wake up and smell the catfood

I am taking a pilates and a yoga class this term.

It hurts when I laugh. 

I am pretending that is a good thing.

In May I am adding "yoga sculpt", which is a hybrid of the two practices (if you know me you know how annoyed I am by people who yak on and on about their practices) with some cardio thrown in for good measure.

The teacher, who frequently refers  to herself as a yogi  (which also annoys me) assures me that this class will change my body. 

I really love the pilates, it is easy on my old creaky knees.

The yoga I could do without.  I already very flexible, super flexible even, from doing yoga stretches for 20 years or so, (until the birth of my second child I could do the splits, and a backbend, despite being old and fat) but I am not graceful at all.

Not one bit of grace flows through this body, so I always look like a buffoon, during the transitions from one pose to another, at least I don't fart, like the woman next to me.

How can she just fart away in a crowded room ?

It disturbs my practice a great deal, much more than the cell phone yacker, on my other side.

My lack of grace presents the same problem in dancing.

I am a terrible dancer.

I don't know my left from my right well enough to be smooth, and I can't follow directions fast enough to be smooth.

I am not a smooth person.  I am a methodical, plodding, peasantish person, who is a lousy dancer.

I wait all year for these peonies to bloom.  They are not the super fluffy multi layered kind that I really love, but they came with the house, so I will take what I get.

Once they bloom, they only really look good for a day or two, before turning sort of inside out and collapsing on themselves.

All my company from last week has gone home, and Mark is back and things are feeling less intense.
One nice thing about last week was that both my brother and my cousin came down, and we had a nice visit.
Here are my nieces with my kids. Freyja was being naughty and putting the dolphin doll over her face, but it is otherwise a good photo.  You could pick us all out, as relatives, in a crowd, by our cheekbones!

 A bunch of leeks came in the food donation this week, and since the school doesn't use onions or garlic, I got to take them home.  I made a leek shortcake, which is leeks sauteed in a white sauce, with a biscuit topping.   Even Ripley liked it!

I am listening to this record, which I purchased sometime in the mid 80's after hearing the fabulously vulgar "why ya do it?" on a mixed tape, given to me by a fabulously vulgar skate punk from Scotland named Chris.  
I like every single song (yes even the ones with the dated, corny synthesizer parts) and it is one of those albums that makes me so deeply happen to still have access to on vinyl.   I can't imagine hearing this on cd (I know, I know everyone that knows me is sick of hearing my anti-digital rants). 

Last night my mother called to say that she will fly in this evening. 

My aunt has taken a turn for the worse and will have quadruple bypass surgery on Monday, if she remains stable, or sooner, if she doesn't.

There is nothing I can do except wait for my mother, then go to the hospital to visit.  I can host out of town family. 

I can cook, I can drive, I can provide a center.

I am selfishly wishing that there was a way to avoid all of the painful, complicated family baggage that this event will surely dredge up.  

So it's all about YOU? How  s e l f i s h

has floated through my mind constantly, since the moment I picked up the phone last night at 8:45pm. 

In my family being selfish is second only to being lazy- a mortal sin. 

The notion of boundaries, self preservation or self interest are completely alien.

I am thinking of how much I wish my husband were home, rather than far away on a business trip.  I am wishing for his quiet, I have got your back,  buffering presence.  I am wishing for his fierce protectiveness and good judgment. 

I am mopping the floor and scrubbing the toilet and hoping for grace.

I had coffee with an old high school friend today.

It was a little odd.

I am out of practice talking to people outside of my parenting world. I worried about my ability to carry a conversation, to be interesting.  

We talked about a mutual friend that committed suicide.
It was nice to talk with someone about that shared traumatic experience.  Not nice, but comforting.  Who wants suicide as a shared experience?  It is like this awful thing we carry around with us, that profoundly shaped who we are, but is not something we can talk about with other people.  He said that the experience made him shy away from being alternative or artistic, at the time, as if the end result was insanity and death.

Interestingly, I had just the opposite reaction.  I wanted to reject every middle class and mainstream thing in my life. 

I felt that the mainstream murdered my friend. 

I have continued to feel that way since 1985,  until today, sitting in a noisy cafe, when I suddenly  felt like I was possibly wrong, childish or foolish to harbor such bitterness and resentments.  

a bird in the hand

Early this morning I saw a blackcapped chickadee, a bluebird, and a robin in my backyard. 

I didn't have my camera, dang it.

I adore chickadees.  A few years ago I spent a lot of time trying to render a good felt version, but they never came out quite right. 

If I didn't have children and a cat, I would keep pet birds.

