Blended

Love multiplied.

This happened two weeks ago – a new marriage with bonus family. My one regret from the day (because let’s be clear – I’m 50% regret most days) is that Chloe couldn’t be there with us because of work.

I’d like to introduce you to my new blended family….

I’ve gained a husband, a daughter, a son-in-law and a son. The wedding was simple and casual and we had a small group of friends and family there to share in our happiness and cupcakes.

Mathman, ever the wonderful friend and man he is, sent a text of congratulations and good wishes the morning of the wedding.

My cup totally runneth over.

Wedding day selfie.

Cupcake Cleans Up

Once upon a time….

 

 

 

And now….

 

 

Junior Prom 2016

Yeah, I’m still trying to wrap my head around this. It’s not like I haven’t already watched two children grow up and move out. It’s just – – – I don’t know. Even though I’m no longer there, Sophie’s age seems to define the end of some era. She has one year left of high school. One year.

And in case you’re wondering, she still texts me that she’s dying from some thing or other and should probably leave school so as not to traumatize her peers. So much for our family has changed, so it’s weirdly nice to know that some things probably never will.

Paybacks are coming though. One day I’ll be the one texting her from the home they stick me in. “Come get me. Pleeeeeeaaaaase!”

Daily Journal #6 – Not so daily after all

January 11, 2016

Recently I listened to the novel Brooklyn by Colm Toibin. I selected it because it was on one of those lists of books you should read before you see the movie. Not that I’ll actually ever see the movie unless I stumble across it on Netflix a couple of years from now, but I thought I’d give the novel a try. It’s a small break from the cozy mystery vortex I’ve recently inhabited.

I wasn’t crazy about the book at first. It wasn’t awful. The dialog (usually a deal breaker for me) was fine. The characters were well-sketched. It wasn’t full of action, rather a telling of a life. A part of a life. I think it’s what people might call a quiet story.

Told from the perspective of Eilis, the main character, the writing was straightforward and almost mundane. Was it lacking detail? I couldn’t put my finger on it. Eilis seemed a little hard to get to know. She only told you the bare minimum about herself and there seemed to be a paucity in the sharing of her emotions. Sometimes I wanted to cheer her for her ability to hold it together and other times I wanted to throttle her for her naivete. True to most of my own life, she was a little late to understand things. By the time she had a full grasp, the consequences had already engulfed her.

As you have probably figured out, Eilis maybe bothered me most because I was seeing myself. I suppose that’s a common reaction to many stories, but this one, in particular, struck me as Eilis went back to Ireland after having established a life in Brooklyn. When she returned to her home, she experienced the same feelings I have every time I visited my parents’ home after I left for college. That feeling of being a guest in your own home. It’s also the feeling I get now when I visit the kids in Georgia and stay with MathMan and Sophie.

I starting writing this from the spare bedroom of my former home. I was there visiting. We celebrated Sophie’s birthday on the 7th. It was wonderful and loud and crazy and fun and sad to spend time with Nathan, Sophie, Nathan’s girlfriend Kade and Doug. I couldn’t help wishing that Chloe had been there, too.

But visiting there is hard. I AM a guest in my old home.  A new dynamic fills the house as it is just Doug and Sophie’s home now. Three of us – Chloe, Nathan and I can only be guests there. When I am not there, I don’t have to think about that reality. I prefer not thinking about it.

It takes me a day or two to adjust to the feelings of weirdness. I have to check myself. I can no longer act like a human bulldozer, cleaning and commanding while everyone rolls their eyes behind my back. I’m the person who gets to have things done for them as if by magic. I’m not entirely comfortable in this role even if it is kind of nice to get what you wish for once in a while.

By the time I’ve adjusted, I’m contradicting myself by feeling an itch to head home and be in my own space. Domestic Queen of my domain. I tell myself each visit that the next time I come, I will get a hotel room or insist that Sophie visit me in Indiana instead. It’s not that the visits are unpleasant. It’s just – – – – it forces me to take a good look at what I left behind and how our family has changed. While necessary to own the situation since I was very much the engineer of those changes, I think it’s unhealthy to revisit my old life every couple of months. I never get beyond the guilt and regret before the reset happens.

