I’m just can’t relate.

All my life I have struggled with two things:  feeling wanted and finding my place in life. Maybe that’s almost the same thing. In high school and even college, I would be at home on a weekend night, wondering what other people were out doing. Why were the people I reached out to not reaching out to me? Was I unlikeable? Or simply unmemorable?

By now I’ve decided that most of that was just a long perpetuated myth. Maybe some friends were getting together, forming those lasting bonds. In fact, that definitely happened. That’s life. But probably the thing I was missing the most was family. I came from a fractured family. And the people with healthy (or healthier) psyches around me were falling back on those family relationships to boost their bonds with others.

I didn’t think it would be a big deal when I moved away from my family, because it was small and not all together (but not legally all the way apart either). It’s becoming more and more of a thing. Friends are great and friends can be like family. But there’s something about blood that’s different and undeniable.

When my son had a surprise and horrifying dental procedure, I turned to family. While my son’s bloodcurdling screams (he was ok, just scared) echoed in my ears, my sister was sad with me. And my husband’s parents talked to us at length. I can’t get over all my emotions for that one day. I reached out, grasping for anything that would give me comfort. Basically nothing did. I don’t know exactly what to do to forget it and move on.

My life recently.

Is it just getting older? Everything is changing. And J is growing up, faster every minute. I want to remember this time.

And that makes me think that the best course of action is to be the family that I didn’t have. If I can. I have too much of my parents’ workaholic gene. The traffic is bad. The hours are long. And here I’m thinking about getting more education. Less time to see my precious kiddo. But if I don’t, we will be able to afford very little in this beautiful, expensive city.

To be continued… someday…

I’m in a dim p…

I’m in a dim place right now, still pondering how I fit in and what the future holds.  I’m praying that God will prepare my next home.

Abandonment issues

At the beginning of sixth grade my group of friends had a meeting and voted me out.  It must have been following a sleepover in which I scored many uncool points.  Specifically I remember acting like a big baby during The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (I still act like a big baby during scary movies) and not wanting to smoke a cigarette (which I have still never done because they’re gross).  Wow, I sound like the same person I was in sixth grade.  After that I was graciously taken in by two girls so I wasn’t friendless until the end of the year, but it was traumatic.  I had been in with my previous group of friends for ages (a couple years, even) and I just didn’t understand why they wouldn’t want to be friends with me anymore.  Who doesn’t love a chubby, glasses-clad goody goody?  I need to rustle up some photos to explain how seriously uncool I was.  I also played the flute.  Well.  More deductions.  

I tell this story often because I think it’s funny in a dark way.  These girls* (Ivy, Sarah, Lindsay, and Elyse) literally sat under the eaves during recess one Fall day, weighed my pros and cons and decided against me.  I had run out to the basketball courts ready to play and when I saw no one there, I retreated to where they had huddled.  It took less than 15 minutes to determine what my friendship was worth.  

Now that I’m exploring the details, it doesn’t sound so funny anymore.  And believe it or not, it happened again, TWICE.  Not until high school and college, but I lost two more best friends for reasons I still don’t entirely understand.  I’m sure I was a jerk, she was probably not well-behaved either, and those two people I made up with years later.  But why does one fight=friendship over?

All this, plus my parents splitting up around the time of the first meeting added up to some serious abandonment issues.  It also made me woefully independent.  Oscillating between extreme independence and private-time-sobbing-abandonment-issues is not pretty.  It looks like this, “all I needismyself” right before *sob-why doesn’t this person like me anymore-big sob.”

If any of this comes as a benefit, it’s this:

I will never leave you.

You are my friend and I love you.  True, I haven’t had any good friends long enough (with the exception of two lovely souls, Mike and Ashley) to be 100% sure of this.  But in my heart I know that I am not an abandoner.  True, we may fight.  I might get fed up with your quirks and you might find me at times to be an insensitive asshole (anyone care for some snarkiness or inappropriate jokes?) but I still will never leave you.

Thank you, friends who have abandoned me, for teaching me how to appreciate and love people who are willing to stick with you. 

*their real names.  what do I care?

A place prepared

WAIT!
A place has not yet been prepared for you.
Your room is not ready.
Stay here for now.
It’s satisfactory in the lobby.
You’re welcome to browse the magazines
while you wait.

The best lemon I ever had

I thought that all of my heroes were dead.  That’s because I mostly live in the past.  But it turns out that one of them is still alive.  The lady that pretty much changed my cooking style forever.  I’m not talking about Julia Child.  Love Julia but one, she’s dead, and two, it’s not her.  Marcella Hazan is a cool 88 and furthermore, she’s on facebook.  Yeah, she’s my friend on facebook.  She’s this virtual grandmother who lectures me on which canned tomatoes to buy.  And I’m in need of a grandmother, even a virtual one.  She told me that food doesn’t have to be pretty to be delicious and she’s right.  I also found out that she didn’t start cooking until she was 31.  That encouraged me.  Of course, she had the upper hand, being raised in a foodie (before that was a word) family in Italy.  Italy is a fine place to be a foodie.

