For reasons I won't detail here, I've decided to end this blog prematurely. No big crisis here, babies are fine, but for my own reasons this isn't something I want to continue.
Thank you for reading and (hopefully) enjoying my words over the past year!
Best regards,
Stina
Friday, September 10, 2010
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Happy Days
I imagine that Hurricane Earl spied our late-staying visitor, summer, and swept her away to sea. Whether he can take credit or not, I really cannot say, but by his or someone else's good graces, the air here has finally changed. Windows are open to the across-the-street neighbor's last-of-summer pool party, and while newscasters lament the end of the season at the shore, the third floor set is in a great state of rejoicing.
The crisper sunshine and cooler breezes have initiated a lovely weekend which I record for the sake of remembrance here:
Friday our offices closed early so Gus and I drove home together and enjoyed a siesta before my acupuncture appointment downtown. We caught a later dinner at Jack's Firehouse across from the Eastern State Penitentiary before heading home to our first full night without the air conditioner since May.
Yesterday, a mid-day walk, innocuous enough but unheard of these many months, and a visit again to my favorite store Terrain. For lunch, Gus' vegetarian sandwich and the Sunday crossword. That evening, a drive downtown to Matyson BYOB where we met up with friends for a fantastic dinner. Below, my attempt at making elastic waistband hip and fashionable:
Note my fabulous Hermes mini scarf which I tied to my bag!
Today, after pancakes in bed (how luxurious!), another breezy walk followed by a trip to JoAnn Fabrics for a few Halloween projects, inspired by the most recent issue of Country Living. Laundry hung outside, I worked on an embroidery project while Gus studied. We caught an early evening show ("The American" with George Clooney) and plan to tuck into lentil soup with baguette and cheese for dinner.
Life is so good!
The crisper sunshine and cooler breezes have initiated a lovely weekend which I record for the sake of remembrance here:
Friday our offices closed early so Gus and I drove home together and enjoyed a siesta before my acupuncture appointment downtown. We caught a later dinner at Jack's Firehouse across from the Eastern State Penitentiary before heading home to our first full night without the air conditioner since May.
Yesterday, a mid-day walk, innocuous enough but unheard of these many months, and a visit again to my favorite store Terrain. For lunch, Gus' vegetarian sandwich and the Sunday crossword. That evening, a drive downtown to Matyson BYOB where we met up with friends for a fantastic dinner. Below, my attempt at making elastic waistband hip and fashionable:
Note my fabulous Hermes mini scarf which I tied to my bag!
Today, after pancakes in bed (how luxurious!), another breezy walk followed by a trip to JoAnn Fabrics for a few Halloween projects, inspired by the most recent issue of Country Living. Laundry hung outside, I worked on an embroidery project while Gus studied. We caught an early evening show ("The American" with George Clooney) and plan to tuck into lentil soup with baguette and cheese for dinner.
Life is so good!
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Final Exam
Across Penn’s campus, freshman and their families are unloading dorm room essentials onto every available space on the sidewalk, IKEA lamps wobbling in their stands and full-length mirrors reflecting the searing sunshine. Earlier this morning, on my walk to the train, the first bright yellow school bus of the year rumbled by down the streets of Ardmore, a smattering of kids forlornly gazing out the windows at the end of summer.
Although the weather outside doesn’t betray it, fall is here in that the start of the school year is here. Gus also is beginning what will be his last semester of his last year of his last degree for life. He’s now a “Super Senior,” the heroic name for students in the program’s last stretch. Instead of a typical course load, his time is now split between three clinical days and two study days, either structured in a classroom or at home. The focus for the students is now on passing their board exam, which to the tune of $700 gives you one more reason to pass the first go 'round.
A study center has been set up in our apartment. A square wooden table, which I had used for sewing but which had fallen into disuse due to the air conditioner in a very nearby window, has been moved to a corner of our bedroom. A lamp and a Mason jar of pencils and highlighters has been added to teetering towers of books, notes, and PowerPoint printouts to be intensely reviewed and re-reviewed over the next months before the exam is scheduled.
Although the weather outside doesn’t betray it, fall is here in that the start of the school year is here. Gus also is beginning what will be his last semester of his last year of his last degree for life. He’s now a “Super Senior,” the heroic name for students in the program’s last stretch. Instead of a typical course load, his time is now split between three clinical days and two study days, either structured in a classroom or at home. The focus for the students is now on passing their board exam, which to the tune of $700 gives you one more reason to pass the first go 'round.
A study center has been set up in our apartment. A square wooden table, which I had used for sewing but which had fallen into disuse due to the air conditioner in a very nearby window, has been moved to a corner of our bedroom. A lamp and a Mason jar of pencils and highlighters has been added to teetering towers of books, notes, and PowerPoint printouts to be intensely reviewed and re-reviewed over the next months before the exam is scheduled.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Pink Slip
The time finally came; I gave notice at work. Like a good girl, I gave five weeks, mainly in the hopes that they will hire someone before I leave so I don’t have to answer questions post-October 1. Twenty-three more days behind the desk and that’s it for me for a good, good long while. I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time, the closing of a long-winded, difficult and choppy chapter and the fulfillment of a promise made years ago. And then, on to the much more appealing position of children-rearing and homemaking. Sounds heavenly from here!
I’ll do my best to remain positive these last few days although it’s hard. I’ve been surviving on a steady diet of short timers for some time now and a resignation letter and another countdown doesn’t help any. But, it’s the busiest time of the year here so I’m hoping for a downhill sprint to the finish. Although my departure won’t be nearly as fantastical as Steven Slater, it will likely bring me the same degree of satisfaction!
“Take this job and shove it I ain't workin' here no more!”
--Johnny Paycheck
I’ll do my best to remain positive these last few days although it’s hard. I’ve been surviving on a steady diet of short timers for some time now and a resignation letter and another countdown doesn’t help any. But, it’s the busiest time of the year here so I’m hoping for a downhill sprint to the finish. Although my departure won’t be nearly as fantastical as Steven Slater, it will likely bring me the same degree of satisfaction!
“Take this job and shove it I ain't workin' here no more!”
--Johnny Paycheck
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Basket Case
Gus and I spent the morning cleaning up clutter and packing away nonessential items in preparation for our move to Seattle. I sorted through my craft project basket and found there a pattern for making a basket which I bought on our visit to Harper's Ferry last year.
The package said "For years 8 and up" so I figured easy enough, right?
First, I took out the package contents and soaked the wood strips:
Then, I wove a square to create the bottom of the basket:
After folding up the spokes to create the sides of the basket I began weaving, first with 1/2 inch weaver and then with 1/4 inch:
Once the basket reached the desired height, I added the handle and pinned the basket's upper rim into place, wrapping a 1/4 inch reed around the rim to secure:
And, the finished product!
It's not perfect and there were some frustrating moments, but overall this was a fun project and a great way to spend a Saturday afternoon!
The package said "For years 8 and up" so I figured easy enough, right?
First, I took out the package contents and soaked the wood strips:
Then, I wove a square to create the bottom of the basket:
After folding up the spokes to create the sides of the basket I began weaving, first with 1/2 inch weaver and then with 1/4 inch:
Once the basket reached the desired height, I added the handle and pinned the basket's upper rim into place, wrapping a 1/4 inch reed around the rim to secure:
And, the finished product!
It's not perfect and there were some frustrating moments, but overall this was a fun project and a great way to spend a Saturday afternoon!
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Out of Towners
How is it that some time can pass so quickly while other drags on into eternity? The past week since my mom and stepdad arrived has gone in the blink of an eye. We've been so busy! Last Thursday night, we went to our first Phillies game which was great fun. The packed stadium of 50,000 plus was a sea of cheering fans in hometown red. The team rallied in the ninth inning but lost. Still, a great time!
The next day we left for Milford, Pennsylvania to stay at the Hotel Fauchere. The trip up there lasted way longer than we expected due to summer road construction, but once we finally arrived we found the hotel to be incredibly comfortable and relaxing. We spent the next two days enjoying our rooms and exploring the town of Milford. In the town's museum, the flag that Abraham Lincoln's head rested on after he was shot is displayed.
On Monday, we left for Gettysburg, another long car ride but not as many delays this time. We stayed in a fantastic bed and breakfast called The Brickhouse Inn, very near the quaint town's center. We hired a guide to take us around the national park in our car, which was a great choice as he was an incredibly knowledgeable and interesting person from whom we all learned a great deal. The museum of the park was great as well with a film, cyclorama and many Civil War artifacts that were fascinating to look at. What a lovely day!
Today we returned to Philadelphia, dropped off the guys and my mom and I drove out to Terrain at Styer's Nursery one last time together. It made me sad to think this is the last time we'll visit this store (which we absolutely love!) together. I'll probably visit one or twice more before we leave.
A few photos of our B&B in Gettysburg:
The next day we left for Milford, Pennsylvania to stay at the Hotel Fauchere. The trip up there lasted way longer than we expected due to summer road construction, but once we finally arrived we found the hotel to be incredibly comfortable and relaxing. We spent the next two days enjoying our rooms and exploring the town of Milford. In the town's museum, the flag that Abraham Lincoln's head rested on after he was shot is displayed.
On Monday, we left for Gettysburg, another long car ride but not as many delays this time. We stayed in a fantastic bed and breakfast called The Brickhouse Inn, very near the quaint town's center. We hired a guide to take us around the national park in our car, which was a great choice as he was an incredibly knowledgeable and interesting person from whom we all learned a great deal. The museum of the park was great as well with a film, cyclorama and many Civil War artifacts that were fascinating to look at. What a lovely day!
Today we returned to Philadelphia, dropped off the guys and my mom and I drove out to Terrain at Styer's Nursery one last time together. It made me sad to think this is the last time we'll visit this store (which we absolutely love!) together. I'll probably visit one or twice more before we leave.
A few photos of our B&B in Gettysburg:
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Visitors
Today my mom and John arrive in Philadelphia after driving across the country from Seattle. They'll take the train back home, as the plan is to leave their SUV here so we can drive it back come November. It's larger and plusher than our car which will make for a more comfortable ride, especially now that I'll be 26 weeks along.
We have a lot of fun activities planned during their visit including a nice trip out of town, but tonight, after they settle in to their hotel and rest, we're making dinner at our house. We're going to have spinach dip with homemade pita chips (not the usual recipe but a great dressed up one from Everyday Food), spatchcocked chicken with garbanzo beans, cilantro and lime, rice and salad. For dessert, last night I whipped up (literally) a blackberry fool that looks fantastic!
So looking forward to seeing some familiar faces and enjoying our time together!
We have a lot of fun activities planned during their visit including a nice trip out of town, but tonight, after they settle in to their hotel and rest, we're making dinner at our house. We're going to have spinach dip with homemade pita chips (not the usual recipe but a great dressed up one from Everyday Food), spatchcocked chicken with garbanzo beans, cilantro and lime, rice and salad. For dessert, last night I whipped up (literally) a blackberry fool that looks fantastic!
