Kailyn's Creations

Itsy Bitsy Spider

2011-06-12T22:05:00.000-07:00

I wrote this about this almost two months ago but it still holds true. I need this to be out there so that I can remember why I am making the changes that I am in my life.

This is a song about resilience and so it's fitting that it be a part of your life soundtrack.

You were born to people who probably should have never been parents. To give them credit, they did the best that they could. Problem is that they were too self-absorbed to really be anyone's parents. They faked their way through the best that they could.

You were going to discuss them both but then you realized that they are each flawed in their own special ways. They deserve -- and would probably demand -- separate discussion. Well, at least one of them would.

Your mother wasn't like other mothers. She had no desire to bake cupcakes for your class. And after she divorced your father, she had no desire to cook dinner unless company was coming over. Hard thing to face at age eight. And with no siblings with whom you could commiserate. Your friends understood the dynamic of your household but others said nothing for nearly twenty years.

Your mother was a child dictator. She would announce edicts at her whimsy and then ask your advice as to whether she should make some purchase. It was usually about purchases because she swabbed her internal wounds with Liz Claiborne, Ellen Tracy, Noritake and other such purchases from Macy's. One minute she would chide you for not having your homework done when she got home from work; the next she would enthrall you with her purchases of the day. Sometimes you asked why she needed it. {There's that word again -- why.} And you would tell her to return the purchase the next day. She always complied.

But she did have rules. And there was no crossing her rules. You could never ask her, "Why?" Instead you held your tongue.

Occasionally she asked you, "Why?" though. At first you used to answer. Only to be subjugated to yelling and fist waving and threats of, "I brought you into this world; I can take you out." And so you learned to not answer. But that wasn't enough. You then learned to show absolutely no emotion while silently fuming. You who wears your heart on your sleeve most of the time learned how to hide it away. Your mantra then was, "They can only truly hurt you if they know they can." And so you learned to guard your heart. Not that people couldn't reach there; you would just never let them know that they had.

History had taught you that if she knew the slightest secret, she would use it to her advantage. Just another thing to throw into your face about how you had failed. While others around you thought that you had succeeded. She begs to be a part of your life now. And she is -- in limited amounts. There's only so much that one can take of someone who constantly thinks the world is out to dupe her. But this is not why you guard yourself -- this idea of duping. Instead it's the idea that someone will catalog your life and then pull out salient details when it suits them best. Because you have no brain, no will of your own.

Over the years you realize that this has colored your perspective on relationships -- including dating. There was a time that if someone was nice to you, you found yourself wondering what they wanted. Now you simply find yourself thinking that you are not willing to give into the will of another just for the sake of it. (Employment may be the exception but even there, there are limits.) Why must you constantly stroke this other person's ego especially when they take every opportunity that they can to destroy yours? Many years you questioned yourself on this. "Am I just being too sensitive?" But then you heard from your friends about their observations of your interactions. And you were happy to learn that this indeed was not "normal."

It took you several years to break through the bricks you had erected around your heart. While this woman contributed quite a bit to the process, she did not act alone. There were other actors. The thing is that you still allow her to be a part of your life and as such, she continues to try to do damage.

But you are the spider. You cannot be drowned.

Something new

2011-05-17T15:23:00.000-07:00

For a few days I have been toying with an idea. Today I made it real. Not ready to give up on this blog completely but I thought that I would try something new. And if it works out, you won't just be reading my stuff there but others as well.

She got a lot of pretty pretty boys that she calls friends

2011-05-16T23:30:00.000-07:00

It all started with tonight's season finale of "Gossip Girl." Yes, I watch it. And? The episode was filled with the requisite drama and some actually insightful relationship advice. Oh, and this song.

And if you know me, then you know that music makes me all like Benjy in The Sound and the Fury. The neurons start firing and I'm all over the place in terms of memories. One song leads to a memory that leads to yet another song and yet another memory.

Through it all was one question -- who do I want to be in this chapter of my life? I know that I can no longer go out five nights a week like when I was 30. (And before you have a hissy fit and all, let me just tell you that my rule on a "school night," was that I had to be on my way home by midnight at the latest. For the most part.) What I love about that person was that she could find fun in the smallest of things; she knew that sometimes the best happens when you least expect it. Life is not built upon plans. Well maybe for some it is but sometimes letting go is what one needs. It's all about flying without a net.

My mother and I were talking about my aunt recently. She was one of the biggest, coldest bitches around. I still remember crying years ago when I found out that she was talking major shit about me around town. I didn't speak to her for a year. And then she got sick. And I forgave her everything and was her friend again. Going on three years and I still miss the hell out of her. Because for all her shit talking, the lady certainly knew how to have fun and to be the life of the party. That's what I want -- minus the cruel bitchiness.

As much as I love some of my friends, I feel like they are the wet towel on me. My Santa Cruz friend recently posted on Facebook about feeling pressured for years to not truly express herself and to give into the will of her peers. I like to think that by peers, she didn't mean me. I had a weird life in high school. I hung with the "outcasts" yet I was involved in student government. Back in those days I had a conversation with friends about not fitting in. They told me that I could be accepted if I wanted to. Probably. In some ways back then I was deeply wrapped up in making everyone happy so that I could get their approval at some level. But what I love most about my angst-filled teenage self was that once she got that approval, she was able to walk away. She firmly believed in unconditional love.

But I guess this is all the heart of the partygirl me -- having fun and caring yet not caring what people think. I think over the last couple of years there has been plenty of the second and not enough of the first. It's giving one's self to not be perfect at all times. Because really perfection is quite boring. And boring is something I never want to be. What's the quote? "Well behaved women never made history."

The bad, the good and the tasty

2011-05-14T20:30:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I held what I had hoped to be the first Derby de Mayo -- a blend of Cinco de Mayo and Derby Day. And of course I had meant to take photos of the food -- a blend of Mexican and Southern natch -- to post here but I got caught up in conversations. And then at the end of the evening I was kind of emotionally sideswiped. My last two guests in attendance, Emerald and Marin, decided to hold an intervention of sorts. "We think you've been drinking too much lately." Um, did you miss the partygirl memo? Sheesh. "And we think you should go to therapy." Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. Really. Add up all my time over the years and I've done at least four to five years of therapy. As my last therapist told me about three years ago, I already have all the tools; I just have to give myself permission to use them. And sometimes sitting in the despair just feels kind of good while you're trying to figure things out. I awoke on Sunday emotionally drained. As such I slept most of the day -- literally. By Monday I was recharged and kind of pissed off. Pissed off is a good thing for me; it's where I find the energy to make change.

So now is about more change -- positive change. I joke about my nomadic soul. It comes from packing it in as a means of change. Now I'm working on how to stay in one place yet still effect change. It kind of helps that on Monday I received an unexpected cash infusion. After doing the responsible thing of paying some bills, I decided that I had some money for me. I have missed being a member of the Film Society but frankly it's rather pricy. So now I'm going to take some of this unexpected membership to join a museum in the East Bay that has lots of events. I figure that this will give me opportunities to meet new people. And I'll get reciprocal benefits at museums in San Francisco. A good thing since I still need to go see the expanded Balenciaga exhibit. I also found local ballet and jazz dance classes for adults at a reasonable price. I'm holding off on those until after I finish my month of boot camp in June. And today I upheld a previous commitment with Emerald to judge the science fair at her son's school. I was paired with a young woman who is new to the area. As it turns out, she is working for my father's previous employer. (And Bucko Ken's as well.) As we were leaving the fair, I asked if she would like to exchange phone numbers as she's new to the area and all. See? I'm good with this change thing.

The other good thing is that I finally had my piano tuned today. Thank you, Groupon. It's been years since I've made any kind of serious attempt at playing since I couldn't stand the sound of the thing. While the tuner said the piano was indeed severely out of tune (a half step), he was able to return it to a playable state. Love him. When I've called other tuners over the years, they have told me that it's an inexpensive model and I'd be better off buying a new one than trying to tune it. But this tuner got it. Upon seeing the piano, he asked, "It has sentimental value, doesn't it?" He also marveled that while it had lacked tuning for years, it had been well cared for. After he left, I sat down to attempt to play. My hands in the past had been rather stiff so I decided to go with what my hands knew best -- Beethoven's Fur Elise. I can still play nearly half of it from memory. It wasn't great but it wasn't completely horrid either. Now I need to locate my Chopin and Bach books. Maybe by the end of this year I can once more take stabs at Rachmaninoff. In the past playing the piano was one of my ways to relieve stress when I was feeling overwhelmed.

But I know. All this time you've been wondering about the photo. After the tuner left and before I attempted to play, I popped out to check on my mom's house. On my return, I stopped at The Brick Pig's House. The husband came out to take my order. The wife upon hearing my voice, came out from the kitchen and exclaimed, "You came back." I reminded her that I had told her on my last trip there that I had said I would return if all was as good as she promised. As I decided how much to order, I was asked how many I was feeding this time. "Still just me." The husband pointed to a photo on the wall of a young woman who had eaten an entire slab of ribs minus one in a single meal. "Why yes, there was a time in which I could have eaten an entire slab on my own." Now it sits like a challenge in the back of my mind.

I decided this time I needed a mix of the ribs as well as their brisket. Oh.My.God. My next trip there I may very well ask kind folks to adopt me. I have never in my life had brisket like that. It really did melt in the mouth as the folks on Yelp claimed. And to switch things up, I went with the blackberry cobbler instead of the peach. Reminded me of summers on my grandparents' farm.

Bottom line? In probably the best headspace in quite some time. Or at least I like to think so. Well once I finish dealing with payment for water damage to my place from upstairs unit.

Same as it ever was

2011-05-04T21:30:00.000-07:00

Some days you wake up and think to yourself, "How did I end up here?" Now for most folks it would be the days of your partygirl time that would make them think this. But for you it's the days of "normalcy." Not that you're looking for drama, just something more.

Today you realized that beyond Facebook and your inconsistent blogging, the only means of positive human contact upon which you can count are the delivery people -- the postal carrier, UPS, FedEx, GSO -- you see each day at work.

Once upon a time family members were sick and/or dying. You checked out on everything else for the most part. And then the day came that you were ready to re-enter the world at large only to discover your "life" was gone. This is the argument you have given to family members regarding your dad. "I simply can't go back there because it will be all about him and I will lose myself along the way all over again." But it's too late; you're already lost.

So now you try to figure out how to get out of the hole you've dug for yourself. If you were still renting, the answer would be simple. Pack up and move. Start again. But it's not so easy now. Then again, hasn't this always been your answer? Pack up and move on instead of sticking around and figuring out a way to make it all work?

And please don't suggest going to church. So not the scene around here.

Pound Cake

2011-04-28T00:55:00.000-07:00

So I'm about to tell a story that some of y'all may have heard before. Some stories are worth retelling though.

About ten years or so ago I was going through the "Why am I still single?" thing. Being single in itself doesn't really suck. It's just that your formerly single friends seem to drop off the planet. And then they have kids. Suddenly they are doing stuff -- with people who also have kids. But you don't so you're so out of the loop. But then when you meet up with these friends on those rare occasions, they somehow think that your life is so great. And I suppose it is if you think that entertaining the thought of adopting every stray animal that crosses your path so that you can have consistent companionship is better. Hell. You want to go to shelters and adopt every cute stray. Well not maybe cute. Pitbulls can be cute. Think of Petey on The Little Rascals. Cute as hell if you ask me.

Enough rambling. I was at some function or another at my dad's and his sister-in-law and I had snuck out to have a smoke. (Another revelation. Part of the reason why I can't quit smoking is because it's one of my defenses against others.) So started the pound cake story.

She told me how her dad told her about how fabulous her mom's pound cake was -- so much so that they would swipe a taste while it was in the pantry. And then her dad reminded her how sometimes her mom would put a lemon glaze on the cake. The glaze just enhanced the flavor of the already really good cake. Her dad then told her that she was the cake and that any man in her life was the glaze. The cake (you) is perfectly good on its own; the glaze (that other person) just adds something that makes the cake seem better. The key point though was that even if there is no glaze, the cake is perfectly good on its own.

That's what I remind myself of in the middle of the onslaught of everything else in life. Because being never married and childless in one's 40s? Can you say pariah? Freak of nature? OK. Maybe not but that's how it sometimes feels when people ask. Or when I'm hanging out with old friends and they say,"I always thought that you would be married with kids before me." But nowadays I really like other people's kids. One's that can be returned.

And then I remind myself that I'm like the pound cake -- I'm perfectly fine on my own. Some days it's harder to remember this than others.

I'm sorry that I'm not white

2011-04-19T19:30:00.000-07:00

I had originally planned on posting something completely different but then Monday night happened.

One of the joys of being footloose and fancy free is that when I see a post online that Dave Chappelle is appearing at a club in San Francisco on Monday night, I can head on over to the Live Nation site to secure my ticket. Now I could have been sensible and bought one for the early show but why do that? Every now and then you have to remind yourself that you can still hang. That's why I went for the late show. Yes, it started at 10:30. And yes, I knew from prior experience that a Dave Chappelle show can last three hours. But I'm all badass partygirl like that.

I came home from work on Monday, ate dinner and then caught a disco nap. Then it was time to get ready for the show. People asked, "You're driving into North Beach? Parking sucks." Yeah, it can but I know the area near Cobb's all to well since my former home away from home is on the same block. As I circled the block for a second time, I got a parking space within a half block of the club. I'm really tight with the Parking Goddess of SF.

The vibe in line was cool. It continued in the club -- for a bit. These folks seated on the floor (I was in the balcony.) kept yelling out all kinds of stuff. Next thing you know, their table was surrounded by security and they were asked to leave. The woman in the couple was really resistant. Took two security guys to get her out of the place. And the last words we heard from her as she passed in front of the stage were, "I'm sorry that I'm not white." Yeah, she went there. After she left, Chappelle asked the audience, "Do you think she'll be back? She was kind of cute."

It felt good to laugh. It also felt good to stick to my plan of no caffeine or alcohol. Had no problem getting up for work today and was completely functional. Makes me feel like going out more, being more badass. Of course last night I was also limping. Took myself to the doctor today. Seems as if I have an inflamed Achilles tendon. That means taking it easy for a bit. But just a bit. Because once you've had a taste of what life used to be, it's hard to go back.

One is the magic number

2011-04-17T17:25:00.000-07:00

You sit and remember reading The Sound and the Fury all those years ago. You think of Benjy suddenly remembering Caddie from all those years prior because he smelled some flowers that reminded him of her. At the time you read something else that said that smell memories are the strongest. Perhaps. For you it's always been about music. Long before "Ally McBeal" you believed that life needed a soundtrack. You hear a song and instantly remember a person or place. The soundtrack is the one thing you never doubted, questioned.

As you planned your life, the most frequent question that arose was, "Why?" You asked this in high school as you sat around on a Saturday night playing solitaire while watching "The Love Boat" and "Fantasy Island" and in the back of your head "At Seventeen" played. Later when your carefully made plans went astray, you asked, "Why?" Somewhere along the way you just stopped asking. Sometimes things just are.

This is what you tell yourself every time someone asks you why you've never married. Well, aren't you dating now? And what about kids? You can't go down that road because that just opens up that whole can of whys.

Part of the price of blocking these questions is putting up your guard. Living on the defensive. But you've had way too many years of practice at this and are quite adept. Frankly sometimes you occasionally allow yourself the thought that this is why you are single. Your guardedness. And you remember how it all started, a form of survival. But then you shove it back into that place where all things about which you do not want to think -- or at least not for that moment -- are kept. Besides that's a tale of its own.

And really? Most days you like your life. You like not having to answer to anyone else. You like being able to pack your bag on a whim and leave town on some new adventure. And you realize that this is what gets you past the whys and turn the Jill Scott up a smidge more.

Venturing out

2011-04-16T13:35:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's been about a month since I last posted. Most of my dining has been pretty boring -- not even photo worthy. It was survival eating. I have completed the 30 days of Paleo and am no longer sticking to it 100%. While I haven't gained any weight back, I have noticed a slight shift in my sleeping patterns. Still not the full-blown insomnia but still. Not severe enough for me to eschew those foods I truly love though.

I awoke this morning with a taste for barbeque. Normally I head to either KC's in Berkeley or Everett & Jones in either Berkeley or Hayward. Today I wanted something different so I read a bunch of online reviews. Decided to give The Brick Pig's House a try. (And was kind of sad to realize that it is in a neighborhood in which I looked at homes. I so need to move.)

The Brick Pig's boasts that their BBQ is Southern style instead of the usual KC style. Besides reading about this in online reviews and their website, I also got to hear this from the owner/cook. While I waited for my order, she came out to chat. She stuck around once I replied, "Yes, this is my first time here." We discussed the other places I usually frequent. We talked about differences in BBQ. I mentioned that my mother is from Virginia and around those parts they tend to make the vinegar-heavy Carolina BBQ. The owner of Brick Pig's knows how to make Carolina style but has decided to stick with the Little Rock, Arkansas recipe of her people.

Order in hand, I sped home. It was different but still tasty. Less smoke flavor than other places. And the sauce -- which I ordered on the side per usual -- had more of a vinegar tang than most. As such, it wasn't cloying sweet as the sauce at KC's can sometimes be. Oh, and did I mention that I also got peach cobbler? And that it was still warm when I got home?

Next time I'm trying the brisket. And one of the other cobblers. Because I'm so going back.

Tom Cruise

2011-03-15T00:25:00.000-07:00

That's how I feel these days. Like Tom Cruise jumping on a couch while on Oprah. I know. Makes me sound kind of manic compared to my former self. Like I said, I now no longer wake up feeling a fog around my brain. So if that makes me manic, so be it. (Of course shortly after I started this change, my mom has asked on a daily basis, "Why do you sound sad?" Have I sounded sad to y'all?) Then again maybe I'm all like Charlie Sheen. But I'm not in denial; I know I need to make changes.

Monday night I finally tried one of the recipes in The Paleo Solution. Yep, that's spaghetti sauce over green beans. The beans were roasted in the oven. The sauce had no added salt. And there was no cheese on top. But it all tasted oh so good.

I am committed to the 30 days. Over the last few years I have learned that I can indeed make commitments. (Huge life changing event was passing my three year anniversary at work making this is the longest I've stayed at any one place.) I have a deep love of cheese, yogurt, and ice cream. I doubt I'm done with them. But now I'm afraid of them. I now feel that if I eat these things, I will be physically ill. And I'm going to ignore my coworkers -- most of whom are overweight -- when they say that I'm on my way to being anorexic. Sorry but I eat all day long and don't regurgitate yet I'm eating disordered because I'm smaller than you are? First of all beyotch you should have caught me ten years ago when I was completely disordered. Second of all, fuck all you beyotches who sit back and think that because a woman wears a single digit size, she must be anorexic. I don't go around saying that just because a woman wears a double digit, she must push away from the table. Well except for my aunt but then again my thing with her has always been making different food choices. Believe me. If I still lived in Virgina, I'd be shoving this down her throat. I'm tired of losing people to health reasons.

So that's right, beyotches. I plan to be here for some time. Suck it up.

Going old school

2011-03-13T19:20:00.000-07:00

If you read my Facebook page, then you know that a week ago I started the Paleo diet. I have spent the past week seeing the fat that I've been fighting to rid myself of just melting off. That's part of what keeps me motivated.

I had originally thought that giving up dairy would be hard but it really hasn't. Yes, I crave fruit juice -- and when I do I eat some fresh fruit. Giving up grains and legumes? Not a problem at all.

I called Zombie Mom on Thursday to ask her why she had stressed how wonderful this way of eating feels? She asked how I had been sleeping. And then I realized. I no longer have insomnia. I have had sleep problems since high school and had just accepted it as a normal for me. Now no more tossing and turning. No more waking up in the middle of the night. And when I wake up in the morning, I'm alert and clear headed. And I have energy all day. So I'm sticking with the 30 day plan. After the 30 days are up, I know I will have the occasional dairy. I just love cheese a little too much. And yogurt. But for the most part, this will be my life.

Best of all, it has forced me to go back to the kitchen. Pictured above is one of this week's meals -- a stew of pork and kabocha. Yep, this is even better than the last time I tried to shed those pesky pounds.

Throwing in the towel

2011-02-02T23:55:00.000-08:00

First of all, I'd like to apologize. You should have been able to see this post Wednesday morning. Thing is that I was so sick of food that it's taken me this long to write this post. Not anything against this restaurant. I actually loved the place. The problem was that I had consumed way too much in the days before I arrived there. And now I really appreciate the starving model jokes. Kind of.

Jade asked me how much weight I had gained from all my dining. The truth is that I have probably lost weight since I arrived in New York. There was all that walking. And truth be told, I never ate the entire entree. My stomach just is not capable of it. But as I said before, I love tasting new things so I paced myself accordingly.

I continued my dining Monday night at Aquavit. This was one of the other places at which I was excited to dine.

