Three Little Words

I miss you.

Seems harmless, right? But when somebody hurts you, it becomes an all consuming thought that you are not allowed to share. It's a secret. It feels dirty, missing this person who showed such blatant disregard for your feelings, using your heart as a tissue then promptly disposing of what was left.

When you are the one who ends a relationship, you don't get to miss the other person. There will be no midnight phone calls while intoxicated, begging for their warmth. You made the decision to leave and everything that happens after must prove it was the right choice. Even if the split was the result of an unforgivable act they committed, you made the ultimate decision to leave and it is now your job to uphold it. So bottle it up. Outwardly, your life becomes a string of extravagant parties and delicious lovers. Ex-boyfriend who?

In a way, the dumpee has it easy. They have no reason to be strong. They have been dumped! of course they can break down! Of course they are going to express their now unrequited love! And then they will move on. And that, my dear readers, is probably the hardest part for the dumper. When your hand was forced into a break up and you are not allowed to tell the other person you miss them, hearing them say it to you is the most comfort you will get. Turning around isn't an option...but our eyes are still glued to the rear-view mirror. And yes, it is unhealthy to hold on to that but it happens, so lets just all admit that and move on.

But one day, those messages stop. They will stop talking to you because, turns out, you were not the love of their life. They no longer view you as the best they were going to have and the one thing that they will always regret losing. Now they have another "dream girl" and she is a fresh start. With her, they can do all the things they were too young, too afraid, and too stupid to do with you. They can love her fully. But first, they have to let you go. And there is nothing you can do about it because you are the one who left. And your life is now a constant rave so why would you care anyway?

Son of a stitch

I tend to lose focus very easily. What I mean by that is not that I have the type of ADD that will have me walking away from an activity midway through. More like, I get passionately obsessed with something for a few days, weeks, months, maybe even a year, then out of the blue I will be onto the next thing. Also, I have certain activities that I will cycle through. Included in this in knitting.

When I get into knitting, I get way into it. I start collecting patterns from all sorts of resources, I buy books, I buy yarn, and I will knit every chance I get. Then, without finishing whatever project I'm on, I will be bored of knitting. This usually occurs when the weather warms up (which I am sure is completely normal since knitting is a colder weather kinda thing).

I have found that I am much more prone to knit when its too cold to socialize. Having lovely roommates and living in the center of social city means I have done no knitting at all this winter. I was so hopeful that the weather would turn chilly and my roomies and I would be content to curl up on the couch, watching movies and sipping tea while I finally finished the Clapotis scarf that has been "in progress" for over two years now. I made some scant progress around Halloween, when all three Halloweentown movies were playing one night. Other than that, nada. While my roommates and I do spend a lot of time on the couch, I am more glued to my computer than my knitting needles.

I have such a stash of yarn. All different kinds. Different colors and textures and weights. And I have a list of patterns to try that is a mile long. I could make anything! But where is my cold weather? Where is the snow that would make those mittens necessary? I even promised a friend a new pair by Christmas to try and force myself back into it. The one night I resolved to start them, I couldn't find the right needles and that was it. Project aborted.

So here I am, telling all you imaginary readers out there. I need to knit. I will knit! Just as I have promised to make sourdough bread and post more pictures on this blog and call my dentist (nope, nope, and...sorry mom but nope) I will knit something! Now I am accountable. It's on the list.

Roasted garlic cloves and the perfect London Broil

If there is one thing I could go back in time and change, it would be to cook with my Grandmother.

My Dad's mom died when I was a scant 10 years old and lived all the way in California so I never really got the chance to experience, appreciate, and memorize her cooking. I loved my Dad's parents very much and I still love that Creole Californian family, but I have to admit I am closer to my Mom's family. I think it has a lot to do with proximity. Both families are spread but my Dad is from the west coast and my mom is from Michigan. One requires 5 hours on a plane, the other 1 1/2 hours (or 10 hours in a car, which we have done numerous times). As a result, I saw my Mom's family multiple times a year and my Dad's once or twice a year. Thanksgiving and Jewish holidays were spent in Michigan. I went to camp for 4 weeks up north every year. My grandparents were present for almost every childhood birthday and even made it down for Grandparent's day at my hoity-toity middle school.

