Vicarious Rising

Things I Can't Swallow

I generally like eating most things. But I ran into these at the grocery store and can't come up with a good explanation for them. They're broccoflower (which you've probably heard of) and orange cauliflower. I ask you, why? The damn things look like Play-Doh food. My phone photo don't do them Technicolor justice. The orange was really pastel carrot orange. Ick. Thought about buying them to make my son eat them, though. Because I am not very nice.

I suppose I could accept these mutations of vegetables as they are, victims of some sort of well-intentioned science experiment or perhaps a marketing scheme. I don't care to guess or investigate. It's not the brocco-orange-cauliflower's fault for being as it is. I should have compassion for its facsimile of appearance as an edible item. It too is sufferring. Maybe by seeing a pervasion of mutations everywhere, mauling the good vegetable kingdom of no fault of its own or the victims partaking in eating the vegetables, I can find peace of mind in my own corner of the world. I am not the only victim of unreal tinted vegetables. It's no one's fault things got out of hand. We should just accept the evils that happen, open our eyes to the pain and close our eyes to the fact that we are all still being poisoned. 'Cause there's no one to blame, no one taking responsibility. We're all just ingesting and being saints.

Yep.

I think I'll pass on the crazy colored engineered veggies.

Obviously this is hyperbole. I'll probably eat the weird brocco-shit and like it. It's supposed to be nutritionally better for you than regular cauliflower, the orange one with beta-carotene and crap. Clearly, I'm irked by something other than the molestation of leafy greens. But it was a fun analogy even if it isn't a perfect one.

Because I am So Superspecial -- All About Me

The other day I declared myself positively boring on this very blog, so maybe I can debunk my own claim by filling out this self-absorbed meme. The amazing Lea Jacobson of Geisha, Interrupted tagged me. For those of you who haven't been to her blog, you should visit her droll diary of experiences as an expat in Japan. Also, Lea's memoir, Bar Flower, will be published in a few weeks. Click here to order it from Amazon.com. I pre-ordered mine ages ago.

Lord knows why Lea'd want to know anything about my upstate New York mom-of-a- teen-boy life. But, hey, I'll take any compliment I can get because I am that deprived and pitiful. Now that I have sufficiently lowered expectations, here are the sordid details of my secret life as a horny housewife:

What I was doing 10 years ago

Living off crazy South Street in Philadelphia and attending the Wharton school for my MBA. My son was 3-years-old and I was one of only three mothers in the grad program. This was out of a total of 750 enrolled. We three were the most exhausted of any of the students, and I am not saying this for dramatic effect. All the men with kids had wives who stayed at home with the kiddos during the program. My husband and one of the other mother's husband was also in the MBA program. The other woman commuted daily from Princeton, NJ so her daughter could stay in school there and her husband could keep his NYC job. Some days we three ladies would just bleerily eye each other and mumble, "no one else understands."

I hated, hated, hated business school. My drinking became an increasing problem. Everyone kept telling me I would never regret getting an Ivy League MBA, that it was a terrific opportunity and my ticket to the big time.

I should have listened to my inner voice that wanted out. Ten years later, all I have is the student loan payments (although those are nearly done, but Ivy League tuition? Pricey. Especially when you follow it up with quitting your first job out of school within 3 months and not ever stepping foot in the corporate world again.), an impressive diploma and dubious bragging rights that I drag out every so often to remind myself that everyone else does not know better than me what is best for me, no matter how pretty the credentials look on paper in the eyes of people who don't see through mine.

I did love Philadelphia, however. I miss the food there. Not the smell of South Street on Sunday morning, though. And I missed the Easter Zombie Pub crawl this year. Bummer.

Later in the year, went for a semester abroad in Milan, Italy. Was the only thing that made going to grad school remotely worthwhile.

5 years ago

Living in the middle of New Jersey (shoot me) and selling US made handbags to vendors in Japan, Taiwan and Korea on eBay. Was a surprisingly entertaining venture, although I spent all my earnings. Had stopped drinking for a year, but not in a program. Buried up to my eyeballs in pretending normalcy. Would pick up again in about a year.