The first shock was when they asked me about preferences and food allergies. Really? I should have mentioned my displeasure with pistachios. But I figured that they would look pretty in a photo and I could pick around them.

The next part of the experience was the selection of breads. I chose the sourdough and some sort of rye. Now I'm not a huge bread person but that rye was addictive. Heck. I might just return for that bread.

And then they had the audacity to offer an amuse bouche. If I remember correctly, it was salmon with creme fraiche.

I alao heeded Fluffycat's admonition. And so I went for the salad for my starter instead of the tartare. And what a wonderful salad it was. But I usually avoid salads as they are something I can do at home and so feel cheated in ordering them. But I don't think I'd make the smoked goat cheese croquettes.

Next up was the pork belly. If I remember correctly (Yes, I know I could look at the menu online but I'm lazy.), it came with a Yukon mash and a porter truffle sauce. Heavenly.

I ended it all with the Arctic Circle. This was a parfait of goat cheese and a lingenberry sorbet. Oh and pistachios. But I don't eat those. When I posted this photo on Facebook, Jade said that it looked too pretty to eat. I ate it all.

And then when I received my check, they gave me a $50 gift certificate that expires at the end of March. Since I doubt I'll be back in New York before then, I gave the certificate to Lisa B -- who suggested that I come for Restaurant Week in the first place.

Yes, I would gladly return to Aquavit but I'd really like to try out Samuelsson's new place, Red Rooster.

Ladies who lunch

2011-02-01T07:00:00.000-08:00

My next stop on my gut-busting outings was lunch yesterday at David Burke Townhouse. When I showed Maddie their website on Saturday, he made appreciative sounds over their decor. I made similar sounds about their food. After a brisk walk over, I knew that I could put away a little food at least.

I was eagerly awaiting this lunch and decided to splurge a bit by ordering items that cost a little extra.

First up? The Parfait of Sockeye Tuna and Salmon Tartares. So good I ate it all.

This was followed by the Braised Beef Short Rib. Heavenly! But I still had dessert coming so I had them pack half of it up. David apparently is not a fan of mushrooms but said that the rest of it was delish.

Finally the Warm & Crisp Apple Tart. The server placed it before me and then poured caramel sauce over it from a small pitcher.

I could have returned to California after this meal but there was more dining to be done. I know I would gladly return to this restaurant -- as long as I don't have to sit next to the second pair that showed up. If only they could have been as charming as the ladies who were wrapping up lunch when I arrived and kept insisting that I partake of the Cheesecake Lollipop Tree they had ordered. But I needed the space in my stomach. Should have at least taken a photo for y'all though. It was just so pretty. Next trip.

What have I gotten myself into?

2011-01-31T07:00:00.000-08:00

As you may already know, I have made a trip to New York for restaurant week. For the beginning of my vacation, go check out Maddie's post. Now the dining has begun.

Last night I joined Lisa at Perilla. (For those of you who watch "Top Chef," Perilla is Harold Dieterle's restaurant.)

We started with the spicy duck meatballs. Lisa had heard that these were one of the specialties. I don't recommend them for David as they are indeed spicy.

Next up was the fish special of the day -- a Montauk fluke, if I remember correctly.

And to finish it all off, gingerbread cake.

The food was delicious. The company wonderful. And fortunately I have more hours before I must dine once more. I have realized this will be quite the challenge. While I love tasting new things, I just can't seem to eat as much as I used to. And hopefully my future photos will be of better quality.

Reverting

2011-01-07T23:55:00.000-08:00

This is probably going to be one of those posts that Nat used to love back on my old blog. All I know is that Fluffycat has been hearing my rants all week and has been saying I should just write a post about it all. Especially since there are already so many out there on the topic.

It all started on Facebook. One of my "friends" (I call the folks that I have added merely for gaming purposes "friends.") posted a link and stated how she was horrified that a publisher had an edition of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn in which the n-word had been replaced. There were all these cries of censorship. I clicked through further and saw that this edition was a response to teachers who had complained that the book had been banned in their districts because of this word but they desperately wanted to teach it.

People have argued that the removal of the word waters down the message of the book. That it is all an effort to sanitize history. That the teaching of the book in its original form allows for the discussion of race in our society. Perhaps.

If you know me, then you know that I'm a former teacher. In my years of teaching, I chose to have my classes read The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman. This book too contains that nefarious word. I had to figure out how to deal with a word appearing in a book that I had made clear should never be spoken in my classroom. I likened it to teaching about the caste system in ancient India. But it really wasn't the same. It was much more personal.

This is what probably made it easy for me to teach that particular book. I had 90 students -- 89 of whom were people of color. I had it easier than the white teachers in the school. My students and I shared a common unspoken history. They assumed that I would understand their feelings about race in society. Let's get real. In all my years of teaching parents of color would be overjoyed to see me in the classroom. They figured that their child was being taught by someone who could understand their history in a way that a white teacher just couldn't. Our common ground put me heads above these other teachers. I could have honest conversations with them about academic English and perceptions of others. And even more importantly, I could code switch if the situation warranted it. (Because like it or not, Ebonics is an actual dialect with linguistic rules. And if I code switch around you, it means that I am very comfortable with you and so can let my guard down.)

But back to Huckleberry Finn and the whole brouhaha. My first complaint is that everyone seems to be upset with the publisher. They are in business to make money. They identified a need and they have tried to fill it. That's the American way. They are not the people with whom you should be angry.

If you want to be angry, get angry with the people who created the need for this new edition -- the school districts that have banned the book. Now things get tricky. Because how public education is structured in this country, you can only really protest if you live in an affected district. So that then brings up the question of a nationally standardized education system. Without that, you can talk until you're blue in the face and still not make change.

I have also taken issue with the doubt in teachers' abilities. Yes, it is clear that those who want to ban books have no faith in the ability of teachers to handle the material well with students. Of course the same could be argued of those who are crying censorship. Really? A good teacher cannot convey the ideas of racism present in the book without this word being included? Seems like these people do not believe in public school teachers as well.

Have I mentioned that my first year teaching, I had to teach ancient Israel -- from a textbook in which the chapter was almost completely made of Biblical quotes? And that I had a student whose parents are atheists. But they had no doubt in my ability to handle the material appropriately in the classroom and instead had issue with the district's approval of the use of the book in the classroom. Oh, and the reason why I thought of this? Race and religion? Both protected classes. As well as gender. But really it gets down to the fact that I was fortunate enough to be in a community in which the parents trusted me to handle difficult topics well - whether it be highly controversial or watered down. Also how does one draw the line between acceptable and offensive? Who gets to draw the line? There have been many cases that the objection to the n-word in the work in question was raised by blacks. So their continued pain is OK for the common good? And what is this common good?

My other issue has been the feeling that some have had that the inclusion of this word opens up conversation. Sorry but I'd like to see some empirical data on this. In a population that is mostly made up of people of color, it really doesn't. Well maybe it would have if I hadn't taken advantage of other teachable moments earlier in the school year. People of color are aware on a daily basis of the role that race plays in this society. Frankly the whole argument over this past week has felt like white people trying to show how progressive and accepting they are. "We are incensed. These are things that we should be discussing." Nice lip service but are you really discussing it all? Are you trying to get to the heart of it all? If you are not, then as the saying goes, "If you are not a part of the solution, you're a part of the problem." All I've seen is a bunch of posturing without sincere effort. Here's the thing. I dare you to ask a person of color if they are not aware of the impact of race in our society. Frankly there's only one group of people who need to be made aware of this. But they're too busy patting themselves on the back that we have a black man as President.

As the week has progressed, more thoughts have swarmed through my head. "A classic"? I challenge you to look at the list of books that are considered to be classics in this country. Now I want you to tell me the percentage of those books that were written by women or people of color. Yes, white men wrote the majority of the classics; they are the ones who had access to publishing. Knowing this last part, are we to treat all their books as some Holy Grail or the like? I mean would we feel the same way about their books if other authors had been given equal access at the time? I don't know about you but I'm tired of someone who is nothing like me defining who I am -- whether it's about how I should look, act or read.

I also dare you to look at a banned book list and see how many of the books deal with themes of race or gender. And instead of saying, "This is wrong," I want you to take it one step further. I want you to ask why this happens still today. And then I want you to think of ways to change this. This means doing more than complaining about how this is wrong; it may even mean you putting yourself on the line.

Frankly I'm getting tired of trying to reach out to people who don't really want change -- even if they proclaim that they are open to change. (Saying you want change but not doing something concrete about? Yep. You're in this category.) I am tired of giving my perspective to people who tell me that I'm wrong and can't really know. Since I'm that silly black ~~woman~~ girl. (Hmmm. Just got me thinking. The editors were wrong. They should have used "boy" instead of "slave." Because "boy" feels just like that other word, just a little more polite.) I dare you to have real conversations. To make real change. It's time to put your money where your mouth is.

Self-parenting

2011-01-03T16:15:00.000-08:00

You spend over 40 years raising them and you think to yourself that by the time they're in their 60s, it's OK to kick your parents out of the nest. Silly me.

It started an envelope found in my mother's mailbox on December 24. According to the information in it, my father's two rental properties were up for foreclosure. I wrote on Facebook that I was beyond livid. And then I let it go.

This was followed by a phone call from a cousin last night. A quick internet search verified the information. My father had lost the house he had had with my stepmother since 1986. Called my cousin back and then a few other relatives as well as close family friends. No one knew. One of my uncle's responded to the news with, "Nothing happens without God's permission." By the time I got to the fourth or so phone call I could no longer hold back the tears.

My father had sent me a text message this past week saying how he had missed my presence at Christmas dinner. I chose last night to respond. "Did you bother to remove anything from the house before the bank sold it in the foreclosure? Like photos? You continually lie and that's why I can't be around you. As I said before, I wish you well in life but you can't be a part of mine."

He replied this morning. Explained that he is a recovering alcoholic (because apparently wine is not alcohol) and that lying is part of his disease. I know. But it's still lie after lie. That he plans on making amends to all those he has hurt. That he's dealing with the foreclosure and is trying to buy the house back from the people who bought it. (Ummm. Apparently they are already living in the house. And they bought it for less than half of the market value.) And the closer? That he really needs me to be his daughter again. My mother says that my response to all of this should be, "Fuck you." I am thinking, "There is no need to make amends to me as there is nothing you can say or do that would ever make me trust you again."

Fortunately I had today off from work. So after a few more tears this morning, I realized that I was hungry. And I wanted beef. Comfort foods. Because sometimes that's how I take care of me.

The summer I was ten, my grandmother bought me ~~the cookbook pictured above~~. (Silly me forgot to include the cookbook in the photo.) I read through it and prepared my first dinner ever. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes and peas with pearl onions. This time I added gravy. And I decided to use a little more "grown-up" recipe. It was just what I needed.

Identity

2010-12-09T01:55:00.000-08:00

This time of year brings out a myriad of emotions for me.

As a kid I had no patience for surprises. Put a present under the tree and tell me that I must wait for several days to see what's inside? Well I'll just carefully slide under the tape to see the end of the package and then reseal it.

Reminds me of a conversation I had with my boss recently. I told him that I prefer when people are blunt. None of that trying to guess one's way though the minefield; one knows completely what one's standing is. This was in response to being told that others don't like "my attitude." Attitude from my part is a response to a lack of communication or a lack of respect. But then I pointed out to my boss that even if the lack of communication is on someone else's part, the end result is my fault. I'm getting tired of cleaning up other people's messes.

Back to the surprise thing. Surprises are good. Just don't make me wait days, weeks for them. Because I will carefully peel back the tape on the end of the package to see what's in there. This would be why after I turned 11 or 12, my mother stopped putting name tags on her Christmas gifts. This just meant that I peeked at them all of the packages and guessed which were mine.

At seventeen I stopped going to church. (My parents are Presbyterian.) This should not have been a surprise to my parents. I had gone to church, attended Sunday school, been an active member of the youth group for years.

I was 12 or 13 when I first began to question. I asked my mother about those years she did scientific research work. How she balanced her faith with her belief in science. Her answer was that she left her religious beliefs at the door -- much like African Americans leave their cultural identity at the door in corporate America. It made sense to me at the time.

At 17 I decided that I was agnostic. The summers that I was 18 through 20, I would pass the family church every day on my way home from work. The pastor would be out front sweeping the stoop and I would stop to chat with him. I would ask him questions about faith and other belief systems. He never once suggested that I return to the church. The only time I set foot back in that church after age 17 was for his memorial service. Because I had to say goodbye to the person who had christened me but had also respected my choice to walk away from it all.

Christmas? It bothers me greatly because it's a part of that life I've been trying to escape. It's not that I hate people who celebrate Christmas. What gets to me is the lack of respect for those who claim to be Christian toward those who are not Christian. The idea that being American is Christian bothers me. OK. Let's get real. It's the idea that one is white, heterosexual and Christian that is OK. If one does not fall into all of these categories, then one is suspect. And I go into work each day and feel like that if you fall into the latter two, then the first can be forgiven on some part.

I have walked through life feeling like I have to hide away a part of myself. That if I let this part show, I am somehow less.

But there has always been that one person who has been the best at seeing the real me. That person who asked me in October if I wanted to take a peek at my gift since she knew my habit of peeling back the tape. That person who knew that I fell in love with drinking tea at age nine and has seen my eyes light up ever since when I see a tea set. Unlike my father who tells me to pretend to be someone I'm not because that makes everything better. And who would never have bought me this gift because he knows so little about me.

I know that when my mother is gone, I will pull out this tea set and remember all of this. That no matter how crazy she makes me, she knows me so well. Like last year when she gave me a cookbook on Indian cooking. She knows my passions without even asking. And that's a rare thing.

I originally posted this on November 28 but promptly took it down after others suggested that I send the text to my mother. I then became paranoid that with her limited computer skills she would use my words to find this blog. Yeah, I know it sounds all kind of crazy. But then again most of you do not know my mother. Those who do know how unbalanced her presence makes me.

The flavor of the season

2010-11-26T15:05:00.000-08:00

Last week I joined my friend Emerald for happy hour at the Lake Chalet. I've read mixed reviews on the place but it's a great place for happy hour. It will be even better when the weather becomes warm again and one can sit on the deck overlooking Lake Merritt. I do worry about playing the "What's that smell?" game however. (I still deeply love the ghostridin' portion of the video. Makes me want to head on down to Ghost Town. OK. Maybe not.)

I started off with the Lake Chalet's happy hour special of a Stoli Ginger Cosmo -- Stoli, lime, cranberry and housemade ginger syrup. I then moved on to the Dark and Stormy, pictured above. This contained rum, ginger beer, ginger syrup and lime juice.

After my outing, Maddie told me about a fabulous Ginger Sidecar -- or two or three that had been consumed recently. (Maddie had forgotten my caution that one should never consume more than two Sidecars in a single evening.) This involved fresh ginger being muddled with the brandy and cointreau.

The nail in the coffin? I was perusing the alcohol aisle at the large chain grocery store and spied a bottle of the new Ginger Infused Skyy Vodka. So yeah, I grabbed a bottle. Definitely a ginger kick.

While out today wandering the grocery store with no written list (a dangerous thing for me), I suddenly remembered ginger syrup. So out came the iPhone and as I had suspected, the recipe was simple. 3/4 cup sliced ginger (no need to peel), one cup of sugar, and two cups of water. Boil for about ten minutes. Then cool and strain.

I promptly mixed up a Dark and Stormy. Verdict? Less sugar next time. Like probably half as much. Went well with the sandwich of turkey, cranberry sauce and horseradish though.

Left to my own devices

2010-11-25T17:25:00.000-08:00

For the last two years I have picked up food from Poulet for Thanksgiving. This year I decided it was time to return to cooking. Flufficat will tell you that I spent weeks debating turkey or ham before finally deciding for both.

This year there were some old favorites like the roasted yams and red onions. They are then tossed with some Parmesan cheese and rosemary. There were a few new things as well though.

I made some attempts to copy things I've had from Poulet. The dressing was made with foccacia and has chard and sage in it. The gravy is a madeira giblet cream. I highly recommend it.

And I decided to make an attempt at scalloped potatoes. Nestled between the layers of potatoes are sauteed leeks and mushrooms.

The final new thing was the cranberry sauce. Yes, I have made it before but this is the Cosmopolitan cranberry sauce. After cooking the cranberries with water and sugar, you add some vodka and triple sec. When I told this to Kate on the phone this morning, she said that it sounded like a version of Jell-O shots.

Hope you all have had a wonderful Thanksgiving. I need to continue working my way through this plate.

Honesty

2010-11-22T23:55:00.000-08:00

Yes, I am still here. When I started blogging nearly six years ago, it was all about being honest. The thing is that sometimes I just don't feel like being honest with the world at large. So first I'd like to share the photos I have taken over the last two months. Because I took them with the intention of writing posts.

The weather turned chilly but I had a taste for ribs. For the first time ever I slow cooked them in the oven. Usually I grill ribs. But after tasting these ribs, they just might be a year-round thing.

And then I found a bunch of recipes I wanted to try -- I believe it was an issue of Sunset -- and so I invited Fluffycat over.

We started with this Romesco soup.

And there was a Caesar salad with homemade dressing and parmesan toast crisps.

Caramelized shallots and walnuts.

Grilled beef roast stuffed with basil, sage and thyme.

Pear pecan upside down cake.

And then this past week Dungeness crab season started. The first crab I had, I simply heated with melted butter on the side. For the second (and third) I decided to try something new to my kitchen.

Oven roasted crab. Roasted in a mixture of butter and olive oil containing garlic, shallots, red pepper flakes, parsley and thyme. Once roasted, I removed the crab and added fresh orange juice to the pan juices. The reduced pan juices were poured over the crab.

So yeah. This is basically what I have eaten over the last two months. Because I decided to take yet another trip down the rabbit hole. It used to be that I would end up there by accident but sometime in the last ten years or so, I decided that it was OK to willingly take a trip there. I say to myself, "Let's just take the ride and see where we end up, " even though a part of me knows this could all end up badly.

I am "better" now. Today I had some tea and a bagel with cream cheese at work. And then I came home and had the last of the crab. And about a third of a chicken breast. I don't need to log the food anymore because I eat so little that it's easy to remember it all. I eat small amounts because my brain tells me that my stomach is full quite early these days. Except for that day that I went to Fenton's a month ago. Then I was able to consume both the crab salad sandwich and a jumbo banana shake. OK. So maybe that was my only food for the day but still. Oh and I would have taken photos for y'all but it was a date and I didn't want to seem too strange.

Bottom line is that I held off on posting because I didn't feel like sharing this stuff. Me and my disordered eating. But hey. Depending on the day, I am 12-15 pounds lighter than I was a year ago. And over the last month or so, I stopped losing weight but did lose inches. Because this past weekend I did actually get into my size 27 People's Liberation jeans -- something I've never been able to do since I bought them. Yes, they were snug but they actually zipped. And yeah, maybe this helps to feed the disordered eating. But there was that one evening a few weeks ago that I caught my reflection and actually thought that I was thin. I can't ever remember thinking that in my life. Since I was 12, all I have seen when I look in the mirror are places in which I could lose weight. I like to think that the last couple of weeks have been better. Except for that time period when the hormones fucked with my head. Because they do that.

Honestly I haven't wanted to put this all out there because I've heard all the responses that people make. Not fishing for compliments or anything else. Just saying this is who I am and where my head has been.

And now? I have a bunch of food in the fridge that I plan to cook for Thanksgiving. It's been three years since I've cooked. It will be just me and the cats, just like the other years when I cooked. This will just be the first year that I will cook and won't be able to dump leftovers on my aunt. Because from what I hear, I potentially have another year to go on this whole grieving thing. Each day gets better though.

Comfort zone

2010-09-28T23:55:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been questioning my choice in job. Yes, it pays well but frankly most days I'm bored as hell. There is no longer any challenge. I just go through the motions. Did I mention my paycheck though? My paycheck allows me certain freedoms outside of work. And so now I have told myself to focus on the check.

To balance that check, I have started tutoring again. Actually tutoring pays well too.
The difference is that I am engaged while tutoring as opposed to my regular job at which I usually act annoyed most days.

Tonight I had my first session with a new student. And it was great. Maddie thought that I was tutoring drinking but I was really tutoring geometry. Because I kick ass at math, being a former geek and all. As a former geek, I can make math accessible to the non-geek. You know that whole percentage thing? Well that's completely about a sale at Macy's and then having to add on the sales tax. Or it's baseball stats.

So I met the kid in a cafe because he thought their apartment was too small. I found out later that he didn't want to meet at the neighborhood cafe but would have preferred to meet at the closest location of the gods of coffee. Maybe in the future. When his mom showed up at the end of the session to see how things had gone, he proudly told her that we had finished all of his homework and that he understood it all much better. Did I mention how good I am at this stuff? Not just the subject matter but making a kid feel confident and all? Because I totally rock. And I gave him my own homework -- things that will help him to prepare for his upcoming test.