I am concerned that the cat is going to start up her hunting craze again.  Last year she killed eight little birds.  I have tried putting a bell around her neck, but she always manages to take it off.

to hell in a handbasket

I just got off the phone with my aunt.

An aunt I dearly love and care for profoundly.

An aunt that is a deeply wounded person that has sought refuge in religion.  Right wing, funamentalist, extremist religion.

The religion of fear and separation and desperation and threats and condemnation.
 
I am close with her, so when things get hard she calls.

She she believes is dying today.

She is worried about my eternal salvation.

She is not concerned with herself, only with my place in heaven. 

She tells me this in a hysterical tone, speech slurred by all the over medicating she does.

These conversations leave me gutted and exhausted.  

I spent the last six months of my paternal grandmother's life, having the same drugged out, hysterical, confused conversations.

I don't need this in my life.  I do not deserve to have people I love turn into babbling psychic vampires, with scary voices that make me feel like they have been possessed by the very demons they fear. 

Ironically,. I am the target of this lunacy because I have had loving relationships with these people, because I will listen, I will care, I will be effected.

I am not able to tell them what they want to hear, but I can be polite, concerned.

There is no relationship in these conversations.

The religiousness robs them of intimacy, or authenticity.

There is only the desperation of what I hope is the regret that there was not more love, more contact, more pleasant times.  I don't know.  That is what I hope I put up with this shit for.  I hope this insanity translates into love. 

"Why do you let these things bother you so much?"

My mother asks.

"Hang up"

She suggests.

and that is why they call me, and not her.

crafting up a storm

The big fundraiser auction for Freyja's school is coming up this Saturday.  Since I have no money to buy anything, I always try to contribute a lot to sell.  Last year my cakes and handmade items brought in some serious long dollars- just saying.

Last night I waited until Freyja went to bed to get started, so I was a little frazzled by the end, but I think my things came out pretty nicely.

Two tooth fairy pocket pillows

the pocket for the tooth/money is on the back.

Two tulle fairy dress up skirts.  Sewing tulle is an impatient sewers worst nightmare! 

Two pirate dress up vests. Rrrrrrrrrrrrrr. 

I also made eight of my lightswitch covers, and gift certificates for dozens of dozens of cupcakes, spaezle, and other home cooked items, to be delivered. 

I think I am done.

I may have one or two more tutu's in me, but Mark left this morning  on a business trip, so I may try to conserve my energy. 

Maxwell came home from China with a new short haircut!  

He has not cut his hair since he was seven, so this is a bit of an adjustment for his old mama, who continues to do double takes.  

Oh, and the only remarkable cooking this week has been a pizza.  Half sans cheese, for Mark.

Freyja is now old enough to play with paper dolls, but apparently I am not old enough to be patient with my reckless five year old, so Mark is the only one she will allow to assist her in dressing the dolls. 

It is going to be a loooooong week with daddy away, friends.  Pray for me!

times flies

It is the anniversary of  our first date.

Like the cliche, it feels like no time and a lifetime has passed since then. 

Despite my grumblings about his running my car out of gas, and not being chatty enough, I feel very lucky to have such a dedicated partner. 

I am lucky to be able to be home with the kids most of the time, but also have a part time job that makes me feel like a grown up.

I am lucky to have a roof over my head that belongs to us, and is big enough to offer personal space to all of it's inhabitants. 

I am lucky to be able to feed my children quality food of my choice.

Lots of things to be happy about, that makes the things I like to kvetch about seems petty and small.

walking on eggshells

These are very sweet little nosegay bouquets inside sweet little brown speckled eggshells, which you can't see because I am a terrible photographer. 

Trust me, they are cute.

with nothing to do, I feel a little naked

Our evening last night ended nicely with a festive dinner, with friends and a last gasp editing session on the paper Rolf is presenting in Bremen.

Cross your fingers that is goes well.

Freyja was excited to get to stay up late and watch a German puppet show from the 70's on video, in Onkel's room.   

The editing required one wine run to Plaid Pantry...

I packed Rolf suitcase at 10:30pm, took him to the airport this morning and found myself with nothing to do all day.  No deadlines, no demands (other than the very demanding Princess).

Freyja had two playdates, one before and one after, which is awesome for me, as the companions free me up to do things like catch up on the Anthony Bourdain blog, and finish a book.

Mark helped me vacuum up the cracker crumbs after the last child left and some how it was 6:00pm.

I am having cheese puffs and coffee for dinner ( a winning combination!), and calling it a night.

cooking my ass off

I have been in a cooking frenzy.  

