Let me preface this by saying that the following can obviously be filed under "first world problems;" the fact that I have more than a battered tin pot in which to boil gruel means that none of this actually matters, but that's not going to stop me from rambling on about it, anyway. You've been warned. I am probably better at recalling the various cooking implements from my past than I am at conjuring memories of past boyfriends. This may be because cooking is more meaningful to me, or it may be because I have a weird memory. Hard to tell. I'm guessing it's okay with Otto, though, as being...
Lately it feels like there's a million little things happening at once, but no cohesive story worth sharing that has a beginning, middle and end. You know? Right now we are living a lot of middles, and the beginning maybe isn't so interesting and the end is still unknown. And I'm having trouble coming up with things that feel worth the retelling when they feel incomplete. I got a very nice email from a reader who wanted to know how Monkey was doing, and that's a middle if ever there was one. On the one hand: The surgery was such a success, physically, it takes most of my energy not to spend...
I know a few people who think I'm a fantastic cook. Those people should put down the crack pipe. Somewhat similarly, I seem to know a lot of people who think cooking is "hard." Personally, I tend to believe in my mother's oft-repeated adage, which is that if you can read, you can cook. Improvising on recipes is something different, of course, but even that comes with practice, I think. The thing about me and cooking is that 1) I like to cook (because I like to eat, duh) and 2) I do it a lot. This is one of those areas where I believe "practice makes perfect" isn't quite correct, but...
So far my lofty "don't skip dessert" vow isn't really bringing all of the balance and joy to my 2011 that I'd pictured. I mean, sure, I'm enjoying the chocolate and everything, but for some reason that nightly square of dark chocolate has yet to fix everything stressful in my life. IMAGINE. [Aside: Thank you for the birthday wishes for my dad. He enjoyed them very much, and they proved to be the perfect complement to his birthday festivities, which apparently began with my stepmom putting a candle in his cappuccino foam that morning. I wouldn't have believed such a feat was possible, but I...
Apparently today is National Delurking Day, and I'm supposed to be encouraging folks who read but don't comment to come out of hiding and say hello. I'm... actually not going to do that, though. Two things, instead: 1) Allow me to do my own bit of delurking: I am not very good about responding to comments, a lot of the time. I feel badly about that, because I know some people are personally affronted when they don't get a response. It's not personal, it's just that there's limited time in the day and also I suck. BUT. I read every single comment. I treasure most of them. I am so, so grateful...
I made a vision board yesterday, as planned. I was ready to go through the motions and be unimpressed, but it turned out to be kind of cool and yes, FINE, THERE WAS SOME WOO-WOO INVOLVED, and once I am done compartmentalizing all of that perhaps I will share. In other news, THE CHILDREN ARE HOME, and Santa brought Band Hero and LEGO Rock Band and we are quite the motley crew of musicians. I am afraid I can't share more without incriminating myself, but suffice it to say that the children forcibly removed the drumsticks from my grasp last night. Ahem. 2011 is shaping up to be plenty...
The kids are coming home today, so yesterday Otto and I tried to cram in everything we might want to do before they're back. The day ended with a trip to The High to see the Dali exhibit, and it was blissfully free of "this is boring"s, "what's with his moustache"s, and "he's touching me"s. At one point, we overheard this: Her: So you're a writer? Him: Yeah, that's right. I'm a writer. Her: So what sorts of things do you write? Him: Well... right now I have a book in editing. Her: Really? What's it about? Him: Oh... you know... just... fiction. Her: Fiction, huh? Him: Yep, fiction. Her: So...
One of the things I always look forward to over winter break is going downtown and eating at restaurants normally overrun by students. It's not that I don't love the UGA students---I mean, what's not to love about all those kids in tank tops and UGGs who whine at my husband about their grades?---it's just that I like being able to go out for a meal and find a parking space, and also not be packed into the restaurant like sardines. FURTHERMORE, my favorite pizza chain in the entire world, Mellow Mushroom, now offers a decent gluten-free crust. The evening plan was clear: Pizza ahoy! Otto...
Christmas was bittersweet, but surprisingly lovely. I've never not been with my kids on Christmas, before. I've been divorced for... HOLY CRAP, I've been divorced for coming up on eight years. Thus far we've managed to divide up the holidays in such a way that we alternate some of the other ones, but Christmas has always been shared. Christmas Eve and morning at one house, Christmas Day at the other. I'm really glad we've been able to make that work for as long as we have. But this year---with the canceled plans, rescheduling of getting the kids up north, and general mayhem---it just...
