PlazaJen: Passion Knit

Where to begin, where to begin.

1. I'm in a really good mood. Like, really good. I'm finally feeling like some of my old anchors and new irritants have blown free. There are still ties and strings and some remnants knocking into the side of the hull, but mostly, things are good. I had a great one-on-one with my boss, and things are just hunky-dory. I wish I had more work to do, but now that I've written that down, it should pick right back up & I'll be stressed out in no time!

2. Being a Midwesterner. This really rocketed to the front of my head this weekend, as I took several knitting classes, and the instructor is from the East Coast. I hate to make sweeping, general statements about groups, so this feels rather fidgety to write. I'm writing from the perspective of a born & bred & never-left Midwesterner. Raised in NE Iowa, lived in Minnesota, Iowa & Missouri after college, I even felt that I crossed a little into the South when I left Iowa behind to reside in my current state. I know there are parallels between the South and the Midwest - but there are things about being in the Midwest that we claim in our own odd way. Idiosyncrasies, boundaries, just... WAYS. They're "Our Ways". Some things are more extreme up north, I've discovered. I've laughingly called one of our syndromes "Three Times for Pie", because where I was raised, you waited until the third offer of pie before you could accept it, and actually enjoy it.

Why? Because it was the only way to guarantee it was truly ok, and not an imposition on your host, to eat that pie. That pie might be for her family tomorrow night. You never know. Midwesterners don't ever want to be a burden, and that goes double if you're in a guest/host(ess) situation. We have extreme regard for the guest/host dynamic. And it can be easy to violate. We expect to be asked if things are ok to do, you don't just help yourself to things, and in return for your formality, we will do backflips to make your stay as accommodating as possible. Now, in Missouri, I've discovered, you only need to offer pie twice, and sometimes once, and it's readily accepted. But that's among people who know each other well, and if there was a whiff of doubt that said pie was originally destined for another occasion, well, the turning down of pie would still happen.

Now, I know that I don't always fit the stereotype I've just begun sketching. I'm loud (that could be embarrassing, don't draw attention to yourself so much), I speak up and say what I think, if I believe it will result in a good dialog, and I've even made some choices where I know -cognitively, intellectually KNOW - that I am putting the other person in an uncomfortable situation. This is in direct opposition to the MW Way. (And 99% of the time, those situations happen at work, and involve reps trying to get away with something.)

We don't joke about hurting feelings, or say it's a goal to make someone cry or humiliate them. That makes us shift uneasily in our seats, because if you can say it, you might even try to do it, and the laughter is polite (because still, we cannot stop being polite and proper), but it is nervous and has an awkward undertone. Some people can take it - some people can't. Even if you can take it, you automatically feel defensive on behalf of the people who can't. I remembered in a flash at lunch today that the instructor jokingly said to me that she hadn't made me cry yet (or broken me yet, or something to that effect.) I responded in a very quiet voice that it would take a lot more than this, and might just be impossible. It is in those moments that I feel the mettle of my own being, it is a lovely moment of control and confidence and indeed, stubbornness, because I will not be broken for the amusement of someone else. Oh no. I physically feel my heels digging into the earth at the notion of such a tete-a-tete and I see myself ala Uma Thurman in Kill Bill, gesturing "come on, motherfucker" with my hand.

Now, I know that should someone have burst into tears, I believe this person would have felt terrible, never having truly intended for it to get to that point. Why do I think I know this? Because we're all alike under our layers and baggage, and even if you are an asshat day trader who screams all day in the frenzied pit of paper money, we all were infants at one point, who looked to another to care for us, and to unconditionally love us, and we never lose that piece, to feel treasured and appreciated, acknowledged and understood.

And so, when I gave JWo a brief recap of today's drama, his offer to slash everyone's tires, once again, was the brief flash of light that makes me laugh and reminds me that it's all small stuff. And it's all IN the small stuff. How you behave, as a guest or a host, is defined in the small things - yes, it's wonderful if you as the host pick up the check at the $300 dinner, and you take your guest and their kids to DisneyWorld, and you shuttle them to and fro on their vacation. But it's in the small things, the words that dance between mouth and ear, the small kindnesses, the respect, the appreciation of effort: that is where the real measure is taken. I'm not going to go into all the details of the class, I'll end up getting crispy-fried in a flame war, but I think I have a really balanced perspective of it. For me, I got some really good things out of the weekend, but wish it had gone "better" overall, in the nature of the tone and vibe.