But back to the novel. The thing I am most struck by now is how Toibin unravels the story in a way that’s natural. Most of us aren’t information dumps of self-knowledge. Hell, most of us struggle with self-awareness. Eilis doesn’t spend large amounts of time puzzling over her own behavior. She’s more interested in observing the actions of others and only occasionally assigning intent. It’s only in short bursts of enlightenment that Eilis identifies some profound trait or value held by herself or another character that gives her some clue as to what may be not morally right or wrong, but right for her or the other character.

After a while, Eilis began to feel at home again in Ireland and began to question her life in Brooklyn. From Ireland, the time she’d spent in Brooklyn seemed like a dream. The life she’d had – school, work in a shop, her rooming house, the man she’d fallen in love with – it didn’t seem real anymore.

And I can see how this happens, too. Having straddled two lives since 2013, I recognize the opposing tugs of the familiar and the unknown, sometimes being unable to know the difference between the two.

Daily Journal #3 – Stream of Semi-Consciousness

From Weirdo Retro

January 4, 2016

Today was the first day back to work after the holiday break-ish. Was it just me or did it really feel like a Monday after a vacation with a vengeance?

The Electrician is on rotation which means he’s home for a week or two until work picks up again. I don’t know which is worse – the old days when I had to go to work while my ex-husband, a teacher, stayed home for long winter, spring and summer breaks. Or working from home while someone else lolls about playing on their phone, watching TV, sleeping in, and mentioning with a degree of regularity how hard it’s going to be to live without Mountain Dew.

At 5pm sharp I escaped the house for a trip to the Kroger. Note to self: Monday evening is not the night to go Krogering if you want to find most of what you’re seeking on the shelves.

Because no one sane wants to cook after a trip to the grocery store,  especially a trip in which one finds only a third of the things they were shopping for, I spent a little time in two different drive thru lines partially because I couldn’t make up my mind and partially because the line at McDonalds was ridiculously slow. Listen, if you can’t shove the sodium and fat out that window fast enough, I’ve got better things to do.

And now home again with the groceries put away, the cold cheeseburger consumed and my bra blessedly removed, I’m trolling websites extolling the benefits of chia seed pudding and coconut water.

I don’t know what I expect to find on those websites, but life’s about the journey after all, right?

– End –

Daily Journal #2 – Sunday Sunday Sunday

January 3, 2016

Sundays have their rhythm here. At least during football season.

The Electrician mans the living room from the time Fantasy Football pregame stuff comes on until he goes to bed. I create a nest in the bedroom. Laptop, Kindle, remotes for the TV, cable and Roku. Snacks within reach. Two pair of reading glasses. Books. Pillows. Fuzzy socks.

Before The Electrician, I had no idea of how the vagaries of the Fantasy Sports world could cast a glow or a pall over a home. Today I am laying low. Offering snacks and soothing words.

For my part, I’ve rediscovered the variety of offerings on Hulu Plus. True to my nature, instead of watching something new, I’ve been watching Cranford.  Everytime  commercial comes on, I think I should watch some of those other shows. I don’t get beyond considering though.

Cranford though. I blogged about it back in 2008, back when blogging was youngish and freshish and definitely red hot.

Eventually, my time in 19th century England came to a halt. Sophie wanted to use the Hulu account. Like the good martyr mother I am, I relinquished. I needed a shower anyway.

When we weren’t talking football, The Electrician and I discussed the merits of drinking water. Tomorrow begins The Electrician’s weaning from the Nectar of the Gods. Hold me.

While I think I’m making headway on convincing him that water isn’t poison, I think I’ve lost the battle to engage him in the glories of Downton Abbey. Tonight the first episode of the final season premieres in the U.S. and I’m more than a little excited about it. I want to share the love of all things Downton.

But it is not to be. Football. Duh.

It’s a shame really. I had big plans. A pot of tea with all the trimmings. A gown for me and a tuxedo for him. Alas no. He couldn’t even be lured with promise of a smoking jacket and ascot. Pity. He’d rock that look.

Oh well. More teacakes for me.

– End –

Daily Journal #1 or where I try to get my groove back in a most pedestrian manner

January 2, 2016 (I actually typed 2016 instead of typing 2015 and backspacing – Such a small, but pleasing victory.)

Weather: Cold and clear. Sunset, a recent event, was pink in the east and salmon in the west.

What’s happening right now?

