she had a house to clean, pets to visit and her own family to care for. So we took her dinner. It was a surprise because if I had asked her if we could do it, she probably would have said no. And it was good to see her. It was good to have dinner with this group of people who I consider among my best friends on this planet. I told my mom in the car on the way home from the funeral that I wanted to take dinner to my friend because if our situations were reversed, she would do the same for me in a heartbeat. And because I wanted to do somethingfor her. Three weeks of Facebook updates and Blackberry messages, to me, was not enough. I just wanted to let her know that we were all thinking about her.

For me, cooking is part of how I show love. I just wanted her to know that she'd been in my thoughts and if we could do something to make her time a bit easier right now, we would. My apologies for a bit of a morose post. But I have to go with what's on my mind.

Ironic

I blog about food and cooking and whatnot yesterday. So I cook tonight. A recipe I saw on Giada DeLaurentis' show. Rigatoni with butternut squash sauce and shrimp. It sounds divine. It smelled divine. It didn't taste divine. It wasn't bad. It just wasn't spectacular. It was blah. It seems that my cooking mojo is gone right now. I made cookie dough. I'm actually kind of scared to make the cookies. But I will tomorrow night.

For tonight, I'm going to enjoy the fact that Michael is home. I'm sure I'll sleep better. I know I will. He had a great time and I'm glad he went, but I have never missed anyone like I missed him this weekend. Next weekend is the triathlon. I'm woefully ill-prepared for it, but am doing it because I paid for it.

I'm going to take a shower and read until Michael gets back. I hope you all have a good night. I hope you had a great holiday weekend. I'll be back to post more tomorrow.

Julie & Julia

As I mentioned last night, my mom and I saw Julie & Julia last night. The movie was much better than the book, I think, largely because it was also based on Julia Child's "My Year In France". The movie blended scenes from Julia's life with scenes from Julie's. It was funny and charming and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Watching the movie, several things occurred to me.

Julia had a pen pal. She wrote the wife of a man who wrote an article in a magazine that Julia wrote a letter to. They wrote to each other for years before they ever met in person. Julia wrote to her sister and her husband wrote to his brother. Of course, this was before email and computers. So letters were the way people communicated long distance. I miss letters. To this day, among my most cherished possessions, are letters friends wrote me over the years. I miss ink on paper. I miss the permanence of committing thoughts to paper. Yes, my words exist here, in cyberspace. But the nature of the internet seems so not permanent to me. I miss the formality of writings letters. I don't write letters often any more. Email is immediate and I type so much faster than I write. But I still miss pen and paper. I miss getting cards and letters from people.

Julie's friends in the  book and movie are not my favorite people. But there was a line where she and a girlfriend were talking and the girlfriend said something about hating her friends. Julie's husband piped up and said he liked his friends. Julie's friend said that they weren't talking about men. Which, of course got me thinking. I have always  said that I, for the most part, prefer male friends. Mostly because they are not catty and back-stabbing like a lot of women are. That having been said, most of my female friends are not like that. But I have found lately, the I do know some women who were like Julie's friends in the movie. Her friends were kind of superficial and self-involved. I know people like that. Some of them I knew were self-involved and superficial immediately. Some of them have surprised me. I thought they were one way and turned out to be another way. But that happens in life. I am lucky to have friends who check in with me and tell me that they care. I love that I'm lucky enough to have people around me who are smart, kind, caring, genuine, and good people.

Julia's husband, Paul, was a diplomat. They met when they worked for the government. And they were truly, deeply in love with each other. They had the kind of caring, loving relationship that most people strive for but probably don't really achieve. They were a good fit for each other. As Paul said to Julia, "You are the butter to my bread." Julie's husband should be sainted for putting up with her crazy project. He, too was a really nice guy. He was loving and supportive. They were high school sweethearts - something rare in this day and age - and they had been together a long time. Through the book and movie, they seemed to really love each other.  This got me thinking about Michael, who is in Texas. I miss him terribly. I have never missed anyone like I miss Michael. He is a genuinely nice person. He does nice things for me. And for the first time in my life, I'm truly in love with someone. I miss him and can't wait for him to get home tomorrow. We haven't been dating long enough for me to say that he's my Paul, but I would like to take enough time to find out.