1 year ago

Probably about what I am doing now, hanging out in West Palm Beach, Florida and blogging. My son keeps asking me to play games with him and I keep refusing despite the massive guilt trips. Yep. Same scene. Not a bad scene.

Yesterday

One change in this year's agenda was that I got to see my husband's grandmother from Iowa, who is visiting. That was a treat. She's a phenomenal person. She still handwrites letters, writing things as simple as: "It's 5 a.m. and there's still frost on the ground. The brown squirrel has been searching for nuts, but has given up for the morning. It might snow tomorrow. Made a batch of snickerdoodles and thought I'd send some to you. Made a pie too, from some cherries Wendi and I bought at the Barnes store, but pie wouldn't ship well, now would it?" I adore her.

5 snacks I enjoy

1) Popcorn (not microwave popcorn)
2) Wint-o-Green Lifesavers
3) Rolds-Gold Pretzels
4) Swedish Fish
5) Cheese and fruit - all kinds, even if I can't pronounce it - either the fruit or the cheese. I'll take jams, jellies, compotes, crackers and fancy breads too

5 books I like

1) My big, old dictionary that my husband rescued from being recycled or trashed (sacrilege!)
2) The Stand, Stephen King
3) Drawing from the Right Side of the Brain by Betty Edwards
4) Any fairytale or mythology book from any country, especially by Andrew Lang, Ruth Manning Sanders, the Brothers Grimm and subsequent updates by Neil Gaiman, or any books with gorgeous illustrations, plus Roald Dahl
5) J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter books (this feels like a cop out, but I did love them. there are many, many other books I have loved. I have a rather large library)

What I'd do with 100 million dollars

1) Pay off all my debt.
2) Finish doing all the stuff to my house and yard that I want to get done.
3) Get a new car. Probably a Mini Cooper. My 1999 Toyota 4-Runner has over 100,000 miles and is great here in snow country, but the CD player died about a month ago. That won't do.
4) Set up some sort of investment to live comfortably on and possibly generate some extra money to continually....
5) Give the rest to various charities and environmental concerns, local farmers, small business loans to developing nations, etc.

.....because $100 million won't be enough, but maybe in perpetuity I can do some good. But a girl's gotta live.

5 places I'd love to run away to

1) My Dream House (of course!)
2) Emilia-Romagna, Italy
3) Provence, France
4) Fiji - why not? Actually, I'd probably rather go some place in Asia or maybe back to Turkey. But not permanently.
5) Someplace beautiful I've never seen, but I'll know it when I see it. It's there. I know it. I need to travel more.

5 bad habits and pet peeves I have

1) Pet peeve: bullies
2) Pet peeve: people who write the word "then" when they should be using "than"
3) Pet peeve and bad habit: people who interrupt/interrupting people.
3.5)Pet peeve: being poked to get my attention
4) Bad habit: staying up too late and sleeping too late
5) Bad habit: picking at scabs

5 things I like doing

1) Writing, reading, learning
2) Drawing and painting
3) Cooking and gardening
4) Torturing my son
5) Just being

5 things I would never wear

1) Lilly Pulitzer clothes
2) Fur
3) Birkenstocks or Tevas
4) A blouse with a big bow at the neck
5) A t-shirt with hateful images or sayings

5 TV shows I like

1) Buffy the Vampire Slayer
2) Burn Notice
3) House
4) Angel
5) Dexter

5 movies I like

1) Moulin Rouge
2) Gladiator
3) Heathers
4) Jaws
5) Casablanca (anything with Bogie)

5 famous people I'd like to meet

1) Freddie Mercury
2) Joss Whedon
3) Angelina Jolie
4) Queen Elizabeth I
5) Jesus (and not because I am a believer, but, man, am I ever curious)

5 People I'd like to see fill this out

1) Confessions of a Serenephobic
2) Mantramine
3) Pat of Child Lost
4) Slutty McWhore
5) Syd of I'm Just F.I.N.E.

Can I Have Pasta Instead of Bacon?