So looking forward to seeing some familiar faces and enjoying our time together!
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Happy Anniversary!
Today is my tenth wedding anniversary, at once an age ago and yet unbelievable that a decade has passed between today and August 12, 2000.
Over the years, my memory of our wedding ceremony and reception has faded. I know there are a million details from that day that I've forgotten. What was fresh the next day, the next week or even the next year has been lost over time, mixed in with so much life lived in the meantime. Despite these losses, to be re-remembered only in our wedding video, a few photographs and the recall of others, there is one element of that day that has remained for me crystal clear, as fresh as that bright, sunny day ten years ago.
It's not my dress, although it was gorgeous. It's not the band, although they were catchy! It's not the food, although it was tasty. And it's not even the rings, although they were shiny. Believe it or not, it's actually our wedding vows. And really, the whole reason for the event and its pomp and gaiety at all. Call my corny or completely cliche, but I admit I really do repeat our vows to myself every so often and have done so consistently over the last ten years. Under my breath as I walk to the train. As I sweep the living room floor. At night before I fall asleep. While gardening. Not every day, certainly, not every month, but often enough to check in with those seven said lines and know I've kept my word each and every day. To see how that promise applies to our lives right now, differently or similar to years past and how I will continue keep it true in the many years ahead.
And so, from memory, the most important words I've ever said, in celebration and in honor of ten special years:
Over the years, my memory of our wedding ceremony and reception has faded. I know there are a million details from that day that I've forgotten. What was fresh the next day, the next week or even the next year has been lost over time, mixed in with so much life lived in the meantime. Despite these losses, to be re-remembered only in our wedding video, a few photographs and the recall of others, there is one element of that day that has remained for me crystal clear, as fresh as that bright, sunny day ten years ago.
It's not my dress, although it was gorgeous. It's not the band, although they were catchy! It's not the food, although it was tasty. And it's not even the rings, although they were shiny. Believe it or not, it's actually our wedding vows. And really, the whole reason for the event and its pomp and gaiety at all. Call my corny or completely cliche, but I admit I really do repeat our vows to myself every so often and have done so consistently over the last ten years. Under my breath as I walk to the train. As I sweep the living room floor. At night before I fall asleep. While gardening. Not every day, certainly, not every month, but often enough to check in with those seven said lines and know I've kept my word each and every day. To see how that promise applies to our lives right now, differently or similar to years past and how I will continue keep it true in the many years ahead.
And so, from memory, the most important words I've ever said, in celebration and in honor of ten special years:
I take you, Gustavo, to be my husband and these things I promise you:
I will be faithful to you and honest with you.
I will respect, trust, help and care for you.
I will share my life with you.
I will forgive you as we have been forgiven,
and I will try with you to better understand ourselves, the world, and God,
through the best and worst of what is to come, as long as we live.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Forget-Me-Not
Today someone stood me up. We were supposed to meet for lunch but she never showed. I called and left a message but she didn't answer so that was that. I had a moment of politely wondering if something terrible had happened but deep down you know that's not the case. She just forgot, I guess. Which happens, I suppose.
Not as easily forgotten as a missed lunch date are the times when this has happened to you; fortunately, these moments do not come often. Maybe ten years ago I invited a friend for dinner. Gus and I bought the wine, made the dinner, set the table and waited. And waited. Dinner grew cold, the candles burned down, the wine was drunk as the sky darkened. She never showed. I called, but nothing. She had, simply, forgotten. Of course, the next day when she checked her answering machine she was mortified, but by then it really is too late. On her end promises were made for a redo, but we didn't invite her back and the friendship soon fizzled.
Oh well, happens to the best of us, right?
Not as easily forgotten as a missed lunch date are the times when this has happened to you; fortunately, these moments do not come often. Maybe ten years ago I invited a friend for dinner. Gus and I bought the wine, made the dinner, set the table and waited. And waited. Dinner grew cold, the candles burned down, the wine was drunk as the sky darkened. She never showed. I called, but nothing. She had, simply, forgotten. Of course, the next day when she checked her answering machine she was mortified, but by then it really is too late. On her end promises were made for a redo, but we didn't invite her back and the friendship soon fizzled.
Oh well, happens to the best of us, right?
"Ill customs and bad advice are seldom forgotten."
--Benjamin Franklin
Monday, August 9, 2010
Panza Llena
On Saturday, Gus made a big pot of pinto beans, which meant this morning I was in for a real treat. For breakfast, he made homemade refried beans and eggs with a flour tortilla. The only item that would have made it better was some fresh salsa, but we were short on time and tomatoes so, next time. In any event, the true breakfast of champions!
-----
In other news, today was the first day I found I couldn't button my favorite pair of Sevens so I had to cut the tags off my "Tummy Tube" and slip it on. It's very comfortable and definitely does the job of extending the life of your pre-pregnancy jeans because you can leave the jeans unbuttoned and the tube keeps them in place.
So far, the most annoying part of being pregnant, since I seemed to have skipped morning sickness, has been the vast quantities of unsolicited and unwanted advice that comes your way from anyone and everyone who has ever had a baby or been within a one mile radius of a baby sometime in the last sixty years. Amongst the masses has been a fair share of ladies that seriously doubt that I could possibly be showing before they did, which I've gathered from the comments with a singleton is not this early. Well, with twins, your bump is 6-8 weeks ahead of a single so my slight showing at 11 weeks is right on track.
The jeans don't lie ladies.
And no, it's not because I ate a Paul Bunyon-sized breakfast either. The jeans were on before I tucked in to Gus' cooking.
-----
In other news, today was the first day I found I couldn't button my favorite pair of Sevens so I had to cut the tags off my "Tummy Tube" and slip it on. It's very comfortable and definitely does the job of extending the life of your pre-pregnancy jeans because you can leave the jeans unbuttoned and the tube keeps them in place.
So far, the most annoying part of being pregnant, since I seemed to have skipped morning sickness, has been the vast quantities of unsolicited and unwanted advice that comes your way from anyone and everyone who has ever had a baby or been within a one mile radius of a baby sometime in the last sixty years. Amongst the masses has been a fair share of ladies that seriously doubt that I could possibly be showing before they did, which I've gathered from the comments with a singleton is not this early. Well, with twins, your bump is 6-8 weeks ahead of a single so my slight showing at 11 weeks is right on track.
The jeans don't lie ladies.
And no, it's not because I ate a Paul Bunyon-sized breakfast either. The jeans were on before I tucked in to Gus' cooking.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Yoga for Three
Last night, I attended my first prenatal yoga class, at my usual yoga studio The Yoga Garden in Narberth, PA. I was hesitant to attend prior to this week, feeling it was too early and even at ten weeks I was worried I wouldn't fit in with all the second and third trimester bellies. My slight fears were for naught, though, as there were women at all stages of pregnancy. Being pregnant with twins is a great ice breaker, even with this crowd, as people had plenty of questions.
It was great to be in a class completely focused on the unique changes the dozen or so of us are experiencing. The poses we did were centered around stretching, flexibility and strength helpful during pregnancy and birth. We also did two sets of Kegels and plenty of breathing exercises. During savasana (modified for those further along), the instructor reminded us that our babies are completely content right now. They have everything they need and they are happy and relaxed in the homes being provided to them. So when we are stressed in our daily lives, she suggested that it's okay to draw on their calm as a source of strength and use this a reminder to take it easy. I really liked this idea and it provided a great visual.
Looking forward to next week's class!
It was great to be in a class completely focused on the unique changes the dozen or so of us are experiencing. The poses we did were centered around stretching, flexibility and strength helpful during pregnancy and birth. We also did two sets of Kegels and plenty of breathing exercises. During savasana (modified for those further along), the instructor reminded us that our babies are completely content right now. They have everything they need and they are happy and relaxed in the homes being provided to them. So when we are stressed in our daily lives, she suggested that it's okay to draw on their calm as a source of strength and use this a reminder to take it easy. I really liked this idea and it provided a great visual.
Looking forward to next week's class!
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Full Circle
For fourteen years, our little family has been just Gus and me. No roommates, no pets, never so much as a gulping goldfish has kept us company. I suppose one could say our family circle has been more like a rectangle these many years, as each of my hands is held in his, strong, soft and sure. It's nice here, in our little box, comfortable, quiet and all to ourselves. The rare opportunity to live long and deeply without interruption with another person, his shoulder, arm and outstretched hands melding into mine until one can hardly be distinguished from the other, much less separated.
And so, in the days of late, it has been with great wonder that the two of us have begun the process of extracting one hand each from the other, slowly creaking one set side of our elongated square open to welcome not one, but two into our small midst. Each of us readying to reach out for a new hand that will become as familiar as the one just let go. In this, a true circle will now be formed as we begin a new journey, anchored in the same love and commitment that has guided us this far, as we await the arrival of twin babies on, or likely before, February 26, 2011.
And so, in the days of late, it has been with great wonder that the two of us have begun the process of extracting one hand each from the other, slowly creaking one set side of our elongated square open to welcome not one, but two into our small midst. Each of us readying to reach out for a new hand that will become as familiar as the one just let go. In this, a true circle will now be formed as we begin a new journey, anchored in the same love and commitment that has guided us this far, as we await the arrival of twin babies on, or likely before, February 26, 2011.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Repentish
Okay Philly, I'm semi sorta slightly sorry, but only just.
The wet heat built and built until the pressure burst and a rumbling storm crashed through the city, slapping and swirling its wet, windy way east, lightening in streaks across the dark sky. When I stepped outside after my acupuncture appointment into its drizzly aftermath, I found the air surprisingly...nice? Clean. Breathable. By the time we arrived home, it was downright lovely. The air conditioners shuddered to a welcome stop and windows were yanked open to welcome the fresh breezy air and birdsong, temperatures which fell to the unfamiliar mid-60s by morning.
Maybe it's not so bad here after all, only just ever so slightly maybe and that's completely contingent on this livable weather pattern sticking around. Otherwise, we're back to shameless spit and vinegar.
The wet heat built and built until the pressure burst and a rumbling storm crashed through the city, slapping and swirling its wet, windy way east, lightening in streaks across the dark sky. When I stepped outside after my acupuncture appointment into its drizzly aftermath, I found the air surprisingly...nice? Clean. Breathable. By the time we arrived home, it was downright lovely. The air conditioners shuddered to a welcome stop and windows were yanked open to welcome the fresh breezy air and birdsong, temperatures which fell to the unfamiliar mid-60s by morning.
Maybe it's not so bad here after all, only just ever so slightly maybe and that's completely contingent on this livable weather pattern sticking around. Otherwise, we're back to shameless spit and vinegar.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Major Grump.
I hate summer. There, I said it. I suppose I could qualify and say this particular summer in this particular city is the object of my ire but why bother.
Although I'm sure spring was in there somewhere, it feels as though we went from this nightmare to its current incarnation, a neverending stretch of sweltering 90 degree plus weather, the days only defined by whether or not the humidity is also stifling and whether or not a severe, soaking thunderstorm is in the forecast.