We were essentially food tourists in Italy.  Unless there’s another word for people who have gelato twice a day because they’re on their honeymoon and may never get gelato this good again.  We did lots of walking in order to have that twice-daily treat.

In Florence we had one of those meals that was ordered with gestures and pointing and not a lot of real choice.  Menu del giorno?  My foreign language skills are bad.  Anyway, what ended up coming to the table was a pasta with a bolognese sauce (yum) and then a steak with a side salad of romaine (which was tossed in olive oil) and a very stately half lemon.  So I put the lemon all over my salad and ate it.  Delicious.  So then I decided to squeeze the rest of the lemon over my steak.  Even better.  Words cannot describe.  It was the best lemon I ever had.  And I’m not just saying that because I was on vacation in an exotic place.  It was that good.  I’ve never had a lemon like that in California.

When we left, I asked David to turn around and take a picture of the restaurant.  Here it is:

When I die and if God lets me into His heaven, I imagine that lemon to be my spirit guide.  Not as a lemon, like a big fruit with legs and arms, but a stout little man in a buttery yellow suit.  Walking side by side with me.  I’ll be tall (because I have always been and I think I always will be) and he’ll be this little guy.  But he’ll really be that lemon from Florence.  He’ll even admit to it.  “I was that lemon, the best lemon you ever had.”

Liking former disliked

I’ve heard that every few years our tastebuds change. I’m not super crazy with the food dislikes (ok, fish, I admit it) but I have had some major changes in my food dislikes. Around the age of ten I decided, ok, I really do like mushrooms! And now I’m in love with the weird little fungi.

A great thing David has done for me in marriage is encourage me to love radishes and asparagus. Radishes with a little salt, how else?

In Paris, we had our afternoon appertif with a plate of radishes and a salt shaker. What a beautiful memory bubble

These days I like to cut them into tiny matchsticks.

And for the record, I do like fish and chips. Beer-battered and deep fried? Yes!

BTW, this was my first post with my new phone. How did I do? Ok, maybe I got auto-corrected a little.

I’m just here …

I’m just here to say that no, I do not know how to fix the weird thing that happened on my last post where the picture and the text became one.

January rambles

Sometimes I find myself wondering where facebook fits into my life. Social networking can create one heck of a phony existence. I wonder if sharing what you did with who and when and how cheapens the experience of living life with others. The consensus is that it HASN’T made people closer even though they are MORE connected. I desire a life where I can go over to a friend’s house for dinner and not have to tell everyone about it. I have lovely friends who are great cooks and funny and keep me even though I’m a jerk. Look, I just told you about it. Argh. I fit exactly into my generation in every way.

Although the blog might be different. I don’t write here often. And when I do, hardly anyone reads it. If you’re reading it, you probably have more stake in my life than a drive-by facebook experience.

Social networking also makes me feel like I have to be doing (read: accomplishing) something at all times. And though I know that God made me a jack of all trades with potential to really do something, SOMETIMES I JUST WANT TO WATCH SPORTS. Or troll the internet.

But actually my New Year’s resolution is to “do something.” I’ve got a quilt to finish (I gave myself until July) and books to read and one day I might do that one thing I always say I’m going to do. Which is record music again.

Oh yeah, we also bought a car this week. I might post some pictures later.

Can I tag this with wandering thoughts….?

2011

This is the time of year when I hear frequent rumblings of “so long [whatever year it is] and good riddance!”  Maybe I’ve been one of those people before.  But 2011 was an epic, most wonderful year.

In April, Adams and Eves released our first full length album on vinyl.

In May, David and I went to Europe.

And in November, we moved into a new home.

We’ve done a lot of grownup things together.  Like finally upgrading from our double bed.  And purchasing our first sofa that was not acquired through craigslist.  And more than furniture!  All those things made life busy, but we survived the hard parts and enjoyed the heck out of the rest of it.  I even got a turkey in the oven for Thanksgiving.

I can’t tell what 2012 will bring.  But 2011 will always be remembered fondly for its new adventures, faraway places, homey nights with friends and the rest of the time with David, my best friend.

Happy new year!

I’m kind of bl…

I’m kind of blue. A little bit like this:

I get nostalgic when I pack up and leave places and a big moment occurred last night. That is, to say, I packed up my spices. I had already packed up my cookbooks and I was doing OK from memory, but now I will be separated from my spices, or essentially cooking, until Saturday. I know that in itself is not a big deal, but I’m getting a bit nostalgic in general.

There will be things we will probably never do again, like walk to our favorite Thai restaurant down the street. Or “do the stairs,” a set of seven or so flights of concrete stairs set into Mt. Nebo. At the top is a lovely and usually misty view of East County. And sometimes a box of avocados for sale with an honor system cash box.

It’s been chilly in our little apartment. Most of the shelves are cleared off and dusty. We’ve stacked so many boxes around, walking to the bathroom takes a little creativity.

And last night I had this song in my head. Because I’m a big ol’ sap.