What I have learned over the many years of tutoring is that many parents just want someone to help the kids do their homework. Just because they can do the homework -- with assistance -- does not mean that they will do well on tests. For this kid, I realized that he did not have a firm grasp on the vocabulary. I gave the family a list of vocabulary that I noted throughout the session to be turned into flashcards. And yes, this is why they pay me more than they would a college student who is tutoring. The college student might not take this extra step. I might also throw in some worksheets down the road.

Tutoring? Finally I feel engaged. I look forward to upcoming sessions with this student. And my "real parents" have also said that they would like me to start tutoring their granddaughter -- my niece -- once more.

Oh and did I mention all the cute guys -- who are adults -- who frequent the cafe in which I meet the kid? Yeah, this could be a good thing for me in so many ways.

The morning after

2010-09-26T21:30:00.000-07:00

I don't know about y'all but after I have spent an enjoyable day baking in the sun, I really don't feel like moving much the next day. Unfortunately there is that small problem of hunger. I ran through the possibilities in my mind. Going out for something seemed to defeat the idea of a day of lounging. But I really didn't have the energy for cooking. Then it came to me; the answer was assembly.

Now assembly to me usually means making a salad. I've had way too many salads over the last few months -- heck the last week -- though to want yet another one. (This also why when I tend to assemble a meal, I don't really feel inspired to post. Also if you've already seen that salad, why do you want to see it again?) I guess this is where I say thank you to Trader Joe's as items from there were my answer to something that would be relatively quick to assemble.

I started with the frozen mahi mahi burgers. I think I was kind of hungry when I bought them. Also mahi mahi happens to be one of my favorite fish. I do know that when I bought them, I had no idea what I would do with them. And no, the answer is not to slap one on a bun. I love burgers but that is really too much bread for me and I always end up eating only half the bun. It's one of my quirks. Halfway through eating a burger, I will get rid of the bread and usually whatever tomato is left at that point.

I did feel like the mahi mahi needed some kind of bread though. I was going to make do with a crumpet but I persevered and located the whole grain English muffins in the fridge. Perfect. And perhaps some romaine lettuce.

The next element was the poached egg. At this point I realized that I was basically constructing a version of a Benedict. Hollandaise sauce was out of the question as far as I was concerned. Thankfully I am the condiment queen and located the jar of tartar sauce with jalapeno.

The final assembly from bottom to top -- half of a toasted whole grain English muffin, romaine, tartar sauce with jalapeno, mahi mahi burger, poached egg.

And now for the truth. The photo above is not what I made for brunch but when I made the dish again for dinner. While it was tasty, I felt there was something missing -- avocado. Usually when I have mahi mahi, I make a salsa to go with it. So back to the fridge I headed. Now this is about using what's on hand. I came up with an orange, avocado, jalapeno and shallot. Normally I would through in some cilantro but I had neither fresh nor dried. The shallot was because it was the only allium besides garlic that I had on hand. The mixture was just the added element that the dish needed. Well except for the orange. Yes, the citrus was needed but the orange was too sweet. Next time I'll try something like supremed grapefruit. Or maybe the juice of Meyer lemon. Gah! I have lemons on the tree that I could have used.

And I have also figured out that I really should head to the grocery store tomorrow. I mean really. What kind of house has absolutely no onions in it?

Pre-coma

2010-09-25T23:50:00.000-07:00

So today I did something I haven't done in a really long time -- went to a show in a large venue. And of course today would be the day that it was a high of 93 at the venue. Needless to say there was a great amount of water consumed. Oh and I remembered the sunblock before getting there.

What would make me venture into a large venue? The combination of Cameo, Gladys Knight, and Maze featuring Frankie Beverly.

I started to think after chatting with folks earlier in the week that many are unfamiliar with the latter. This was solidified when Frankie paused in the show to talk about the band's history.

They have been together for about 40 years, starting in Philadelphia. In 1972 they packed up and moved to the Bay Area. All because they heard Sly and wanted to be near the guy who was turning out that cool music.

The band has always gotten plenty of airplay on Black stations but has never really crossed over. As a result, Frankie described the band as kind of an underground band. They seriously have a cult-like following.

And so before I turn in for some much needed coma sleep after all those hours in the sun, I'd like to leave you with this song. It's always been one of my favorites of theirs.

Playtime

2010-09-21T19:50:00.000-07:00

I realized that it's probably been some time since the cats have made an appearance around here. We have all been trying to learn the lesson that there is plenty of room on the couch for all of us. Once we have that one down, we may try working on "there is plenty of room on the bed for all of us." Or maybe not. Boris does seem content sleeping on the floor most of the time.

Yesterday while out shopping for food and food-related items, I decided that the cats had not received a new toy in quite some time. Now Natasha likes to play soccer, kicking a ball up and down the room, so I knew this would be a hit with her. I also sanely decided to place said object in the living room instead of the bedroom.

The surprise was that Boris enjoys the toy just as much as Natasha. In fact they were originally playing together with each seated at opposite ends of the eight. By the time I decided to take photos, they had opted for solo play though. I wanted an action shot of Boris. Unfortunately he stopped to pose as soon as he saw the camera and refused to return to the game until the camera was out of sight. He's such a diva. And Natasha and I think at times there is only room for two divas here. And we were here before he was.

Two days

2010-09-20T20:50:00.000-07:00

This was supposed to have been dinner last week but I just didn't have the energy to make it so I put the meat in the freezer. But then I pulled it back out yesterday. Wouldn't you know it? Today was much warmer than it had been last week. Oh well.

So what we have here are braised short ribs. OK. So there's only one on the plate. One is enough. Normally I start them off on top of the stove and then throw them into the oven for a couple of hours or so. I still started on the stove. Dredged the ribs in flour and browned them in a little olive oil. Added onions, celery and carrots to the pan that the meat had been cooked in. Deglazed the pan with some red wine. All of this then got thrown into the crockpot with some chopped tomato, beef broth, bay leaf, cumin, cardamom, cinnamon. Simmered in the crockpot on low for about seven hours.

Then it all went in the fridge. Why? Short ribs are fatty. Removed it all from the fridge tonight. Removed the fat that had solidified on top. Threw it all into a casserole dish and into the oven for about an hour.

Served up with my usual broccoli and Yukon gold potatoes mashed with a little horseradish in the mix.

Definitely will be repeating this when it becomes cold and wet outside in the coming months. Or maybe I'll just pull this batch out of the freezer as there seems to be room in there once more.

Doing time

2010-09-19T18:45:00.000-07:00

Summers are always a bit stressful for me because my mother suddenly appears back in town. For almost two months I have been putting off the inevitable -- taking my mother out for her birthday. Because you know, that's what good daughters do. If it had been left up to my mother, we would have taken yet another trip to Hotel Mac on Saturday. Instead I decided to tempt fate and announced that we would be going to The Dead Fish in Crockett.

The first challenge hit when my mother questioned the waiter about the crab enchiladas. I flinched and wished that I could order a cocktail. They make really good cocktails at The Dead Fish. But nowadays when you're out with my mother, you're not allowed to order anything alcoholic. Well maybe y'all could but I'm not. Well I could; I'd just have to be willing to put up with the non-stop lecture. From the woman I once saw do five tequila shots with dinner. Whatever.

I have had nothing but mussels on the brain lately. My mother opted for the crab chowder which is actually a clam chowder to which some fresh crab meat has been added. The mussels were yummy but paled in comparison to those from Plouf. My mother thought the chowder was so filling that she would have been happy with half a cup.

We decided to split a side of veggies. Apparently the only thing my mother recognized on the plate was the broccoli as I had to explain everything else.

And we split this heaping amount of garlic crab.

On the way back to her house, I drove streets instead of the freeway as my mother simply could not believe that we were on San Pablo Avenue. For those unfamiliar with the area, San Pablo Avenue runs through several cities from Crockett to Oakland. And because I'm a good daughter, I played rummikub with her when we returned to her house. I won. If I was a really good daughter, I would have played a second game to give her a chance to win. But I'm not that good.

Lessons learned

2010-09-16T22:50:00.000-07:00

The first lesson that I learned this week was that I just don't have the energy to cook the way I like to after working all day at this time in my life. I started the week thinking that I would make another dish to show y'all during this week. It will be appearing in my kitchen over this weekend instead.

I also learned why I love my camera so much. Unfortunately I left it at the Zombie household last weekend and have not had a chance to pick it up since. So now you are forced to suffer through photos taken on my iPhone 3GS in low light situations. My camera would have been able to compensate for the poor lighting but my phone cannot.

Ken has been in town for a conference and so we agreed to meet for dinner tonight. Unfortunately his charming wife was not with him. I still hope to meet her one day.

Due to his hotel location, I decided that Belden would be the perfect destination. I like to think that the restaurants in this two block alley offer a little of something for everyone. Plus there's that whole European vibe. My Spanish instructor in college said that San Francisco was one of his favorite cities in the United States because it was one of the most European. I have come to agree with him over the years as I not only absolutely adore San Francisco but New York and Boston as well. Then again it may be a coastal thing as well.

As we walked to Belden, I had definite ideas of where I'd like to go -- Plouf or B44. When Ken mentioned that he wanted seafood, the choice became apparent -- Plouf.

Ken started with oysters on the half shell, a mixture of bivalves from Washington and local ones...

while I picked the carpaccio. While I wanted seafood, I also needed to have some red meat.

Ken then went with the sea bass special.

And here's where not having my camera sucked. These are mussels -- their specialty. And they were divine. Unfortunately the style I went with is not even listed on their online menu and I cannot remember it. I do remember that there were red pepper flakes involved. Perhaps some shallots.

There was also some Chimay and at the end of the meal, a French beer that came in a bottle reminiscent of a Grolsch bottle. Oh and the style in pouring the server had.

It was a pleasure to finally meet Ken. My only regret is that he now has probably learned what so many other bloggers know -- that I like to cook food more than I like to eat it. I like to taste; I just don't necessarily eat. Oh and that I talk incessantly. Hopefully he will forgive me my sins. And that you will forgive me for not taking that final photo I had imagined -- the photo of the alley itself so that you could get a feel for it all.

The main event

2010-09-12T17:45:00.000-07:00

Going to Berkeley Bowl is such an adventure -- especially on a Friday evening. Not as bad as Saturday during the day but still.

There are things about which I took for granted from years of shopping at the Bowl. Like creme fraiche. What's up with the lack of creme fraiche in grocery stores in Oakland? This was the basis of my decision to go shopping at Berkeley Bowl. My first thought was to revisit a past recipe -- the mussels. But then I set off on a search for something different and settled on Pork Medallions with Mustard-Chive Sauce. The sauce is wonderful and would go well with chicken as well if you are not into pork. And because I loved the stew I had from Burma Superstar, I decided to give the Kabocha squash mash a try as well. Another hit.

And the best part? The ability to share it with friends when I took half of it to the Zombie household last night.

A simple answer

2010-09-11T14:40:00.000-07:00

My life had become variations on the same theme. Get up in the morning, go to work, come home. After nearly two years of working in San Leandro, there were no more great culinary adventures to be had during my day. OK. Well maybe I do still need to check out that pupuseria I spotted in San Lorenzo but really? Not much else. My coworkers are creatures of routine for the most part when it comes to food. I mean really routine as in if you know what day of the week it is, you know what they'll be having for lunch. I think I'm about the only person in the office who actually reads books for fun.

So apparently all I needed to do was to get myself out of the rut, however brief a time, to start feeling like me once more. A long weekend in Berkeley. A quick trip to Poulet.

Part of the reason I have not been subjecting you to food photos over the summer is that there have been a lot of salads. Now don't get me wrong. I absolutely love salad -- even if I work with folks who cannot understand how you can have a salad as a meal. But they'd probably approve of this one -- sort of.

Last night after work, I found myself returning to Berkeley. Silly me had left my debit card at the gas station on Wednesday night and they still had it. Lucky me. Especially since I didn't even realize that it was missing until Friday afternoon. I know. I lead a charmed life. Once I knew I would be returning to Berkeley, I started imagining the kind of takeout I could pick up. Gregoire. Angeline's. A high school friend suggested Gather. That's when the surprise hit me. Forget all those places; I was going to go to Berkeley Bowl -- and I was actually going to cook something.

This salad was an afterthought. When I began planning my meal, I remembered the days when meals began with a simple salad -- like a prelude. It's about eating for a reason other than survival. This one? Baby romaine tossed with walnut oil and sherry vinegar and topped with Bartlett pear and manchego cheese. I know not much but wait until you see what followed. Cooking has once more become an adventure of sorts around here.

Shana tova

2010-09-08T19:45:00.000-07:00

So after work today, I drove into Berkeley to hit my old fave spot, Poulet. Because you know that it's Rosh Hashanah and that means a special holiday menu at Poulet. There was Chicken B'Stilla -- phyllo filled with chicken, almonds and cinnamon, Lamb Ragout with apricots, raisins, cumin and ginger, Noodle Kugel and Summer Vegetable Gratin. Per usual it was all very tasty.

And when presented with the choice of carrot cake and apple strudel, I don't think that one should have to make a choice.

I've been busy checking out classes to take in the coming months and I'm even thinking about hitting the farmers' market on Sunday -- something I haven't done in some time. I am even thinking about skipping Poulet for Thanksgiving this year and actually cooking. Hmmm. Seems like the last time I did that was three years ago.

Kicking off the training wheels

2010-09-04T07:00:00.000-07:00

Usually when I come to stay with Dumb and Dumber, I survive on a mixture of takeout and things that can be thrown in the microwave -- stuff from the frozen food section of the store or containers that I have stored away in my own freezer. As I sat at work on Thursday making my shopping list, an idea struck. I could actually cook something. I know that part of my trepidation in the past was the idea of an unfamiliar kitchen. But really now. I've been doing this dogsitting thing for at least four years now. I know their kitchen. (What I realized later is that I was unfamiliar with the lighting and so spent much longer trying to take a photo than I would have in my own kitchen.)

Deciding to cook was the easy part; what to cook was a tad more difficult. I feel like it's been months since I've really cooked anything. Suddenly Butter Chicken came to mind. Perhaps since it's been quite some time since I've made it seeing as it's not exactly a low calorie dish. But you've gotta live some times. And so it was decided.

Then a new panic took hold. I had had no intention of returning home and my cookbook was at home. How was I going to swing this? And then I realized just how lost I had become. Even when I use a recipe, I never measure things exactly. Yes, even when baking because I have learned that you can fudge a little in baking. But just a little. I have been cooking Indian food for years. I am comfortable with the spices and can tell when something needs perhaps a little more cardamom. Or cumin. I did cheat by looking at a few recipes online but none were really like the one upon which I have relied all these years. And so here goes.

When I first started making Butter Chicken, it was because I had heard of it on one of those wedding reality shows. Really wish I could tell you which but they have a way of melting together in one's mind. I have yet to find a restaurant in Berkeley that has Butter Chicken on the menu; when I do get it from a restaurant now, it's from a place in Hayward. I like the sauce in theirs but it's kind of close to the Chicken Tikka Masala -- and mine never reminds me of that dish.

What I noticed in the recipes was that most call for breast meat. I always use thigh meat. Why? Because there have been too many times in which I am enjoying a dish in a restaurant and bite into the meat only to discover that it is rather dry. I find the juxtaposition of a tasty sauce with meh meat to be jarring. So thigh meat because it's much more difficult to dry out.

Of course the whole preparation thing might explain that dryness as well. Many of the recipes had you throwing the meat immediately into the pan to cook. I thought, "Umm. Didn't you miss a step?" To me the crucial step is to marinate the meat overnight in whole milk yogurt. That's right. Whole milk. When it's time, the meat and marinade hit the hot pan together. Oh, and that stuff in the pan? Butter. I figured it's called Butter Chicken because of the high levels of dairy fat going on.

Other than this, it's just some sauteed onions, diced tomatoes, crushed cashews, heavy cream, and spices. That was another thing. A lot of the recipes called for garam masala. I almost never buy spice blends like garam masala or curry powder. It seems silly to me as I always have the individual spices that make up these blends on hand anyway. So I use a blend of cinnamon, ginger, cumin, coriander and cardamom. Sometimes some turmeric. But only if I am wearing dark colors. I have made the mistake of getting some stray turmeric on light-colored clothing in the past. Only have to make that mistake once.

When I was a kid, I had a hot pink bike. One evening upon returning home, my father, who had been in the driveway watching me ride, announced that it was time to take the training wheels off of my bike. I was terrified but he assured me it would be OK. Apparently I had been riding so fast -- I was going downhill -- that the training wheels had not even been touching the ground. I thought I could only do it if I had the wheels but they were really more like the stuffed animal that I hugged at night to keep the monsters in the closet at bay.

So the wheels are off and I'm trying to head back into the kitchen. But there are some things I need to do before that really happens. I realized that I need to go out to eat more often -- at places that are not necessarily about churning out the same stuff day after day for those with unadventurous palates or perhaps lack of imagination. I need to start hitting the farmers' markets again. I need to start leafing through the magazines that show up in my mailbox a bit more regularly. Heck. I can't even remember the last time I perused the Epicurious website. I just haven't been feeling surprised or inspired lately. It's been a never ending march of sameness. Well, I'm tired of this ride; it's time to get back on the roller coaster.

They knew

2010-09-02T14:10:00.000-07:00

This photo of Boris and Natasha was taken on Tuesday evening. All this week they have been trying to get as much quality time as possible. I figured they already knew and so was surprised by Boris' puzzled look as I left this morning, suitcase in hand. I assume that he will be throwing a rager in my absence and will not clean up after himself. This will be his payback for my not taking him with me on Monday night when I went to see Dave Chappelle (Fantastic show.) and for not sharing my snow crab legs later in the week.

It's back to Berkeley and the dogs for me. Although I was slightly freaked out to hear that cops had to shoot a mountain lion that was prowling the Gourmet Ghetto earlier this week -- a mere two blocks from my former home.

We're having a heatwave once more. Yesterday it was 90 while today is slightly cooler. Luckily it will continue to cool off over the weekend as it can be unbearably warm at Marin's home. I have also vowed that I will not lock myself out this time.

What will I be doing? Watching "Weeds" on Netflix instant viewing. I am currently in the middle of season three. I also have some reading to do. I am slowly but surely making my way through The Hour I First Believed. Just in case I want to switch things up, I also have with me the latest book from Meg Gardiner as well as that Anthony Bourdain book about which everyone has been talking.

I have also decided to get all kinds of crazy over the weekend. Normally when I watch Dumb and Dumber, I eat takeout and stuff that can be prepared in the microwave. This weekend I have brought along food that will require actual cooking. Actually I haven't been doing any actual cooking in quite some time unless you want to count boiling eggs. Which I'm not going to do this weekend because did you know that Trader Joe's now carries hard boiled eggs? And they're already peeled.

Finally I will also try my best to stay out of Beckett's as that always seems to lead to trouble. But I'll probably cross town to stop into see my BFF, The Commander.

Hope y'all have a great weekend. I know I am really looking forward to having four days off in a row.

Understanding

2010-08-22T11:05:00.000-07:00

I think I get what I miss about Berkeley. Yes, part of it is the ability to easily walk to places of interest but there's more to it. Berkeley is where the craziness happens. And when I say craziness, I mean in a Lucy and Ethel kind of way.

I have been in Berkeley since Friday night to stay with Dumb and Dumber. Yesterday I traveled across town for the Commander's birthday party. After the party, Fluffycat and I headed back to the north side to hit Gregoire's for dinner. We parked at the house and walked the one mile to get yummy treats. Since Gregoire's has limited seating, we returned to the house with our meals. Shortly after dining is when the trouble started.

We went out to the deck and as I was closing the door, I realized that it was locked -- about 2 seconds too late. So there we were trapped on the deck on a rather bucolic street. There was no one to call to help for. Our phones were inside the house. So I did what any good action hero would do. I kicked off my shoes and swung myself over the railing and then swung myself onto the porch. I also quelled the thought that I could slip and land on the cement below. Did I mention that I was wearing a little black dress at the time? Fortunately it is a bucolic street because there was probably an underwear flash at some point in all this maneuvering. But they were cute ones. I then headed to the neighbors' house, whom I had fortunately met on my last stay here. Within 20 minutes or so, the locksmith showed up and Fluffycat was able to come in. She had briefly thought of following my escape route but we decided that since my legs are longer, it was probably easier for me.

In case you're wondering, I had the roasted pork tenderloin medallions that were served with a curry bacon sauce...

while Fluffycat had the grilled tritip served with an oven roasted tomato and roasted garlic salsa.

And I must admit that I was kind of bummed when we entered Gregoire to see a female cook up front. But while we waited for our food, the cute cook did pop his head out of the back and smiled.