I'm still trying to figure out the definition of this "Summer Fun" people gab on about. Sweating at dawn, sucking down Freon, literally unable to go outside, what the hell is so fun about this crap? Maybe if I was a Main Line housewife, wiling away the heat lounging by the pool under an umbrella in linen and flip-flops, sipping lemonade and browsing the latest Lilly Pulitzer catalog (actually, scratch that last one as that shit's nasty) things wouldn't seem so bad, but for the rest of us that don't have a porch, much less a pool, and, anyway, have to schlep downtown everyday by the power of our own two feet where it's even hotter, stinkier and more miserable than the 'burbs, I really don't see the yearly appeal.
Check the weather report for Ardmore, PA anytime, any day and all you'll see is complete misery as far as a squinting, sunburned eye can see. If I didn't know I'm escaping this pulsing inferno in - what's that I see, 116 days? - I'd have to seriously question my overall mental stability to stay in this burnt-to-a-crisp hellhole. Don't all these millions of people realize it doesn't have to be this way? That there can be life without crushing humidity, constant air conditioning, flash floods and excessive heat warnings every time you turn around? On second thought, never mind. Let them continue to think we all still deck ourselves out in grunge flannel, hug trees, eat tempeh and live in log cabins singing Kumbaya to the fertility goddesses. That is rains a lot out there. Oh, and that "you'se all don't have decent pizza and hoagies." Yes, heaven forbid one can't find gray meat, processed cheese product and sodium on a bun. At least we don't have this shade of shit summer weather.
Although I'm sure spring was in there somewhere, it feels as though we went from this nightmare to its current incarnation, a neverending stretch of sweltering 90 degree plus weather, the days only defined by whether or not the humidity is also stifling and whether or not a severe, soaking thunderstorm is in the forecast.
I'm still trying to figure out the definition of this "Summer Fun" people gab on about. Sweating at dawn, sucking down Freon, literally unable to go outside, what the hell is so fun about this crap? Maybe if I was a Main Line housewife, wiling away the heat lounging by the pool under an umbrella in linen and flip-flops, sipping lemonade and browsing the latest Lilly Pulitzer catalog (actually, scratch that last one as that shit's nasty) things wouldn't seem so bad, but for the rest of us that don't have a porch, much less a pool, and, anyway, have to schlep downtown everyday by the power of our own two feet where it's even hotter, stinkier and more miserable than the 'burbs, I really don't see the yearly appeal.
Check the weather report for Ardmore, PA anytime, any day and all you'll see is complete misery as far as a squinting, sunburned eye can see. If I didn't know I'm escaping this pulsing inferno in - what's that I see, 116 days? - I'd have to seriously question my overall mental stability to stay in this burnt-to-a-crisp hellhole. Don't all these millions of people realize it doesn't have to be this way? That there can be life without crushing humidity, constant air conditioning, flash floods and excessive heat warnings every time you turn around? On second thought, never mind. Let them continue to think we all still deck ourselves out in grunge flannel, hug trees, eat tempeh and live in log cabins singing Kumbaya to the fertility goddesses. That is rains a lot out there. Oh, and that "you'se all don't have decent pizza and hoagies." Yes, heaven forbid one can't find gray meat, processed cheese product and sodium on a bun. At least we don't have this shade of shit summer weather.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Jailbird
Warden, release me from these four walls early for (pretty) good behavior. I’ve done my time fair and square but I’m ready and able to move on to a world outside this one. An ongoing heat wave has put temperatures above 90 for weeks on end. Foreseen changes at work have flushed my job satisfaction down the dank metal toilet. Standard issue rose-colored glasses removed, this city prison’s good is eclipsed by its persistent and prominent bad and ugly.
I’ve done my best to wait out my 30-month sentence. I’ve played nice with my cellmates. I’ve lived within these confines, accepted situations beyond my control. I’ve eaten the unfamiliar food, drank the tepid water, looked beyond the dirt and grime to squint at the blue skies above. I’ve zipped my lip against the powers that be and rules I don’t abide. I’ve been rehabilitated to not believe this city a complete wasteland and I’ll do my best to defend its principles against critics outside these walls.
But it’s time now to rid me once and for all of this steamy, sweaty and overcrowded concrete jail. Hand me my papers, roll shut the barbed wire fence, and see me down the street, until I'm just a speck on the horizon, kicking up your dust toward the Pacific sunset.
Load the car and write the note.
Grab your bag and grab your coat.
Tell the ones that need to know.
We are headednorth west.
One foot in and one foot back.
But it don’t pay to live like that.
So I cut the ties and I jumped the track.
For never to return.
--“I and Love and You,” The Avett Brothers
I’ve done my best to wait out my 30-month sentence. I’ve played nice with my cellmates. I’ve lived within these confines, accepted situations beyond my control. I’ve eaten the unfamiliar food, drank the tepid water, looked beyond the dirt and grime to squint at the blue skies above. I’ve zipped my lip against the powers that be and rules I don’t abide. I’ve been rehabilitated to not believe this city a complete wasteland and I’ll do my best to defend its principles against critics outside these walls.
But it’s time now to rid me once and for all of this steamy, sweaty and overcrowded concrete jail. Hand me my papers, roll shut the barbed wire fence, and see me down the street, until I'm just a speck on the horizon, kicking up your dust toward the Pacific sunset.
Load the car and write the note.
Grab your bag and grab your coat.
Tell the ones that need to know.
We are headed
One foot in and one foot back.
But it don’t pay to live like that.
So I cut the ties and I jumped the track.
For never to return.
--“I and Love and You,” The Avett Brothers
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Domestique
Despite the fact that here in Philadelphia we are on our fifth heat wave of the season and the calendar says summer began June 21, for me, the true start of summer began yesterday. This year, July 3 marks the start of the 97th Tour de France. For many, this cycling race is the only one they pay attention to, but not in this house. Here, cycling is followed all year long, each and every day. The off season team moves and rumors, the Tour of Qatar, the Tour Down Under and the Tour of California, giving way to the Spring Classics sprinkled throughout Europe, the Giro, all these races leading up to the twenty stages of The Tour, the climax of the season, this year starting off the excitement in Rotterdam before heading south to France. From now until the laps on the Champs Élysées, our lives will be non-stop cycling -- online, on television, in magazines and in conversation, cycling, cycling, cycling.
Cycling is my husband's die hard hobby but I'm a fan in my own way, doing my best to keep up with the excitement of the race leaders, teams, sprints, mountains, road rash, flat tires, trash talking and, unfortunately but invariably, doping allegations. Perhaps best of all, I love the views the Tour provides of back roads of France, as the peleton snakes between villages, flanked with towering plane trees and thousands of fans.
Vive le Tour!
Cycling is my husband's die hard hobby but I'm a fan in my own way, doing my best to keep up with the excitement of the race leaders, teams, sprints, mountains, road rash, flat tires, trash talking and, unfortunately but invariably, doping allegations. Perhaps best of all, I love the views the Tour provides of back roads of France, as the peleton snakes between villages, flanked with towering plane trees and thousands of fans.
Vive le Tour!
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Bucket List
A few months back, with our time in Philadelphia finite, Gus and I made a "Bucket List" of sorts. A list of stuff we want to do, food we want to eat, places we want to go (for the first time or to revisit), before we leave the east coast and its unique offerings behind.
One entry on the list was to revisit New York City, stay overnight and dine at a spectacular restaurant. A couple we're close with was also interested so the four of us put our heads together and made plans for a fantastic weekend, which has finally arrived and begins tomorrow!
A well-timed coupon lets us stay at the recently opened Hotel Eventi in Chelsea for only $199 a night, an all but unheard of price for nice digs the Big Apple; the Mega Bus will have us arriving into Midtown in style. But the real highlight of the trip will be tomorrow evening, when we taxi to dinner reservations at Daniel for 6:30 PM. Yes, Daniel, the restaurant of French chef Daniel Boulud that was recently awarded three coveted Michelin stars and is ranked as one of the top ten restaurants in the world. It's a splurge, yes, but we've saved our pennies and, c'mon, you only live once...and you definitely only live in Philadelphia once! This is not likely to be an opportunity that will pass this way again, what with us living down the street from New York and our dear friends close by to share in the extravaganza.
And so suits pressed, jewelry packed, reservations printed and menus sufficiently drooled over, we are all madly texting one another like Twihard tweens with giddy countdowns to the grand event. Tall tales of gastronomic gluttony to surely follow...
One entry on the list was to revisit New York City, stay overnight and dine at a spectacular restaurant. A couple we're close with was also interested so the four of us put our heads together and made plans for a fantastic weekend, which has finally arrived and begins tomorrow!
A well-timed coupon lets us stay at the recently opened Hotel Eventi in Chelsea for only $199 a night, an all but unheard of price for nice digs the Big Apple; the Mega Bus will have us arriving into Midtown in style. But the real highlight of the trip will be tomorrow evening, when we taxi to dinner reservations at Daniel for 6:30 PM. Yes, Daniel, the restaurant of French chef Daniel Boulud that was recently awarded three coveted Michelin stars and is ranked as one of the top ten restaurants in the world. It's a splurge, yes, but we've saved our pennies and, c'mon, you only live once...and you definitely only live in Philadelphia once! This is not likely to be an opportunity that will pass this way again, what with us living down the street from New York and our dear friends close by to share in the extravaganza.
And so suits pressed, jewelry packed, reservations printed and menus sufficiently drooled over, we are all madly texting one another like Twihard tweens with giddy countdowns to the grand event. Tall tales of gastronomic gluttony to surely follow...
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Oppressive Regime
Today the heat is stifling, gobbling up every molecule of air with its slobbery lips and hot breath. What's left surrounds you tightly like a big hug from a bear wrapped in a wet wool blanket, quickening your heart and slowing your pace, leaving your hands sticky and your feet bloated. The humid temps of August without the promise of September. My energy use guilt creeps up with the mercury as the air conditioner remains on a continuous cycle of cooling. Relief may be just a cloud away -- as I pulled the laundry off the line, towels scratchy against my legs, thunder rolled across the horizon and a few drops of rain darkened the bedsheets.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Holy Lunch Hour!
Trapped beneath the fluorescent lighting and feeling a desperate need for a little spiritual uplifting, I came to the idea of googling mid-day church services in University City. As rare of late luck would have it, a Lutheran church offered Eucharist starting in fifteen minutes. I made the quick two over, four up walk to their location, silently walking into the narthex where a small number of chairs had been arranged in a semi-circle. I chose one and settled in, holding the new red hymnal on my lap.
After quieting a few familiar and friendly but noisy inebriated folks outside, the young pastor began the service. It was just him, three older men, and me. Scripture was read and prayers recited as we sat around a cross-shaped pool. The doors to the outside were open, bringing in a strong, rustling breeze along with busy street noise. With it, the wind carried the sound of our three part a capella harmony, clear and in tune albeit bottom heavy on two familiar tunes. Many passers-by glanced in curiously at the hearty hymn sounds of our motley group, but the embarrassment of my youth at participating openly in something like this was long, long gone.