The backdrop of the movie, is of course, the food. I will say right now that I'm not a fan of French food. Patrick and I had an interesting conversation about that yesterday. He was asking me what I ate in France. Truthfully, I don't remember much about the food in France. Mostly because it was at the end of my trip and I was getting sick. (I got a really nasty sinus infection that took a long time to get rid of. I attributed it to people smoking all the time.) It was also hot - mid 90s - and there is a shocking lack of air conditioning in some restaurants. It's hard to eat foods that are bathed in butter and cream when it's that hot out. I don't really remember what I ate in France. I do, however, remember what I ate in Germany and Italy, two of the best food places on the planet. While French food is not my favorite, now I can appreciate what goes into making it. When I went on my trip to Europe, I didn't cook. At all. So I'm sure if I went now, I would have a much better appreciation of the food than I did back then.

I love to cook. But Mastering The Art Of French Cooking is not among the cookbooks I own. I'm not that interested in French cooking. I love butter and cream and am not afraid to cook with them. I am not, however, a fan of aspic or some of the other things that are in Julia's cookbook. I prefer to cook food that is comforting to me. But I can appreciate what Julie accomplished. It's quite a feat to cook from an entire cookbook. I don't think I own a cookbook in which every recipe interests me. And I'm a picky enough eater that there are just some things I won't cook.

What I can appreciate is that Julia Child was 37 - my age - when she attended the Cordon Bleu. She was the only female in the professional class. She insisted on taking the test to graduate. She was spunky and I like that about her. I like that she found her passion in life - food - and managed to make a career out of it at a time when women didn't make a career out of food.

I really love any movie that gets me thinking about so many different things on so many different levels. I felt just okay about the book, so the movie was a wonderful surprise. It was a nice evening and I'm glad my mom and I got a chance to do something.

Finally

I love to bake. I am pretty good at it. But lately, I've had a series of baking catastrophes. It started with Michael's birthday cake. Which stuck to the pan. It was a mess. Then there was the incident with the biscuits. I have been trying to hard to make decent biscuits. I have tried four different recipes. None of them seem to work. They were hard as rocks. They didn't taste right. I finally redeemed myself.

My mother got me the King Arthur Flour cookbook last Christmas. There was a biscuit recipe in there. I tried it last night. And lo and behold - it worked. They were light and rose and tasted like biscuits are supposed to taste. I'm glad I finally had a baking victory because I was getting upset.

Baking is all about following directions precisely. But sometimes, you do that and things still go wrong. I think I bake so well because I like to have directions. And I follow them. It's the key to baking. My brother is a fantastic cook. He can cook anything and do it from scratch. But his ability to improvise hurts him when he tries to bake. He likes to change the recipe. When you bake, you can't change anything. When you change a recipe with baking, I can almost guarantee that the end result will not be what you started out to make.

I'm hoping that the next thing I bake comes out like the biscuits last night and not like Michael's cake. I thought my baking mojo had gone. But maybe it's back. We'll see.

Lesson Learned

I just finished reading "Julie and Julia" for book club. I'm on the fence about the book. I like the way she writes. But I found the book to be a bit disjointed. I did learn from the book, which is always good. I learned that I'm never going to own or cook from Mastering the Art of French Cooking. I have no desire to eat kidneys and brains and whatnot. But that's not really what I want to talk about.

The end of the book got to me a bit. It made me realize something. Sometimes, you life changes in subtle ways and sometimes it changes in large ways. How you deal with or recognize that change can have a profound effect on your life. When Julie embarked on her project, she wasn't sure why she did it except that she was going to turn 30 and was a temp secretary and wanted something more. Something I can totally identify with. the difference was that she had her partner to go on the journey with her and support her.

When I started this year, I was unemployed and alone. But I found a job (two of them actually). I started training with Team In Training. And my life changed. Profoundly. Not only did I give something back, not only did I get immeasurable joy from teaching and training, not only did I show my son by example what it means to never give up, but I started to like myself. I started to feel better about my life. I started to feel good about myself. I started to like myself for the first time since I can remember.

Julie had something similar happen. She's a writer now. What started as a challenge to herself for reasons that she couldn't identify, ended with her doing what she wanted to do. This confirmed my belief that you will never grow as long as you remain comfortable.

I am uncomfortable being a parent. I constantly think I'm screwing Patrick up. I think I'm selfish and don't spend enough time with him. I do not punish enough. I do not praise enough. Etc, etc. But I realize that because I'm so uncomfortable being a parent, I'm probably pretty good at being one.

