March 31, 2008 @ 07:26

Weekly Stats

Miles:  6

Crunches: 0

Hours of Other Fitness Pursuits:  2, 12 if you count painting the dining room as a fitness activity.  My shoulders say it is. 

Pounds Lost:  0

So clearly in between the few things on my list that I did accomplish last week, I lolled about.  Alot.  I am not sorry.  It was hard to get out of bed this morning.  But partly because its a rainy day and those are my favorites. 

Saturday night I cooked dinner for friends, to celebrate Miss Weight Loss’s joining us in the over thirty bracket.  Look how lovely she is . . . 

That’s the coconut cake I made for her.  I would normally have used real whipped cream for the frosting, but in defference to her dieting efforts, I frosted it with Lite Cool Whip.  I dare say you couldn’t tell a difference.  And it nearly halved the calories/points.  We met at 8:00 and turned off all the lights and ate by candlelight, in support of Earth Hour.  It was very nice except for that first frenzied ten minutes in which I realized that I am not quite ready for my zombie/post apocalypse plans.  I couldn’t find any matches.  And of course all of my darling retro candle cups and my votives were to tiny to manage with a lighter.  So, when the day comes and we’re all scrabbling for our existance after said apocalyptic event, I’ll be able to make dinner for us out of dirt and underbrush, and it will probably pretty tasty, but only if somebody else brings the matches.  For dinner we had salad with Steve’s tasty homemade vinaigrette, pork tenderloin with fresh lemons and sage, jerk chicken, rattatouille over rice, baked brie, and Jenn’s very awesome sun dried tomato pesto spread.  An old friend of mine gave me the recipe which he called Rattatouille.  It’s not like most recipes that you’ll find for the dish.  It’s got a Carribbean flare. 

Caribbeanish Rattatouille

2 to 4 tablespoons olive oil
1 shallot minced
2 sweet bell peppers chopped
1 hot pepper minced (you choose your fire, jalepeno, scotch bonnet, however brave you might be)
1 large eggplant, peeled and cubed, toss in a tablespoon or 2 of lemon juice to keep it from browning
4 to 6 tomatoes, cut up to similar sized pieces as eggplant
2 cups fresh pineapple, cubed
1 1/2 cups coconut milk (unsweetened)

Sweat shallot and peppers until tender in olive oil.  Raise heat to medium high and add eggplant and cook until just tender.  Add tomatoes and pineapple and cook until heated through, add coconut milk and let simmer for 3 to 5 mintues.  Do not boil. 

Serve over rice, great over jerk chicken, too. 

March 30, 2008 @ 22:11

I’m thankful that my boys are home from their Spring Break Adventures.  Puppy actually got to visit a real train station and a train museum and a resaurant with a train that circled over the heads of its patrons that actually delivered the food.  I’m surprised they were able to ever get him to leave. 

I slept better last night than I have in a week.  People always ask single mothers who have family or good enough relationships with their exes “Aren’t you glad to be getting this break?  It’s going to be so great for you!  Isn’t it?”  They’re all enthusiastic about your getting away from your children for that time.  I miss my kids about twenty minutes after they walk out the door.  I understand and appreciate the sentiment, but I’ve never needed a break enough to be glad to see them leave. 

So my thank you this Sunday is that my boys are back home and the house feels normal again. 

March 28, 2008 @ 16:54

My nephew Jared got his birthday cake.  As I walked in with it, my brother said “Man, that looks like a cake for me!”  And he’s so right.  It does look like a cake for a grown up doesn’t it.  No more superheroes and dragons . . .  boo.  But I am awfully proud of the darling boy.  He’s still little, but he’s solid and funny and very much like his mother.  I wonder if she sees him that way, too . . .  I’ll have to ask.  Simple chocolate cake with camo patterned sides and a deer. 