Peace given and brochure taken, I rejoined the masses on an increasingly hot and crowded city sidewalk and right-angled my way back to the windowless abyss of nine to five.
After quieting a few familiar and friendly but noisy inebriated folks outside, the young pastor began the service. It was just him, three older men, and me. Scripture was read and prayers recited as we sat around a cross-shaped pool. The doors to the outside were open, bringing in a strong, rustling breeze along with busy street noise. With it, the wind carried the sound of our three part a capella harmony, clear and in tune albeit bottom heavy on two familiar tunes. Many passers-by glanced in curiously at the hearty hymn sounds of our motley group, but the embarrassment of my youth at participating openly in something like this was long, long gone.
Peace given and brochure taken, I rejoined the masses on an increasingly hot and crowded city sidewalk and right-angled my way back to the windowless abyss of nine to five.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Old School
Nary a leaf is moving here in Lower Merion, a haze hangs on me and my every word. Nevertheless, the air conditioner is off and an incoming storm is on our hopeful radar. Lacking a microwave, Gus reheats leftovers for dinner in boiling water and tin foil, washed down with a freezer-chilled Chardonnay. Our kitchen table, moved to the living room for a floor cleaning and not yet returned, allows me a television show during dinner. My selection, a Carole King and James Taylor reunion concert on PBS. Am I thirty-four or sixty-four?
This music is goodly reminiscent for many, including me, twice over, some might say thirty years too young. Once is my first time around -- my mom playing LPs on the record player, singing along in a clear, young voice to Carole and Cat, Mary, Peter and Paul. Humming along to Bill. Garfunkel and Simon. Joni. There was nothing to entertain, no Einsteins, baby or otherwise, just record jackets, kitchens, gardens and the wide world around me.
The second is much later, 2001, having returned from an extended vacation in Europe. I was unemployed and looking, but meanwhile, taking continuing education guitar lessons and living in Greenwood. Trying with Gus to hash out the next chapter following his decision mid-Sicily to go back to school. On a whim, we sold our piece of shit and paid cash for a roadside car with a real personality, a Volkwswagen Type 3 Squareback, a gal whose presence I miss to this day.
In any event, I remember rattling the old girl's stick shift back and forth to strumming lessons, listening ad nauseum to a James Taylor CD, made possible by a dummy cassette tape I inserted into my car's dash, which simultaneously plugged into a walkman, allowed James' clear voice to come through my small stock speakers, circa 1973.
Those are good times, both. Different and simple, but good times and ones I miss sincerely this hot faraway night.
There's a song that they sing when they take to the highway/
A song that they sing when they take to the sea/
A song that they sing of their home in the sky/
Maybe you can believe it if it helps you to sleep/
But singing works just fine for me.
--James Taylor "Sweet Baby James"
This music is goodly reminiscent for many, including me, twice over, some might say thirty years too young. Once is my first time around -- my mom playing LPs on the record player, singing along in a clear, young voice to Carole and Cat, Mary, Peter and Paul. Humming along to Bill. Garfunkel and Simon. Joni. There was nothing to entertain, no Einsteins, baby or otherwise, just record jackets, kitchens, gardens and the wide world around me.
The second is much later, 2001, having returned from an extended vacation in Europe. I was unemployed and looking, but meanwhile, taking continuing education guitar lessons and living in Greenwood. Trying with Gus to hash out the next chapter following his decision mid-Sicily to go back to school. On a whim, we sold our piece of shit and paid cash for a roadside car with a real personality, a Volkwswagen Type 3 Squareback, a gal whose presence I miss to this day.
In any event, I remember rattling the old girl's stick shift back and forth to strumming lessons, listening ad nauseum to a James Taylor CD, made possible by a dummy cassette tape I inserted into my car's dash, which simultaneously plugged into a walkman, allowed James' clear voice to come through my small stock speakers, circa 1973.
Those are good times, both. Different and simple, but good times and ones I miss sincerely this hot faraway night.
There's a song that they sing when they take to the highway/
A song that they sing when they take to the sea/
A song that they sing of their home in the sky/
Maybe you can believe it if it helps you to sleep/
But singing works just fine for me.
--James Taylor "Sweet Baby James"
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Smarty Pants
Today is a momentous occasion and, for once, it has nothing to do with countdowns, checklists, gowns or graduation. This is, in fact, an accomplishment all my own. This morning, for the first time ever, I completely completed the New York Times Sunday crossword.
I've enjoyed the challenge of crosswords for as long as I can remember. My grandma always worked them, and I remember sitting beside her on the couch trying my best to help her with the "Word Jumble" in the daily paper. In college, I would do my best with the Merl Reagle crossword, with spotty success, looking only briefly at the more difficult Will Shortz offering on the opposite page of the Tribune. But for the last four or five years, I've diligently tried my hand at the Sunday New York Times version. Some weeks are better than others, and I have come painfully close a few times but, up until today, I have never been able to completely finish a large grid.
There are some rules to my game: No help from anywhere, which means no dictionary, no Google, no husband. He's not allowed to fiddle with the crossword or call out any answers. And there's no time limit, meaning I sometimes work on the puzzle through the week until the next Sunday's arrives. Also, I don't do weekday puzzles, only Sunday.
And so, today, finally! I completed a full puzzle. I could hardly believe it when I filled in the last letter, I looked over the page again and again thinking there must be one or two clues I'd missed. But no, I had figured out every last one. What a long-awaited accomplishment this is!
Before it's taped to the fridge, here's the prize puzzle:
And its closeup:
I've enjoyed the challenge of crosswords for as long as I can remember. My grandma always worked them, and I remember sitting beside her on the couch trying my best to help her with the "Word Jumble" in the daily paper. In college, I would do my best with the Merl Reagle crossword, with spotty success, looking only briefly at the more difficult Will Shortz offering on the opposite page of the Tribune. But for the last four or five years, I've diligently tried my hand at the Sunday New York Times version. Some weeks are better than others, and I have come painfully close a few times but, up until today, I have never been able to completely finish a large grid.
There are some rules to my game: No help from anywhere, which means no dictionary, no Google, no husband. He's not allowed to fiddle with the crossword or call out any answers. And there's no time limit, meaning I sometimes work on the puzzle through the week until the next Sunday's arrives. Also, I don't do weekday puzzles, only Sunday.
And so, today, finally! I completed a full puzzle. I could hardly believe it when I filled in the last letter, I looked over the page again and again thinking there must be one or two clues I'd missed. But no, I had figured out every last one. What a long-awaited accomplishment this is!
Before it's taped to the fridge, here's the prize puzzle:
And its closeup:
Monday, May 24, 2010
Helter Swelter - reworked
I finally made it back to the gym today after an unfortunate few week hiatus. In my defense, the gym was closed for a week in there, but the rest of my truancy was due completely to my own excuses and various and sundry other issues that seemed to be in the way of walking two easy blocks from my office and plopping my sorry self down on a stationary bike.
And so I felt some very well-deserved but serious pain in spinning class tonight. Through the haze of the pulsing music and pedaling torture, I was able to conjure up only two other times in my life that I've sweated that much.
One was sitting in a van in 110 degree heat at the base of the caldera on Santorini Island in Greece, waiting on a few straggly bedraggled backpackers before climbing the teetering switchbacks to Oia, some unknown importance having been placed on keeping the windows sealed up and the sliding door firmly closed.
The other time was in Le Kef, Tunisia, this time ratcheting it up to 120 degree heat. Having been stuffed into a five seater long distance taxi and told we were leaving straight away, then waiting indefinitely for a few more interested but dusty traveling Tunisians to bring the car's occupancy to a stuffy, stinky, squished and nearly unbearable seven, with me as the lone lady amongst the sweaty menfolk.
Note to self: Stop skipping spin class, and for the love of God, stop traveling south in August!
And so I felt some very well-deserved but serious pain in spinning class tonight. Through the haze of the pulsing music and pedaling torture, I was able to conjure up only two other times in my life that I've sweated that much.
One was sitting in a van in 110 degree heat at the base of the caldera on Santorini Island in Greece, waiting on a few straggly bedraggled backpackers before climbing the teetering switchbacks to Oia, some unknown importance having been placed on keeping the windows sealed up and the sliding door firmly closed.
The other time was in Le Kef, Tunisia, this time ratcheting it up to 120 degree heat. Having been stuffed into a five seater long distance taxi and told we were leaving straight away, then waiting indefinitely for a few more interested but dusty traveling Tunisians to bring the car's occupancy to a stuffy, stinky, squished and nearly unbearable seven, with me as the lone lady amongst the sweaty menfolk.
Note to self: Stop skipping spin class, and for the love of God, stop traveling south in August!
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Garden Update
My next door neighbor asked if I'd be setting up a flower stand anytime soon, and I'd have to agree - we are definitely in full bloom! Look at all the beautiful colors:
Here is my fragrant Sweet William. I still can't believe it grew from seed. In the front are my herbs and a flourishing lavender, which I plan to pot and take back with me to Seattle. After I finished weeding and taking photos, I picked a beautiful bouquet of the Sweet William, a few peonies and some chive blossoms.
My arugula, lettuce, beets and carrots are coming up nicely. Here they are before I thinned them:
And here, the spring greens salad from the thinning, including beet greens. So delicious and fresh!
Here is my fragrant Sweet William. I still can't believe it grew from seed. In the front are my herbs and a flourishing lavender, which I plan to pot and take back with me to Seattle. After I finished weeding and taking photos, I picked a beautiful bouquet of the Sweet William, a few peonies and some chive blossoms.
My arugula, lettuce, beets and carrots are coming up nicely. Here they are before I thinned them:
And here, the spring greens salad from the thinning, including beet greens. So delicious and fresh!
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Pomp and Circumstance
Hurray! Today Gus graduated!
Okay, not really. He participated in the Villanova School of Nursing's convocation with the rest of the lucky folk that really are graduating now, but he and his anesthesia classmates still don't finish up until November. Still, it was a fun day and a great step toward feeling like this really will be all over someday soon.
When Gus earned his Bachelor of Music, it was a pink tassel, then again with the pink hood for his Master of Music. For his Bachelor of Science in Nursing, we moved over to apricot (ooh la la!) which is where we were today for the Master of Science in Nursing Anesthesia. Fortunately, he looks great in pastels as he apparently picked the two girliest paths toward academic regalia, color-wise at least.
Here's the graduate, waiting for our ride, carefully holding his gown which took me a good thirty minutes to steam the wrinkles from. Looking good!
Meeting up with the rest of the class in the parking lot, here with our good friends Bud and Rheana:
The beautiful Villanova Chapel where the program was held:
And the proud wife with the (almost!) graduate:
Okay, not really. He participated in the Villanova School of Nursing's convocation with the rest of the lucky folk that really are graduating now, but he and his anesthesia classmates still don't finish up until November. Still, it was a fun day and a great step toward feeling like this really will be all over someday soon.
