The whole apartment is warm! I had forgotten how it felt to be warm, indoors, in a place where I lived, in the winter, without blankets and blankets and blankets.
Ah wine and heat. It may be pot pie time.
Thursday, December 03, 2009
Friday, November 27, 2009
generosity
I am at mom's house making a sort of lima bean and chicken stew. I am feeling very unsure about the lima beans, but add enough chicken broth to anything and it usually tastes pretty good. It is isolating to be here, but it has been a great holiday and I feel a warmth for my family that is usually more of an awkward kindness with just a touch of frost. I suppose it comes with this adulthood thing that I seem to be approaching. With great kinetic force.
The hardest thing is being away from my mister, who spent Thanksgiving night in a bar and then freezing in bed alone. I feel deeply that I don't want to spend another Thanksgiving apart. Which, when I think about the way I felt, what, five, six months ago, all that confusion and fear, is perhaps what I feel the most gratitude for. I feel like I have a future for the first time, and I am not afraid of it. Also the way life in Memphis has turned out, a richness of experience and people and a rather intense variety of emotions. All of which I feel a tremendous gratitude for, even the hard parts. Because here I am now.
Where are you?
The hardest thing is being away from my mister, who spent Thanksgiving night in a bar and then freezing in bed alone. I feel deeply that I don't want to spend another Thanksgiving apart. Which, when I think about the way I felt, what, five, six months ago, all that confusion and fear, is perhaps what I feel the most gratitude for. I feel like I have a future for the first time, and I am not afraid of it. Also the way life in Memphis has turned out, a richness of experience and people and a rather intense variety of emotions. All of which I feel a tremendous gratitude for, even the hard parts. Because here I am now.
Where are you?
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
breakfast
A long time over breakfast is a balancing measure.
Dishes from last night first, the radio on, the sound of people talking, it is all preparation, but it is also the act, the show itself. Sweep the floor, place the garbage bag on the stairwell to be taken out later. The gray tabby grips my shoulder where I hold him, preventing his escape out the back door. Slice onion so thin it almost disappears. Brown it for fifteen, twenty minutes, small splashes of water, hot steam warm around my fingers, kale wilting once the onions are brown as the skin of a good baked potato, or an unpacked leather suitcase.
Hot chocolate while I wait, and toasted French bread with tart cherry jam. The eggs are already scrambled in a blue ceramic bowl, a hit of milk for fluff, and hot crushed pepper (red and black) to give the oregano something to talk to. A bit of salt and the key now is the dribble of fish sauce to give the eggs dimension, the mushrooms, the kale, the caramelized onions. Fish sauce is the key to all savory cooking, the Japanese knew, and the Vietnamese, and the Koreans. Then the eggs, all at once, a quick scramble in small oil, then the plate, a second jam and toast, to the porch, where the late autumn sunlight is warm (will it be the last warm sunlight of the year?) and a book of poems by a French librarian from South Carolina, a poem about eggs, which I eat in small chewy kale bites, which are rich and full of that wonderful flavor of mushrooms and fishsauce and I know that a night of bad dreams and a sore throat entails this, a balancing act, a time not working, not running running, just lingering, just purposeful in act and intent.
Dishes from last night first, the radio on, the sound of people talking, it is all preparation, but it is also the act, the show itself. Sweep the floor, place the garbage bag on the stairwell to be taken out later. The gray tabby grips my shoulder where I hold him, preventing his escape out the back door. Slice onion so thin it almost disappears. Brown it for fifteen, twenty minutes, small splashes of water, hot steam warm around my fingers, kale wilting once the onions are brown as the skin of a good baked potato, or an unpacked leather suitcase.
Hot chocolate while I wait, and toasted French bread with tart cherry jam. The eggs are already scrambled in a blue ceramic bowl, a hit of milk for fluff, and hot crushed pepper (red and black) to give the oregano something to talk to. A bit of salt and the key now is the dribble of fish sauce to give the eggs dimension, the mushrooms, the kale, the caramelized onions. Fish sauce is the key to all savory cooking, the Japanese knew, and the Vietnamese, and the Koreans. Then the eggs, all at once, a quick scramble in small oil, then the plate, a second jam and toast, to the porch, where the late autumn sunlight is warm (will it be the last warm sunlight of the year?) and a book of poems by a French librarian from South Carolina, a poem about eggs, which I eat in small chewy kale bites, which are rich and full of that wonderful flavor of mushrooms and fishsauce and I know that a night of bad dreams and a sore throat entails this, a balancing act, a time not working, not running running, just lingering, just purposeful in act and intent.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
kudzu ate the day
I finally did a wedding right and am now struggling to recover. My last memories are falling down in kudzu, maybe screaming something about being eaten alive. Chardonnay (bottles and bottles of it) is a bitch's brew.
My most recent major decision is to look for opportunities abroad rather than in the country. Not necessarily job opportunities, but some way of travel that is purposeful rather than pure vacation. I'd like to do some WWOOFing and volunteer work. Mostly, I just want to go. So the time to save money is now. I am approaching 30 with every day and suddenly the reality of having a partner and thinking about settling down and popping out a baby is apparent, which is pretty exciting. But I don't want to get trapped into thinking I have to do that right away before I get to do a little global travel and then never do it and die resenting myself. If anyone knows any travel tips, please indulge me.
My most recent major decision is to look for opportunities abroad rather than in the country. Not necessarily job opportunities, but some way of travel that is purposeful rather than pure vacation. I'd like to do some WWOOFing and volunteer work. Mostly, I just want to go. So the time to save money is now. I am approaching 30 with every day and suddenly the reality of having a partner and thinking about settling down and popping out a baby is apparent, which is pretty exciting. But I don't want to get trapped into thinking I have to do that right away before I get to do a little global travel and then never do it and die resenting myself. If anyone knows any travel tips, please indulge me.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
bubble
Contentment bubbles past anxiety easily, and comfortable again, I think that this is what I always wanted but couldn't see that I already owned, this falling asleep together listening to cars make waves against Poplar Ave, a splashing of traffic that gives you beach dreams and reminds me of swimming off Cape Hatteras.
Wednesday, October 07, 2009
power fail
This was a long and whining post about work and tiredness and uncertainty and fear. I just can't put you through that. We are in flux, aren't we? It was so good for a few weeks. It will come back.
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
busy
I have been meaning to post about domestic bliss and UTIs, which are by no means mutually exclusive. But I am just too into sitting on the porch with my man and working and all that stuff that keeps me too busy to write. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to take a picture of Will holding an oil-stained American flag, piss orange, and go to a wedding cake tasting. And later eat pizza. Oh, day!
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