March 27, 2008 @ 16:43

I made a list of things to do on my week of vacation, reseal the grout in the tiled bathroom, hang new blinds in Bear’s room, hang the big honkin’ mirror, paint the end, coffee and dining room tables and entertainment center, paint the dining room, make new curtains for the living room and dining room, recover the love seat, pull up the carpet in both boys’ rooms to reveal the hardwood underneath, complete the clean out of the overburdened sun room/laundry room/storage room, do the Spring yard clean up.  Sound like alot?  Yeah, to me, too. 

What I’ve completed is hanging the big honkin’ mirror, painting the dining room Monterey Bay blue, so beautifully blue that I’ve dug in drawers until I found the sea shells I’ve collected on vacations past and a set of retro candle cups that are a bit more shabby than chic (but they were a gift from someone I love) to use somewhere in the room.  I’ve gone into work to complete a report and will do the same to finish a different report tomorrow.  I’ve repurposed the dining room curtains to the living room and decided a past set of curtains that were in the linen closet weren’t so bad after all for the dining room.  I’ve been hiking once, to the walking trail twice, and tanning bed twice as well.  I’ve taken two naps and I’ve gone to the doctor to have long overdue testing for diabetes, it runs in my family.  I’ll let you know as soon as I know.  I’ve also taken that list, flipped it over and written this on the back of it.  5, 30, 31, 12 . . .  these add up to 78, the number of days until my next vacation.  Nice, huh?  So I’ve decided the list on the other side is absolutely negotiable.  Because look how fast that time is flying.  And the way I’ve been feeling lately (one of the reasons I broke down and made that dr.’s appt.) I needed an actual break. 

I had a discussion with Trixie not too long ago about the fact that it isn’t bad to want a little life.  As in there’s no shame in not being ambitious.  Sometimes the thing that you let go, was not your destiny, but your millstone.  I’ve been told so many times that I’m wasting my talent for cake by not doing that for a living.  Sometimes I do think that it would be fun.  But I love my job.  And for the moment, I can turn down any cake order I choose.  Mother of a bride with an attitude?  Oh, I’m so sorry, I’m booked that day.  Veruca Salt’s birthday party?  Oh, I’m so sorry, I’m booked that day.  And shouldn’t everyone have those options?  In everything!  If it’s bad for your sense of self, sense of peace, don’t do it.  Don’t go out on the date because you don’t have any other offers.  Go because you think he’s funny and charming and for no other reason at all.  Don’t commit to volunteer hours because you’ll feel guilty if you don’t, do it because you believe in the cause.  Don’t go out to dinner with that old friend who leaves you feeling badly, tell her no and save yourself and the Universe the drama.  They aren’t really a friend, now, are they? 

I’ve enjoyed my vacation and it’s almost over.  And I haven’t accomplished one half of the goals I set for it.  But the underlying goal was accomplished.  I’m rested.  I’ve decided that for the last couple of days, I’m going to throw away the list and just finish up my light Spring cleaning.  When I’m done, the house will smell like lemon oil and fresh laundry and I’ll feel very very good about it.  Instead of tackling that love seat and ending my week exhausted and unfinished.  And I’ve got dinner party invitations going out tomorrow.  My future looks very bright.

Oh, and so does the dining room.  What do you think? 

March 25, 2008 @ 09:27

As promised, pictures of the Easter hiking trip to Mt. Nebo. 

At sunrise.  Which, btw, is really really really early. 

The view from the Pavilion. 

Just a few yards onto the first trail. 

If you look realy carefully, you might be able to see the cross that was put up, just in the curve of the mountain in the foreground.  It’s supposed to deter kids from parking and making out.  Wonder if it’s been effective? 

Excellent hiking companions. 

The view from behind the falls.  I really wanna go back again just as soon as Spring has really reached the mountain.  Hundreds of the trees are dogwoods. 

This is the view from the back door of the giftshop.  Oh, what I’d give for a view like that from my office window! 