When Gus earned his Bachelor of Music, it was a pink tassel, then again with the pink hood for his Master of Music. For his Bachelor of Science in Nursing, we moved over to apricot (ooh la la!) which is where we were today for the Master of Science in Nursing Anesthesia. Fortunately, he looks great in pastels as he apparently picked the two girliest paths toward academic regalia, color-wise at least.
Here's the graduate, waiting for our ride, carefully holding his gown which took me a good thirty minutes to steam the wrinkles from. Looking good!
Meeting up with the rest of the class in the parking lot, here with our good friends Bud and Rheana:
The beautiful Villanova Chapel where the program was held:
And the proud wife with the (almost!) graduate:
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Burger Joint
For dinner tonight, we tried out a new place in town called Elevation Burger in Wynnewood, PA. Their sustainability shtick seemed like a taste of home, but apparently they're primarily a mid-Atlantic start up franchise with locations (shockingly, given Elevation's commitment to the environment) in Texas and Florida, two states I don't exactly associate with reduce, reuse, recycle.
Hailing from the hallowed land of Dick's Drive In and Burgermaster, I consider myself somewhat of a cheeseburger connoisseur - I definitely know what I like and I've been known to take my burgers seriously. Elevation's offerings are made with 100% grass fed organic beef and topped with real cheddar, with a list of pick-your-own ingredients. I had their cheeseburger with lettuce, tomatoes, raw onions, ketchup and mayonnaise and I must say it was delicious! Not too big, not too small, fresh vegetables (although I do prefer shredded to the leaf they offered), soft bun and a generous serving of sauciness which I like.
On the side, Gus and I split a serving of their fries which are a thinner cut potato fried in olive oil until nice and crispy. I could have used a little more salt but other than that, they were delicious!
I keep hearing that Five Guys Burgers and Fries is also great and it's definitely on our growing list of Things to Eat before we leave.
Hailing from the hallowed land of Dick's Drive In and Burgermaster, I consider myself somewhat of a cheeseburger connoisseur - I definitely know what I like and I've been known to take my burgers seriously. Elevation's offerings are made with 100% grass fed organic beef and topped with real cheddar, with a list of pick-your-own ingredients. I had their cheeseburger with lettuce, tomatoes, raw onions, ketchup and mayonnaise and I must say it was delicious! Not too big, not too small, fresh vegetables (although I do prefer shredded to the leaf they offered), soft bun and a generous serving of sauciness which I like.
On the side, Gus and I split a serving of their fries which are a thinner cut potato fried in olive oil until nice and crispy. I could have used a little more salt but other than that, they were delicious!
I keep hearing that Five Guys Burgers and Fries is also great and it's definitely on our growing list of Things to Eat before we leave.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Perspicacity
And so with that, I'm thirty four. With gifts opened, cards propped and well wishes received, life goes on as it was, except now my second number is bigger than my first. Not my best, but not my worst. Certainly the first birthday I didn't fully embrace, a number I wasn't entirely ready to be.
When I think back to this day a year ago, five years ago, ten, in some ways it feels like reflecting on another person's life lived. Even rereading my post from this year's beginning, confident of a best year ever, now smacks of juvenile naivete, full of rainbows and unicorns and puppies and pink. Because at this wizened age, these mid-thirties I find myself in, I've come to the realization that life is a hell of a lot harder than I thought it would be. Sure, there's a lot of great stuff - really, really great stuff, but there's also a lot of crap. Challenging, painful, difficult, unfair, drawn out crap, and from my vantage point anyway, there seems to be a lot more of it out here at the end of the limb, anted into this game of Risk, on this road less and less taken.
Indeed these days, look though I may, I fear any vestiges of my carefree can-do twenties are well and truly gone. Opportunities to be weak, frivolous and blithe seem to have checked themselves somewhere along the way - Mountain time, the mighty Mississippi, the Montgomery County border, who knows exactly. And what's left in their place? Apparently an urgent need for bravery, patience and resilience in amounts I didn't think I had in me. The opportunity to accept with grace that life once and for all really isn't fair. The achievement of finding the strength to smile (even laugh!) with a wicked big lump in my throat with no one the wiser. The chance to shut up. To speak up. To listen. Really listen. And a million more odd little moments that are both vexingly humbling and oddly empowering.
Is this adulthood? Um, like, I dunno.
When I think back to this day a year ago, five years ago, ten, in some ways it feels like reflecting on another person's life lived. Even rereading my post from this year's beginning, confident of a best year ever, now smacks of juvenile naivete, full of rainbows and unicorns and puppies and pink. Because at this wizened age, these mid-thirties I find myself in, I've come to the realization that life is a hell of a lot harder than I thought it would be. Sure, there's a lot of great stuff - really, really great stuff, but there's also a lot of crap. Challenging, painful, difficult, unfair, drawn out crap, and from my vantage point anyway, there seems to be a lot more of it out here at the end of the limb, anted into this game of Risk, on this road less and less taken.
Indeed these days, look though I may, I fear any vestiges of my carefree can-do twenties are well and truly gone. Opportunities to be weak, frivolous and blithe seem to have checked themselves somewhere along the way - Mountain time, the mighty Mississippi, the Montgomery County border, who knows exactly. And what's left in their place? Apparently an urgent need for bravery, patience and resilience in amounts I didn't think I had in me. The opportunity to accept with grace that life once and for all really isn't fair. The achievement of finding the strength to smile (even laugh!) with a wicked big lump in my throat with no one the wiser. The chance to shut up. To speak up. To listen. Really listen. And a million more odd little moments that are both vexingly humbling and oddly empowering.
Is this adulthood? Um, like, I dunno.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Provençal Dinner
I hate to write about events the day after, but seeing as our dinner with friends didn't wrap up until almost one o'clock this morning, I figure yesterday's news is still fair game.
We hosted friends for dinner last night, and decided to go with a Provençal theme. To start, we made a tapenade which Gus hand pounded with a mortar and pestle we bought in Montreal. It used black Provençal olives, anchovies, garlic, capers, thyme and a little tuna, to which olive oil is added to make a paste. I made an onion tart that starts with a dough which calls for lemon zest. On top of this you add slowly fried onions, olives, garlic and capers. It was absolutely delicious! I also prepared some beautiful purple-tinged asparagus from the Bryn Mawr Farmers Market which I served cold topped with olive oil, lemon zest and chive blossoms from our garden. Here is a photo of the tart just before we warmed it up for our guests:
For the main course, we had our second go at making Soupe de Poissons à la Provençale, a pureed fish soup we first had in France and absolutely fell in love with. It starts with making fish stock (thanks for the fish heads Whole Foods!) to which is added fish chunks, leeks, garlic, tomatoes and a bouquet garni. Once fully cooked, this is run through a food processor, then strained, producing a silky smooth finished product. Thin slices of baguette are spread with a layer of fat and baked and a homemade spiced mayonnaise (Sauce Rouille) was also prepared. The soup is served with the rouille spread on the croûtes, which are then floated on top and sprinkled with Gruyere cheese. It is absolutely heavenly! Here is a photo of the soup pot, full of its fishy goodness:
For dessert, a simple fruit and cheese plate. I served early strawberries, again from the market, sliced apple and globe grapes alongside a true Roquefort, Manchego with rosemary and a goat cheese crotin from Berry, as well as some honey toasted pecans.
Just before our guests arrived, I picked a beautiful bouquet, all from our garden. My Sweet William is blooming, along with a rosebush and some peonies.
What a fun evening!
We hosted friends for dinner last night, and decided to go with a Provençal theme. To start, we made a tapenade which Gus hand pounded with a mortar and pestle we bought in Montreal. It used black Provençal olives, anchovies, garlic, capers, thyme and a little tuna, to which olive oil is added to make a paste. I made an onion tart that starts with a dough which calls for lemon zest. On top of this you add slowly fried onions, olives, garlic and capers. It was absolutely delicious! I also prepared some beautiful purple-tinged asparagus from the Bryn Mawr Farmers Market which I served cold topped with olive oil, lemon zest and chive blossoms from our garden. Here is a photo of the tart just before we warmed it up for our guests:
For the main course, we had our second go at making Soupe de Poissons à la Provençale, a pureed fish soup we first had in France and absolutely fell in love with. It starts with making fish stock (thanks for the fish heads Whole Foods!) to which is added fish chunks, leeks, garlic, tomatoes and a bouquet garni. Once fully cooked, this is run through a food processor, then strained, producing a silky smooth finished product. Thin slices of baguette are spread with a layer of fat and baked and a homemade spiced mayonnaise (Sauce Rouille) was also prepared. The soup is served with the rouille spread on the croûtes, which are then floated on top and sprinkled with Gruyere cheese. It is absolutely heavenly! Here is a photo of the soup pot, full of its fishy goodness:
For dessert, a simple fruit and cheese plate. I served early strawberries, again from the market, sliced apple and globe grapes alongside a true Roquefort, Manchego with rosemary and a goat cheese crotin from Berry, as well as some honey toasted pecans.
Just before our guests arrived, I picked a beautiful bouquet, all from our garden. My Sweet William is blooming, along with a rosebush and some peonies.
What a fun evening!
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Penny Candy
Do you take your rain drizzled and drawn out over weeks and months like a slow, painful leak? Or all in one fell swoop, an opening of the heavens, a bucketful tipped from above? I grew up with the former and now live in the latter. Sunday night and Monday morning brought the spring downpour, producing images like this:
The sight of my muddy puddled garden sending me into a swoon that it will all be swept away, down a drainpipe in a chocolate mint swirl. But as they always do, the floodwaters subside, the garden survives, the sunshine returns and the following days' skies are bluer than the sky is blue, causing me to wonder how there could be any bad in this world or, really, why any of us has to work inside at all. In University City, the air is a deep, hot breath, thick with college confidence, sun-melted tar and too many flowers blooming, the sticky sickly sweet of a half-sucked Jolly Rancher formed to the soft palette like useless orthodontia.
The sight of my muddy puddled garden sending me into a swoon that it will all be swept away, down a drainpipe in a chocolate mint swirl. But as they always do, the floodwaters subside, the garden survives, the sunshine returns and the following days' skies are bluer than the sky is blue, causing me to wonder how there could be any bad in this world or, really, why any of us has to work inside at all. In University City, the air is a deep, hot breath, thick with college confidence, sun-melted tar and too many flowers blooming, the sticky sickly sweet of a half-sucked Jolly Rancher formed to the soft palette like useless orthodontia.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Weekend Recap
Mine was a busy weekend but filled with healthy, relaxing activities. On Friday, we skipped out early and drove to Washington County, Maryland. As we drove west on I-76, the same route we'll take to leave Philadelphia for good, we tried to imagine what that moment would feel like. We arrived at our destination in the late afternoon and unpacked into our Kamping Kabin, seen here:
After a much needed nap, we headed into the closest town, Hagerstown, for (what else?) Maryland crabcakes. Then, early to bed in the still and dark of the near-deserted campground.