Gee, I think after all that, I may have only one more Ort in me.
#3. Suzy made the paper on Saturday, with this fabulous photo:

The KC Star did a feature on Black Dogs (and the correlating "Syndrome", that black dogs suffer a bad rap & are much harder to get adopted) & they encouraged readers to send in their pictures of adored black dogs. Suzy made the paper, Suzy & Polly made the online slide show, and poor Tripper, he didn't make the cut at all. He's young though, and finds his joy in chewing, eating grass, and playing with the other two.

Labels: random orts

Five years ago today, the Wo & I got married. Nine years ago today, we met for the first time.

We've had a lot happen in our lives, especially in the last few years. I can't imagine the journey without him. He's my rock, my rudder, my fellow clown, the one person I'll allow to know me inside and out most fully.

I love you, JWo!

Labels: JWo, life, love

...well, except Warren Buffet was there.

Not really. But in my dream, he was! Warren & I were in adjoining cubes, and he was having a devil of a time with his computer. I was wildly swinging between cool as a cucumber & frazzled, that I had THE Warren Buffet, at work, sitting next to me! I was trying to switch between work, and writing a blog post about him being there (yes, I even blog in my dreams, it would seem!) My old boss from St. Louis came over & I had to stop blogging, but he was more concerned with Warren's increased frustration with his computer and why things weren't loading.

I leaned back & saw he was trying to do something on the internet. I said, "Warren? Are you using Firefox?" and he impatiently said, "Of course I am!" and I then suggested he re-boot his computer, that usually works for me.

Now, my geek friends, surely you are laughing at this point. I remember having a "Oh-no-he-di-n't" face when he said he used Firefox.

I'm guessing Warren's good friend Bill is going to get some retribution in my next dream.

Labels: dreams

I'm done with several things. First off, I finished the Int'l Scarf Exchange 6 scarf for my secret pal. All that remains are some treats, a note saying hello & introducing myself, and a trip to the post office. Might I recommend the Plaza branch? They are SO NICE, and you don't get hassled. (I don't have great luck with our postal service branches.)

I'm also done with pouring good energy after bad. If I wrote it all out in great detail, then it would stir things up, but suffice it to say, I am not in high school anymore. I cannot, simply will not, continue to find myself caught in the trappings of that behavior. If someone doesn't want to be my friend? Fine. Knock yourself the fuck out, and don't look back. If my emails are ignored, or my feelings, or all the things I've done in the past are overlooked (or overanalyzed), well, then, that's the way it's going to be. I can't keep waiting. I'm almost 40.

These demarcations in life, they give you a sense of what is and isn't acceptable. I remember after my friend Sheila turned 30, she said it gave her the grounds to not take crap from her dad anymore - "you can't say that to me, I'm a 30-year old woman!" Well, 40 is to 30 the way a machete is to a penknife. Does it bother me, being rebuffed, ignored, or otherwise thought negatively of? Yeah. But when my husband starting singing "hiiiiigh school" in the car the other day when I was ranting about it, something inside me snapped. And I knew it had to change! So I'm going to make a concerted effort to stop looking for notes in my locker.

Well, after all that ranting, I'm off to make a cootie catcher. Peace out, yo.

I've had occasion, a couple of times in the past month, to hear someone talking about a parent's death, or a grave illness & their actions as they cope and brace themselves and prepare for the unknown. I hear my voice and my words and feel my .... whatever it is we all radiate that is intangible to see or often describe, but we feel it, and it couches what we say. "Vibe" is just too... trendy. "Aura" is just too....hippy-dippy.

But I've heard my words and the sounds surrounding them, and I know. I know that I know it now. I know what it is to go through it. To live it, to feel it like a fire raging through your conscious, to wish it would leave your bloodstream in a reverse-junkie rage, to know there are a thousand pitfalls, days on end lost, the emptiness, the pain, the mind fucks, the everything that goes with death. I had a salesperson who came in, her father in the hospital, things don't look good, and I heard myself as I expressed my sympathies - no - my empathies. But not in an overwhelming way. (I still can crack myself, and am learning this language, no matter how much I didn't want to.)