These last two are from Sunrise Point.  The view was incredible.  As we were leaving, some people who lived in a nearby house had two dogs in the back yard that saw Sassy and jumped the fence to get to her.  Major points to Sassy for standing her ground until one of them leapt at her owner.  She defended her, but just to the point of being an incredibly good dog, she didnt’ lose control.  She gets major points for being the best dog on the mountain that day.  The owners of the other dogs just didn’t react as quickly as they should have.  So, nobody was hurt, but we got to see what Sassy is made of and it’s great stuff.  It was a good day. 

March 24, 2008 @ 09:26

“Thanks, it’s not achieved without real suffering.”  - Fiona and Charles, Four Weddings and a Funeral

Thank you Sunday was spent hiking with Trixie and her beautiful daughter.  Oh and the dog, who I like alot.  Pictures later, but for now I’ll just say I’m thankful for this week of vacation.  My baby boys are off on daddy adventures for the week.  Bear with his and Puppy spending the week with the paternal grandparents in Mizzou.  And me?  I took an entire week of vacation.  And by the looks of things, with all my recent longing for summer and Jimmy Buffett listening, at the end of the week odds are even that my dining room will be ocean blue and dinner invitations will be going out to far more people than it can accomodate. 

Week’s Stats

Miles:  16, better! 

Crunches: 200, worse! 

Hours of other fitness pursuits:  4

Pounds lost:  2, hmmm, looks like if I really do spring clean and redecorate and hike all the things I want to this week, it’ll be free cake by next. 

March 21, 2008 @ 16:35

Yesterday, I took a phone call from a woman who was angry at one of our volunteers because of a typo.  A simple typo.  Before she would give me the information I needed to look up the error and correct it, she vented.  All over me.  As if I, or anyone else, deserved it.  She repeatedly kept referring to that volunteer as “mentally retarded”, with a tone of comtempt that I personally would have only used for people who commit animal cruelty or who talk in the theater.  She was not nearly so happy to have the spelling of her name corrected as she was maliciously gleeful to have the opportunity to verbally assault someone.  As the sister to two developmentally disabled adults and the mother of an Autistic child, I was cut to the bone.  I held my tongue.  But what I wanted to do was tell her how very much I wish that those two brothers of mine were capable of volunteering at a local charity’s fundraiser.  Even though I know it would have been pointless.  This woman was wound up.  Mean for the sake of meanness.  She was so into her fit that I don’t think I could have done anything but make the situation worse.  I don’t know what kind of day she was having.  But I do know that I was not the cause of anything that may have been wrong with it. 

Just this week I’ve read two different posts about everyday rudeness.  Here and here . . .  I wish that people didn’t think it was okay to be so hateful to one another, or dismissive of one another.  I’m not particularly offended by the words, its the tone and the intent.  If I were standing on line at the movies behind a group of twelve year old boys and one referred to another as retarded, I wouldn’t go off on a rant.  I wouldn’t like it, but I wouldn’t speak out.  What I’m so upset by is our society’s ability to hit and run hurt people.  We’ve become so numb to the basics of being nice.  There is no longer anything common about courtesy or sense.  We let go of doors that smack mothers who are struggling to wrangle small children.  We cut people off in traffic because we are in a hurry.  We snarl at the kid in the drive thru window because of a mistake with our order.  We become so wrapped up in what we have on our own plate that we knock the plates out of our neighbors’ hands and then yell at them for having soiled our shoes.  We try to manage too much.  Like overzealous party planners that fail to enjoy their own parties. 