The next day we rose early and set out to hike a (very small) portion of the Appalachian Trail. The weather was hot and the hike was steep but it sure felt good to be out of the city into the fresh, albeit wet, spring air of the countryside. Just in the short time we were on it, we saw how varied the Trail is, from thick trees and underbrush to a small path behind a church.
Upon returning home,despite the 90 degree weather and heavy humidity, I spent a good deal of time working out in the garden, saved by a persistent breeze. I had missed on Thursday seeing that my sunflowers are coming in! I can't wait to see how tall they grow over the summer. Today I planted two kinds of pumpkins: Antique French "Cinderella's Carriage" and "Rouge Vif d'Etampes," described as "a very old French Heirloom, the most common pumpkin in the Central Market in Paris in the 1880s." I also planted Sugar Snap Peas (Dwarf Gray Sugar). I installed a homemade pie safe to protect my dill from predators, made from chicken wire and twine:
After a quick trip to the nursery ("Just for tomatoes, Gus"...ha!) I put in a hearty looking basil as well as some additional annuals including Lobelia, "Midget Mix" Stock and a purple Angelonia. Finally, I planted and caged four tomatoes: Heirloom "Mr. Stripey" (how could I resist?) "Black Krim" and "Yellow Pear," and "Sweet 100" cherries. Although the cherry tomatoes are not heirloom, I bought the same last year and had great success both in terms of flavor and prolificacy.
The next day we rose early and set out to hike a (very small) portion of the Appalachian Trail. The weather was hot and the hike was steep but it sure felt good to be out of the city into the fresh, albeit wet, spring air of the countryside. Just in the short time we were on it, we saw how varied the Trail is, from thick trees and underbrush to a small path behind a church.
Upon returning home,despite the 90 degree weather and heavy humidity, I spent a good deal of time working out in the garden, saved by a persistent breeze. I had missed on Thursday seeing that my sunflowers are coming in! I can't wait to see how tall they grow over the summer. Today I planted two kinds of pumpkins: Antique French "Cinderella's Carriage" and "Rouge Vif d'Etampes," described as "a very old French Heirloom, the most common pumpkin in the Central Market in Paris in the 1880s." I also planted Sugar Snap Peas (Dwarf Gray Sugar). I installed a homemade pie safe to protect my dill from predators, made from chicken wire and twine:
After a quick trip to the nursery ("Just for tomatoes, Gus"...ha!) I put in a hearty looking basil as well as some additional annuals including Lobelia, "Midget Mix" Stock and a purple Angelonia. Finally, I planted and caged four tomatoes: Heirloom "Mr. Stripey" (how could I resist?) "Black Krim" and "Yellow Pear," and "Sweet 100" cherries. Although the cherry tomatoes are not heirloom, I bought the same last year and had great success both in terms of flavor and prolificacy.
Bah humbug to Mondays, but look to your left! Only 199 days until I retire and can spend all my time on the good stuff.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Stop, Thief!
Arriving home, arms full of ingredients for dinner, I make a quick stop by the garden to check on progress and harvest a few herbs. Arugula and lettuce are coming in nicely I see, although still too early to thin, and, yes, I can just make out dark red and green beet shoots poking through the soil. Garden peas are slowly making a showing but alas, no sign of peas comma sweet.
But wait, what's this I see? Sacrebleu! There's been an invasion! Indeed, every last top of my adolescent dill has been cruelly lopped off! Upon closer inspection and, adding insult to injury, the fronds lay scattered randomly about, wilting quickly in the late afternoon sun. My eyelids narrow and brow furrows as I channel Mr. McGregor and consider the possible culprits.
Suspect Number One: Humans. I purse my lips in thought but quickly eliminate any upright but not upstanding thieves. I'm on good terms with all neighbors in close proximity and Oliver, the dog next door, is happy to alert his owner (a fellow gardener) to anyone setting foot on the property, friend or foe. On second thought, there are two notoriously unfriendly folks a few doors down, but, no, they wouldn't dare sully their shoes in manure for a dirty deed such as this.
Suspect Number Two: Rabbits. There's plenty of them to go around and they're fast and furious but I eliminate them from the perp list as well. I've a good, strong rabbit-proof fence of high quality chicken wire that I've checked and rechecked for possible entryways. No pawprints were found at the scene, though I did lift a partial from a nearby stake. Still, I say no, a rabbit couldn't have committed this dastardly crime.
Suspect Number Three: Birds. Hm, I intoned, as I twisted my moustache. (No, wait, that's not right!) Hm, I intoned, as I jutted my jaw and looked to the skies. They travel in packs, speak in tongues and rise early enough to see us off for the day. No fence will keep their getaway wings at bay and their small stature draws little attention. The dill was low enough to the ground to favor their spindly, leave-no-trace feet and its stalks just tender enough for the snap! of a concrete-sharpened beak. Yes, my money is on these little rascals, cloaking their innocence in pretty feathers and song, all the while training their beady, calculating eyes on my fledgling dill.
And so, with one last glance at the crime scene, I tag and bag the evidence (still needing it for the salmon, after all) collect my packages and head upstairs to write up my report and plan my thwarting revenge.
But wait, what's this I see? Sacrebleu! There's been an invasion! Indeed, every last top of my adolescent dill has been cruelly lopped off! Upon closer inspection and, adding insult to injury, the fronds lay scattered randomly about, wilting quickly in the late afternoon sun. My eyelids narrow and brow furrows as I channel Mr. McGregor and consider the possible culprits.
Suspect Number One: Humans. I purse my lips in thought but quickly eliminate any upright but not upstanding thieves. I'm on good terms with all neighbors in close proximity and Oliver, the dog next door, is happy to alert his owner (a fellow gardener) to anyone setting foot on the property, friend or foe. On second thought, there are two notoriously unfriendly folks a few doors down, but, no, they wouldn't dare sully their shoes in manure for a dirty deed such as this.
Suspect Number Two: Rabbits. There's plenty of them to go around and they're fast and furious but I eliminate them from the perp list as well. I've a good, strong rabbit-proof fence of high quality chicken wire that I've checked and rechecked for possible entryways. No pawprints were found at the scene, though I did lift a partial from a nearby stake. Still, I say no, a rabbit couldn't have committed this dastardly crime.
Suspect Number Three: Birds. Hm, I intoned, as I twisted my moustache. (No, wait, that's not right!) Hm, I intoned, as I jutted my jaw and looked to the skies. They travel in packs, speak in tongues and rise early enough to see us off for the day. No fence will keep their getaway wings at bay and their small stature draws little attention. The dill was low enough to the ground to favor their spindly, leave-no-trace feet and its stalks just tender enough for the snap! of a concrete-sharpened beak. Yes, my money is on these little rascals, cloaking their innocence in pretty feathers and song, all the while training their beady, calculating eyes on my fledgling dill.
And so, with one last glance at the crime scene, I tag and bag the evidence (still needing it for the salmon, after all) collect my packages and head upstairs to write up my report and plan my thwarting revenge.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Vignettes
The terrible traffic and ramped up security made me suspicious, the sea of Port-a-Potties and a rainbow of tracksuits confirmed it. Today is the start of Penn Relays, the oldest and largest track and field competition in the country. With more than 22,000 high school- and college-age participants, this event is held annually at Franklin Field, just a block from my offices.
-----------------------
Just after the rains had passed, I walked down Walnut Street in the track meet bus shadows across the Schuykill to meet up with a friend. We chatted and ate at Tria Cafe, a busy wine bar on a breezy corner near Rittenhouse Square. The highlight, besides the conversation, was definitely the Tuscan Three Cheese Potato Chips with Herbed Truffle Aioli, aka fancy chip-n-dip. Afterward, we walked the paths of the Square until dizzy; wet, fallen petals sticking to our sandals and hair.
-----------------------
After careful consideration, Gus decided tonight to accept a generous offer to work as a CRNA at Harborview Medical Center in Seattle. The Chief CRNA whom Gus told squealed into the phone, so clearly she is as happy as we are with this news. At 208 days and counting, we now know where we will be post-graduation. Oh, what a feeling!
-----------------------
Just after the rains had passed, I walked down Walnut Street in the track meet bus shadows across the Schuykill to meet up with a friend. We chatted and ate at Tria Cafe, a busy wine bar on a breezy corner near Rittenhouse Square. The highlight, besides the conversation, was definitely the Tuscan Three Cheese Potato Chips with Herbed Truffle Aioli, aka fancy chip-n-dip. Afterward, we walked the paths of the Square until dizzy; wet, fallen petals sticking to our sandals and hair.
-----------------------
After careful consideration, Gus decided tonight to accept a generous offer to work as a CRNA at Harborview Medical Center in Seattle. The Chief CRNA whom Gus told squealed into the phone, so clearly she is as happy as we are with this news. At 208 days and counting, we now know where we will be post-graduation. Oh, what a feeling!
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Purple Pansies
I set my sweet pea seeds to soak last night with the intention of putting them in the ground today. Unfortunately, the weather took a turn for the wetter, but with only a light drizzle falling, my Seattle roots told me it wasn't rain enough to call off the planting.
Donning my winter jacket (unseasonable, but my only hood option) and rainboots, I headed out with spade and seeds for a quick planting. My upstate downstairs neighbors showed up just in time to see me, rear in the air, mucking an awkward backwards path along my garden's fence, carefully pressing a shiny, wet seed into a straight shallow trough.
Minutes later, duty done, I filled my now-empty jam jar with a fragrant posy and headed back upstairs, tramping my caked boots on the uneven cement and wiping my muddy hands on my black sweatpants.
Donning my winter jacket (unseasonable, but my only hood option) and rainboots, I headed out with spade and seeds for a quick planting. My upstate downstairs neighbors showed up just in time to see me, rear in the air, mucking an awkward backwards path along my garden's fence, carefully pressing a shiny, wet seed into a straight shallow trough.
Minutes later, duty done, I filled my now-empty jam jar with a fragrant posy and headed back upstairs, tramping my caked boots on the uneven cement and wiping my muddy hands on my black sweatpants.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
The Pros
For some real garden inspiration, Gus and I skipped church this morning and drove out to Chanticleer Garden in Wayne, Pennsylvania. The weather was sunny but with a cool wind; fortunately, Gus had a few extra sweaters in the car that we put on before we set out to see the grounds.
From the garden's guide: "The estate dates from the early 20th century, when land along the Main Line of the Pennsylvania Railroad was developed for summer homes to escape the heat of Philadelphia. Adolph Rosengarten, Sr., whose family's pharmaceutical firm would become part of Merck & Company, chose the Wayne-St. David's area to build his surburban retreat."
Here is a view of the main house at the entrance to the gardens:
Beds at Chanticleer Terrace:
The darling Spring House in the lower grounds:
And a little pond friend...I thought he was a statue!
Incredible fields of daffodils - some were already spent but there were still plenty to enjoy:
And quite possibly the world's most enviable set of cold frames...if only!