So I'm in Berkeley for another two nights and now I'm wondering what kind of ~~trouble~~ adventure I can get into today...

Some things never change

2010-08-14T19:20:00.001-07:00

You ever feel like you have so much to say yet nothing at all at the same time? That's where I am. I take photos and say that I'll write a post but then I have nothing. So let's see if I can make sense of images from last weekend.

The last time I grilled arrachera, I followed the traditional marinating procedures. Now I love cumin as much as the next girl but it had way too much cumin for my taste. Sheesh. Never thought I would say that. This time around I wanted cleaner flavors. So I stuck with salt, pepper, garlic, lime juice and olive oil. Much more the experience I sought. After tasting the cooked meat, I wrapped it up and deposited it into the freezer.

While the meat was marinating, I took another stab at potato salad. I have always thought that I was following my real mom's recipe in the past but it turns out, I wasn't. I knew in the past I had not used nearly enough boiled eggs and mustard. But the real secret is the pickle relish. I grew up believing that Yankees use dill while Southerners use sweet. Turns out that Mom uses a combination of both. And since she makes the best potato salad in the world, I have to believe in her choice. I've barely put a dent in the bowl.

While I was in the store picking up potatoes and celery for the potato salad, I thought that I may as well pick up some peaches for a cobbler. I made it in a smaller pan this time so the crust to filling ratio was more to my liking. I finally tasted it today.

Here's the thing. I like to cook. And in the past I rarely ate it. I woke up last Sunday knowing that I had gained a few of the pounds that I had lost back and wanted to be rid of them once more -- and then some. I then proceeded to cook a bunch of stuff guaranteed to put more pounds on my ass. Why? Because cooking relaxes me. It also helps me to forget that I really don't have anything better to do -- except clean.

Mostly I haven't posted because I've been dealing with a lot of emotions which I have struggled to put into words. Now I think I have some ideas.

I am once more fighting my nomadic soul. There is a voice in my head that is screaming, "Run. Pack up and move away," but I know that I can't right now. Instead once a week I look at real estate listings.

I keep telling myself that I need four more years. Hopefully by then I will be in a position to move once more. Hopefully back to Berkeley. I love that I own my condo; I am just not enamored with the location. Then again maybe the development across the street will finally happen. If so, that could change my opinion completely.

Then there is my job. I like what I do. And I'm really good at it. This is now the longest I have been at any one place as far as work is concerned. Usually I left because I felt like I had plateaued. See? More of the nomadic soul. I'm pretty much at that place once more but I really want to give stability a try. And I guess it could be a lot more bearable except for the one thing I just realized today. This is the first job at which I do not socialize with my coworkers on a regular basis. In many ways I have always buried myself in my work but because there was also a social aspect to it all, I never really minded.

Bottom line is what I guess I am feeling is loss. I feel like I'm replaying every time I have had someone close to me die. Except this time someone hasn't died. And so I have had to spend the past couple of weeks defending my position to others. And I feel tired. But what I really want is something different.

Going coastal

2010-07-24T23:05:00.000-07:00

I haven't really dropped off the map. A week ago I headed down the coast to hang out with Zombie Mom and her children, the Commander and Lala Bean. We were joined by Zombie Mom's friend, Peony and her children. And briefly by another friend of Zombie Mom's. I went for an extended weekend, leaving on Tuesday, while the rest stayed on.

There was lots of frolicking in the surf and sand at the beginning of it all for me but then I began to feel drained. Perhaps it was forewarning of things to come. Then again perhaps my sunburn from Sunday was the first warning. My left shoulder is still sore to the touch but my nose started to peel a couple of days ago.

By midday at work on Wednesday, I was not feeling exceptionally well. By early evening, all I could think of was sleep. Thursday morning? I made the decision to drag my butt out of bed to go into the office to take care of a few urgent things. These things took all of an hour. And then I took my feverish ass home. My self-diagnosis was the flu if you really want to know.

If you know me, time at the ocean always makes me introspective -- more so than usual. Add onto this time alone at home while sick for a few days and well...

I headed off on the weekend after having had a biopsy on Friday morning. Seems like things are still not quite regular in my body. I need to quit smoking. So far that hasn't happened but I have cut down drastically. My doctor mentioned how many people smoke as a result to stress. I mentioned this to my mother and then she droned on about the latest thing that some family member has done to irritate her. Oh and in case you're wondering, it's still all pre-cancerous. Supposedly if I quit smoking, my body can rid itself of this stuff. If I don't, it's up in the air.

Yesterday my dad's assistant called before heading off for her vacation. She has finally met my future stepmother and is thoroughly charmed by her. She also says that for the last couple of weeks my father has been his old self -- the one we actually liked.

The thoughts raced through my mind during my recuperation. And sometimes I felt the burn of hot tears down my face. Today I started the first draft of a statement to my dad. A statement, not a letter. I could send an email but I want him to see my face, hear my voice as I read it to him. In an ideal world I will do such with a therapist present. I see myself reading the words and then handing the page to him. And then walking out.

I am glad that he is getting better. That's all I've ever wanted. But in this time I've realized that I just can't let him into my life anymore. I've had a couple of months to see what life can be like. And I became a little bit happier. Because right now that's my focus. Stop worrying about if other people are happy. Make sure I'm happy and healthy. I feel like I should write a book on how to not fuck up your kids.

The personal assistant

2010-07-12T16:15:00.000-07:00

For many years, I have suspected that my mother views me as her personal assistant. This would explain the fuzzy/non-existent boundaries. Actually now that I think about it, I do seem to recall her telling someone that I was her assistant.

It started off rather innocently. At age nine or so, I was frequently confronted with the words, "This doesn't smell right. Taste it." Taste some bad milk once and you learn some skills. I would take the offending carton and stand by the sink. Then I would pour the milk over a finger and taste a drop from said finger. Believe me when I say that if the milk has gone bad, then all you need is one drop to ascertain such.

By high school, I had additional duties. First was that upon hearing the garage door open, I was to go to the kitchen to prepare a White Russian. This was to be done by sight because I was underage and therefore should not be drinking. The cocktail was to be ready by the time my mother reached the kitchen.

And a few times a week we would stop by the nearby gas station in the mornings. I would get out and run into the store to request packs of Benson & Hedges Deluxe Ultralights. Sometimes the clerk would pull out the wrong box but I knew what it was supposed to look like and would correct them. I did not want to hear it if I returned with the wrong cigarettes.

But the true duty was that my mother basically stopped answering the phone. It was my job to answer and screen calls. If it was someone to whom my mother did not wish to speak, I would deftly lie, stating some reason for her unavailability.

Flash forward to this weekend. As I have stated earlier, there are certain types of roads that my mother will not drive. This would be why I had not seen large parts of Marin and Sonoma Counties until adulthood. But sometimes she just has to go somewhere. And I must drive her. That's how I found myself spending seven hours with my mother on Saturday. I'm still trying to figure out if she ever took a breath in all those hours to stop talking.

Our trip was to Sonoma County to see a friend of hers. This friend was in a really bad car accident earlier this year. While she was starting her recovery from the accident, she had a series of strokes. Finally after months in a rehab center, she has returned home.

The photo above is the patio area of their home. I think it's beautiful. My mom? "Why the hell would anyone want to live way out here in the middle of nowhere?" It could have been better if I had been allowed to accept the glass of wine that was proffered upon our arrival -- because of course these people are winemakers -- but wine is never allowed. At least not for me.

And I kept my fingers crossed that all would go well at our dinner at the Hotel Mac. I had made a reservation there after receiving an email announcing their special for the weekend.

Fried calamari appetizer

Entree of braised short ribs with cheddar mashed potatoes

The only dessert I ever have there -- bread pudding

Thankfully all went well with the meal. And you know what made it even better? That meal pictured? $25. So now we have gone to the Hotel Mac on three different occasions in the last year or so and all has gone well. I am afraid to try anywhere else at this point. Because my boss can be rather demanding and I'm afraid that one day she'll throw a cellphone at my head.

Continental

2010-07-05T18:45:00.000-07:00

When I am in Mexico -- or hell even I am around Spanish speaking people here, I would never dream of answering the question De donde eres? with America. Just like I'd never say Soy americana; the correct sentence is Soy estadounidense. Because America is a continent. Well actually two. Whereas the United States is a country. When traveling in the Western hemisphere, it has always seemed a bit arrogant to say that one is American because aren't the people with whom one is conversing American as well? I know. We don't have a word in English that explains that one is from the United States -- but other languages do. (And yes, I am too lazy to look up the code for the proper question marks and accent marks. Live with it.) Enough of the language lesson. Sort of.

My mother says the word arreahera with the same kind of awe that others use for Kobe. And I must admit that the arrachera that I have had in Mexico was most wondrous. The beef I had there was grilled and wrapped around cheese and shrimp. My mother made it sound like it came from a specially raised cow. After seeing it in the butcher area of Mi Pueblo recently, I did some research and discovered that in things beef, once more my mother is mistaken. Arrachera is skirt, or flank, steak that has been marinated.

Mi Pueblo sells it marinated and unmarinated. Against my mother's advice (See her mistake about the cut above.), I chose to get the unmarinated so that I could mix my own. Research said that lime juice was essential as it helps to tenderize the meat. I added some olive oil, salt, pepper, garlic, cumin and a little chili powder. After eight hours of marinating, I threw it on a hot grill -- direct heat this time -- that contained a mixture of charcoal and mesquite chips. Because I figured a Mexican dish deserved mesquite and not the applewood I have been using lately.

Originally I paired with some pinto beans, guacamole, grilled corn and tortilla for a pretty good mix of North America -- less Canada. (Need to figure out how to get Canada in the mix.)

Then I looked at that photo and thought, "Ick." So I chopped some up as a nachos topping. Because I wanted to leave you with a photo that was a bit more attractive.

One nation full of carbs

2010-07-04T14:10:00.000-07:00

I don't know about y'all but in my family, holidays have always meant a carb extravaganza. They just change based upon the season. Mac and cheese? It's your year-round carb. Whereas corn on the cob is purely a summer thing -- much in the same way that candied yams are a winter thing. And potato salad? Basically a year-round carb as well. That non-carby thing on the plate? Chicken grilled over mesquite. Now I know my mother would look at this plate and ask one question. "What? No bread? But you've gotta have bread.

To finish it off, sugary carbs. Now my aunts if they were still around would have you starting and ending your meal with sugary carbs as they were partial to ambrosia. Seeing as it's summer and my daddy's people are from Georgia, a peach cobbler seemed like the natural dessert choice. For a slightly different twist, I topped it with cardamom ice cream instead of the usual vanilla. I happen to think that a dessert that contains cinnamon and nutmeg can stand up to the addition of cardamom. I had briefly thought of trying lavender ice cream but Marin managed to dissuade me of that idea. Another time.

Hope y'all have a great day. And please. Walk away from the carbs. If you're like me, your waist and hips will greatly appreciate it.

Better late than never

2010-07-03T17:05:00.000-07:00

About a couple of years ago, I had this wonderful vegetarian dish from Gregoire's. I vowed that I would try to duplicate -- especially since it has never appeared on their menu since that first time I had it.

The layers are eggplant, red bell pepper and zucchini -- all cooked on the grill. In between the veggie layers is some goat cheese. The dish at Gregoire did not include zucchini but I had it in the fridge and figured it couldn't hurt.

And yes, it was as good as I remembered.

Pins and needles

2010-07-01T22:55:00.000-07:00

When Loma Prieta (This would be the earthquake that occurred during the World Series in 1989 for those of you from outside of Northern California.) happened, I lived in San Diego. When the Rodney King verdict came down, I was living in Virginia. Of course a month after the Rodney King verdict, I returned to California -- specifically Los Angeles -- to work for the summer. And the damage I saw made me want to cry. How could my people destroy our communities to this extent? I mean I understood the root of their anger and frustration -- things that the mainstream had failed to recognize, to understand. And it was to the detriment of all of us. I looked at burned out of streets of Los Angeles and my heart broke.

Fast forward. Oscar Grant got onto a BART train in San Francisco in the early morning hours of New Year's Day in 2008 heading back to Oakland. Something went down on the train and he ended up on his belly on the platform of the Fruitvale station. And then the officer, Johannes Mehserle, decided that he was out of control and shot him in his back. The officer says that he was reaching for his taser. But after a month or so, I watched the video that had been posted to YouTube and had shown up on local news casts. It showed a man whose hands had been cuffed behind his back, lying on his stomach on the pavement. A BART police officer stood near his head and another by his feet. And that one by his feet? Johannes Mehserle. He pulled out what he says what he believed to be his taser and shot Oscar Grant in his back. And we never heard an apology from him until during his trial in these past few weeks.

I watched the video because I wanted to understand why people in my city were in the streets after what was supposed to be a peace rally busy breaking windows and burning cars. The last time I saw people in the streets like this was when the Raiders lost to New England in their quest to go to the Super Bowl. And I thought, "It's a football game. How ridiculous." Because my last memory of living in California and seeing that kind of anger was when Dan White's verdict came down. That one -- the birth of the Twinkie defense -- still baffles me. But I remember sitting at home while watching cars burn in San Francisco. And understanding the anger and violence while not condoning it.

And so the last I have heard is that the Mehserle case has been handed over to the jury. I have read about how the city as well as nearby communities and BART are preparing for the verdict. I am too. Coworkers asked what I would be doing this weekend. Staying in. I am afraid of what people who are stressed about the economy would do in light of a verdict with which they don't agree. I mean I've already seen what happens when we lose a football game. But then I've also seen through Loma Prieta of the good that exists in people. I will never forget the image of people who lived along the Cypress -- that no longer exists -- going in to rescue people long before the emergency teams showed up. Because that's what I like to believe. Our first instinct in these kind of situations is to take care of one another. And yes, I realize these are completely different kinds of situations but I want to believe in the good in others. In the meantime, I am ashamed to admit that I am happy that as of today, my complex is completely gated. No one gets in unless they have the code, a key, or have been buzzed in. Part of me thinks that this is so elitist but the other part of me feels like as a single woman a bit of relief.

Growth

2010-06-27T10:00:00.000-07:00

As I prepared for my guests yesterday, a number of things went through my mind. Like who was showing up. And about the long list of people who had stated that they wouldn't be able to make it. In the past I probably would have felt hurt but surprisingly my feeling was more like "Whatever."

I thought about my college days. There was another university across town that was known for its parties. My classmates and I eventually decided that their parties were not necessarily better than ours though. They were known for having these parties with tons of people. But does more actually mean better? We decided that when you have to wait way too long in line at the keg, more isn't better. So we argued that we went for quality over quantity.

And so that's what yesterday was. The only people who had previously met were Zombie Mom and Fluffycat but that didn't seem to matter. We were joined by Marin and one of my high school friends and his wife. Oh yeah. And the Zombie girls who seemed quite concerned that Boris kept hiding from them. And who also insisted that a birthday celebration was not complete without cupcakes and singing.

So yes, yesterday was great. And today? Well I cleaned everything before going to sleep last night. I have plenty of leftovers, some of which will probably end up in the freezer. And as I am quite sore from all the scrubbing and cooking, a long soak in the tub is starting to sound like a good idea -- if I can move off of the couch, away from my Netflix instant viewing choice of "Quincy." But whatever I decide, it will all be fine.

Like Kermit

2010-06-23T11:15:00.000-07:00

I have invited some friends to join me this weekend for some grilled foods in celebration of aging another year. Now usually I run out to the party supply store to buy color-coordinated napkins, paper plates and plastic utensils. But I got to thinking. That's just now very environmentally friendly.

That meant that I have been spending a good portion of my lunch hour throughout this week exploring other options. I found the plates at Target. They are plastic and dishwasher safe. Plus they are my favorite color. Four plates for $1.99. The flatware came from my stepmother's favorite place -- The 99 Cent Store. Six forks or six knives for 99 cents. I know. Ridiculous. Next is a search for cloth napkins. And maybe some glass plates. I love the plastic because I won't have to worry about little people but sometimes you want something a little fancier.

It's kind of strange. This year I feel like I'm in a really good place. It's like I care but I don't care if people acknowledge my birthday. I know it will be wonderful even if I were to spend it all completely on my own. And so for me, that's being in a good place.

Donors

2010-06-20T20:45:00.000-07:00

I read Sizzle's post earlier today and I thought, "How nice." I thought how it's really easy to look back on the positive stuff someone has done when they are no longer here. But when you're thigh deep in the crazy and trying to find your way out of the swamp? Not so easy.

I spoke to my "real dad" and my uncle today. Because you know. They're dads. And they both asked if I had spoken to my father today. Uh no. I was even asked if I had at least sent a card. Once more no. Real dad then said, "But he's your father." My response was, "Oh. You mean the DNA donor."

Because right now I can't think of that man as my father. Recent reports indicate that his behavior is much improved. But I've seen that before. I just can't trust him anymore. I never really could

The first time that I realized that he would lie to make himself look good in the eyes of others -- to my detriment -- was when I was about ten or so. It was yet another one of the many bricks in my wall that started when my parents' marriage deteriorated. It's when I learned to be what people want you to be -- if it suits your purpose at that time. But the most important lesson was that no one could ever see all of you at one time. Because then they had the power to hurt you. And I was never going to let anyone hurt me that much ever again in my life. Looking back, I want to cry for my ten-year-old self. Because that's not what being ten should be about.

I have spent years forgiving my parents of their past transgressions. But I never forgot. And I know that if I spoke to them now, they would ask, "Why are you bringing up all this old shit once more?" Why? Because I feel like we've gone full circle. But I choose to not have the conversation because I know the words have been spoken before and it's pointless.

And so I'd like to say Happy Father's Day to the guys who are really dads. Me? I just have a couple of people who donated some DNA -- and a bunch of baggage. Me? I'm just trying to lighten the load -- especially since I was evidence today that the crazy is about to get a lot more crazy. Good thing? I don't have to be in the middle of it now.

Single ladies

2010-06-18T22:50:00.000-07:00

Every now and then Emerald's husband packs the kids up to go see his parents. Such is the case currently. As a result, I received a call from Emerald on Wednesday asking if I wanted to check out a new restaurant, Miliki, in the Laurel District. (Note to self -- Must write a post in the future about the various neighborhoods in Oakland.)

What little you can find about Miliki tells you that they are West African. But then I spied one word in their description -- Lagos. This told me that we were in store for traditional Nigerian food. I love the food of East Africa -- like Ethiopia -- and want to marry the food of Northern Africa but my knowledge of West African food has been limited to what my cousin's husband has prepared for the family. (He's Nigerian.)

Unfortunately -- or fortunately -- the place was packed and we were asked to share a table. Our tablemates being Nigerian were able to help us navigate the menu.

The standard dinner consists of a soup/stew accompanied by a dough. Our tablemates told us that some of the stews were an acquired taste so I went with one of the ones they said was not so.

Egusi is a mixture of tomatoes, pepper, spices, melon and vegetables with meat. The meat in this case was a mixture of chicken and various beef products. I told them that they could leave the tripe out as I have never been a fan of the stuff. There was a taste that I could not distinguish that just seemed off to me. Perhaps it was a result of the melon as the menu stated that it could be optional.

Then there was the Iyan -- pounded yam also known as fufu. Emerald and I decided that it needed to be bland to combat the spiciness of the other food.

Now before you start believing that the food was unacceptable to the Western palate, let me share Emerald's menu choices.

She saw Moin Moin listed and was deeply fascinated. It is a mixture of steamed ground beans, tomato, onion and red pepper. It looked like the fufu -- except color - but had so much flavor.

She also ordered the Pepper Soup with goat meat. Upon tasting it, I thought that I was on my way to heaven. If and when I return, I will be ordering this dish.

And I'll try to do so in another month or so -- once they have gotten past tonight's grand opening. Because tonight the service was way below par. Since it was their grand opening, I'll cut them some slack.

Missing is a photo of the wonderful drummers who were there for entertainment. I thought too late of snapping a photo and so missed the opportunity.

But tonight reminded me that the Laurel District is only a five to ten minute drive away. It's like the perfect meld of Berkeley and Oakland. And I absolutely love it.

And as I parked my car, I also remembered my realtor's statement in convincing me to buy my condo -- You only have to plan to stay there for five years or so. Because yes, this house is for sale.Way out of my price range now but in four years? I might just have to check out the open house on Sunday. Because right now I'm all about building my dreams.

Reality check

2010-06-15T12:15:00.000-07:00

Anyone who knows me knows that I watch a lot of reality TV. My usual morning routine is to grab a glass of juice or a cup of tea and settle down in front of the TV. After I catch up on some of my stuff saved on the DVR, I usually watch the Style channel.

This morning I got treated to an episode of "Tacky House." If you've never seen it, it's a show on which a friend or relative turns someone in for their tacky decorating taste. The poor victim is tricked into thinking that they are actually going to be on a show called "My Awesome House." I'm surprised there is not more cursing on the show personally. And maybe some bitch slaps.