There is a grown man watching a Wolverine anime DVD in Japanese with English subtitles. (That explains why it was only $5.00 at WalMart). A seven year old boy is playing Minecraft on the XBox One in his bedroom and alternately visiting the living room with one piece or another from his Nerf arsenal.

Me? I’m typing this in the dining room/home office.

Why am I doing this here instead of in one of my really nice paper journals?

My right arm and hand continue to feel like they’re asleep. It makes it very difficult to write longhand. Typing is easier.

Why am I doing this at all?

1. I can’t remember things like I used to and this will serve as my memory

2. I feel the need to start writing again and this is how I’m going to get started. Coming up with a themed, coherent post felt too out of reach.

What’s on my phone?

Sophie is sending me photos of ideas she has for a tattoo. I am not a fan of this idea, but, as I texted to her, it’s her skin.

I don’t get it. Why they need this kind of permanent self expression is beyond me, but whatever. Part of releasing them into the wild world is letting them make their own decisions. And trusting them to make the right decisions. Or learn from the wrong ones.

Now she has to convince her father. He’s the custodial parent. Stay strong, Mathman!

Wordbrain is also on my phone. It gives me small fits of rage. I can often see all kinds of complicated words that work and it always ends up being arm, piano and mince. Come onnnnnnnnnnn.

A group text between my children and me which ended with me pointing out to Nathan that he was missing a comma in his last text. So basically, very little has changed since the old blogging days.

Photos of barns and family dominate my photos.

What is the last thing I consumed?

A Remy Martin chocolate. Mmmmm dark chocolate. Mmmmmm cognac.

Current reads?

WINESBURG, OHIO by Sherwood Anderson (audio). I just started listening to it today.

A TRICK OF THE LIGHT by Louise Penny (audio). I’ve already finished this one on audio, but it will be my sleeping book (what I listen to to fall asleep) because the narrator’s voice is very soothing and I have a little crush on Chief Inspector Armand Gamache.

A collection of Miss Marple short stories (hardcover).

UNCLE MONTAGUE’S TALES OF TERROR on my Kindle. What? Don’t you read kids’ books?

Resolutions for the new year?

Nothing specific, but I seriously need to listen to my body. I am not well. I can feel it. It has much to do with poor nutrition, lack of exercise, not getting enough uninterrupted sleep and stress. First up? A doctor’s appointment on the 11th. It’s been a couple of years and I’m pretty sure I’m a poster child for the high cholesterol and messed up blood sugar set. I’m not looking forward to the much-expected lecture I’m going to get about lifestyle choices.

– End –

Awesome Sauce

This is not a cooking blog and never will be because I could never withstand the shame of readers learning about how I really eat. I mean, who needs a recipe for melty chocolate ice cream or jello with sugar and milk?

Nevertheless, here I am writing a recipe because I want to be able to find this again. It’s that good. And that’s not just the wine talking.

See?

Clean plate.

Most of my cooking is done in semi-panic mode. Life as we’re living it right now doesn’t lend itself to planning. At least that’s the story I’m telling myself. So while ritualistically googling recipes on the days when I expect the Electrician to be home for dinner, I get heart palpitations when I read things like “marinate for 4 hours.”  Seriously? I’m lucky if I have something thawed.

Today I’d managed to have chicken breasts ready in the refrigerator but had no plan besides throwing them on the grill. Plain grilled chicken breast is the reason so many good people go bad, ya know? I can’t have that so I googled simple chicken marinades and, I swear, every recipe required the dreaded 4 hours or more to marinate and/or required Italian dressing or soy sauce.

I am bereft of both. Again with the shame. Who runs out of soy sauce?

Time to improvise.

So much for simple.

The recipe itself is pretty simple though, so I’ve got that going for me.

AWESOME SAUCE

About 2/3 cup of brown sugar, DARK brown sugar. Don’t mess around.

Less than a quarter cup of apple cider vinegar because I used a quarter and it was a wee bit too much

A half cup or so of vegetable oil named after one of your friends

A few squirts of barbecue sauce. I’m a fan of Sweet Baby Ray’s original. Obviously.

A couple shakes of Worcestershire Sauce and then a few more after you dip your finger in to taste the mixture. Maybe. Just bear that in mind.