New Year's Eve and some Christmases were spent in Florida with one of my Dad's brothers (he has 5 brothers and 1 sister...my grandparents really wanted that girl). Some other relatives would fly down and it was always a big party. (That's my Dad's family. The "lets go out to the farm and roast a pig" partiers. My Mom's family is the "lets make a reservation as a fancy restaurant, invite 20 or so of our closest friends and family, and get all gussied up" partiers. Both have their merits.) Anyway, trips to California mostly happened before I entered 5th grade so I don't remember them that well. I remember my Grandparent's house at Easter time. I remember my Grandpa calling me "poochy". I remember my Grandma's apron. I remember their backyard with the kumquat tree. But it's mostly snippets.

I vividly remember my mom's mom. After all, she only died two years ago. I remember how she would yell my Grandpa's name, telling him to "call Jack!" to repair something. I remember her standing at the kitchen sink, cutting up strawberries to be kept in a bowl in the refrigerator to pick from. I remember sitting next to her and asking her if she could knit without looking then laughing with her as she held my gaze for a couple minutes while smiling and saying "I don't know. Can I knit without looking?". She loved to shop. She loved to entertain. And I was spoiled because for almost 18 years, I was the youngest grandchild, the baby. I think I am a lot like her in many ways. I have been told that I look just like her when she was younger and I can't argue with that (nor would I want to). I definitely have her cheekbones and her big toe (which puts me up at a whopping size 11 1/2 shoe) and her hands.

Back to the point. I wish I could go back in time and cook with her. Or at least watch her. I cannot believe that I never did that. She was always cooking and she was the best. I know everybody says their grandmother was the best but I believe everybody is right. And mine was the best. She could produce perfect London Broils, with a tender and juicy inside and a crisp, caramelized outer crust. Somehow the fruit at her house was always riper and sweeter than other fruit. She had two kitchens, each with two ovens. In the basement, there was a giant refrigerator sized freezer where she kept meat that the butcher would deliver regularly. She would decide what she wanted to cook and with a simple "Go pull some lamb chops from the freezer", she was ready. And yet, I never stuck around to see how she made the chops. I was a helped but never really helped. I would retreat to the living room or kitchen table with my book or my knitting (or, later in life, my cell phone) and let her work her magic in peace.

I know, I know. How could this be? I am so infatuated with cooking now that it is hard to believe I once didn't care to learn. The closest I came was making "soup" when I was a child (throwing whole vegetables into a pot of water and simmering for 20 minutes. My mother ate it, bless her heart). This doesn't count baking. I baked up a storm with my mom for holiday cookies. My dad and I always took on the task of the double layer cake for birthdays, experimenting with icing flavors. There were isolated incidents when I would take it upon myself to produce something for Thanksgiving or Passover. But my cooking bug had not caught on. And I missed out on the greatest resource I had.

I should have watched how she worked in the kitchen. I should have paid attention to the ingredients and timing and how to tell if things are done. I should have smelled and tasted and memorized and recorded. But now I just have memories of the meals and no way to recreate them except through my own experimentation. I like to think that I have enough of her in me to get the job done but there is no doubt that I am a sloppy and somewhat impatient chef. So hopefully she is guiding me.

There is so much more I could say about this wonderful woman who was such a big part of my life. But I'll save it for another post.

Why I will probably never go to Orlando again...