So there I was this morning enjoying some juice and the show. This morning a woman turned in her fiance and his sister for living in a castle somewhere in the Los Angeles area. I mean this place actually had a moat. As the show went on, I realized that I recognized the woman's voice and so did a little rewinding. Yes, the woman who had turned in the pair was indeed Lisa D'Amato who first appeared on "America's Next Top Model" and later on "Celebrity Rehab." I told y'all I watch a lot of reality TV.

The thing is that since I was looking at the mobile version of Wikipedia on my phone, the first thing I read were Lisa's stats. It seems we wear about the same size. OK. So sometimes I wear a smaller size. But then I looked at her measurements. Because you know since she's a model, it's really important that they share that information. And it confirmed what I know to be true now. I don't necessarily need to lose weight but I do need to firm some stuff up. Because if I firm it up, I'll lose those last pesky few inches. Now to just get motivated...

So many things

2010-06-13T18:05:00.000-07:00

So since that last post I've been meaning to write. The stuff there? A temporary setback. That was a sign of my warring inner selves -- the one who knows these people cannot be trusted and the one who wants to believe that people will understand and respect what I say. Notice I did not say agree. Unlike my mom, I'm not looking for agreement. All I've ever wanted is understanding.

I first thought of writing on Thursday night when I got home and found this lad howling on my deck. Seems he wanted in. And he eventually got his way. I refused to name him though since once you name them, they're yours. I sent him home with a coworker on Friday. Hopefully now he has a new home.

I took a half day on Friday. Besides packing up the kitten to go home with my coworker, I had my hair done and got a pedicure. Lesson learned is that I should not wait this long between pedicures. Another lesson learned is that I should take more time for me.

Finally, Drummer Boy was supposed to show up this weekend. In younger days, I would be crying over this slight. (Especially since I did not find out until Friday afternoon that he was not showing up -- because I texted him. Thin rope.) So I continued on with my weekend plans. I know you've seen this before but it's been quite some time since I have grilled ribs. And once it's lit, you just have to throw other stuff on it. I had to make sure that I had not forgotten what I learned. It was basically a practice run.

This year for my birthday, I'm hosting a BBQ. Last year I invited one of my coworkers and his wife. They were expecting an invite this year as well. So they responded yes but now they are rethinking. Why? Because the vast majority of the people invited are female. I explained that most of my friends are married and that some will be bringing their husbands. See my coworker didn't want to be the only guy present. So now he wants me to let him know a few days beforehand if other men will be present. My feeling is that if you are so worried about who else will be present, then you don't need to be present. So yeah, I uninvited them. Life's too short for that kind of bullshit in my opinion.

Final thought of the weekend is this song. I first heard it on "Ugly Betty" when they played it for the first dance at Hilda's wedding. I was near tears. I'm pretty sure that Maddie was bawling. After hearing it, I thought that I could suggest it to my dad and his fiance for their wedding -- because I was still speaking to them then. So if one of y'all out there is planning on getting married, I highly recommend this song to you. Although I still love Stevie Wonder's "As" but that song is something like six minutes long.

And maybe soon I'll be able to put together something that isn't as rambling in the near future.

The abyss

2010-06-06T22:25:00.000-07:00

There is a deep hole in me that I hide with smiles and sarcasm. It started with the stuff from yesterday's post but includes so much more. It is my opinion that perfectionists are made and not born.

The craziness of my childhood turned me into a people pleaser. I don't like conflict and am always trying to figure out how to make others happy. This is why the one therapist made me go through all the exercises on self-esteem.

Thing is I have never been able to get rid of the nagging voice in my head. The voice that says that I have fucked up. The voice that says that I will never be good enough.

I realized this in the last month. My boss makes everyone who reports to him come up with annual goals and we check in with him every two weeks to report our progress. I met with my boss a day or so before my dad had been released from the hospital. In the prior two week period I had done absolutely nothing to meet my goals. I had also made a couple of major mistakes at work. I just hadn't been present. So two weeks later, it was time for the meeting and I was scrambling to figure out what I had accomplished. I pulled some stuff together and was prepared to bullshit my way through it all. If anything, I can always spin things so that I look good. But I sat there in the chair across the desk from my boss and thought about how I was about to be told what a major fuck-up I am. There's not really a reason why I should think this. When I had my annual review (and received my bonus check), I was told how much they appreciate me. The only explanation is that I have spent a lot of years not feeling appreciated.

And so I realized just how deep the hole in me goes. I am always worrying about being accepted, appreciated, liked. Really. Almost every single second. I say or do something and I worry what others will think. I see two people I know having a conversation in which I am not included and a part of my mind will at times think that they are discussing what a loser I am.

This is the root of what makes me suck at the whole dating thing. I become this needy person who needs constant reassurance. And even if you say that you love me, why should I really believe you? The people who were supposed to love me first -- my parents -- said it plenty of times but their actions said something different.

So imagine my dismay this weekend. After a Friday spent under assault, in my opinion, all I really wanted was someone who would reassure me that even if I didn't do what others wanted, I was still an OK person. Originally the weekend was supposed to be spent with Drummer Boy but then he found out that he needed to work. I understand that. The hurt little girl doesn't understand not hearing from him though. No, he doesn't know about what went down but I just kind of figured that he would contact me regardless. And then I started thinking that perhaps this is why he had stopped being a part of my life before. I did try to get in touch with him but refrained from doing so more than once. Because that abyss inside of me? Well sometimes I worry that it makes me too needy. To contact him more than the one time that I had might make him feel this way was what I argued in my mind.

And so instead I wrote yesterday's post. It felt much safer.

The road to here

2010-06-05T14:40:00.000-07:00

Life started out OK, or at least it seemed that way to me. I was born a year after the college sweethearts moved to California. They had been married for two years at that point. My mother chose to be a SAHM until I was three. There were baked goods, dinner on the table at six and quality time with mom that included sitting on her lap while she read various books to me. She knit sweaters and made wonderful Halloween costumes for me. It was many years later when I found that my mother was a pretty skilled artist and besides the textile arts, she does a decent job with drawing and painting. But that was at a point at which the world had already shifted quite a bit.

I remember all of this clearly since my memory starts sometime between ages two and three for me. Really. But there are about two years missing from my memory that I know I will never be able to retrieve. As an adult, I now know that this lapse starts about the time at which my parents' marriage began to disintegrate. But it's not all gone. I can tell you about school during that time period. Just don't ask me about home.

I can tell you why my parents split. They started telling me the why of it all when I was about ten, I believe. (They divorced when I was eight but the deterioration of their relationship started when I was about six.) I know that my mother was not satisfied with being a SAHM. I know that my dad felt that in his role as the provider, there was no need for his wife to work. As such, why did she insist upon working? It had been fine for his mother after all. Then the divorce happened and we began our journey on becoming the people we are today.

My mother while loving her job felt empty. She filled the emptiness with daily shopping. Dinner was no longer on the table at six. Instead I was often told that I was on my own. I often dined with my "real parents." And I would escape to Jade's house.

My father tried to adjust to being single and along the way dived into the bottle. By the time I was 12, I was able to figure out that someone who can kill a fifth of whatever in a single afternoon had a problem. He would drink and tell me how he had failed as a husband and how it pained him. That's about the time I stopped the biweekly visits. It's not like he was showing up on the doorway, beating it down and demanding his visitation rights anyway.

And me? I felt alone but slowly figured out how to get through it all. But every now and then I wanted them to listen to me. And so I'd do something self-destructive. That is our dynamic. They can only hear me when I have done something completely fucked up.

In looking back, I realize that it all began much earlier than I had previously thought. At age 11, my best friend and I proclaimed that we were tired of getting straight A's. Apparently our teacher overheard us and shared this with my mom at a parent-teacher conference. The adults were concerned because getting A's had always come easy to me; getting anything less took conscious effort. And so I just stopped doing the work.

By the next school year, I found myself in for a conference with both my parents and my English teacher. My decision to stop turning in work had earned me a D. I was allowed to make up the work and so received a C instead. It could have been higher if I had actually completed all of the make-up work.

This is what I remember most though. I remember sitting at the kitchen table at my mom's house while both my parents lectured me on how this just was not acceptable. They may have even asked why I did it. And I sat there in silence. Finally they asked what I wanted. "You wish you were somewhere else, don't you?" I looked them in their eyes and calmly said, "I wish I were dead." There was a great deal of fussing about how I should never say that. And so I never said the words again.

Instead I quietly skipped meals. Because at 5'9" and 110 pounds, I had decided that I was fat. When I looked in the mirror, I'm not sure that there was anything about myself that I liked. Why should I? The message that I got at home was that I rarely got anything right. Or it was, "You can't say or act that way because your behavior is a reflection upon me. I will not have people talking about how I am not doing things right because of how you act." Those may not be the exact words but that was the gist of it. And I now know that this is when I learned to lock away little bits of myself, how to let others see only what I thought they wanted to see.

It all started to eat away at me though. By junior year of high school, I was clearly depressed. I felt very alone in the world save for a handful of friends. These wonderful people are still my friends today. Besides my friends, the other thing that kept me going was knowing that I'd go to college soon and have a chance at freedom.

Somehow it all came to a head in my college years though. I spent a great deal of my 20s in and out of therapy. I would try to talk to my parents but they just couldn't hear me. And so there were the suicide attempts that would finally make them listen if only for a few days. My first therapist recognized what was I doing. She told me, "You don't really want to die. You just want people to pay attention, to listen. You don't know how to get them to listen otherwise. I'm just afraid that one of these days in trying to get them to listen, you'll actually succeed in killing yourself."

I spent a year with another therapist after my last suicide attempt. She's the one who made me go through all the self-esteem exercises. She reiterated what the previous therapist -- and the ones after both of them -- have said. In order to save myself, I might one day have to let go of certain people.

I was well into my 30s before the thought of suicide finally was no longer an option in my mind. I promised myself then that I would never go down that road again. I now knew how to recognize the early signs. This is what I have seen over the last couple of years -- that I was no longer going forward, but instead was moving backward.

Why write this now? Because yesterday I let my guard down a little too much. First there was the phone call from my "real dad." I have been talking to his wife over the last week or so. She understands. He on the other hand has heard my dad crying, whining, whatever about how he didn't understand why I no longer want to speak to him. Real dad wanted to mediate things. Problem is that in my mind there just isn't anything to mediate. There was nothing that I could say to my dad that I haven't said before. I said I was tired of the lies, the false promises. I just can't go down that road again.

And then I got a visit from my dad's oldest brother and his wife last night. They wanted me to patch things up with my dad -- because that's what family does. There was talk about how sometimes you swallow things to prevent discord in the family. Oh, and that they accept me as I am. This was in response to my saying that I feel like I get lost along the way in the whole family dynamic, that friends who have seen me around them say that I stop being me. I won't be talking to them any time soon.

That's why I can share this now. To help you to understand something that they never will. That to go back into all of this now feels like it would just kill me. I can talk myself blue in the face yet they will never get it. And I just can't ever go back to that place again. Mostly because I kind of enjoy rediscovering who I really am.

If you haven't guessed yet, this is something I wrote for me. Something to make sense of it all.

Supporting role

2010-06-04T09:50:00.000-07:00

How we ate changed drastically once my mom divorced my dad. It started off with little things -- lowfat instead of whole milk, wheat instead of white bread. (I still feel that squishy white bread has its place though, namely with fried fish or barbecue. Kind of irks me that now places give you wheat. Just not the same.) My mom also toyed with idea of us becoming pescatarians like her younger sister. My mom only saw one problem with that though. Occasionally she was going to need a pork chop. I quite agree.

Now I had planned on cooking this up earlier in the week but I just didn't have the energy to light up the grill. Next thought was to cook the chops on the grill pan indoors but what about the asparagus? The asparagus deserved to feel flame. But I don't think that the chop is really the star here; instead it's all about giving the peach salsa a home. Because this week has been about fruit for me.

And I'm looking forward to getting home tonight to have leftover chop and salsa. And maybe a little ice cream after.

Moderation

2010-06-02T21:20:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago some of my coworkers started a biggest loser challenge. I am not participating. Yes, I still would like to lose some more weight but at this point I am more concerned with being healthy than the number on the scale. Of course I suppose that is a luxury that one has when one's BMI is somewhere between 19 and 20.

I love all things dairy and have spent the past week or so reintroducing ice cream into my diet. The stuff pictured? Cherry Garcia. Homemade. Because it is the start of cherry season. Bing cherries and fair trade dark chocolate. The cream part of it could have had more cherry flavor in my opinion. Not bad for a first attempt though. I have at least another month to perfect it.

And yes, I actually ate the ice cream pictured. Well half of it. If I had not succumbed to the extra large chili dog from Sonic earlier in the day for lunch, I would have eaten it all. But now it's all about having tastes of things instead of sitting down and eating an entire pint as a meal.

Different day, same crap

2010-06-02T00:05:00.000-07:00

There was supposed to be a food photo here but I just didn't have the energy when I left work today. Instead I decided to return a call from one of my dad's best friends as well as one to my uncle in Colorado. Part of me wishes that I hadn't.

Apparently my cousin never went to stay with my dad. And that crap about him attending meetings as he claimed in his text on Friday? Total bullshit. Or at least that's the read I've gotten from those who still have contact with him.

One of my uncles is in town with his wife specifically to see my dad. Thing is my dad is at his fiance's house while they are staying at his house.

And this past weekend they had a cookout at my dad's house at which no one smoked nor drank. But my dad kept disappearing for long periods of time. And near the end they could smell the alcohol on him.

Funny how some things never change. But they have. I wasn't there. And I refuse to be a part of this crap anymore. My dad may not think that he deserves better but I damn well know that I do.

I thought at the beginning that this would be a temporary thing but as each day passes, it feels more like something permanent. But like I said before. I've thought about this for over 20 years. Nothing new necessarily. Just finally taking action. Because this is all about living life and as long as I'm caught up in that bullshit, I'm not really living.

Mysteries

2010-05-31T12:25:00.000-07:00

I'm not really sure what possessed me when I decided that I really needed to make this salad. Dealing with crazy family members? Hormones? I don't know. All I know is that I was committed to the idea and so yesterday I fired up the grill.

Now don't get me wrong. It's damn tasty, especially after I hit it with extra hot sauce. Hot sauce is kind of like bacon in that it can make so many things even better. The problem is that I'm not a huge fan of tomatoes. It's one of my weird food quirks. Yes, I will eat all kinds of meat but I just am not a fan of tomatoes. But if you love tomatoes, then this salad is completely for you.

I had to rush the salad though after receiving a surprise text message yesterday though. From Drummer Boy of all people. He said he had disappeared because his life had gotten crazy and he didn't think it was fair to drag me into the craziness. Y'all know how I am as magnet for all things crazy so of course I agreed to go out with him. Turns out his crazy was very similar to mine -- family. Now he is no longer speaking to certain family members because he just doesn't have time for the drama.

I have purposefully spent the past year not dating. I kind of figured that if I was meant to be doing such, then the universe would let me know. And boy did it ever. Because what did the universe give me? A guy who talks about the near and far future. Including stuff like how I am silly in saying that my birthday should indeed be something special. Heck. I might even have to try out some of his favorite crockpot recipes that he was kind enough to share with me.

All I can think is how on Friday I was thinking about how I missed my old rock and roll lifestyle. And now it's back in some ways.

Life goes on

2010-05-29T17:35:00.000-07:00

For at least a year, Fluffycat and I have talked about going to La Fondue in Saratoga. Finally as a celebration of her birthday this year -- You don't look a year over 21, Fluffycat -- she made reservations at La Fondue and invited me and a few other friends.

After salads, it was time to dive into the wonderfulness of cheese fondue. Now I happen to think that cheese is an essential food group and cannot imagine life without it. Also a couple of weeks ago I stopped counting calories. Some of my coworkers have started a weight loss challenge and I decided to not participate. Some of them participated in a similar challenge a couple of years ago. When I tried to argue for a "getting healthy" challenge, I was overruled. Under my idea even those who were not trying to lose weight would have been able to participate. And so came my mind shift. Yes, I am still trying to lose some more weight but I am no longer locked into the idea that it has to happen by a certain time as that was sure to lead to some unhealthy, unsustainable practices. So yeah, I enjoyed the hell out of that cheese.

The cheese was followed by meat and this was the big deal. See for years Fluffycat has been wanting to try the Wild Thing assortment but had yet to find anyone willing to indulge. (And yes, I believe there was some singing of Tone Loc's "Wild Thing" as the meat selection was ordered.) The meats are, from left to right, alligator, buffalo, llama, ostrich,wild boar and venison. (Fortunately the server told us that they were placed in alphabetical order. I can do alphabetical.) I just couldn't get myself to try the llama though. Fluffycat assures me it was quite tasty.

Dessert was two different chocolate mixes. And because the restaurant needed us to shift tables to accommodate a large party, we received free bubbly for our trouble. I think the consensus was that the favorite items for dipping in the chocolate were the pirouettes, the chunks of chocolate chip cookie dough, and the cream puffs.

This dinner was perfectly timed for me. On my way there I received a text message from my dad. Something about how I needed to call, he was sorry and that he's now attending AA meetings. I briefly thought about writing back, "Good for you." Oh, and this was after a week of being assaulted nearly non-stop by emails from his fiance. Because my saying that I wasn't in the mood to talk to people obviously stands for nothing.

But dinner was a reminder of what my life was like before I got enmeshed in the crazy. And I liked it. Today I received a call from my dad's younger brother and once more I let it go to voicemail. After hours of debate, I finally listened to his message. He said he understood. "Your dad didn't do what he was supposed to do when he got out of the hospital and so you cut off contact." A tear rolled down my cheek as I listened to the message because finally someone got it. And knowing that I plan to continue to get out there and live my life and not someone else's.

Appropriated

2010-05-26T13:25:00.000-07:00

One of the reasons why I enjoy Cursing Mama's blog is that she is always taking some interesting quizzes. Seeing as things around here have been a bit heavy of late and with the upcoming holiday weekend, I felt it was necessary to borrow the following quizzes from her to add some frivolity back in this place.

You Are a Margarita

You aren't just the life of the party, you are the party!

You mix a good drink, bust out some great music, and know how to get down.

And it's no wonder that you find yourself invited to almost every event in town.

It's really not a celebration until you get there. You know how to get everyone excited.

What Mixed Drink Are You?

Now I am sure that anyone who really knows me is not the least surprised by this result.

You Are Greasy Food

You can't help it, you love to indulge yourself. You are a total hedonist.

You're the type of person who will drink until dawn, wake up afternoon, and gorge yourself on hamburgers and fries.

Does eating greasy food help you kill the morning after blues? Of course it does!

You've gotten to the point that eating drinking fresh juice and eating salad makes you feel sick.

What Hangover Cure Are You?

Once more not really a surprise to me. How often have y'all heard me telling folks the day after that what they need is a good dose of grease?

You Are a Blueberry Margarita

Honestly, there's no one quite like you. And believe it or not, most people think that's a bad thing!

You're open, wild, friendly, wacky, and tons of fun. You have a big personality... and a big heart.

What Flavor Margarita Are You?

Of course I wonder what my result would have been if they had had what is truly my favorite Spanish word as a choice -- chingada. I love that word -- so multipurpose. Also I was not really thrilled with the choices of cities in Mexico. These days I'd probably like to hang in Oaxaca somewhere. That way I could have some really good moles with my drinks.

Hope y'all have a fun and safe weekend.

But I'm sorry

2010-05-22T20:25:00.000-07:00

As I sat in the darkened theater listening to the monologues that were the culmination of two months' work, an idea began to form in my head. During the 70 or so mile drive home, the idea took further shape.

Somewhere over the last few years, I had once more lost my way. I had let myself believe that it was about the cooking, the knitting, whatever crafty thing. These were merely crutches. It has always been about the words. This whole thing started five years ago (There were two other blogs before this.) because I had lost the words and wanted them back. And right when it seemed like they were back, I shut them away again and replaced them with food and the occasional craft. This time around I even basically stopped reading as it just took too much energy.

I thought about how once upon a time writing was easy for me. Not as easy as telling a story in person but still easier than it has been for many years. And as I thought about it all, I realized that Kailyn came to be around the time I was 12 -- back when the writing was easy and filled me with joy. Kailyn wasn't an alter ego; I had another name for that person. No, she was the me I wanted to be. She wasn't defined by someone else.

While chatting with friends at the intermission of the showcase, I felt my phone vibrate in my purse. I glanced to see who the caller was and let the call go to voicemail. During the drive home, I thought of erasing the message unheard but then I took a deep breath and pressed play. The message ended with the words, "... but I'm sorry."