Rolf is leaving for a trip in the morning, so we are having a little going away dinner party tonight.  


I have pork tenderloin stuffed with prunes, cabbage rolls, a root vegetable gratin, red potatoes with dill, all ready to be baked.

I also made a Schwarzwälder-Kirsch-Torte

 Which is basically a booze soaked chocolate cake, layered with cherries and Bavarian cream, then topped with whipped cream.  

 The tricky part is making the cream, without curdling the eggs, or burning it.  

basic pastry cream (excellent if I do say so, and I do) 

3 egg yolks

1 cup 1/2 and 1/2

1/4 sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla

1/4 flour

mix everything but the cream together in a bowl, with a whisk.  get all the lumps out! 

heat the milk but don't let it boil! 

slowly pour half the milk into the bowl with the eggs etc.  whisk vigorously and constantly, then pour the contents of the  bowl  back into the pan of milk and stir constantly over medium heat, 

until the custard thickens. 

This makes a great custard filling for eclairs, napoleons, cream puffs, or a good custard topped with fruit.

 Freyja got to go see "Don't let the pigeon drive the bus" at the North West Children's Theatre, which is why I had the time to mess around with a fancy cake.  


She went with Wawa, Mark's mom, and got a new dress.  It is all very exciting! 

 

giving it a listen to

same old saw

Can't I just sell my soul to the devil, and have my life transformed into this painting?

It's Wednesday, and just like that SPRING arrived

I adore this time of year, when it is still cold enough to be pleasant, but sunny and full of emerging color.  I don't know why grape hyacinth is not used more in the US in flower arrangements?  I loved seeing them in florist windows in Germany.

Lovely.

Our yard is shameful really, we should be run out off the street on a rail.  The Camilla doesn't seem to mind too much though.   Freyja won't let me get rid of her jogging stroller, she likes to push it around the yard and pile dandelions inside, so there is sits, guarding the secret hideaway.

Look who I found on the table! The big sneak, likes to get into any open vessel. 

For the past month of so Freyja has been wearing the ladybug costume day and night, as much as we will let her.  My mother sent her a ladybug travel, neck, pillow, which she is using like a ladybug stole.

A large natural foods store donated TWO carts of grapes to the school, not realizing it is spring break, so I now have a giant bowl of grapes!

I went in today and felt grateful that I can dress just like this FOR WORK! Not too bad.

a flick of a switch

I have this compulsion to decorate things, and my light switches haven't escaped. 

No minimalism here, folks.

I love this Chagall painting.  

I love the goat playing music in the corner.  What an excellent goat. 

 The Creature, is my favorite.  We have a little rubber Creature too, that the kids play with in the bath, oh, and a stuffed doll too.  We are big fans of the Creature... and who doesn't love Tin Tin, in their stairwell?

I would have chosen this goat, had I been able to find an image that was the right orientation, but I couldn't, so I have the other goat.  There you go.   All of the light switches are made from ugly plastic switch covered, mod podged with images brazenly and shamelessly stolen from the internet. 
My husband has worked in the publishing industry for so long, that it has made him very cranky and uptight about copy write laws.

I am sitting around waiting for 9:00pm, so I can watch LOST.

I have two hot books going at the moment
The woman from Hamburg by Hanna Krall , and once again I am taking the easy way out and suggesting your read this review.  I keep stumbling onto stories set in Poland, and by cracky I like them! 
This gal is a great writer, using a really subtle touch, that gave me chills, in the story where the fellow goes back to the town and points out this and that house, and what they used to do, and their nicknames, and the fact that they are all dead.  Really powerful and unsentimental.

The other one is The Power of One, set in South Africa, during WWII.  Again heavy, but delightfully well written.  The brutality of institutionalized racism is captured brilliantly.  Some of the characters are a little too good to be true (not good, as in virtuous, but the way it all comes together is a bit far fetched), but I still want to know what is going to happen next. 

I am also reading Hurry Down Sunshine, which I am not really enjoying.  It is kind of a parent's worst nightmare, and something I fret about, and the writing is not appealing to me.  The author feels whiny and wimpy and unsympathetic to me. 

On we go

Today was Mark's mom's 70th birthday.  We had agreed to host the party- a champagne reception at noon.  Mark stayed home with me on Friday (he has 14! YEARS of sick time saved up, so it seemed like a good idea).

I talked to the HR person at Food 4 Less, scolding them, and letting them know how irresponsible it was to not have any kind of procedure in place for emergencies.

I felt oddly free from anxiety and depression all day.