I am uncomfortable being a girlfriend. I think I'm screwing that up constantly as well. I'm - alternately - clingy and pushing him away. I am difficult. I'm used to doing things my way. I'm not the easiest person to deal with some times. But I realize these things and try really hard to not do them. Sometimes I'm successful, sometimes I'm not. I'm just thankful that I have a boyfriend who's willing to stick with me. He is showing me that I don't have to be afraid he'll leave. I don't have to be afraid he'll call me names. I don't have to be afraid of letting myself like him or fall in love with him. I'm learning to trust not only him, but myself. He's good to me and he's good to Patrick. And despite my discomfort at being a girlfriend, I think I'm okay at it and getting better. 

Life is all about change. It's all about learning. As far as I'm concerned anyway. I will keep challenging myself and keep pushing myself outside my comfort zone. Because i have found that when I do, I become a better person.

So while I may not have been in love with "Julie and Julia", I did learn something from the book. And that's what it's all about for me.

Pissin' People Off

This post may piss some of you off. It also may make some of you upset. I'm sorry in advance, but I need to vent a bit. And whine a bit. And feel a bit sorry for myself.

I made some promises to myself at the end of last year and the beginning of this one. I promised myself that I was going to commit to getting in shape and doing a triathlon and doing it for Team In Training. I promised myself that I was going to never let myself get to where I was when I started that journey. I promised myself I was going to be kinder to myself. I promised myself that I was going to be more positive. A lot of what I promised are things that don't come naturally to me. Exercise didn't used to come naturally to me. Positivity definitely doesn't come naturally to me. I also promised myself most of these things before I lost two jobs in a month. And still haven't found another one.

I have tried so hard to be positive. I have tried to make a list of all the things that are good. I'm not saying there are no good things in my life. But, and this is where the pissing you off part comes in, it's hard for me to bite my lip and tongue and cheek when people tell me that I should be unequivocally happy and shouldn't qualify my positivity with, "even though things suck". I know that I have to find it within myself to be positive and happy. And I get that I allow myself to tumble down the rabbit hole and into the darkness. I understand what you all are getting at. But isn't easier to be happy when you have a job?  When you have a spouse/significant other to rely on? When you don't have to worry about whether you're going to scrap enough money together to pay rent, keep the power on and food on the table? When you have a co-parent who participates emotionally, financially, and in every other way in your child's life?

I know I have friends and family. But we all know that's so not the same thing as having a person in your house every night whom you can talk to and lean on and rely on. And I'm not trying to ungrateful for what I have. I'm just saying that I'm not an unlimited well of positivity and strength and the well is depleted to the point of becoming dry. I would love to say that all of these massive changes are good and I see the light at the end of the tunnel and I can hang on until then. I just can't do that right now. And right now, I don't know when I'm going to be able to.

To anyone who has been offended reading this, I'm sorry. I don't mean to be mean or insulting to the support and kind words you've offered to me. But I can't pretend to feel something I don't. And I am not going to deny or ignore the pain I feel because that will make things worse in the long run.

Sorry for the downer post today. I'll post in a while about my teaching experience last night. Because that actually was positive. I just needed to get this out first.

The Eve Before Christmas

As you all know, I'm not a religious person. I never have been. But, I had enough religious indoctrination as a child to understand the basics. Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. But I love Christmas. I talked about my favorite parts of Christmas a while ago. I'm going to talk about Christmas Eve today.

When I was younger and my grandparents were still alive, we would go over to their house on Christmas Eve. My grandfather loved to cook and was very good at it. We would have shrimp bisque, prime rib, popovers, green beans, and something for dessert. We never opened presents on Christmas Eve. My family is traditional and that was strictly forbidden. That doesn't mean that my brother and I didn't try to get a present on Christmas Eve, but we were never successful.

After my grandfather passed away, Christmas Eve moved to my parents' house. Dinner was scaled back to shrimp bisque and salad. But it's a nice time. We still don't get gifts on Christmas eve, but my parents, in a move that is still astounding to me, let the grandkids open a gift of Christmas Eve. I know everyone has their own traditions and I'm not judging anyone else, but I find it funny that for all the years I was growing up, there were no Christmas Eve presents. Now it's okay because they have grandkids? I find that funny.

Some years we have dinner with friends of my parents. It's not what I prefer, but I usually go along. Patrick is usually fine with going over to their house for dinner. This year he expressed some reservations about it. We'll see. Since I'm sick, I may not go any where.