"I had rather be shut up in a very modest cottage, with my books, my family, and a few old friends, dining on simple bacon, and letting the world roll on as it liked, than to occupy the most splendid post, which any human power can give."

~Thomas Jefferson, letter of February 1788

We are finally going to spend our first night in the new house. We now have cable and internet and have deemed the place habitable. I'm sure that is what Jefferson had in mind when he spoke of the simple life at home. After all, he certainly would not have done without his pen and paper and books were quite pricey back in the day. His idea of roughing it was probably on par with mine.

Id's Alive!

Cooking is a sensorial pleasure in which I've joyfully partaken since I was a very young girl. In first grade, the teacher would allow us to sign up to make jello or bake cupcakes in the toaster oven, and I signed up as frequently as anyone would allow. I'd also horn in on most everyone elses' dessert creation activity. I'm lucky I didn't get a cookie shoved up my butt. I wasn't overly fond of being sous chef.

Tonight I am toiling over a simple meal I learned in middle school home economics: stir fry. Actually, it's my Irish-Italian-Lithuanian-American version - meaning anything in the fridge or pantry is fair game for the wok. My family migrated to the U.S. partly because they were poor and hungry, so I blame genetics for making me practical with leftovers.

Normally, the chopping is enough to keep me out of trouble. I like the whole process of cooking, including experimenting. But when I glanced at the clock today, I found myself wishing that Buffy the Vampire Slayer reruns were still on at this time of day so I could watch while I fry. Then I thought, well, since that's not happening, wouldn't a glass of wine be nice? Just like the old days.

Seeing as the the old days are apparently victim of selective memory, I'm going to chalk that stray evil whisper up to the full lunar eclipse darkening the skies tonight. I haven't thought about drinking in conjunction with cooking in a long time. Really, I'm lucky I only stabbed myself once with a large knife because of my alcoholic tendencies. And that was because of withdrawal not intoxication. Needed stitches, bled like a geyser, knife sunk into my left hand about an inch. Felt just like a raw chicken breast. My whole hand and part of my wrist turned dark purple. Pretty.

My husband bought wine for our Realtor and our builder to thank them for their work on our home. He left the empty wine case in the hallway of his dad's house where we are still lodging for a few more days. That fucking empty cardboard box is driving me nuts. I really need to throw it out. But for some reason I am tentative about touching it. The boogieman might be residing in that box.

Where's Buffy to slay my demons when I need her?

Mud Pies

Tonight I went out with family and friends to celebrate a birthday. We all had pasta with white truffles that had been FedEx'd in for the event. For those of you who have not been fortunate enough to experience white truffles in season, this is an extraordinary treat. My first experience was in Milan, Italy in November 1998. Yes, it is memorable enough to remember where and when.

The dinner was finished with Cristal champagne, which of course, I could not indulge in. The birthday "boy" asked me if it was really difficult for me now, even after a couple years (or because it'd been a few years) to not be able to have champagne. I was able to honestly say it wasn't a problem, but that I still had trouble with watching people drink a good chardonnay. But lucky for me, most people I hang with don't like to drink what I loved.

He said he thought it was pretty remarkable that I'd done so well. He's seen quite a few alcoholics in his time. He was perhaps a little tipsy himself tonight when he mentioned that his mother had a bit of a drinking problem of her own: she'd married three alcoholics. One of these was his own father.

I have to say, my dinner was not one bit reduced because I could not drink the expensive wine or sip the champagne. Those truffles were phenomenal without my imbibed taste buds.

Life is good. And so were the profiteroles for dessert. And the fact that I didn't have to pay the bill. White truffles are not cheap.

A Matter of Who or Where

When I was actively drinking, but not yet all the way into my cups, one of my favorite ways to start my buzz was with a book or a notebook in a crowded restaurant. I liked to sit in a good vantage point to view the rest of the patrons. My favorite memories of this activity are from when I lived in Philadelphia and I could either walk back home to my row house or take a cab. Once, I ate alone at the amazing Le Bec Fin the evening before a final exam in grad school. I'd studied hard all semester and rewarded myself with a five course dinner with wine pairings. The wine sommelier and staff were quite lovely. I eavesdropped on all the conversations around me while pretending to read a trashy romance book.