Half the airplane-sized bottle of honey whiskey found next to the brown sugar in the cabinet because why not? It’s not like either of us are ever going to drink that whiskey.

Stir. Keep stirring. Stir until the sugar lumps disintegrate.

Here’s where you should dip your finger in to see how it’s going.

Does it need more Worcestershire Sauce? s Entirely up to you.

Add a tablespoon or so of creamy peanut butter and recommence stirring. Careful not to lick the peanut butter spoon or you won’t be able to give the finished sauce an honest taste test. As Julia Child frequently said – peanut butter is not a palate cleanser.

I poured some of the sauce over the chicken breasts and let it marinate for about 30 minutes. It was the best I could do. I saved some for dipping and maybe took a taste before relinquishing the stirring spoon to the depths of the dishwater.

While the chicken marinates in the marinade, contemplate the English language. The noun is marinade. The verb is marinate. It’s like the difference between accept and except or affect and effect.  Sip the whiskey right from the bottle. No one is looking.

Grilling left a tasty coating on the chicken when the sugars carmelized. I warmed the reserved (how’s that for a fancy recipe word?) sauce for a few seconds in the microwave to use for dipping. A quick glance at the clean plate photo, tells me the dipping sauce was one of the better ideas I had today.

Looking over the recipe, I realize it’s pretty much hopped up barbecue sauce, but that’s such along name. I’m sticking with Awesome Sauce. Not Fancy Sauce. That’s something different.

Bon apetit!

Take him from the fire into the frying pan

I googled the Jerry Seinfeld episode where he traveled with his girlfriend and things did not go well. I was looking for a quote but couldn’t find it. Instead I found about 3,490,000 Google results for traveling with your girlfriend. 3,150,000 results for traveling with your boyfriend. Who knew traveling with your bf/gf could cause over 6 million internet anxieties? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Anxiety is the new black.

As usual, I’m seeking information too late. That’s a good thing. If I don’t know ahead of time what to be worried about, I’m less likely to look for trouble or to spend a lot of energy second guessing, leaping to conclusions and seeking out ulterior motives.

The Electrician and I have already clocked two weeks of traveling together and I’d say it’s going well. If he were speaking to me, I’d tell you what he thinks.*

It helps, that we’re traveling for work, not pleasure. We’re not trying to be entertained or to entertain 24/7. We’re both working most of our waking hours so our time to get on each other’s nerves is limited to the 4 hour drive and the couple of hours we’re awake at the end of the day.

Now that his situation has changed and my work is portable, it makes sense for us to live in the same place even if that place is an economy hotel populated by other traveling workers who require the basics – no bed bugs, heat and air conditioning, hot water, a comfortable bed, free wifi and expanded cable.

We’re developing a rhythm helped by the fact that we’re both creatures of habit. He’s up first and out early. I get up, shower, go to the lobby to fill my giant tumbler with an unhealthy amount of caffeine, grab the USA Today for later and return to the room to get to work. At the end of the day, he returns, showers, we eat, do the USA Today Crossword puzzle together, watch a little TV and go to bed.

This week the hotel’s hot water tank blew and it was -2 degrees in the West Virginia Panhandle. It’s perfectly reasonable for someone who’s been doing physical labor outside all day to expect to come back to the hotel for a hot shower. There were probably 300 men who couldn’t do that for nearly two days. A pall fell over the Days Inn. The housekeeping staff got a feral look in their eyes if you asked when the hot water might return. Discussions were held about vacating. I feared mutiny.

It’s the closest I want to come to pioneer life. Out of desperation, I took a cold shower. So cold it hurt. Water like shards of glass. Or maybe it was ice. Thankfully I’d warmed enough water to rinse my hair. Thank goodness for the in-room microwave, the ice bucket and the coffee maker. I tried to fill the tub with enough hot water so The Electrician could take a bath, but was stymied by the non-functioning drain stopper. I even tried to Life Hack a stopper to no avail.  I’m taking that as a sign that I was right. Life is meant to be weird and difficult.

We survived the ordeal and smell clean again even if my hair does have a slight scent of coffee.

The trickiest part of traveling together is the drive. Four hours each way is plenty of time for me to get under anyone’s skin. It’s in that quiet car that The Electrician and I are still playing emotional chess – being ourselves, but not quite. We range from letting our freak flags fly to staring silently out the window at the mind-numbingly flat landscape of central Ohio.