Finally, what could make for a more relaxing spring Sunday, strolling with Gus through such beautiful scenery?
From the garden's guide: "The estate dates from the early 20th century, when land along the Main Line of the Pennsylvania Railroad was developed for summer homes to escape the heat of Philadelphia. Adolph Rosengarten, Sr., whose family's pharmaceutical firm would become part of Merck & Company, chose the Wayne-St. David's area to build his surburban retreat."
Here is a view of the main house at the entrance to the gardens:
Beds at Chanticleer Terrace:
The darling Spring House in the lower grounds:
And a little pond friend...I thought he was a statue!
Incredible fields of daffodils - some were already spent but there were still plenty to enjoy:
And quite possibly the world's most enviable set of cold frames...if only!
Finally, what could make for a more relaxing spring Sunday, strolling with Gus through such beautiful scenery?
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Garden Gnome
Few days send my heart into such a flutter as today, Plant the Garden Day. When we first considered this apartment and I eyed the overgrown but intact raised beds just west of the house, I knew this was the place for us. The first year's garden was the most difficult, removing knee-high weeds and a bumper crop of mint from the forgotten ground, borrowing the neighbor's unruly rototiller, and adding compost and manure. I wasn't sure what would grow here (everything) or how well (think Jack and the Beanstalk) so I tried a little of this, a little of that. Last year, I was overeager and planted too much, resulting in a too-full garden that bordered on the insane.
This year, I've gone back to basics, planting more flowers and the edibles I truly love. I'm using as many heirloom varieties as I could locate, in addition to seeds from a "New Year's Resolution Garden" packet my mom gave me. Each item you plant is related to a common resolution, as you'll see in the details below. The heirloom seeds are either from Baker Creek Heirloom Seeds or D. Landreth Seed Company. Landreth is the oldest seed company in the country, dating from 1784, and located in New Freedom, Pennsylvania.
One of my garden's raised beds is below where an air conditioner drips, so that rectangle is reserved for flowers only. A mess of Sweet William survived the winter and looks fantastic; in its midst I also planted sunflowers ("I will make more family time"), Monarda Bergamo ("I will help the environment") and mixed annual cutting flowers ("I will have less stress"). I also bought a flat of snapdragons, pansies and violas which I added to this bed and to my half-round brick-lined flower bed.
My chives, lavender, Italian parsley and thyme survived, and to these I added cilantro, dill, sage and rosemary. I planted "Rocky Top" heirloom lettuce mix, heirloom Chioggia beets (pre-1840 Italian), carrots "Tonda di Parigi" (19th century Parisian), arugula and Alaska garden peas. I've also cultivated wild strawberries and various mosses which grow in between the bricks and elsewhere in my garden.
Here are most of the herbs with the survivor Sweet William in the background:
Here are the garden peas just before I covered them. Hopefully the birds will leave them alone!
And here is a photo of the lettuce, arugula, beets and carrots, all in a row!
This year, I've gone back to basics, planting more flowers and the edibles I truly love. I'm using as many heirloom varieties as I could locate, in addition to seeds from a "New Year's Resolution Garden" packet my mom gave me. Each item you plant is related to a common resolution, as you'll see in the details below. The heirloom seeds are either from Baker Creek Heirloom Seeds or D. Landreth Seed Company. Landreth is the oldest seed company in the country, dating from 1784, and located in New Freedom, Pennsylvania.
One of my garden's raised beds is below where an air conditioner drips, so that rectangle is reserved for flowers only. A mess of Sweet William survived the winter and looks fantastic; in its midst I also planted sunflowers ("I will make more family time"), Monarda Bergamo ("I will help the environment") and mixed annual cutting flowers ("I will have less stress"). I also bought a flat of snapdragons, pansies and violas which I added to this bed and to my half-round brick-lined flower bed.
My chives, lavender, Italian parsley and thyme survived, and to these I added cilantro, dill, sage and rosemary. I planted "Rocky Top" heirloom lettuce mix, heirloom Chioggia beets (pre-1840 Italian), carrots "Tonda di Parigi" (19th century Parisian), arugula and Alaska garden peas. I've also cultivated wild strawberries and various mosses which grow in between the bricks and elsewhere in my garden.
Here are most of the herbs with the survivor Sweet William in the background:
Here are the garden peas just before I covered them. Hopefully the birds will leave them alone!
And here is a photo of the lettuce, arugula, beets and carrots, all in a row!
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Springtime
Each and every year I'm convinced its glory unleashes overnight, a miracle at work while we sleep. With the absence of Evergreens, the east coast spring is that much lusher, bare to absolutely beautiful. It seems impossible to believe that a few short months ago this ground was covered in inches of snow. Now, everything's a-bloom, fragrant and unfurled, all except the large tree outside our bedroom window. The only living thing holding on to the memory of winter.
On my walk home from work, my ears pricked at a quiet, gentle sound, but one I hadn't heard for a season: the rustling of leaves. I love the shoulder season, between closed windows and air conditioning, when open windows mean my favorite alarm, a cacophony of twittering birds.
Welcome spring!
On my walk home from work, my ears pricked at a quiet, gentle sound, but one I hadn't heard for a season: the rustling of leaves. I love the shoulder season, between closed windows and air conditioning, when open windows mean my favorite alarm, a cacophony of twittering birds.
Welcome spring!
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Absence
For the past few months, it's been difficult for me to come here, to set down my thoughts. I've started a dozen blogs, composed in my mind a dozen more, but none has felt good or important enough to press "Publish Post" for. I can and I can't say why. Apathy. Boredom. Compart. Comport.
It's not as if life hasn't continued to happen, the good, bad and otherwise. I just haven't felt compelled to record its truths and what's been revealed in these first new months.
I want this space to continue to live, so I'll try, try again to remember my experiences here. To put down for posterity these last 224 days.
It's not as if life hasn't continued to happen, the good, bad and otherwise. I just haven't felt compelled to record its truths and what's been revealed in these first new months.
I want this space to continue to live, so I'll try, try again to remember my experiences here. To put down for posterity these last 224 days.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Today
Today, perfect by all definitions. Unseasonably warm weather means a taste of summer months early. The sun's rays wrap around like a blanket dried in its very warmth, afternoon breezes skirt the cheek like a lover's hand.
Taking advantage, we tarried at the park, reading and dreaming, limbs bared to the sky for a guilty chance at color. Later, steaks on the barbecue waft to our attic, Carmenere legs melting in the setting sun. Doves mourn the fading light, robins' heads tilt toward greening grass. A jet plane trains by, blinking west.
Nearby, a dog yips as a boy pedals his bike, its wheels retarded by cards in the spokes. Vroom, vroom, vroom, whir. Out back, a paned window moans open with kitchen curtains fluttering. Voices decry an unexpected smoke alarm. A disco jockey celebrates the weather and announces the next song. Laundry is collected and we reluctantly head inside.
Taking advantage, we tarried at the park, reading and dreaming, limbs bared to the sky for a guilty chance at color. Later, steaks on the barbecue waft to our attic, Carmenere legs melting in the setting sun. Doves mourn the fading light, robins' heads tilt toward greening grass. A jet plane trains by, blinking west.
Nearby, a dog yips as a boy pedals his bike, its wheels retarded by cards in the spokes. Vroom, vroom, vroom, whir. Out back, a paned window moans open with kitchen curtains fluttering. Voices decry an unexpected smoke alarm. A disco jockey celebrates the weather and announces the next song. Laundry is collected and we reluctantly head inside.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Reflection
We are well into the season of Lent, but you wouldn't know it looking at my life. Nothing foregone and no penance made. No new Easter dress in the closet, tags dangling, and (gasp!) even an "Alleluia!" cried at the end of a difficult day. Perhaps worst of all (for my Lutheran guilt-meter, anyway) I haven't attended a one of our church's midweek Lenten services. But, with dinner in the oven and a found pause, this week I finally made the two minute walk to our church for vespers.
Most parishioners were finishing a soup supper in the narthex, giving me the chance to steal a few moments of solitude in the sanctuary. Stained glass windows yawned open to the warm evening, and the unadorned altar, low light and simple silence gave me a chance to calm my pace and mind.
The pastor, a guest preacher, spoke on the story of Lazarus' death and the words said and action taken by Jesus as his friends Mary and Martha grieved their loss. When Martha faithfully confirms that she knows her brother will rise again at the resurrection, Jesus says the well-known words "I am the resurrection and the life; those who believe in me, though they die, yet shall live, and whoever lives and believes in me shall never die." The preacher affirmed that these words are spoken in the present, not the past or the future, and the hope and promise of the resurrection is living and available for each of us, today.
He also suggested that true faith arises not in the absence of doubt but rather in its presence. He stressed that to be a person of faith, one is by nature also a person of doubt, but this doesn't diminish us; reassuring words indeed. My summation doesn't do justice to his words, but his strong and uplifting message remained with me that evening and still today.
After a few niceties and greetings, I set out for home in the darkened, cooler night, a benevolent moon above and a right spirit within.
Most parishioners were finishing a soup supper in the narthex, giving me the chance to steal a few moments of solitude in the sanctuary. Stained glass windows yawned open to the warm evening, and the unadorned altar, low light and simple silence gave me a chance to calm my pace and mind.
The pastor, a guest preacher, spoke on the story of Lazarus' death and the words said and action taken by Jesus as his friends Mary and Martha grieved their loss. When Martha faithfully confirms that she knows her brother will rise again at the resurrection, Jesus says the well-known words "I am the resurrection and the life; those who believe in me, though they die, yet shall live, and whoever lives and believes in me shall never die." The preacher affirmed that these words are spoken in the present, not the past or the future, and the hope and promise of the resurrection is living and available for each of us, today.
He also suggested that true faith arises not in the absence of doubt but rather in its presence. He stressed that to be a person of faith, one is by nature also a person of doubt, but this doesn't diminish us; reassuring words indeed. My summation doesn't do justice to his words, but his strong and uplifting message remained with me that evening and still today.
After a few niceties and greetings, I set out for home in the darkened, cooler night, a benevolent moon above and a right spirit within.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Prairie Schooner
We're told time and again to Live in the now! Stop and smell the roses! Savor each moment! I suppose like many, I like to think I subscribe to these credos, but in truth, I find them to be some of the hardest advice to follow. Nice in theory, incredibly difficult in practice. Indeed, with all that is crammed into schedules and the immediacy of communication, work, play, overtime and out of time; planning, calendars, dates and deadlines, sometimes I find it damn near impossible to pull over, stop the car, walk out into the field, breathe deeply and enjoy. After all, if I live in this wonderful moment, I'll likely be late and ill-prepared for the next!
Today, I find myself in a position I'd have given anything for a year ago. A trip to Seattle planned for April, with Gus juggling three interviews over a long weekend. The third, a flattering surprise - an unsolicited call from a hospital that heard he was returning to Seattle and wanted to express their interest. After many years of standing at the echoing well, our cup now runneth seriously over.