Maybe this sounds like I am romanticizing the drink. I suppose I am to a degree. But I also recognize that some of this sophisticated set up is part of the lie I told myself that kept me in the downward spiral of alcoholism. I was either doing research, reading some important literature, writing my latest poem, being cerebral in one way or another. Because I was out yet confident enough to dine alone, I thought I was the consummate aspiring writer. I felt I was somehow above and outside the average people dining together, those I was watching and preparing to expose with my witty observations.

It's funny how you can hide in the big wide open.

What I couldn't escape was the hollowness that comes from always just watching and not being a participant. Maybe I had traveled the world, eaten in some of the finest restaurants, seen some of the finest art, but I was still just someone plunked down in the scenery of life. It didn't matter so much where I was, it was how engaged I was in my surroundings. What that meant was being truly involved. Sometimes that does indeed mean communing alone, as in with nature. But other times, it involves relating to people within places. It means a lot of things, but it doesn't mean sitting in a room with a notebook, just inactively peering out like some sort of peeping Tom. It's relationships to the people, places and things that are significant, not just where you happen to find your feet.

I don't want to be just a tourist in life.

It's a Little Weird, But I Like It

I'm feeling a tiny bit better the last couple days. I think telling my sponsor and talking at the women's meeting was good for me. I still feel all self-indulgent whenever I say I'm not doing okay, that I maybe could use a little support. I need to get over that.

Last night I had dinner at a place called Limoncello, which used to be one of the rare apertifs I enjoyed. Kind of a supercharged lemonade made with grain alcohol. But the restaurant is a nice Italian place. For dessert, I had a basil panna cotta, which is a cooked cream. Basil for dessert was a new one for me, and it was garnished with three ripe cherry tomatoes sprinkled with some powdered sugar. It was awesome. I'm the sort of person who sees something on a menu that I've never heard of and needs to try it. This can get me in wacky territory sometimes, but most of the time I find that I really like the new experience. It's a great way to wake up my senses in a perfectly safe way.

I must admit, though, I still haven't managed to get myself to eat raw sea urchin when in Japan. It kept going around and around on the conveyor belt and I just looked at the yellow globulous mass passing by on it's little plate, and my stomach said "no thanks." If I'd been drinking then (I was there on my dry-drunk run), I probably would have given it a taste, but it just looked like a lump of puss. I'm a wimp. But I can laugh at myself for declining a plate of ooze. Delicacy my ass. Blech.

Dessert last night, which was like a pudding or a flan with finely chopped and sweetened basil molded on top was excellent. A little odd in color, the salad green brightness and the unusual taste, but I really liked it. I'd had strawberries in my starter salad, so why not basil in my dessert. It amused me, and lord knows I needed it.

The Chili Dog and Brownie Cure

I really enjoy imagining myself as Tinkerbell when I want to have a temper tantrum. I think this is because I never really have had a real life temper tantrum, so when I envision myself having one, the diminutive pixie with magic and mischief and dainty shoes seems more adorable than idiotic. If I need to pitch a fit, at least I might be forgiven or given points for cuteness.

Children throwing fits have never warmed the cockles of my heart. I always disdainfully wondered why their parents couldn't get their tots to shut up if I saw a youngun losing control in a store. It isn't particularly kind of me, I'll admit. And so, it goes to reason that I do not actually go around stomping my feet in pique or blurting out the invectives in my head when I am irritated at someone's real or perceived foolishness. That said, I do, on occasion, actually feel annoyed, irritated and even angry by other peoples' behavior. I am human. The actual practice of patience is not being numb to the actions of others, it is being able to behave with grace in the face of trying circumstances. I usually can pull this off. I am not going to spend too much time kicking myself for being put off when other people behave badly. That also does not mean I am going to do or say anything about my feeling.