About fifteen years ago, I was working in a retail store.  I was at the front register when a young man walked in the door.  He asked me if I knew where his mother was.  When he spoke, I realized that he had some sort of developmental delay.  I asked him his mother’s name.  I paged her.  And then I spoke with him until she reached the counter.  She walked him back to their car, took care of whatever it was that he had wanted and came back inside.  She stopped at the counter and thanked me with tears in her eyes.  At first I was puzzled until she explained that people were usually reluctant to talk to her son.  She was tearfully thanking me for the simple act of treating her child like a human being.  Isn’t that pitiful?  That such a simple thing, something that we should absolutely be able to take for granted, was so special to her that she cried.  How many terrible moments must she have endured for this simple thing that I did should bring her to tears.  I know that not everyone is comfortable with people who are different.  And I’m not gonna lie to anybody and say that I always am.  It can be hard.  It can even be scary.  But the point is to not lose our basic sense of decency in situations that make us uncomfortable or fearful.  To not lash out in situations that make us angry or impatient. 

I wish I had an answer on how to get to that calmer place.  Slowing down in general, in wants and obligations, would probably be a good place to start.  I used to know a woman that in private a friend and I referred to as “the great cow”.  (See, I admit it, I fail at it, too, sometimes.)  She was one of those people who never hesitated in explaining to you how what you had done was inferior.  I wouldn’t have done it this way, it must have been her middle name.  And always with a smile on her face as she pointed out all the flaws in what you had just done.  Whether it was a simple dish for a potluck or a project you had spent months putting together.  She lived for the moment when she could smack you down.  Whatever little lack she had inside, she belittled others to fill it up.  This is root of a lot of our problems.  We live in a culture that demands perfection, when we don’t achieve it, we tend to spin out of control to varying degrees.  We could probably list a hundred examples.  The red face screamer on the sidelines at a little leauge game.  The mothers who’s children are never dirty, but also never smile.  The driver at rush hour who nearly kills you squeezing into that half a car length you’ve left open and then yells at you through his rearview mirror.  And the woman who hates her life so much that her only moments of empowerment come from yelling at strangers over the phone because of a typo.  Shame on us all for those moments.  Whatever little bit of empowerment that we may have taken from the moment is so far outweighed by the ugliness we sent out into the world.  I would be ashamed to know that because of a typo I made a grown woman cry.  I hope that she eventually calmed down and was.  And I hope that I let it go after I post this and only remember it as a way to keep me smiling down into that sack of food that is nothing like I ordered the next time it happens . . . 

March 20, 2008 @ 17:48

If you are about to graduate or if you are for some other reason new to the world of job hunting, here are two tips from me. 

Number 1:  It is not acceptable to present a cover letter that is hand written . . .  in pencil (I know all the grown ups have been all keen on the #2 pencil in the past, but you’re leaving that world behind, sugar) . . .  and on a  Post-It. 

And Number 2:  If you have ringback music on your cell, it should not be Because I Got High.  This will hinder your job search.  Trust me. 

Can you believe people?  These are two real people looking for positions where I work.  You can’t make that stuff up.  And these people have driver’s licenses and the right to vote.  I think I’ll go light a candle and pray now . . . 

March 19, 2008 @ 21:56

Let’s see, is it possible to think of a positive thing about an emergency room visit?  We did have to wait so long that by the time we got home, the big fat blue golf ball sized swelling on Puppy’s cheek had miraculously disappeared.  Earlier this afternoon, Bear accidentally hit Puppy in the face with a shovel.  Yes, I know, OUCH!  It was of course a total accident, and Bear feels terrible.  He’s apologized a dozen times, each time I’ve reassured him that I believe him, it was an accident, it is okay.  But he really feels awful.  The sun was out when we arrived home this afternoon and the boys were in the back yard.  Puppy decided to dig in the sandbox.  He tired of his own small person sized gardening tools and went for the grown up shovel.  Bear took it away from him and while turning away from him to return it to the garage, well, best I can tell, Puppy zigged when he should have zagged.  He stepped right into it, full swing.  He didn’t even cry.  The boy is tough as nails.  The two of them came walking into the house, Bear white as a sheet, Puppy complaining loudly, “Mom, Bear hit me with a shovel!”  The only emotion in his voice was indignation.  Before I looked up I though I had misheard him.  But there it was, swelling up almost fast enough to see it grow.  It split a small spot open over his cheek bone, a classic boxer’s cut with a dark blue bubble forming under it.  The cut itself bled very little.  I made a couple of phone calls and decided to play it safe and take him to the ER.  Just in case the cheek bone had been cracked or chipped or he had a concussion.  You know, Bear has been to the ER maybe once that I can remember in his 13 years.  Puppy, this is his sixth visit.  When the doctor examined him, even when he pressed his fingers around and under the cut, to feel the cheek bone beneath, he didn’t even flinch, tough little prize fighter that he is.  Five hours later we’re home and it just looks like a simple cut, although tomorrow morning he’ll probably have a bit of a shiner.  You can’t really see the bruising in the pictures, but you get the idea.  And now I’m thinking, is it terribly wrong that now that the scary part of it is over, that I have an urge to wet his hair, tape his knuckles up and put him in his silk boxer shorts and take pictures?   . . .  yeah, probably wrong . . . 