I remember how those who know/knew used their wisdom and experience with me. I remember reading Becky's post, the post that came when I stood on the other side of the door, where I believed I KNEW, that I was wise in the ways of death, because we can only comprehend that what we have lived, and nobody wants to believe they suck at being there for someone else, for simply the sole reason of not having gone through the experience. And in the end, it's not that you suck? It's that you just don't know. You can't have that quiet acceptance inside that says, "Yeah," and doesn't need to say anything else, because it all does come down to time. Time, and love, and patience, and understanding, and lots more time. In re-reading her post, this jumped out at me: "understand that the person may not be the greatest friend for a while afterward" for indeed, I have lost friends in this process. I've even been accused of being a horrible friend, and it felt like being stabbed with a machete. But everything does heal. And I'm struck by how much I didn't know, the first time I read her words. The passage through the door certainly changes you - for better, for worse, for a lifetime.

I miss him terribly still. It's more private, it's quieter. I think of him every day when I get in my car, the car I bought with the trade-in from his truck. I think of him when I look at the grass garden we planted in his memory, freshly mulched and looking lovely as the spikes of grasses rise up through their clumps for another season. I am always comforted when he appears in my dreams, and I see the ways we overlap and I can hear his voice if I listen. For everyone who stuck it out, who listened & nodded & tried to understand - thank you.

Labels: grief, life, spring, the next year

This morning flew by in a blur. This afternoon seems to have ground to a halt and is moving forward as enthusiastically as a sea turtle on rocky terrain.

I was thinking about funny PackRat things, how you can tell a true addict - they say things like, "My kingdom for a camel!" or, "SHE STOLE MY PAGODA!" or, "Please don't break my lock, please, I just need this one thing and then I can vault it."

Yeah, it's an addiction. Clever game, even more so in its simplicity and psychological hold.

OK, hubs just called and made me laugh like no other person can. Tears streaming out of the corners of my eyes, because he is addicted to Craigslist, and he has a line on some fencing & tomato cages. So he's off to the manicured lawns of JoCo, with his truck & trailer, only the thing is, the trailer is half-full of crap he hauled up from the duck club, to dispose of on Bulky Item Pickup Day (next week). I told him he might get arrested. He countered with the visual that he was going to change his clothes & put on overalls...with no shirt. And added "Makes for great tan lines, too." Weeping, weeping, what with laughing so hard. I told him he needed to blast the theme to "Sanford & Sons" as he rolls through the calm neighborhoods, and I followed up with sending the ringtone to his phone.

Now, if there was only a Magic Dinner Apparatus, life would be complete.

The growing season feels like it's itching to spring itself on us, at NuWo Estates... the lettuce is up, sadly, the radishes were as well, but some rapacious rabbits utterly de-topped them. James sold all his tomato and pepper plants, to boot! I am delivering the last order tonight. He definitely had a successful seedling season, and I'm sure it will only expand next year. I joked that we're going to end up with one of those high towers...he very seriously responded with an interest in putting one up over the raised beds! So, who knows, maybe I'll get my dream realized - home grown tomatoes, year-round!

I had found some frozen bay scallops at Target on sale - and bought several bags. They're the very small scallops, that, when cooked, are about the size of a headphone earbud. Tiny! but good flavor. We also had a large amount of fresh basil, since we'd potted the live plants we'd bought at Price Chopper a month ago. (Note to self: Never run out of fresh basil again!) After pondering my options, I decided to make something up, and that something would be a "Deconstructed Pesto".

I melted some butter, plus olive oil, until it was pretty warm (but not smoking; combining these two fats tempers the heat point and the butter gives a depth of flavor.) I added about 3 tablespoons of minced garlic, and let it sizzle for about five minutes - it didn't brown, but it was enough to mellow the bite. Then, 2# of the scallops, rinsed & drained, about 2/3 cup chiffonade-sliced fresh basil, 1/2 cup chopped pine nuts, some kosher salt & fresh cracked pepper. Heated until the scallops were cooked, added a few splashes of lemon juice (it needed something to cut the butter, as well as perk up the scallops), and served over hot pasta. We were out of Parmesan cheese, so this wasn't a true pesto-based recipe, but the result was actually quite light & went perfectly with a nice cold chardonnay. A few slices of bread to daub up the garlicky bits at the end, and I am pleased to say, it was delicious!

This type of sauce would be equally good with shrimp or chicken. I contemplated adding some sun-dried tomatoes to it, but figured that might result in too much going on, and overwhelm the scallops. If I were doing this with chicken, I would have definitely tried the tomato addition. Artichoke hearts would also be good, and at that point, skip the meat & throw some kalamata olives into the mix for a nice vegetarian dish.

I love when experiments succeed!

Labels: cooking