Every now and then I have this dream. I go to Disney in Orlando, sometimes as a field trip, sometimes with friends, and sometimes with family. It varies. We are having fun, doing different activities and such, enjoying the magic that Disney offers. But, without fail, at some point, I am either abducted or led down to a secret underground dungeon and forced to work for Disney Corporation. I'm down their for days or weeks when my best friend from high school and a boy we were friends with show up to bust me out. The rest of the dream involves the three of us running from Disney characters and the park security who have been instructed to detain us because nobody can know about the underground dungeon.

Sniffles

So it's Monday and I am getting a head cold. I can feel it. The back of my throat is slightly scratchy and I have sneezed way more than average today. My nose is running ever so slightly and I could barely make it up the escalator on the metro today because the illness fatigue has already begun to set in. First thing I did when I arrived home was put on my yoga pants and over-sized Mackinaw Island sweater and I am now attempting to watch Game of Thrones (though the first scene in the first episode is a little troubling.)

I'm making myself some good ol' fashion tomato soup to make me feel better. A friend of mine told me tomato soup is better than chicken soup because it has more vitamin C. To accompany it, I have some cinnamon raisin walnut bread I baked last night. Sounds like a lovely combination to me!

Food Challenge Friday...On Sunday

Ok, everyone (anyone? hello?)...I have a confession. It seems I am already letting you down when it comes to this monthly food challenge on Tea and Cookies. I committed to it when it began and now I have 2 days to make sourdough bread. The only problem is, it takes a week to let the starter mature so it can do it's sour thang. I was planning to get the starter going last week but never got around to getting my jars from my parents' house. Anyway, I need to get it together, get the jar, and make a starter. So in order to keep me motivated, I am making a promise to you all (if you exist). By the end of the week, I will have the starter going AND at the end of next week, I will make the sourdough bread. You will be impressed. I just know it!

On Being Cultured and Michael Fassbender's Penis

Yesterday, I walked around the National Gallery of Art for 2 hours by myself. One of my friends was supposed to meet me at 1:30 but overslept and didn't make it until 3:00. I rarely do things alone and I can't help but think I am missing out on something. I truly enjoyed exploring the east Building of the Gallery by myself. I could linger at whatever artwork caught my attention and bypass the areas I knew I wouldn't be interested in. To be honest, I spent far too long in the concourse book store perusing the modern and contemporary art section. Here are a few bullet points:

- Minimalist and Post-Minimalist works are my favorite. I just love that they appear so simple and unsophisticated but they aren't. In order to appreciate pieces such as Tony Smith's Die, you have to know what the artists at the time were trying to say and acknowledge that they were the first batch of people to do so. They weren't "inspired by such and such to do this, mimicking their work". They drew the blueprints. Conceptual art is fantastic. If you don't know about it, I suggest you investigate for yourself. (My favorite pieces in the gallery are Tony Smith's Die and Jackson Pollock's Number 1)

- I do not understand how parents discipline their children. Yesterday, while wandering past the cafe, I overheard a woman telling her son to face the wall for 5 minutes. What does that accomplish? As an adult, its funny to me what children believe. If my mother were to tell me to face a wall, I would laugh at her. But up until a certain age, kids fear the wrath of their parents above all else. In reality, what can they do? They tell you to face the wall, you refuse, then they do what? Some parents, I suppose, will hit a child. But aside from their disapproval, the children don't have much to fear. I guess its the adolescents that figure that out too early that become trouble.

- The world has a great big hard-on for Andy Warhol. There were so name books about him and his work in the bookstore. Not a single Sally Mann book, only one Diane Arbus book, and even a limited selection on Jackson Pollock. But Andy Warhol? Everywhere. I personally find him overrated. His early works are good and I understand the concept behind his pieces but other artists did similar things in more subtle, thoughtful ways. Andy Warhol is so well-known because he was more controversial as a person.