I thought to myself that I could accept the apology and just move on. That's what would be expected of me. Then I remembered how much I hate those words. This is not the first time I've heard them. I have heard them and thought, "Maybe now it will be different," but it ends up being more of the same. To me they have come to mean, "I'm not going to change but I need you to stick around. And as such, you are going to have to bend some more." I remembered just how weary I have grown of being the one who always seems to be making the effort.

And like that, it came to me. Where the words had gone. Every time I have accepted one of those apologies, more of the words got shut away in my mind, securely under lock. Every now and then though I am around the right combination of people and some of it slips out. I remembered that even when I wrote fiction, there was always a little bit of me in there. But I have spent a lot years letting others tell me what I can and can't say. It became that I wasn't sure who I was anymore.

I will try my best to remember all of this when others might say, "One day you'll regret your choice." About the only things of which I have ever felt sorry necessarily were word choices -- not actions. Because I hate the words, "I'm sorry," so much that I try my best to never be in a position in which I will have to say them. To me, they are just empty words.

Extraction

2010-05-18T00:35:00.000-07:00

I spent a great deal of time last week researching recipes so that I could show y'all some new stuff. What happened is I wrote my list and went shopping. Then the psychic attack began and I didn't want to cook.

It started with my cousin chastising me for having another cousin stay with my dad once he got out of the hospital. This is the busy time for me at work; if I take time off, it involves major changes. My cousin has a fluid work schedule. But because I was handing this off to someone else, I was lacking. I know this because I was asked "Why can't you be there the first night he gets out of the hospital?" This was asked about a relative who lives at least 2,000 miles away. I mentioned something about having a job, having bills. So yeah, folks who wanted me to take care of shit while not getting paid and possibly endangering my employment status? Yeah, they got a finger for their pain.

Thursday my dad got out of the hospital and proclaimed he wanted his business checkbook back. Because he could handle things. Like before. When he was two to three months behind on his bills. But I figured that he was a big boy and used to handling shit. Turns out that he is used to dealing with the present. The past? Please forgive him.

So by Saturday, I had decided that I had no father nor relatives on his side. Then I drove my mother across the Bay so she could leave the country. She was not satisfied with my answers about how I was handling my dad's situation. I was told that my wanting to disconnect was a sign that perhaps I needed to go back to therapy. And this is the point at which I decided that I don't have any blood relatives.

How is it that everyone is deep into dysfunctional behavior but I'm the one who needs therapy? I have spent way too many years being the crazy one. But I'm not crazy. I just want a life in which boundaries are respected.

Other than the ugly scene with mom on Saturday, I have not spoken to a family member since last Thursday. And I've never been more together in appearance.

My response to this, besides the "radio silence," has been to indulge in food. This is how I gained all the weight in the first place. I felt beat up beyond belief Saturday and so I went shopping. There was Haagen Dazs, microwave pizza and five layer dip with chips to name a few items.

Pity food is done. I'm backed to my pissed off strategy -- 900 to 1000 net calories. Yep. Eating disorder eating. But I'd need to lose 25 pounds from my current weight to be hospitalized. No need to fear that since I'm so far from that weight.

Balancing act

2010-05-09T16:50:00.000-07:00

As some of you already know, my dad has been in the hospital for a little over a week. Pancreatitis from his alcoholism, the treatment of which has irritated the COPD from his cigar smoking. As is normally the case in this kind of situation, there has been a great deal of family drama.

Add to this that my mother is still in town and it's Mother's Day weekend. Oh, and that this is the really busy stressful time at work. I snapped yesterday on my way to pick up my mother while talking to Uncle Crickity Crack. There was lots of yelling on my part including the words, "Shut the fuck up!" before I hung up the phone. As I continued driving, I just let the tears stream. I have driven to Sacramento twice in the past week. That's 180 miles round-trip for me. One trip on Wednesday and one on Friday. The only day this week that I didn't go to work for at least part of the day was Friday. By Saturday I was feeling emotionally and physically burnt.

But Saturday brought one ray of sunshine. Weeks ago my mother and I planned to attend the annual flower show at Filoli. The theme this year was "Filoli Goes to the Movies." Below are some of the arrangements with the movie that inspired them -- if I actually remembered. Yep. I didn't take notes so this is from memory. I think I did a pretty good job considering.

And yes, the flowers were just what I needed after this past week.

The Wedding Planner

Finding Nemo

A Chorus Line

Phantom of the Opera

Titanic

Titanic

Finian's Rainbow

Four Weddings and a Funeral

Joy Luck Club

The Devil Wears Prada

Mission accomplished

2010-04-26T08:50:00.000-07:00

Back in February, Fluffycat and I went to Gregoire. The main purpose of this outing was so that she could order the bread pudding. We were thwarted when we were informed that they were out of bread pudding that particular night. Now Gregoire changes their menu monthly and that includes the bread pudding flavor. March was a no because Fluffycat said that she wasn't really into rhubarb. But this month was chocolate.
So let's start at the end of the meal -- the chocolate bread pudding with pear coulis.

Me? I'm actually not a huge chocolate fan. I still have Ghirardelli at home that I bought back in November or so. I like fruit flavored stuff which is why I got the panna cotta with raspberry sauce. And then I made Fluffycat try some of the raspberry sauce on her bread pudding because I've always thought that raspberry and chocolate go together very well.

Dessert is the easiest choice at Gregoire. We both labored over our entree choices for the entire day and didn't really decide until that final moment. OK. One choice was easy.

We both decided to share the grilled artichoke.

I went with the harissa-marinated lamb with a yogurt sauce...

while Fluffycat chose the beef kabobs.

And yes, there were plenty of leftovers. I was able to have two more meals from my leftovers in fact. The other item I had thought of having was the bacon-wrapped pork tenderloin. I don't really have anything already made for dinner tonight. Hmmmm....

Holding out

2010-04-22T07:00:00.000-07:00

My first instinct was to blame Abby for holding out. However, the real cause was my laziness. Abby has been raving about Burma Superstar for years. And all I had to do as click the locations tab on their site to discover that besides the San Francisco location, there are also locations in Oakland and Alameda.

I could really kick myself for this as Burmese is one of my all-time fave foods. Generally when I need a fix, I go to Inya Lake in San Bruno or Nan Yang in Oakland. Both of those are not along my usual path. Fortunately Burma Superstar in Alameda is in an area that I often frequent for lunch during the work week.

I ordered the chicken samusas, chicken dhal and curry eggplant -- to go. It was all fabulous. So yes, I will be returning frequently.

Thanks, Abby!

Proof

2010-04-21T07:00:00.000-07:00

Not for you. For me.

Since November this dress has been my beacon. The last time I wore it last year during some gin-filled weekend, I could only do so with the aid of a foundation garment. Every time I was ready to give up on the weight loss thing, I pulled this dress out and tried it on as it has always been one of my favorites. A month ago I got the zipper halfway up. And then figured out how I could drop some more weight. For over a month, my weight has been at a constant for the most part. I have not reached what I thought would be my final goal. And then I started noticing that clothes were getting loose. I guess I've been busy exchanging fat for muscle. So a week ago I pulled the dress back out and tried it on. It zipped with absolutely no problem. And then I tried on a bunch of other stuff. Yes, I could get into them but they still don't fit the way they used to so I still have some to lose.

After getting all the yummy food on Sunday, I remembered this dress. I bought it almost two years ago on clearance from The Gap. When it arrived, it didn't fit. But I kept it anyway. And for the first time ever, it actually fits.

Now to get those other dresses to fit. Before summer.

Cruising

2010-04-20T08:25:00.000-07:00

Because I'm still feeling the cholita thing, I thought I'd share this video.

One of my faves from back in the day. I can just imagine cruising to it. Of course, La Nicoya says that Kid Frost is nothing but a punk ass bitch. Whatever. I like the beat. Give it a 79.

A fuera

2010-04-18T14:35:00.000-07:00

I guess I should blame my mother. She started it all. I went to her house ednesday night because she had had surgery and needed someone to stay the night at the house. Waiting for me were roasted chicken, tortillas and salsa verde to be turned into enchiladas. My mom had found a new source for tortillas, but more about that later. I'm still kicking myself for not bringing a container of that sauce home. Yes, my mother makes her own sauce. Oh, and there was cotija cheese as well. But the sauce. I think it may have been at least six years since my mother has made the sauce for me. Now if I only get her to make some albondigas. There is more to this tale than food though.

After hitting the Farmville event nearby on Saturday, I found myself sitting in a auto place waiting for the smog test on my car. Tired of playing games on my phone, I decided to do a little web surfing. Earlier in the week, I had learned that La Mission would be opening. And Peter Bratt would be appearing at one of the screenings in San Francisco for a Q&A. So I pulled up the theaters website and purchased a ticket. The movie was fantastic. It was the San Francisco I know and love filled with characters who have crossed my path at various times in my life. It is also the kind of film that makes you think about so many things in our society. I miss going to films that make you think; I miss being a member of the film society.

Today I decided to fully embrace my inner cholita -- because that's what this is really about, my inner cholita -- by heading over to Mi Pueblo. I could have taken the freeway but I decided to cruise down Bancroft instead since it was a nice day out. It's almost like cruising 23rd in Richmond for me.

I had been hearing about the store for quite some time but had not found the time to make it over there. It was dinner at my mom's on Wednesday that the impetus. See, she had bought the tortillas at Mi Pueblo's new location in San Rafael. And she's still pissed off that there isn't one in Richmond or San Pablo.

Seeing the chickens grilling in front of the store was a good sign in my book.

The first section one hits upon entering is the panaderia. And I was hungry. And without a list. But of course I had to pick up some tres leches cake. So many flavors. A woman standing next to me at the counter agreed that it would be appropriate to ask for one of each. I simply got the fresa and the cafe. Hmmm. Bet Fluffycat would love the latter.

Then there was the quiet solitude of the produce section in which I found the elusive epazote. I bought in dry form though so that I will never have the epazote crisis again when making sopa de flor de calabaza.

After stopping at the tortilleria section for tortillas fresh out of the machine, I hit their taqueria section. By this point my true cholita had emerged as I spoke to the staff and fellow shoppers in my Spanglish. I wanted the carnitas but they weren't ready yet so I picked up half of a chicken.

And then the tilapia caught my eye so I needed one of those as well. I haven't seen fish cooked like this since the last time I was in Mexico. I discussed this with a fellow customer while we waited for frijoles -- yes, they were out of beans. He said that he found that fish was typically cooked this way. Then I mentioned a la Veracruzana -- one of the dishes my mom loves to prepare -- and he told me about a place on International that makes it that way.

By the time the beans were ready, so were the carnitas.

Lesson learned. Never shop in Mi Pueblo on an empty stomach. Another thing learned? Apparently Latinos are not down with gin. As I scanned the liquor section while at the checkout, I noticed tons of tequilas and rums -- something I completely expected. There were also a few brandys and vodkas thrown in. But not a single bottle of gin. Huh.

And yes, I will be returning to Mi Pueblo. In fact I might be doing the bulk of my shopping there now. And I will be seeing La Mission again. But don't worry. Embracing my inner cholita does not involve Aquanet. That is so last century.

One year

2010-04-02T09:15:00.000-07:00

Yesterday started out kind of crappy. On my drive into work, it suddenly hit me that yesterday marked one year since my aunt had her stroke. My cousin and I say that that's when she died but she stayed on life support for two days so tomorrow is technically the anniversary of her death. Yesterday was also the one year anniversary of the day I signed the closing papers for my condo.

I walked into work sure that it was going to be a crappy day. Then my boss called me into his office. My first thought was, "What have I fucked up now?" Not that I regularly fuck things up. Yes, I occasionally make mistakes -- that become huge fuck-ups in my head. Because no one is harder on me than myself. But my boss was calling me in to give me my review and to tell me about my bonus check. Yeah, we still get those around here. Not as lavish as in past years but a check nonetheless. And my boss told me that he wished it could have been more. And that while they don't say it every day, they appreciate my efforts.

So now I am starting to think that this is what each passing year will be -- a mixture of really crappy with really good. I am determined to try to remember the happy instead of the sad. That's what my aunt would want.

The obvious is getting my condo. Truth be told, this is not the end of the road as far as home for me though. I dream of moving in another five years or so. I still want a yard. And another bedroom. But buying the condo has taught me that things that I once thought to be impossible just might be possible.

I have a job at which for the first time in a really long time I am appreciated. I spent years at jobs at which I felt emotionally beat up on a daily basis. This has been a refreshing change. I don't know if I could have survived the past couple of years in other working environments. When I had those days in which I just couldn't get out of bed due to the depression and called in sick, I was told to take care of myself so that I could come back the person they had first gotten to know. I am eternally grateful for having understanding employers during the last couple of years of crazy. In the fall I will hit my three-year anniversary at this employer. I have never worked in any one place for more than three years but I know that I have no intention of leaving here any time soon. I guess this is another example of how I am kind of giving up my wandering, non-committing ways.

I like to think that I am finally learning how to truly take care of myself. I have spent the past year disengaging from dynamics that I just didn't feel were healthy for me. The hardest part is when others don't get it and try to get me to change my mind. "You only have one mother..." Yes, I do but that doesn't mean that she has to be an active part of my everyday life -- especially since she has repeatedly shown no respect for the boundaries that I have tried to set.

It's strange, to me at least. For the first time in years I feel truly happy. I guess that this is what has made the crappy moments bearable -- the knowing that I have come out the other side a better me.

Spring babies

2010-03-29T07:00:00.000-07:00

For some reason, I associate Sunday dinner with roasted stuff. I should have been out grilling again though since it looks like we may be getting rain for most of the coming week.

Roast plus spring adds up to just one thing in my mind -- lamb. I roasted a rack of lamb with garlic and herbs. Rosemary, thyme and Italian parsley if you must know the herbs. In another pan I roasted new red potatoes, baby artichokes and a few baby French carrots. Besides olive oil, some of the lamb drippings were tossed with the veggies as they cooked. To finish it off, a mint pesto because I always want some form of mint with lamb. It started off as a blend of mint leaves, garlic, lemon juice, olive oil and red pepper flakes. After blending, I decided that it didn't have enough acid so I added some rice wine vinegar as well.

Boris watched the preparation of the meal quite intently. Per usual, he got none. We did get to greet one of the newer residents of the neighborhood while things were roasting though. Apparently my deck seat is quite the draw for the neighborhood kittens. The kitten got nothing as well. And don't worry. Two cats is my limit.

Feeling the burn

2010-03-28T09:00:00.000-07:00

Over the last couple of weeks, I have stopped using my Wii. I know, I know. The thing is the weather has gotten better and I started walking at lunchtime -- generally one to one and a half miles. I've been getting bored with this though. On Friday I increased it to two miles but still eh. I've been feeling like I should be running -- or doing a longer distance. That's how I found myself up and out yesterday morning. The plan was to walk the neighborhood -- 4.3 miles in total. But don't mistake me for Zombie Mom. I said "walk" not "run." I could have finished it in less time than the hour and a half or so that I was out but I had to pause along the way to take some photos for y'all. OK. And for the first half these were a lovely excuse to rest as the grade rarely leveled out.

As expected there were some large homes along the way. Many had gates. Some were set so far back from the street that they were barely visible. Just what one would expect in a a hilly neighborhood that also has a country club.

The neighborhood is not really into sidewalks. There are several stretches of road that look like this. Fortunately there is not much car traffic. At times the shoulder was non-existent and there were blind curves. At these points I did what I normally would not do -- walked with my back to traffic. Walking into it was just a bit too nerve-wracking.

I finally reached a point at which I could see my goal -- the street at the top. And then I thought, "What the hell am I doing?" But I kept going.

And then there were poppies! OK. So California poppies are not true poppies but still. Poppies!

Upon reaching the top -- Skyline Boulevard, in case you're interested -- I paused to look back. In the haze sits San Francisco.

The intersection brought back memories because I spent quite a bit of time in this area when growing up. At age 12 or 13 I attended a slumber party for the other K. I've known her since I was four although we drifted apart a few years ago. K, her other friends and I went for a hike down this trail -- and stumbled upon a police crime scene. Just a stolen car that someone had attempted to burn. But they let us watch as they collected evidence. And we managed to talk one of the police officers to give us a ride back to the house. We all sat in the car trying to look somber as the officer went to K's front door and asked her mom if we belonged to her. Oh the laughter.

Enough memories. Time to head back down the hill.

More signs of spring.

Months ago I showed you views of the old Naval facility. Here is is from another vantage point.

And seeing this sign made me think of a conversation I had this past week with Boy Toy.

Private road. Another site that has always fascinated me. Whenever I see one of those signs, I think they're trying to tell me to come right on in. It's almost like a dare. Even better when it has the words "Patrolled by armed patrol" added to it. Not on this one though. Pooh.

I took one final look back as I neared home. Skyline Boulevard sits at the top of the photo.

Over the last month or so, my weight has been pretty constant. And I've been kicking myself over it at times. But getting home after my walk, I realized something. I may not have really been losing weight but my body has been reshaping itself over the last month. Duh. How many times have I asked a friend who was disappointed because she hadn't lost any weight, "Well, what about your measurements? You do know that muscle weighs more than fat?" My yoga pants that were uncomfortable back in November now have extra room in them. I am actually tying the drawstring once more. And people at work have been making comments like, "You're going to waste away soon." But they have never seen me at my smallest. I'm still not where I want to be but I'm getting pretty close.

And today I am still achy. Who knew that one's butt could hurt so much? But then I remembered my physiology classes. The pain is caused by a build-up of lactic acid in the muscles. What's the quickest way to get rid of it? More exercise. So now I'm back out the door to conquer the hill once more. I want to see what kind of time I don't stop along the way to take photos. But I will stop occasionally to admire the flowers.

The lessons continue

2010-03-27T11:30:00.000-07:00

After grilling the ribs earlier this week, I had a chat with one of the guys at work. He told me that I should have soaked the wood chips in the drip pan and then kept the wood-infused water in the pan for cooking. Hmmmm. Seems like another grilling session was in order.

So last night I got home from work, lit the coals, soaked the wood, and seasoned the chicken. Toward the end I added asparagus to the grill.

Add some brown rice and a complete meal. I don't know about you but I am truly loving that Spring has arrived.

Perhaps the drive was worth it

2010-03-24T13:55:00.000-07:00

Last night my mother arrived back into town. Thing is that last night I also needed to attend an association meeting at the same time as her flight's arrival. The solution was that her friends who live in Pacifica offered to pick her up. I could then at my leisure head to their house to get her.

I think we will do this arrangement all the time now. Upon arriving at their home, I was greeted with a grilled crab and tomato sandwich from Nick's. I love these sandwiches and only have them when I see these folks -- because Pacifica is so far away. I mean there's a bridge involved and all.

Silly me had already eaten dinner though. So tonight I will be dining upon this loveliness. I can't wait for dinner.

I'll prove her wrong

2010-03-22T21:05:00.000-07:00

My mom called when I was on my way home from work. I was still talking to her once I arrived home and since I always use a headset when driving, I was able to continue doing what I had planned to do. At one point I told her that I was lighting some charcoal. She said that it was entirely too late -- it was 5:30 -- to start grilling for tonight's dinner. I guess it is if you're used to having dinner at 5:30. I tend to eat a bit later. And I had had my lovely Trader Joe's frozen sole meal for lunch that is all of 190 calories so that I could have this calorie splurge.

I don't know about y'all but while I'm tending the grill, I need a cool beverage. I'm just bummed that my cute little mermaid that I picked up at dinner in Moss Landing is now broken.

I decided that this year I am ready for the next step in the Chilebrown/Dr. Biggles school of grilling. Once the coals were hot, I spread them and dropped in the drip pan so that I could do the whole indirect heat thing. And then I dropped some soaked apple wood chips on top of the coals. I can so taste the difference made by adding wood. The wood thing is new to me but I am now completely converted.

And of course once I get the grill started for some meat, I start thinking about what else I can throw on there. This time it was artichokes. I steam them a bit on the stove before they hit the grill.

OK. I'll admit it. I have some Sally tendencies. Because I was cooking for just myself, I did not need to put the sauce on the ribs. I mean they had a dry rub on them that I had applied yesterday. My feeling is that meat with a good rub does not need sauce. Even though I had made a pretty good sauce last night. (Maddie, the Jack is in the barbecue sauce.) And while I usually use hummus as a dip for artichokes, in my opinion grilled 'chokes just scream for homemade aioli.

Only thing is that I have a lot of sauce in the fridge. What to grill next? Because yes, it is grilling season as far as I'm concerned.

Baby steps

2010-03-21T17:35:00.000-07:00

Spring has finally arrived and suddenly I feel inspired to cook once more. That is, I was until I took the above photo. Lately whenever I have cooked something, it is tasty but monochromatic. So boring.

But if that's what you're into, then this is the dish for you. Great Northern beans cooked in chicken broth and drained. Then tossed with a mirepoix that has been seasoned with grated lemon zest and thyme. Atop the beans, sits a grilled tuna steak. Just salt and pepper on the tuna. And finally a sun-dried tomato cream sauce.