I pull out my Kindle and play Solitaire. He jokes it’s the most expensive deck of cards he ever purchased. I call him Leroy and switch to reading a book until he’s no longer paying attention. He recounts the plots and characters of his favorite TV series and movies. I listen and think if I ever have a script or a book completed, he’s going to be my pitchman. Sophie Facetimes me and rides along in the car with us. There is much talk of cats.

The Electrician downloads music often. His tastes vary and he tends to play a song over and over until he’s had enough. Last week’s song was Yelawolf’s Til It’s Gone. This week’s jam is Stephen Bishop’s On and On. I had the 45 of that song when I was 10 and music was still pressed onto vinyl discs.

The music provides background for the conversation and filler for the silence. Last night, we rode along singing, neither of us surprised at the lyric muscle memory, both of us off somewhere in the mid 1970s when we couldn’t have imagined the strange and wonderful turns our lives would take.

On and on…

You just keep on trying…..

*joke!

What’s your song this week?

We drank a toast to now

December 29th 30th  31st is as good a time as any to make some New Years Resolutions and I’m going to try something new. I’m making resolutions I can keep.

1. I will begin and end several fitness regimes including walking when it’s convenient and buying a grocery cart full of produce and unprocessed groceries on Sunday, eating healthy on Monday and Tuesday, and consuming mostly candy, pastries and fast food the remainder of the week.2. I resolve to always find a way to make matters worse. Why deny my gift?

3. I will watch movies and forget the details 20 minutes after the closing credits thus driving The Electrician a little insane.4. I will fret about money because my personal economy isn’t growing so much.

5.  I will let my gas tank run down to fumes on I75 and wait until the last minute to stop for a pee because 2015 can’t be all about a calm and balanced life.

6. I will continue my struggle with not using the Oxford comma and not having two spaces after a period because that was what I was taught all those years ago. One did not defy our typing teacher Mr. Neaman and live to tell about it.

7.  I resolve to Google everything except when I’m driving and then I will give Siri the task of Googling everything for me. And what Google can’t answer, I’ll turn to IMDB. Oh, I’ve learned. I’ve learned.

8. I will think about writing. Thinking is almost like doing, right?

9. I will watch the same episodes of British murder mysteries repeatedly to put myself to sleep because the squirrels in my brain won’t quiet down without assistance so they must be drowned out.

10. I will procrastinate. Obviously.

Your turn. Resolutions?

Airing of Grievances 2014 – A LOT of Problems

Festivus:  A holiday invented by Frank Costanza, a character on the hit 1990s sitcom Seinfeld. Its symbol is the aluminium pole. Traditional Festivus activities include the Feats of Strength (typically ending with someone in tears) and the Airing of Grievances (also often ending in tears).

While I have erected a Christmas tree and shopped for things people don’t need and participated in the Baruch Atah Adoni-ing and lighting of Hanukkah candles, I haven’t an aluminium pole. This year has felt like a Feat of Strength so there’s that.  All I have left to accomplish is the Airing of Grievances. Buckle up.

Facebook posting of disgusting images. Bugs unearthed from human bodies. Dead deer posed to appear as if they were delighted to have been slaughtered. Recipes involving Velveeta. Abused animals. Taylor Swift’s eyebrows. Where the fuck is the decency?

Buzzfeed quizzes. One was entertaining. Two were silly, but okay. Three or more means you don’t understand how the internet works. You don’t have to punish us all by posting all of your results on Facebook? Lord. It’s like pooping or masturbation. Everyone does it sometimes, but we don’t need to read about it every single time.

Life hacks. Life is supposed to be complicated, weird, and difficult. And sometimes a toilet paper roll is just a toilet paper roll.

Denying injustice. If you’re doing this, you need to experience a little yourself. That usually brings people around.

Politicizing everything. I heard a guy at Kroger accuse a woman of being a crunchy, tree-hugging Jesus hating liberal because she had the temerity to ask where the Greek yogurt was.  “What?!” he screamed. “Isn’t American yogurt good enough for you?” I rushed to her aid, tossing her the Black Cherry Chobani, hitting him with my bag of organic apples and informing him that Jesus was a liberal.