On to the part about Michael Fassbender's penis. Once my friend showed up, we wandered about for another 45 minutes then walked a few blocks to the E Street Cinema to see Shame. It was pretty brilliant. Raunchy but not in a way that undermines the characters and development. I think the subtlety in the characters that Michael Fassbender and Carey Mulligan portray was beautiful. Their self-loathing and odd relationship to each other hinted at a troubled childhood. I really enjoyed it and recommend it...that is, if you can handle a sex scene. Or two. Or thirty.

For the past 3 hours, I have arguing with my friend over How I Met Your Mother vs. Friends. I am for HIMYM, he is (unsurprisingly) for Friends. I imagine their are many pairs of people across the nation having this very same debate at any given moment.

I concede that the two shows are very similar, implying that HIMYM has "copied" Friends in a way. However, I see it the same as the way an artist will make a cover of another artist's song. The skeleton is similar but the flesh is different. And every now and then, a cover is better than the original.

I'm trying to figure out how to get my text message thread from my phone to my computer so that I may share the hilarity with you. More developments to come.

Wine and Love

It seems I am already dropping the ball with this blogging. I'll try to be more frequent from now on.

Wine and love is hosted by Nora. Want to join? Read this page for the meme instructions and grab the picture. The go to Walking With Nora to link up!

Wine, Wine, Wine

- My eating is pretty out of control. But it's not my fault! I socialize, which leads to consumption of various fried food and other goodies I would not normally eat if I always determined my intake. SO it seems I need to be a hermit.

- I have definitely not been sticking to my exercise schedule, so I really have no excuse for the poor eating.

- I definitely did not do my cooking challenge for this month and it would seem I am running out of time. I don't have a starter and completely forgot about it. Maybe I could still do it?

-I woke up this morning certain that it was Friday. I got to work and was informed it is, in fact, Thursday.

- My usual complaint: the metro smells and is crowded. My new favorite game is to guess what part of the person behind me is touching my butt. Hand? Briefcase?

- Interactions with the opposite sex are complicated and I wish I had the answers, not only for myself but for my friends. The more I think about the "rules" the stupider they seems but then I think there must be something to them but then I think, well...I am way over thinking this.

- I think I have a repetitive stress injury from folding 500 letters to send to clients.

Warm, Fuzzy Love

-My roommate and I had a little date and went to see Beauty and the Beast in 3D. Such quality entertainment! And I especially love when you rewatch something from childhood and pick up on jokes or queues you were too young to understand. For example, the Beast asks Cogsworth what to get Belle and Cogsworth replies, "Well, there's the usual things: flowers, chocolates....promises you don't intend to keep." Way over my head before, but hilarious now.

- Had a great time dancing this weekend. Most of the time I am too tired and have to make myself go out but when I do, it is a blast.

- Giants are going to the Super Bowl! I watched the game last weekend with my best friend and his dad. His dad let me wear his jersey because I complained about my lack of Giants swag (and he hadn't worn it for the previous game so he couldn't wear it for that one). So, because they won, I will be watching the Super Bowl with them and have been instructed to wear the jersey and the same socks.

- The week started with a delayed opening on Monday even though the weather ended up not being quite as bad as expected.

- Went to trivia night at Hard Times with a couple friends last night and didn't come in last!

- Thought Catalog is my new obsession. Check it out.

- I sent a string of text messages while intoxicated and only misspelled 1 word, which was an auto-correct from "start" to "state". I am considering this an accomplishment.

Making vs. Buying

There have been several incidents recently in which my friends have suggested I make something rather than purchase it. A silver ring, a couple of prints, a necklace. Yes, I could make all of these things. But that isn't really what it's about. Purchasing something that somebody considers to be their artwork is not about acknowledging their ability to master a skill you couldn't also learn. It is about supporting the art community as a whole. If you were to one day create something and seek to share it with others by selling it, supporting yourself doing something you love, I guarantee your customers would have a friend standing behind them suggesting they make it themselves. And you, as the artist would want to scream and pull your hair out. Because it's not about the raw materials or the labor behind them. It's about expression. And you want your expression to be noticed, acknowledged, and supported.