I'm hoping that as spring progresses, I will finally have a variety of colors on my plate.

Watchtowers of the west

2010-03-14T07:00:00.000-07:00

First things first. Happy birthday, Zombie Mom. I'm not sure if this post would exist at this time if not for you.

Over the last few weeks I have had a number of conversations with Zombie Mom about my dad's situation amongst other things. I remember telling her that my dad's only coping mechanism is drinking. She asked what mine are and I never answered.

My fallback is usually music. I put on my headphones and let myself get lost. I get to go through all the memories associated with a song. Or if it is a song without the associations, I imagine what I think they should be. But music is often about someone else's creativity.

This past week I wrote back and forth on Facebook with a woman who has been my friend since we were 12 -- a woman with whom I do not need to explain my history because she was there for most of it all. She like Zombie Mom is a Pisces. And it hit me that for so many of us water folks being creative is necessary for a sense of balance. My friend reminded me of all the sewing I used to do. And I do have ideas but right now they just feel so ambitious. That's why I started knitting again in the fall. I wanted something smaller, more manageable. I have yet to finish those projects though. And I really needed to finish something.

Then it came to me -- the task that incorporates two of my great loves -- research and creativity. Once upon a time I used to make incenses and oil blends. Although they take minimal effort -- well, except for deciding what to blend -- there is the great satisfaction in creating something that has purpose. As I was low on supplies, I drove into Berkeley to visit Lhasa Karnak. And while I am happy with owning my own place, the outing reminded me how much I miss living in Berkeley. I reminded myself that where I am now is merely a stop along the way and not the final destination. One day.

The larger bottle contains a blend that I used to make for my aunt that I call All Things in Balance. It is not only a blend of four scents that represent the elements but of qualities that I believe that one wants when things are out of control -- peace, strength, happiness and protection. I use distilled water as the carrier for this blend as it is meant to be an aromatherapy type blend. The smaller bottle contains another blend of oils in a carrier of jojoba oil. This one is meant to be applied to the skin and I blend these based on the individual.

I feel inspired. I dream of making more incense, candles. I dream of rediscovering my deck of cards because I miss the woman who walked into a pub one evening and sat reading cards for the endless line of people while telling them that it was OK as long as my pint glass stayed full. I miss doing natal charts and hearing the wonder in someone's voice as they read through my writing and saw the talents that they had tried to hide from others as well as themselves. I miss finding order in the chaos.

And so Zombie Mom, I would like to say thank you for making me think of all of this for the first time in a number of years.

Other people's food

2010-03-11T15:00:00.000-08:00

As you know, I have been rather uninspired as of late when it comes to food. I think it comes from my battle with my body to lose those last few pounds. I realize now that part of the problem is that my body is trying to tell me that I am within the range of what's considered "normal." Yeah, maybe for someone else but not for me. So I go back and forth between giving up and falling back into the old habit -- just don't eat. I mean that literally on the not eating thing. But this is me trying to be healthy so I'll plod on as there are dresses that I love dearly hanging in my closet and I am almost there.

I had thought about doing a post earlier this week after seeing Cookiecrumb's hot dog post. I went with a bockwurst with sauerkraut and Russian hot mustard. But new was there to add? So I wrote nothing.

And then yesterday, Fluffycat told me about her meal from El Pollo Loco. For the second time this week I was excited about food. As I left work, I called Taqueria Guadalajara -- one of the best taquerias in San Leandro -- to place my order.

Roasted chicken, corn tortillas, refried beans, salsa, guacamole. And all for a mere $13. Boris was definitely excited over the prospect of it all but he got none.

And tonight I am really looking forward to dinner for the first time in weeks.

Making lists

2010-03-04T16:05:00.000-08:00

It seems strange but in no time at all it will be the one year anniversary of my moving into my home. I guess it seems strange because there are still a few boxes scattered around -- much to Fluffycat's surprise -- and I have hung absolutely nothing on the walls. As the days have been lengthening, I am finding renewed energy to deal with the last of the boxes. The walls may take a bit longer since I have definite ideas of what I would like to hang. Thing is that not all of these pieces are currently in my possession. One day. Such a cyclical thing. Spring approaches and suddenly I want everything in place.

There hasn't been much going on around here foodwise because let's face it. Food for the goal of weight loss has overall been rather boring. When it isn't boring, it's repetitive -- which I guess can be boring in its own way. So I spend loads of time thinking of things other meals these days.

Like my tiny garden. The first batch of lemons on the dwarf Meyer were about a half inch in length. I kid you not. This next batch is more like two inches are so. Makes me wonder what the next ones that are starting off now will be like. Things are pretty full out on the deck these days but I still toy with getting another dwarf tree. Or perhaps roses. And I have found myself going over the list at Richter's to see ~~if there is anything I may want to order~~ what I will order for delivery in April. (The tree is from Four Winds.)

I have also been pulling out old reference books and notebooks with hopes to getting back into the full swing of things. Funny but as I become more settled, the more I feel the need to return to my spiritual beliefs and rituals. Which of course will lead to all kinds of craft projects as well.

Basically I guess I'm telling y'all that I'm still here. I'm just organizing and doing some minor regrouping so that by Spring I will definitely be on the path of creating more stuff.

Cold storage

2010-03-01T09:00:00.000-08:00

This weekend was a pretty lazy one as far as food was concerned. Fortunately there was that week in November, shortly after I realized that it was time to do something about the weight I had gained, in which I had done a great deal of cooking. I remember feeling frustrated at that time over how I was going to conceivably stay within my net calories but then I took a deep breath and started going through recipes.

One recipe was this. I made the pot back in November and immediately packed it away into the freezer in individually sized containers to be eaten at a later date. Yesterday I decided that it was finally time to start.

And I'm definitely looking forward to this week. I also found containers of Tuscan beef stew with polenta, cioppino, and vegetable-lentil soup. Yep, this week is already looking pretty good.

Old friend

2010-02-27T12:25:00.000-08:00

One of the hard things about leaving Berkeley was leaving behind some of my favorite places at which to dine. Of course over these last few months I hadn't given it much thought. But I have this habit. During the workday, I chat with Fluffycat on Facebook. We share links to things we find interesting. Her links can run the gamut while mine are usually menus. A couple of weeks ago I sent her the link to the February menu for Gregoire and she decided that she simply had to have this month's bread pudding. Oh, and maybe an entree as well. So last night we headed to Gregoire -- in Oakland because it's closer to my home and a little bigger than the Berkeley location. And while the Oakland location is a short drive away, it's just not the same as being able to walk to the Berkeley location.

I had the braised and seared pork shoulder in bourbon and pear ...

while Fluffycat had the Ecuadorian shrimp with harissa sauce.

And naturally I had my usual potato puffs but Fluffycat decided that to try to the potato gratin with green garlic.

Then there was dessert. And they were out of the bread pudding. Oh the horror. And while Fluffycat was pleased with her other choice, I think there may need to be another trip to Gregoire so that Fluffycat can experience the bread pudding. It just won't be coffee flavored.

Quick change artist

2010-02-25T20:45:00.000-08:00

I am still doing well with the watching of calories -- too well actually. And so tonight I was inspired by two things. First there was my discussion with my friend, Sista Locks, last night. She pointed out that diet is an evil word; this is all about a change in lifestyle. And since this is something that needs to be sustainable, it means not denying one's self of certain foods. Secondly I chose today to leaf through the cooking magazines that had shown up over the last week. And then I plugged in the foods I planned to eat throughout the day along with the things that I would do to burn calories and found that my net calories were going to be somewhere around 800. Not really all that good. So I decided that I needed a treat -- Shrimp-Stuffed Peppers.

Now the peppers needed to be roasted and the recipe said to do so in a cast iron skillet. Ummm. Yeah. Don't own one of those. But I have my snazzy stove that I bought last year.

Before

After

Who needs a cast iron skillet?

And yeah, the peppers were tasty. Except next time I think I'll use more cheese. Cheese is like bacon. It just makes a multitude of things better. But now I must go. because I'm still short on calories for today. What next?

Jones

2010-02-23T11:00:00.000-08:00

It's supposed to be a common surname. So much so that we have a phrase about it -- keeping with them. But this post is about a much more common name -- The Smiths.

Nowadays I listen to The Smiths in private. Music has always had a great deal of associations for me. It's what makes it easy for me to assign a specific song as a ringtone for a particular person. I hear a song and am instantly reminded of a specific person or place.

I fell in love with The Smiths the shortly after buying a copy of "Meat Is Murder" back in 1985. But it was a few years later in life that the band became permanently enmeshed in my emotional life.

By 1986 I was well on my way to showing folks what an emotional wreck I was. And The Smiths released their album "The Queen Is Dead."

In 1987 I started dating the guy my friends eventually called The Roach. He wormed his way into my heart when I was at my absolute lowest. He made a lot of promises and broke my heart. And then I took him back many months later just so that he could do it again. We repeated this whole process over a course of two years. I guess on his side I was his goddess with clay feet since he had observed me for many months before we even started dating and as a result he had this image in his mind as to who I was. I don't think that I ever lived up to this image.

But back to The Smiths. This guy was also the bassist with a popular party band around town. They did covers and one of the two songs he sang lead on was this one. And still to this day, I cannot hear this song without picturing him. So I usually don't listen to it.

Around this same time, I had this alleged friend with whom I would catch a ride between the Bay Area and San Diego. Our soundtrack for the drive would be The Communards and The Smiths. But this song just had so much meaning as you're cruising 5 with your "friend."

Oh, and the reason why she ended up not being a friend? The reason why I lost several female friends in college and grad school days -- they were using me for my social connections. As a result of those years, I have an easier time becoming friends with men that women. Well that and the lovely relationship I have with my mother. And girls are a rarity on my father's side of the family; they treat me as a hybrid of princess and tomboy. I'm much more guarded with women than I am with men. So if you're one of those women with whom I've dropped my guard, consider yourself lucky. Then again maybe it's part of an ugly cycle. I feel more comfortable hanging out with guys.

But at least I have one song that isn't about any of them. And this is the one I play most often.

Imposter

2010-02-22T19:55:00.000-08:00

I know what you're thinking. "She's gone off the deep end. What happened to the whole weight loss thing?"

Tonight's dinner was alfredo sauce (light) mixed with peas, asparagus, mushrooms, crab meat and topped with a little red jalapeno. Oh and the noodles are actually spaghetti squash. Never had it before but I thought I'd give it a try. Fools the eye but the taste is different. Not bad, just different.

Only problem is that I should have eaten the entire plate calorie-wise but got full about a third of the way through. Maybe in a bit I'll be able to get more down.

The keeper of secrets

2010-02-21T22:40:00.000-08:00

The photos are of the appetizers as well as my main course ordered last night when I went out to dinner with my dad. Before I can discuss the food, I need to rewind some.

My father is an alcoholic. He stopped drinking when I was 18. Even though he went through rehab, he spent many years later as a "dry drunk." For those of you not familiar with the phrase, it means that while he stopped drinking, he continued his behavior. From the time that I was about 10 or so until I was 28 my relationship with my father was tenuous at best. The following ten years were fabulous; I had the dad I had always wanted, the dad that I remembered from when I was five. And then his siblings started to die as well as his wife and he eventually started drinking again. So in many ways my dad and I have returned to the relationship we had when I was 16 -- he writes a check and that is about all of our contact.

Yesterday I drove to Sacto to partake of the annual event that I have done since 1999 when I stopped working for my dad -- doing the books to make sure they are ready for the accountant for tax return preparation. After a few hours a took a break to go have a cigarette; my dad was already outside having a cigar at the time. After I lit up, he said that there was another reason why he had wanted me to come up for the weekend. And with those words, I knew what was coming next. My dad is getting married -- for the third time -- in October. My first reaction was to be happy for him. He doesn't do well on his own. Even though I had only met his fiance on two occasions -- one of which ended up with me not speaking to my mom for months -- I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

But when I was ready to get to work, there was a problem. My dad had been sitting at his desk and I in the chair across the desk. He eventually got up and excused himself so I could get to work. When I went behind his desk, thankfully I looked down -- and saw a noticeable wet spot on the seat. I blotted the spot with a nearby tissue and then held it up for a whiff and confirmed what I thought. (And some of y'all probably wonder why at times I carry so much baggage. On the outside it may seem like I have led a charmed life but really?) I switched out the chair and he asked me about it when he returned but I just gave him a look.

And I worked on trying to absorb the information about his impending marriage. And then I got to that check -- the one with her name on it. And then it all came back. I could have pulled the report to see about the activity for that "vendor" but I didn't. Because until last June the name meant nothing to me. But four, five years ago when I first saw it, I had no clue. They were supposed to be repayment for a loan but there was never a deposit that matched. One of the weird things in my family is that people think that they can expose me to random bits of information and that I will not be able to connect the dots. Hello. According to the tests I took in school, I have an IQ of 148. And I have social skills on top of that. Tonight I called my cousin who has always been an older sister to me. She told me that my father had been planning to divorce my stepmother for his current fiance but then my stepmother got sick. So yeah, my mother was right but we'll never tell her that.

So now you have the background. The food? Appetizers from the dinner that my dad had planned for the three of us. The third photo is my entree. I knew we were going out but until I heard about the engagement, I thought it would be just me and my dad.

We had time to kill before dinner. And this is when I went into my old role as the enabler. Before dinner, my dad and I killed a bottle of white wine at his house. And then I like a fool got in the car with him. On the way to the restaurant, the car drifted into the oncoming lane several times. This is why I stopped spending weekends with my dad when I was 12 or so. I got tired of worrying about whether I would live through the weekend.

So we got to the restaurant and he suggested to us -- me and his fiance -- that we order wine. Well, actually it seemed more like a conversation between that two of them. Thankfully the drive home was less eventful.

Today I had planned to hit the road home early. The drive home is about 95 miles. But once I was dressed, my dad informed me that we were going to breakfast. And so we went to her home. So that I could see her for the fourth time in my life. At the restaurant, they ordered Mimosas. I ordered coffee.

Here's the thing. I like the woman as a person. We could so be friends. She won't tell her age but I guess that she is about ten years older than I. But her age doesn't bother me so much. Her enabler/codependent behavior. I sat there today while she never questioned and in fact seemed to encourage my father's negative traits -- things that my stepmother and my mother never would have tolerated. And I thought to myself that I have to disconnect from this whole situation because in the end it will not be good. I have to save myself.

Then I tried calling the folks who I knew with whom I could be completely honest. Outside of here, those folks are few and far between. Part of the dysfunction is that you disavow the truth; I've always had a hard time with this part of the program. Yes, I can lie like a champ but at my core I believe in absolute honesty -- even if I need to be blunt. I knew that most family members would be ecstatic beyond belief. They would say that my concerns meant nothing. So first I called my estranged aunt by marriage. She told me that I need to talk to my dad. I said that I couldn't see how.

Then I called my cousin; she has always been my older sister. She confirmed my suspicions. She also told me that her mother had indeed had a chat with my dad about his drinking before she died last April. My cousin asked me if I had ever watched the show "Intervention." She said that I was the only person to whom my dad will listen. And talking to her, it came to me. I just have to tell him the truth. Continue down this path and you can no longer be a part of my life. I've done this before but it wasn't about his sobriety. My stance there has always been that he needs to make the decision on his own; just like no one could keep me alive except for me back when I was suicidal, no one else can make him stop drinking. But I want him to understand why I am walking away just like this time if I have to walk away from my mom, I will explain it to her. This will be something new. I have spent years walking away without explaining. I just never thought the explanation was necessary. I thought that if you were in the same moment with me that you would understand.

And so now I sit here with the realization that I am about to lose both of my parents. I will lose my mother to her obsession with my father's life and my unwillingness to become a part of the dynamic at this point in my life. And I will lose my father to his addiction once more. And knowing this, I am trying my best to hold it all together. But don't worry about me. I have loads of experience at being the adult and holding it all together. I mean I've been doing it since I was ten years old. I'm a seasoned pro at this shit.

Back to basics

2010-02-20T08:35:00.000-08:00

I am steadily trying to push through to continue with the weight loss thing. After the holiday season, I dropped my net calories severely -- slightly over 1,000 per day. This worked at first but then stopped. I realized that my body probably thought it was starving -- something that I have been trying to avoid since day one. So now I have increased my daily net calories to 1,200 to 1,300. Now with my added physical activity -- thank you Wii -- that means that I need to eat significantly more than I had been. The first day was a struggle but then slowly it came to me.

Duh. I need to start eating breakfast. And as it turns out, my favorite things to eat first thing in the morning -- fruits and oatmeal -- are decent fiber sources. So now I'm trying to commit myself to really eating three meals a day. And I have nuts and baby carrots for snacks.

One question has come up in my mind though. What happens when I reach my goal? The recommendation is around 2,000 net calories per day. Now that just seems like way too much food. I mean I can imagine consuming that occasionally but on a daily basis? Frightening.

Boring

2010-02-19T10:00:00.000-08:00

That's what food has become for me as of late -- boring. And that's why I haven't really been doing many posts. I eat out of necessity. I find that when I do that, the food is usually not very interesting.

Earlier this week I roasted a Cornish hen. I don't know about y'all but for me one hen equals four meals. The first day was some of the hen with some steamed asparagus. Like I said -- boring. But last week, I got a Wii along with Wii Fit Plus so that I could start getting some regular exercise. The problem is that now that I'm about halfway to my goal weight, I have hit a wall thus the exercise. Now I face a new problem. I have dropped my net calories pretty low over the last month or so. And adding exercise? Well, that means that my net calories had veered into the region of unhealthy habits. I needed more calories. Thing is that I had cut starchy stuff out of my diet almost completely. Then while reading through articles about carbs online on Wednesday, I remembered what Zombie Mom mentioned last week. Yams could be my friend. So I added a baked yam to the mix and was able to meet my net calories.

Another thing I have been avoiding besides bread is pasta. So when I went shopping for the yams, I also picked up some whole grain pasta. (In the photo is a mixture of steamed broccoli, leftover Cornish hen breast and whole grain penne with a light alfredo sauce.) I must admit that I have become a fanatic about monitoring fiber content of food these days. Ideally I want 20-25 grams of the stuff in my daily diet. At the same time I have been monitoring my sugar intake which is why I also said goodbye this week to my beloved fruit juice. Oh and wine as well. Because that's how determined I am to lose this last bit of weight.

The important stuff

2010-02-18T09:35:00.000-08:00

Now I know that most of you started coming around here for the food. And there just hasn't been much food here lately. So I decided to put together the food highlights of my trip this past weekend into one post. I'll just warn you. You might only want to proceed if your belly is full.

By the time I finished checking out the butterflies on Friday morning, it was lunch time. So I headed on over to a place that Fluffycat had recommended to me -- Cracked Crab. Things were looking good when the really nice server brought out my condiment selection and tools.

I went with their specialty -- The Bucket. Potatoes, corn and Cajun sausage steamed up with my selections of Dungeness crab and mussels. And then all dumped out onto the butcher paper on the table. I ate it all. Except for the potatoes. Loved this place so much that I wanted to eat all my meals there.

For Saturday's hike I had to park near the San Luis Pier. It's a working pier.

Complete with pelicans waiting for a morsel.

At the end of the pier sits Olde Port Inn. I figured that any restaurant in this close of proximity of fresh seafood had to be mighty good. And I love a place that lists dessert first on the menu -- "It's never too soon to plan for dessert."

On my server's recommendations, I ordered one of their specials for the day, crab cakes. Her selling point was that they never use bread/filler in their crab cakes. Just pure crabmeat.

And of course I had to try the above which is probably all kinds of artery clogging but so good. Shrimp stuffed with Monterey Jack cheese, lightly breaded, wrapped in bacon and then fried up. Served with cocktail sauce. I will have to attempt these at home because I don't think that I can wait until my next trip down that way to have them again.

Before hitting the road home on Sunday, I drive another hour south to the town of Solvang. If I am on 101 and have traveled as far south as Pismo, then a trip to Solvang is always a must. So what if it's only about an hour north of Santa Barbara and I had to drive home from there?

My main reason to go to Solvang these days is to stop at Mortensen's Danish Bakery. Pictured are the cookies I brought into the office after my return. They were quickly consumed. And one person asked if I had more stashed at home. Because yes, they are that good. I mean I did go two hours out of my way just for the cookies. That should tell you something. And look? Now they have shipping.

Finally, no California road trip is complete without a stop at In-N-Out, in my opinion. In an effort to be "good," I got the cheeseburger instead of my usual double double. But I always have to have it animal style.

Completed set

2010-02-17T08:40:00.000-08:00

When I first mentioned prisons and power to Fluffycat on Friday, she said that I needed to find another P to make it complete. Then on Saturday after my hike, it all came together.