March 18, 2008 @ 06:23

For the next three days I’ll be prepping for two of my favorite cake orders each year.  The cakes for church, to be enjoyed at the gathering after Easter vigil.  And my nephew’s birthday cake.  These are two things that put me officially in the proper frame of mind for spring.  My nephew was the recipient for the cake you see in the image above with the flaming baseball.  That year when my darling sister, his mom, asked what he wanted, he asked in return what he could have.  When she told him anything he wanted, his response was “I want baseball field at night with all the stars in the sky and a baseball flying out into outer space like a comet.  Can Aunt Sara do that?”  I’m sure it was not nearly as spectacular as the picture in his imagination, but I love that cake because of getting that little glimpse into the imagination of a boy that I love so very much.  His older sister, my niece Annie, has become such a little lady that she now only requests flavors for her birthday cakes.  No more vanilla cakes carefully tinted pink with chocolate swirls to match the pink and brown Barbie concoction she’d requested for the outside.  No more Blues Clues.  Nor more baby girl stuff.  I’m hoping that Jared has another spectacular request in mind for this year.  One more cake for a baby boy.  Because Puppy starts kindergarten soon.  And Bear is now officially a teenager.  I can honestly say that the only really typical teenagerish things that have surfaced so far are things like tennis shoes that stink to high heaven (seriously, what is that?!?!) and the fact that I can no longer help him with his math homework.  It is over my head.  He still remains the sweetest boy that he always has been.  And his maturity level has always been a few years ahead.  He is more like his father now in looks that I expected him to be.  Sometimes it startles me.  He shares his father’s posture and some mannerisms.  The way he sits in the antique rocking chair, props his chin in his hand, the way he shrugs his shoulders, all are so like his father.  But even so, he, like his brother, looks just like me.  He has recently been asking what I think about a career in law enforcement.  I know how he is arriving at that thought.  He is baffled by cruelty.  He is also drawn to science and the glut of forensic television has him thinking that he wants to be a police detective.  I can see both sides of the argument here.  He is smart.  He is naturally empathetic.  He cares deeply about others.  But I can see that being a blessing and a curse in that line of work.  Wouldn’t he be better suited to being a pediatrician?  The trouble there becomes that the minute you try to steer him onto that path, he’ll veer over into the fast lane of it and be leaving for a war torn country to work with Doctor’s Without Borders.  I’d wholeheartedly support him, but you see my point?  Careful what you wish for and careful how you dispense your advice.  When you’re truly blessed with a kid like him, he’ll hear every word.  Truth is, I don’t really get a vote.  He’ll choose and he’ll be great.  And I feel extremely proud of him already.  I just know that someday, he’ll be working for things in this world that will make it better.  And I’ll worry about him every minute while he’s doing it.  I’d say that we’ve got plenty of time before any of that, but just last week I was making birthday cakes for him with puppies and dragons.  And now look at him . . .