Hot damn! I am not dead on the floor of a filthy store, time to cheer up!

We did a bit of cleaning and went out to lunch and had a nice day together.



Saturday morning I got up at 7:00am, and started cooking an obscene amount of food.

We had all pretended to have forgotten Wawa's birthday.  Mark called and told her he was taking her to look at mattresses (she needs a new one, and he had promised to take her shopping).
He then pretended to forget his wallet.

She was appropriately surprised, when she walked in to find a little party- Maxwell and Freya yelled

SURPRISE!

Earlier in the day, I had walked out to dump the compost bucket, and I found one sweet little tulip growing out of the heap.  I picked it and put it on the buffet table.  I thought it was a lovely sign.

This jasmine wreath filled the house with an amazing fragrance.
I put out a hydrangea on the table, wrapped a scarf around it and called it good.
The candle holders are wine glassed turned upside down.
One of my best tricks.  

Freyja put on all her jewels, including a felted bead necklace we made at Christmas break.   I on,  the other hand put on nothing, not even lipstick.

Too tired,  to be bothered, as usual.

Mark's sister brought lemon AND lime drinks, which the children drank like crazy, oh, and a chocolate cake.

when your number is up...

I went to Food 4 Less for  cheap  asparagus and Cuban saffron rice seasoning.
It is a huge, dirty, ugly store in one of the shabbiest parts of town, open 24/7, and almost always filled with poor people, looking for good deals and immigrant families cruising the extensive ethnic sections for specialty items not available any place else.

When I rounded a huge display of papaya, I found a  man lying on the floor, with very ragged, labored breath.  He was around 60, bald, slightly over-weight wearing a fleece vest and good quality, working man's shined shoes. 

I called to the produce guy to call and ambulance.  He walked away to the back of the store.  Time passed and the guy's breathing got really rough, with long intervals of silence in between breaths.

I yelled at a couple of old ladies.  They didn't seem to understand, and kept right on squeezing the produce. The store was pretty empty, much more quiet than I had ever seen it.  I spotted a youngish guy in bike tights with a backpack and ran up the frozen aisle to him.

"Do you have a phone?  I need you to call 911, then come help me, there is a guy passed out on the floor by the lettuce and I think he is having a heart attack!"

He phoned 911 and ran with me back to the man, who was starting to turn really dusky, blue in the face.  His eye were closed and he was silent.  Bike guy asks me if I can do CPR, and I say yes.

At this point the produce guy sauntered up and tells us to leave, that he has called a manager.


" No, we are not leaving, we called an ambulance and we are going to start CPR"  bike guy tells him.


Then the manager walks up with a digital camera, and suggests that he might just be passed out, it is clear to me that this guy is not intoxicated, He has neatly ironed pants, he doesn't smell like alcohol, he has not pissed his pants, he is not thrashing around and both the bike tights guy and I tell her to fuck off with her liability concerns, and she does. 

The guy on the floor is really quiet.  He is also really big.  I am concerned that my hands are too small to do quality compressions.  Bike guy is also nervous.  He says he fears not being able to push hard enough, too.
I dig around in my wallet for my CPR mouth cover, that I carry for work.   It is child sized, but I remember that I can turn it sideways to cover an adult mouth.  I turn the man's head, and am deeply relieved not to find vomit, or blood.  We check for a pulse, and there is a weak one.  I think I remember that you do not start compressions unless there is no pulse, but I feel like my memory might be wrong, because I am afraid of touching the guy.  His head is quite purple and his lips are blue. He is not gross, or scary, he is just big and motionless and a stranger to me.  He lets out this gasp that sounds like air being released from a balloon, and bike guy asks me if I think he is dead.

The EMTs arrive and I stand up, feeling relieved.

I jump up and down and wave my arms
HERE! Over here!
so they can see us behind the papaya display.

We give them the little information we have, and stand around and watch while they work on his motionless body.

A  crowd starts to gather. 

Bike guy and I shake hands.

You are a good guy

I tell  him.

You are too, um, a good gal.  I can't stand around and wait for this to end.

He tells me.

I think the man is dead, but I wait around anyway for a few more minutes, then I go on with my shopping because I can't think of anything else to do.

A lady asks me if the man has ID.  I tell her I have no idea, but I would think so, because he was shopping.  He must have his wallet, he looks like a wallet kind of person.

It was a remarkable sunny, springy day, and I was given a giant bag of mushrooms and three potatoes, so something cool, picnicish and saladish  was in order.

I made a simple potato salad, with some dill from my tiny plant on the deck, and also some mushroom pate, which the children hate, but I like, so there!