After lunch, I headed over to Tolosa Winery. I really wanted to check out a winery that is certified sustainable. They apparently use a lot of solar power and water reclamation.

Oh, and that other P. I chose to do their Pinot Noir tasting flight. Because yes, they produce six different pinots. Think Sideways. And two of them I liked enough to purchase -- along with their no oak Chardonnay that I had with my lunch on Friday. They packaged them up in the tote pictured and told me that as part of their efforts to be sustainable that I bring the tote back on future visits -- for which I'll receive a discount on my wine.

In the meantime, I will be receiving shipments from them sinceI joined their wine club as well. And I do not need an intervention, Maddie. Of course, if they had told me that I would receive a 35% discount for my purchase because I joined the club, I may have selected more.

Road music

2010-02-16T13:00:00.000-08:00

The key for lone road trips is having the right supply of tunes on hand -- as well as a cellphone. Actually I suspect that part of the reason why I'm such a phone person is my love of the lone road trip. Enough hours on the road and you start wishing to hear a voice other than your own. Going to Marina in October wasn't that bad as it was only about two hours on the road. After two hours though I start jonesing for the sound of someone else's voice. My aunts were the ones who used to keep me company on the road. My dad's older sister, who passed away last April, could stay on the phone with me for at least an hour. And so the trip this weekend was hard but I survived it.

Enough of that sad crap though. In between the phone calls, music is key for getting through a solitary drive. I don't know about you but I need a strong rhythm. But not too much because next thing you know, you're cruising at 95 mph and worrying about the CHP pulling you over. So I leave you with some of my favorite songs for the road.

There is usually a lot of rock in the mix.

But I also love my R&B/rap. Especially this song that I consider to be the partygirl theme song. Actually this one is more a life theme. Applies to everything in life. Who the hell cares what other people say as long as you are not harming anyone else? It's your life. Live it.

The second P

2010-02-15T18:30:00.000-08:00

As the daughter of a guy who has spent all his post college years working for utility companies, it's only natural that I remember places for things power-related. And what do you know? In my research prior to my trip I found out about the Pecho Coast trail. Most of this trail crosses land owned by PG&E and the trail starts at the gate to Diablo Canyon nuclear power plant. One of the first things that one passes on the trail are radiation detectors. The trip is 7.5 miles round trip and includes a 440 foot change in elevation. It's not necessarily for the feint of heart.

There was lots of native foliage to be seen along the way.

And fantastic views of San Luis Bay.

The trail ended at this lighthouse that is being restored to what it was in 1890.

And then it was back to the trail. And I totally kept up. In fact at times the pace could have been faster for me. Not sure if I'll do this hike again in the future. Perhaps I'll give the Point Buchon trail a try next time -- especially since you can actually see the plant from this one.

My landmarks

2010-02-14T09:30:00.000-08:00

After communing with the butterflies, I hit the road north to San Simeon to tour Hearst Castle. So now I can cross another place off my list.

On the drive back to the hotel, it crossed my mind that my landmarks when driving start with the letter P. This thought crossed my mind when I passed a place called the California Men's Colony. Such a sweet sounding name for a place that looks a lot like a prison. Today on my trip back home, I'll be passing through Atascadero and Soledad -- two other places with prisons. If I'm not mistaken Atascadero is the place where they send the sex offenders.

Completely unrelated -- I also passed through a place called Harmony. It has a population of 18. I think that if I were to start a commune, Harmony would be the perfect place for it.

2010-02-13T08:05:00.000-08:00

I have been fascinated by Monarch butterflies since I was a kid. I tried for many years to convince my mom that we needed to plant a bunch of milkweed in the yard to attract them.

The Monarchs are like me; we both don't like cold weather. So when things start getting a little chilly in Canada, the Monarchs head for California. And there is a grove in Pismo Beach to which they return annually. I'm talking thousands of butterflies.

Unfortunately for me it was in the mid-60s yesterday. (I know. Really rough.) That meant that the butterflies were constantly in flight for the most part. There were the occasional pairs in the middle of mating which is done on the ground. That would be what I captured in the photo.

Since I wasn't able to get tons of butterfly photos, I'll leave you with some photos of the scenery at Pismo State Beach -- which is where the grove is located.

A good start

2010-02-12T07:45:00.000-08:00

As I warned you earlier in the week, I have hit the road once more. This time I'm in Pismo Beach. I had originally planned on staying in nearby Avila Beach but by the time I got around to making reservations, everything there was pretty much booked up. I know. Who would expect that to happen on a holiday weekend? I could have had a oceanfront room for last night but then I would have had to move to another room. Just didn't seem worth it. Perhaps next time. I was able to get this view from my balcony this morning though. Yes, there is a balcony -- with a private hot tub.

But this was the real selling point for me as many of the hotels in this area are on/near the beach. I often skip the "free" breakfast at hotels because they require you to exit your room to claim this meal. These folks instead leave a card so that you can order the previous night and deliver in the time window that you have designated. I know at least one person who would love this.

I can hardly wait to start the rest of my day as I have a few adventures planned.

Open road

2010-02-08T11:30:00.000-08:00

My mom had a tradition when I was growing up that I could pick one thing that I really wanted when she received her income tax return. The idea is that one's tax return should not be a part of one's regular budget. Therefore, some of the money is stashed away into savings while the rest is spent on something that you really want but just could not bring yourself to buy at any other time.

For years I have been wanting a bag from Timbuk2. This year seemed like the right time to take the plunge. I am hoping to do some traveling throughout this year -- and I'd like to be able to take my laptop with me. I needed a bag that would accommodate the laptop and other stuff. The coolest thing is that Timbuk2 also lets you custom design a bag, and of course I went with my usual pink.

Fortunately I will be hitting the road later this week and will be able to give the bag a test then. And that other photo? The packaging in which the bag arrived -- a waterproof map of San Francisco.

Kid in a candy store

2010-02-06T18:10:00.000-08:00

I realized last weekend that part of the reason why it has taken me so long to take a cooking class at Piedmont adult is that many of the classes require you to bring your own knife. And my knives? Craptastic. The tamales class didn't require one to bring anything. And I had a lot of fun there. I decided that I no longer wanted to be limited in the classes I could take.

That's why this morning I headed over to East Bay Restaurant Supply. So many shiny pretty things there. But today was only about knives. And I think they're so pretty but I'm afraid to use them. After years of using that dull crap will I accidentally slice myself? Because I am the one who as a kid managed to grate her fingertips on the box grater. I just had to grate that last little nub of cheese.

Oh, and don't worry. I'll be returning to the store. Probably around the end of March. Because the salesperson said that they'll be having a sale then with tons of vendor demonstrations. Hmmm. Might even be worth taking a day off from work.

On track

2010-02-02T12:35:00.000-08:00

I am not a big sandwich person. About the only exceptions to this are Reubens, Carolina bbq pork and burgers. With the weight loss thing, I haven't had any really. Because bread is evil. No, it is. Really.

But today the stars aligned and declared that I absolutely had to have a burger. So I headed on over the fairly newish Boulevard Burger on MacArthur. Because look. They have sweet potato fries too. I thought I had died and gone to heaven. They have now replaced Rocky's as my favorite burger joint in San Leandro.

Oh yeah. Totally forgot to mention that this was kind of a celebration. My current weight? Haven't seen this number in at least a year. I still have more weight that I'd like to lose. But today I treated myself to a burger (There will be salad for dinner.) as a reminder that it's OK to eat like this every now and again. Just not every day.

Public education

2010-01-30T16:35:00.000-08:00

Except for nursery school, I have always attended public schools. While I can see how private schools can work for some folks, it's just never been my thing.

I have discovered over the last ten years one of the pluses of public schools -- adult education. I used to always think that adult education was nothing more than folks getting their GED. Silly me. In many communities they also offer what are called community classes. In the past I have taken dance and language classes but there are so many others I'd love to take. And so that's how this morning I found myself in Piedmont.

What can you say about a city for which this is the building that houses their recreation department?

Today's class was tamales -- savory and sweet.

Tamales in progress.

The salad we made while the tamales were steaming. (I got to demonstrate to the rest of the class how to supreme an orange. When I finished the instructor commented, "For once I did not need to demonstrate how to do that.")

The finished products.

It was so much fun that now I'm looking at what to take next. The same instructor will be teaching the class in moles in March. I probably should take it as I am a huge mole addict.

I also learned in the class where to buy epazote -- that ingredient I'm always missing when I make flor de calabaza soup -- and the best place in the East Bay for cooking supplies. I am in desperate need of some decent knives. After I asked about knives, the instructor was kind enough to demonstrate the proper technique for honing knives. Stop looking at me like that. Just because I have been known to say that I'd like to cut a bitch, doesn't mean that I'd actually do it. Perhaps. But this is public education after all and one never knows with what one may be confronted.

But there was salad

2010-01-28T20:30:00.000-08:00

I know, I know. Trying to lose weight and I have something battered and fried. But I've been really good and deserve a treat. And here's the funny thing. While I love baking and all, I rarely eat sweets. So a treat for me is something like this -- beer battered cod. With malt vinegar and a little tartar sauce. Oh, and Newcastle is my preferred beer for the batter.

I think I'll blame the grocery store. It's all their fault for having cod on special this week.

Somewhat worthy of a photo

2010-01-27T20:40:00.000-08:00

Still working on the weight loss. That's part of why I haven't posted in some time. Over the last couple of weeks I dropped my net calories some more. As a result my meals have consisted of various salads for the most part. Except tonight.

Tonight was Moroccan-Spiced Scallops with Lentils. Except I forgot to pick up the cilantro. No worries. Not like I really measure anyway. But as the scallops were finishing up, I realized that the plate could really use another color. Fortunately I had also cooked up some Swiss chard. I mixed a little in with the lentils and used the rest as a ring around the lentil mixture. Tasty.

And in the meantime, I'm still working away on the various craft projects and planning my next getaway.

Coming together

2010-01-16T13:05:00.000-08:00

I am back on track with the whole weight loss thing. This past week I have been eating primarily seafood, fruits and veggies. So I was really excited when flipping through the weekly ads to see that mahi mahi was on special.

So of course mahi mahi must be accompanied by a salsa made of avocado, supremed tangelos, red onion and jalapeno. I had all this in mind when I checked in to see what was going on in Cookiecrumb's kitchen. Yep, more supremed citrus.

The salad thing got me thinking. Usually when I make this, I put the salsa on top of the fish. But I always make too much of the salsa and end up tossing the rest with lettuce for a salad. Salads are a daily part of my diet these days. (I realized that I needed to increase the amount of fiber in my diet and salads are an easy way. I now average about 20 grams a day but would love to get it up to 30 grams.) Thing is that I've been in a salad rut. Romaine with the occasional spring mix. Next thing you know, I was remembering Zoomie's mention of butter lettuce. (It was not the main topic of the particular post but that one little mention has stuck with me.) Butter lettuce would make the perfect bed for the salsa.

This was the perfect lunch for a Saturday in which I spent a great deal of time procrastinating about things that really needed to be done -- like mopping and vacuuming. If only I could train the cats to take care of these things for me.

Southern comfort

2010-01-12T17:50:00.000-08:00

Yes, I am still here. No, I have not finished my craft projects. Soon though.

This past weekend was time for a celebration of sorts for me -- my mother has left the country once more. Also I was feeling a tad hormonal. And it's winter. Add all this up and there were lots of cravings for comfort food. I settled on Paula Deen's recipe for smothered pork chops. They were tasty beyond belief. And yes, I am still doing the weight loss thing. That's why I paired the chop with loads of steamed broccoli.

Shaken not stirred

2010-01-08T08:46:00.000-08:00

So originally I was going to let Boris select the winner. The idea was that I was going to put each person's name on a piece of paper, ball it up and throw all the wads on the floor. Whichever one Boris went for first would be the winner. But I didn't get up early enough this morning and so instead headed over to RANDOM.ORG to make the selection.

The winner is David. So I guess what that really means is that Maddie is soon to be the recipient of a new shaker.

I have spent most of these week planning out trips for later this year. Y'all know what that means. Yep. There will be more giveaways in the future.

Taking one for the team *

2010-01-03T17:20:00.000-08:00

If you have been reading my stuff over the last couple of months, then you know that I have had a cacophony of thoughts colliding in my head -- because yes, my thoughts are quite loud. At least to me.

I awoke this morning and read the lovely item that Zoomie shared. And this collided with a something I heard during the "House" marathon yesterday. Thirteen was giving a patient a hard time. The woman responded with something along the line of, "We can aspire to many things but that doesn't mean that we get them." And for me that went hand-in-hand with the article that Zoomie shared. Sometimes we delay things because it's just not perfect yet.

Often I mention to friends things that I would like to do. But it doesn't fit into their schedule right at that moment. Next thing you know years have gone by because you're waiting for the planets to align for someone else. No more of that.

That's how I found myself heading over to Alameda today. I have sampled the fine goods from Hangar One in local bars but had somehow never made it to the distillery -- which is something like a 15 to 20 minute drive from home for me. Unforgivable.

The distillery sits on the old Alameda naval base and these are the views from the parking lot.

I timed my visit so that not only could I do the tasting but I could also go on the distillery tour as well. The tour was entertaining and informative -- and free. I went for their premium tasting -- 14 alcohols including absinthe. I now have several favorites including their Buddha's Hand vodka as well as their Kaffir Lime vodka. Both need no mixer whatsoever. But yeah, 14 alcohols and no food? Kind of rough.

But don't think that I forgot y'all. That's right. Another giveaway. Leave a comment here with your email address -- if I don't already have it -- and you are entered to win this lovely shaker set I picked up. The drawing will close at midnight on Friday. If you're a night owl like myself that means in the middle of what most folks would consider Thursday night. Or I'll just keep it for myself.

As for me? I'm going to see about putting some food in my stomach. And figuring out when I will be returning.

When I set out earlier today, I had titled this post something entirely different. Then after tasting the brandies, vodkas, liqueurs and absinthe, I knew that title was entirely wrong.

Let's try this again

2010-01-01T21:00:00.000-08:00

A year ago I hoped that 2009 would be better than 2008. And it was in many ways. Thing is that when I said that, I meant no more relatives dying. Lesson learned? The universe needs clear, concise directions. So let me be clear this time. No more death. I'd like to continue climbing out of this hole that I have been in over the last couple of years and move on with living.

I am the child of superstitious Southerners. Some of those superstitions I hold close to my heart. They are a part of my core of being. One of these states that whatever you are doing on New Year's Day will set the tone for the rest of your year. Over the last few years I have chosen to interpret this as that I should be doing things that I enjoy -- reading, cooking, relaxing. Therefore, I go through great pains in the week leading up to New Year's to ensure that my home is clean so that I will not feel obligated to do anything other than the dishes. And nothing says relaxation like a nice bubble bath.

The final tradition has to do with food. I am a Southerner at heart and so must have pork, black eyed peas and some sort of greens to start off my New Year. (This past week I came across this article on various lucky foods around the world.)

My parents are truly traditionalists. Pork means pig's feet, ears, tails, chitterlings and/or neckbones. (The only one those that I will consume is neckbones.) And my mother feels that black eyed peas must be accompanied by rice. Thing is I don't really like rice. Never have. Although I do like brown rice.

So each year I make sure that I have those three foods. And each year I move a bit further away from the traditional preparation of them. This year I had thought of making the stuffed pork chops once more but then I came across this pork loin roast and bells went off. For many years I have done pork loin roast with a stuffing of sauteed onions, bread crumbs and fresh herbs. Why couldn't I just butterfly the roast and instead stuff it with a mixture of blue cheese and pecans? And the drippings could make the base of a lovely sauce. But then I realized that it really needed something sweet to counter the bite of the blue cheese. Answer? A pear apple chutney. Finishing off the plate is a mixture of black eyed peas with mustard greens and chard. That's right. I combined them. Because this dish alone makes a lovely vegetarian entree. It may not be pretty but it was damn tasty. And I also know that I have done everything in my power to make sure this year will be OK.

But I still worry. Now that I've done it all right, will universe understand me this year?

Finally coming to an end

2009-12-31T20:00:00.000-08:00

I have had lots of time to contemplate things over the last couple of weeks and to make list upon list. Not one of those lists is a list of resolutions though. Because I don't believe in making them. I figure that if you are going to make changes in your life, why wait for January 1 to roll around? That's part of the reason why I embarked upon the weight loss path back in November -- because by doing so then meant to me that I really wanted to make those changes. One of my coworkers had started off on the endeavor with me but said right before Thanksgiving that she would wait until January because it's just too hard during the holiday season. Me? I like a challenge. What's a couple of obstacles like holiday meals? I figure if you can get through something when it's the absolutely hardest to do, then you're ready for anything that life hands you.Other thoughts were around traditions. December has been a bit of a challenge over the last couple of years but I'll get it all figured out. And as the new year approached, I suddenly realized that I have longstanding traditions for the start of the year.

I stopped going out on New Year's Eve long ago. Hey. I'm a professional partier and don't like to mix with the rank amateurs like that. So I prepare a tray of food and hunker in for the evening with a selection of books and DVDs.

This years tray features salad, seafood and cheeses -- some of my usuals. The bacon wrapped scallops came from Trader Joe's but the ramekin contains Baked Oysters with Bacon and Leeks -- something I whipped up once I got home from work. Oh, and the bottle is from Domaine Carneros -- a lovely blanc de noir. And let me perfectly honest. I have survived today on green tea and water just so that I could make this calorie splurge. I haven't really lost any weight since around Thanksgiving, but I have also managed to get through this season without gaining back any of the weight I have loss to date. I call that a win.

Here's to hoping that 2010 is a much better year. For now I must return to my tray and try to decide which movie first, and if it's time to throw another log on the fire. And I hope that wherever you are tonight, you are happy and safe.

We all suck

2009-12-29T20:30:00.000-08:00

I spent a great portion of last Friday reading this book -- a birthday gift from my friend, Emerald. She knows how much I love all things Denis Leary. Just a warning though -- he is not for the feint of heart. His warning in the prologue boils down to that there is at least one thing in the book guaranteed to piss just about everyone off.

Now a great deal of the book discusses children and our treatment of them in the United States. There is a whole chapter in fact on children and self-esteem. And how parents today seem bent on protecting their child from damage to his/her self-esteem. I don't know if this is everywhere but it certainly seems to occur quite a bit in Berkeley. I give you this passage from the book, describing his experiences at Emerson.

"But instead of cursing the darkness we lit it up -- using the advice of one Dr. James Randall we formed The Emerson Comedy Workshop. Dr. Randall forced the Student Government Association to recognize The Workshop as a legitimate theater group and fund it, thereby allowing us to write all of our own one-act plays, variety shows, mini-musical parodies -- whatever came to mind. We even ended up getting credit for all the creative work as well as the set design, lighting design, tech work et al. We did three to four shows a year. We were almost always last on the list for available theater space, but we would take whatever we were given -- lecture halls, raw square spaces, even -- in my favorite turn of events -- a former church -- and have to outfit it with a stage, lights, backstage area and seating. Our limitations always became a plus. [My emphasis.] Our shows were funny, exciting and always on the cutting edge and what began as what some people thought of as an impossibility became the hardest ticket in town -- we sold out every single production for every show three theater seasons a year for three seasons running. The Workshop still exists a full thirty-two years later. I'm not telling you this a form of braggadocio -- I'm informing you how our generation of kids refused to accept the status quo. We rebelled and it paid off -- big-time.

That's an example of the power of not taking no for an answer. As a matter of fact -- taking no and turning it into a giant gleaming Yes."

This is what is possible when a child is taught that sometimes we all fail. See? That's how I grew up. Well sort of. Because I had one parent who was like this at least. One who let me believe that anything was possible -- within realistic boundaries. (To show how much this parent believes, when I used to do a great deal of handmade crafts, I was asked how much start-up I would need to make this my full-time occupation.) And yes, this parent usually wanted to try to pick up the pieces and make everything better for me. But also respected me enough that when I said, "You know it's OK to say no sometimes. How else will I learn to pick myself up?" Hmmm. Or maybe that was just me parenting myself. Because it seems like I did a lot of that back then.

So in my opinion, in this way he's right. I think that to never teach a child that while sometimes things don't work out the way we plan, we can persevere -- and maybe even achieve -- is to do the child a great disservice. Because isn't the idea to prepare them to one day enter the world and to be equipped to take care of themselves? Yeah, that's right. I, the non-parent, has the audacity to talk about parenting. Because I spent five years dealing with your children in the classroom. And I see them when I go shopping. But more importantly, I know that I am the person I am today because other people -- some who never had children of their own -- helped my parents to parent me.

And speaking of parenting, there's a great chapter in the book on Hollywood kids. Or actually that's the lack of parenting in that case.

Bottom line is that if you like satire and don't mind poking fun at yourself every now and then, you'll probably enjoy this book. Me? I personally plan to buy several more copies to hand out as gifts in the future.