Tradition, to me, is what you make with your family and friends. I notice as I get older, that I like certain traditions. Christmas Eve is one of them. It's one of those days that is not ruled by expectations of presents and things. It's not ruled by turkey and stuffing. I'm all about the traditions you can make on your own.

After dinner, Patrick and I will come back here, watch A Christmas Story and he will go to bed. I will finish up what I need to do and probably read. It will be quiet in the house and in the neighborhood. Sometimes, I go outside, especially if it's foggy, and look at all the neighbors' lights. I like Christmas Eve because it's peaceful and quiet. It's not about presents and commercialism. For me, it's not about religion, though. It's about family.

I hope that whatever your holiday traditions are, you have a happy and safe Christmas. Be happy and have a great Christmas. I will post tomorrow. I'm just not sure when.

Weekend Update....Part 3

As promised, tonight's part of the weekend wrap up will deal with food. Becky and I are foodies. I love to cook. San Francisco is a food mecca. Granted our journey through San Francisco's culinary world started with a raid of the mini bar, but we made up for it. Saturday, we went to the Farmers Market at the Ferry Building. I had one of the best peaches I've ever had. We had intended to go to lunch at Zao, a noodle restaurant that Becky and Phillip love. However once we'd cabled car-ed and cabbed it to the location....it was gone. I actually thought Becky was going to cry.

We took that BART to Berkeley and found a sushi place. I thoroughly enjoyed mine. Becky wasn't too thrilled. It was cheap and good so I was fine. Sunday, we ate breakfast at Starbucks. Minor aside: what the hell is it with that place that everyone loves so much? Granted, I don't drink coffee. So that part of the appeal is lost on me. And it's expensive. But the fruit and cheese plate was good. For lunch, we went to North Beach. And I think I had the second best meal of my life.

[Back story: the best meal of my life was in Rome in a little restaurant in an alley off a piazza. Homemade lasagna. I think that meal was the closest I've ever come to heaven.]

Becky and I went to Steps of Rome. I have wanted to eat there for a long time. I'd always heard about it. It's across the street from the Stinking Rose, another fantastic Italian restaurant. So in we went. It's small. It's painted funky yellow. But I immediately liked it because of the smell. The place smelled heavenly. Homemade bread, garlic, olive oil. Becky ordered the Gnocchi and I ordered the homemade pumpkin ravioli with Gorgonzola cheese and zucchini in a cream sauce. Oh. My. God. The pasta was tender and perfect. The filling was amazing. The zucchini was al dente and perfectly cooked. The cream sauce was light. I have to say that it left me almost speechless. Hands down, the best meal I've had in years.

Monday, Becky and I made a trip across the bay to Emeryville - ostensibly to go to IKEA because I'd never been there. Luckily enough, the salesman at Design Within Reach had been kind enough to look Zao up on the internet after the debacle on Saturday and we found out there was a location in Emeryville. We found it, not too far from IKEA. I had a chicken salad. It was fantastic. The food was as advertised by Becky. Good atmosphere and good food. I wish I'd been hungrier so I could have tried more. But it was still wonderful.

So there you have it, the food adventure that was San Francisco. Tomorrow, I will be talking about my second favorite subject outside of Dave, books. We will talk about City Lights and such. Have a good one.

It's A Good Time When You're Recovering 2 Days Later

I was going to work today. I didn't go in. Patrick has been clingy and grumpy. So I am going to work next weekend when he's not around. I love him. But sometimes he drives me insane. He started crying out of nowhere at my parents' house today and said he was homesick. We're in the middle of Spiderman Monopoly. I have forgotten the appeal of Monopoly. Once all the properties are bought, it's just a ruthless game of trying to bankrupt the other person. But kids love it. Go figure.

I'm watching Fresno State baseball. They're playing Arizona State. They have to win this game to force another game tomorrow. Fresno State was unranked and they are playing one of the best teams in the country and winning. I don't want to jinx them, but it would be cool if they made it to the college world series. Ih ave to watch to the end because Patrick is expecting an update when he gets up in the morning.

I am still not feeling 100% from Friday night, but I feel a lot better than I did yesterday. Not that I could feel much worse. All self-induced, so I'm not looking for sympathy here. It was the astropop shot that did it, I'm pretty sure. Or the green apple thing. Or the blowjob. Or the purple hooter. It could have been any of those. It makes me nauseous just thinking about it. Seriously. Thank God my birthday only comes once a year.