I had dinner tonight at my friend Tara's house. Tara is a really great hostess and an excellent cook. She helped feed my inner child (and she hates "inner child" crap, so I had to say that just to be pesty) by making some kick ass chili dogs for dinner tonight. Her chili was probably some of the best I've ever had, and I forgot to tell her. I think she put some curry in it. She also made chocolate dipped strawberries and brownies. I didn't realize how much I needed this time just hanging out until we did. Laughing with her and with our kids who spent at least a half hour making fart jokes made the stuff in my head stay at bay. Nothing like food and bodily functions to fix what ails you.

Drawbridge Down, In Come the Bugs

You know that thing that happens when you work hard to prepare yourself, then you get yourself through a tough situation, then *bam* you get slammed with a cold or flu the minute you relax once it's over?

C'est moi.

What better way to remind me not to let my guard down for long? At least I got my temporary crown from the dentist and my psyche picked by my psychologist with the added benefit of coasting through the lovely 'burbs of middle New Jersey today.

However, I do think I will take it easy on myself. My kid has been nursing his own contagion of some sort for a week. It was only a matter of time before I caught it.

I've been having a hankering to cook something lately. This is partly because of the story I wrote, which was about my grandfather who was an awesome Italian cook. The place I live right now is a lousy place for cooking, but I may jump in and make something fun anyway. I haven't had the urge to go all out and cook an elaborate meal in a long time. I haven't visited the farmer's market here in town yet. I love that sort of thing. Most of my cool cooking gear is in storage, but I can make do. The big problem is the sucky stove and oven and mediocre pots and pans.

Still, if I am feeling better by the weekend, I think I will dream up something wonderful to eat. It's time to stretch the culinary imagination and skills a bit. Those are rusty too.

A project. Something to make me not want to loll around sick for long.

Respite but not Resolution

It turns out this week has been a downer for more than just myself. The tone of the meetings have been focused on death and dying, and one of the women finally got wise and brought up "what is good about today" as a topic for this morning's meeting. I think the group needed the turnabout.

I went to breakfast with four other women afterwards, including the woman who made the topic suggestion. We laughed a lot and were probably overloud. It was a gorgeous morning and we got to sit outside on the patio. Three of them had poached egg, bacon and avocado sandwiches on grilled hard rolls that they raved about. I had an asparagus and bacon quiche. The other woman had eggs and some cinnamon raisin toast that looked out of this world. It was a lot of fun.

Later on today I went and had a massage. I am getting a little ridiculous with my trips to the spa. But I figure it's still cheaper than my drinking habit, and I am finding myself working out story ideas while laying there. There is no question it is good for my disposition.

But the lugubrious feeling that's been building in me this week still lingers despite my efforts to stave it off. They're distractions, and welcome ones, but the fact is that something is bugging me and I need to find out what it is before I will truly be relieved.

However, until whatever the problem is decides to rear its ugly head into my consciousness, it's a great idea for me to spend time helping other alcoholics. I think this is something that I should do regardless of my state of mind. In the absence of knowing what the hell is the matter with me, it's better to do something constructive with myself than destructive. Additionally, I might discover something new about myself by working with someone else. You never know.

To that ends, I do have one small way to help another alcoholic in my blog today. Shugrr of the Dear Bill W. blog celebrated her 90 days of sobriety this week. If you have a moment, stop by her place and congratulate her for this terrific milestone. Great job, Shugrr! Keep it up, woman! I look forward to reading more of her journey in sobriety as she grows and learns through the rooms of AA.

Having AA and other alcoholics to take the edge off funky moods is an awesome coping mechanism. Definitely healthier than any of the others I used to have. But at some point I can't just ignore that something is eating me. I should take advantage of my support system, bounce thoughts and concerns off them, take breaks from myself, but also not run away from the things that need to be changed so that I can move on to a better, stronger me.

I don't know what the heck I am talking about. I think I need another breakfast with the gals and perhaps a pedicure. Or a smashing new dress. And I am pretty sure they need more AA volunteers at the jail. And isn't that new girl in need of a handholder? Because I really don't want to think about...............