And yet, it's so hard for me to just bask in this long-awaited moment. To just sit down, shut up and feel the warmth and accomplishment of this pivotal moment. No, instead I find myself chomping at the bit, thinking, "That's great, now what's next? Chop, chop!"
It's in these moments that my mind turns to the life lived by the iconic Laura Ingalls Wilder. Sustained for months on one letter from family, out of date upon its arrival, yet reading and rereading the good and bad news of those familiar. The thrill of a beautiful new dress, a sticky stick of strong peppermint candy, a well-worn story from Pa, a perfect, fragrant orange.
I know this simplicity is all but lost to modernity, replaced by so many other wonderful ways of life, but I still long to capture the essence of her sustained appreciation from time to time. To get off the sleek speed of the bullet train express and mosey on over to a covered wagon, and take my seat on its worn wooden bench.
Today, I find myself in a position I'd have given anything for a year ago. A trip to Seattle planned for April, with Gus juggling three interviews over a long weekend. The third, a flattering surprise - an unsolicited call from a hospital that heard he was returning to Seattle and wanted to express their interest. After many years of standing at the echoing well, our cup now runneth seriously over.
And yet, it's so hard for me to just bask in this long-awaited moment. To just sit down, shut up and feel the warmth and accomplishment of this pivotal moment. No, instead I find myself chomping at the bit, thinking, "That's great, now what's next? Chop, chop!"
It's in these moments that my mind turns to the life lived by the iconic Laura Ingalls Wilder. Sustained for months on one letter from family, out of date upon its arrival, yet reading and rereading the good and bad news of those familiar. The thrill of a beautiful new dress, a sticky stick of strong peppermint candy, a well-worn story from Pa, a perfect, fragrant orange.
I know this simplicity is all but lost to modernity, replaced by so many other wonderful ways of life, but I still long to capture the essence of her sustained appreciation from time to time. To get off the sleek speed of the bullet train express and mosey on over to a covered wagon, and take my seat on its worn wooden bench.
"The real things haven't changed. It is still best to be honest and truthful; to make the most of what we have; to be happy with simple pleasures; and have courage when things go wrong."
— Laura Ingalls Wilder
Saturday, March 6, 2010
New Day
The sun is shining and the skies are blue. Birds are singing, snow is melting and I'm not wearing anything made of wool or stuffed with down. I'm sporting a spunky new haircut and, tonight, a hot date.
Life is good indeed!
Life is good indeed!
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Dropped Calls
I don't know that there is anything that irritates me more than people talking on cell phones in enclosed public spaces. In an unfortunate turn of events, the last three days I have sat next to or in the close proximity of this obnoxious breed on my train commute to and from work. I realize this is an oft-aired complaint, but I feel the need to express my frustration along with the rest of the masses.
I exceedingly enjoy reading on the train, but this is a pastime I find virtually impossible to partake in if someone is gabbing incessantly on his or her phone. For some reason, a two-way conversation with both parties present isn't anywhere near as annoying, that is, assuming neither party has laser nasal voice. No amount of staring, glaring, sighing and head shaking on my part seems to do any good with these "smartphone" talkers, a moniker that clearly doesn't apply to the actual user of the device. Today served up one side of a conversation detailing an entire rundown of the current season of "The Bachelor." The only useful piece of trivia I gleaned from this half-heard dish is that there are two people in the world that actually watch this craptastic drivel. Almost makes me nostalgic for the days when Tupac mused:
"You gotta learn to hold your own;
They get jealous when they see you with your
mobile phone,"
suggesting an exclusivity to the honor of bugging those around you with louder-than-necessary unnecessary banter.
My train does supply "Quiet Ride" cars where riders are not allowed to so much as speak aloud. I usually don't seek these cars out as they are always the first on the train which means they are at the far end of the station, but I may have to change my practices, or someone is likely to get throttled in the near future, and I'll be stuck in Mordor forever!
I exceedingly enjoy reading on the train, but this is a pastime I find virtually impossible to partake in if someone is gabbing incessantly on his or her phone. For some reason, a two-way conversation with both parties present isn't anywhere near as annoying, that is, assuming neither party has laser nasal voice. No amount of staring, glaring, sighing and head shaking on my part seems to do any good with these "smartphone" talkers, a moniker that clearly doesn't apply to the actual user of the device. Today served up one side of a conversation detailing an entire rundown of the current season of "The Bachelor." The only useful piece of trivia I gleaned from this half-heard dish is that there are two people in the world that actually watch this craptastic drivel. Almost makes me nostalgic for the days when Tupac mused:
"You gotta learn to hold your own;
They get jealous when they see you with your
mobile phone,"
suggesting an exclusivity to the honor of bugging those around you with louder-than-necessary unnecessary banter.
My train does supply "Quiet Ride" cars where riders are not allowed to so much as speak aloud. I usually don't seek these cars out as they are always the first on the train which means they are at the far end of the station, but I may have to change my practices, or someone is likely to get throttled in the near future, and I'll be stuck in Mordor forever!
“It has become appallingly obvious that our technology has exceeded our humanity."
-- Albert Einstein
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
A Chance at Change
This has been one of the most difficult winters I have faced. This cold, gray, leafless season isn't easy for many, and the extreme and interminable nature of our weather hasn't done anything to lift my spirits. Couple these factors with impatient personal challenges and I don't know that I've ever yearned more deeply for the warmth and possibility of spring.
Today, a chance at change, as I saw something that has been missing for weeks - grass! Yesterday's clear blue skies and temperatures in the mid-40s meant that some of the frozen muck melted into the choked, oversaturated ground, revealing what has long been covered. Granted, this wasn't long, soft, fluffy green grass, more like a mangy, yellow comb-over, but it'll do for now. Another sign this depressed season might soon be over: a proud, albeit thin, robin, pecking and poking in a patch of long-hidden lawn, his path crossing with the startling sight of crocus and daffodil shoots making their way into this cheerless winter world.
Today, a chance at change, as I saw something that has been missing for weeks - grass! Yesterday's clear blue skies and temperatures in the mid-40s meant that some of the frozen muck melted into the choked, oversaturated ground, revealing what has long been covered. Granted, this wasn't long, soft, fluffy green grass, more like a mangy, yellow comb-over, but it'll do for now. Another sign this depressed season might soon be over: a proud, albeit thin, robin, pecking and poking in a patch of long-hidden lawn, his path crossing with the startling sight of crocus and daffodil shoots making their way into this cheerless winter world.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
The Winter of Our Discontent
One snowstorm here, another snowstorm there. They've been called Snowmageddon, Snowicane, Winter Wallop. Gale force winds and limited to no visibility. Drifts abound, snow piled above my head. Slush, sleet, icicles and ice. Sand, salt and brine. More than seventy inches fallen this season already. For the first time in weeks, grass had been seen as the permafrost receded, only to be covered by yesterday's storm contribution.
Seriously, what else is new?
I understand Punxsutawney Phil resides a few counties over, but I didn't think this close proximity to a famous whistle-pig would mean we'd be stuck with Bill Murray and the darling Andie McDowell in a Groundhog Day-like set of circumstances.
Seriously, what else is new?
I understand Punxsutawney Phil resides a few counties over, but I didn't think this close proximity to a famous whistle-pig would mean we'd be stuck with Bill Murray and the darling Andie McDowell in a Groundhog Day-like set of circumstances.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Fare Thee Well (Rewritten)
An unfamiliar weather pattern - rain - greeted me as we parted our ways at the door, gentle drops trying their best to melt the stubborn snow. Inside the taxi, a heady air freshener and the faint smell of tobacco crowded my sinuses as we bounced over potholes and puddles toward home. Rivulets of rain refracted streetlights and squiggled paths down the car window as the same in tears found their way down flushed cheeks to my collar. Once home, rooms dark and large, a half-unpacked overnight bag sagged against a disheveled couch.
"A mother is the truest friend we have, when trials heavy and sudden fall upon us; when adversity takes the place of prosperity; when friends who rejoice with us in our sunshine desert us; when trouble thickens around us, still will she cling to us, and endeavor by her kind precepts and counsels to dissipate the clouds of darkness, and cause peace to return to our hearts."
--Washington Irving
Monday, February 15, 2010
Onesie
Apparently I moved to the North Pole, because it is snowing yet again, this time just a powdered sugar dusting on a giant white(ish) cake. Although the novelty has certainly worn off, the falling flakes against a blackened sky still brought a softened serenity to my return commute home.
With Gus visiting his parents, I returned to an empty home. One toothbrush and one teacup, one side of the banter silenced and one side of the bed cold, yet now three pillows and the couch to myself. Despite being teased as having the tenacity of a honey badger, I am also often found to be scared of my own shadow. Tonight, door locks will be double-checked and a "night light" left on, just in case.
With Gus visiting his parents, I returned to an empty home. One toothbrush and one teacup, one side of the banter silenced and one side of the bed cold, yet now three pillows and the couch to myself. Despite being teased as having the tenacity of a honey badger, I am also often found to be scared of my own shadow. Tonight, door locks will be double-checked and a "night light" left on, just in case.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
GBL
The incredibly unbeautiful days that follow significant snowfall have begun, when the cycle of melt and freeze and a graying of the sky high piles begins. The ugly snow frustrates and complicates simple daily tasks like walking, parking and feeding meters, which jut out of snow piles just out of my reach. With another four to eight inches predicted for early next week, I can only look longingly at sandals and sun dresses and pray our world thaws soon. Gus and I have joked that our lives of late have taken on the mantra of the "Jersey Shore" cast with their days of "Gym, Tan, Laundry," although in our case tanning has replaced with, perhaps, blizzards.
The Olympic Winter Games have begun and I'm glued to the television. Currently, my attention is given to a speed skating qualifying race between a Canadian and New Zealander, a sport I don't give a thought to but every four years. The Olympics are one of those periods in life similar to the weeks of the Tour de France where, when the games finish, I wonder what on earth I used to do with my time.
During commercials and the biathlon, I'm devouring The Glass Castle: A Memoir, the retelling of one woman's nearly unbelievable childhood. Jeannette Walls' stories affect me deeply, frustrating, uplifting, inspiring, and for me, rather reassuring that there is someone in this world with quite a bit more crazy in her closet than me. Without a doubt one of the most unforgettable personal stories I have ever read.
The Olympic Winter Games have begun and I'm glued to the television. Currently, my attention is given to a speed skating qualifying race between a Canadian and New Zealander, a sport I don't give a thought to but every four years. The Olympics are one of those periods in life similar to the weeks of the Tour de France where, when the games finish, I wonder what on earth I used to do with my time.
During commercials and the biathlon, I'm devouring The Glass Castle: A Memoir, the retelling of one woman's nearly unbelievable childhood. Jeannette Walls' stories affect me deeply, frustrating, uplifting, inspiring, and for me, rather reassuring that there is someone in this world with quite a bit more crazy in her closet than me. Without a doubt one of the most unforgettable personal stories I have ever read.
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