The Marshmallow World. Thanks, Target. Way to ruin a song.  Also, you’re not helping my desire to cut the demon sugar from my diet because just the word marshmallow turns me into Homer Simpson.

Shaming of today’s youth because they spend too much time indoors staring at screens.  Oh sure, you played with sticks and ran around barefoot and got spanked and you turned out just fine. And today’s kids are horrible because they have iPhones and tablets and video games and never suffer any punishment? Spare us. Ten year olds aren’t issued AmEx cards. They don’t ride their bikes to the Verizon store to purchase their expensive, sunshine and fresh air-depriving toys. Their parents won’t let them ride their bikes out of the neighborhood for fear of strangers snatching them.

If today’s kids are a mess, it’s our fault. We’ve failed them not the other way around.

Corporate media.  We broke up a couple of years ago, but that hasn’t lessened your influence on the world and hence me, damn it. Stop frightening people. You’re making us impossible to live with. We fear each other, hate each other and believe that corporations want what’s best for all of us. We’re dumber, poorer, sicker, and more hateful. Congratulations. You have a wretched audience. That must feel awesome.

Faux country music. Did you just sing Hey, girl again? Put down that Bud and climb on down from that tailgate. Dolly Parton wants to deliver a nice, ring-encrusted punch to your nutsack, bro.

Posting items to social media without vetting them or even reading them. This is so simple. Read the article you’re linking. Check its date. Google can provide an assist in not looking like a moron. So can Snopes.com. So says the woman who repeated the Jay Cutler fired hoax article, but hey, I didn’t post it for all the world to see so I can still wrap myself in this swell fur of sanctimony.

Pharmaceuticals. I listened to the book STATION ELEVEN and one scene contained a description of a young woman going cold turkey off Effexor, the anti-depressant I took for over two years. I flashbacked to achy joints, brain blasts and the frustration of counting out capsule granules to wean myself off that poison. It comforted me to know that my experience wasn’t just my imagination. If that author could so accurately describe those reactions, it must be true. We’re pumping these chemicals into our children’s bodies (guilty as charged) without much thought about how it will all end.

Oversimplification.

Pumpkin, pretzel, and other food fads.  No more pumpkin spice toothpaste, pretzel bread waffles, or kale. Shut up and let me eat my two tablespoons of coconut oil in peace.

Taking umbrage at the wishing of seasons greetings and happy holidays. As long as no one is tacking on you asshole, you really should just get some perspective. The person wishing you happy holidays or seasons greetings is being inclusive not insulting. I wished someone a Merry Christmas and he thanked me for “saying it right.”  I repeated myself with a huge grin. “Merry Christmas, you asshole.”

Bad Grammar. Spoken is bad enough, but if you are lazily reposting shit on Facebook that has grammatical and punctuation errors, it is time to reevaluate your life.

Death. You’ve shown up too many times this year. We’re giving you 2015 off.

Pictures of your cat on the internet. This is said while standing in front of a mirror. Also, this is not a euphemism. Although it could be.

Potato chips. What are they putting in them now? Meth? I spent my first 48 years jonesing almost exclusively for sugary treats and now I’ve become a craver of the salt and grease? Life is so unfair. And while I’m at it – Wheat Belly, Wheat Brain, and this horrible Wheat Cellulite. I’m paunchy, stupid and dimply.  Hawt.

Dystopian anything. Please stop. You’ve got me considering the benefits of becoming a Prepper and I doubt I could last a day without my Roku. I consider my pour-over coffee pot roughing it. The best place for me at the end of the world will be ground zero.

Social media in general. Clearly, I need to walk away, but then what? Talk to my family, my boyfriend, my co-workers? Sit for 45 seconds at a stoplight without being entertained? And what about seeing things simply for what they are instead of imagining them with a Lo-Fi filter and tilt shift? I’m getting hives.

Jerks who want to dictate what should and should not be on social media. Yeah, I’m looking at you, Lisa.

Me. I’m the biggest problem I have. I’m in my 50th year and can’t pull it together. I hope to spend the next 50 years not crashing about like a mental and emotional ox and instead do some good, let go of ridiculous expectations, be less insecure and judgmental, more direct, and relaxed.

The truth is I’ll settle for becoming less bothered by grammatical errors and year end lists.

Your turn. Let loose.