Mumbling Madly

While I don’t have quite the fan base that Josh has in Portland, I especially enjoy spending time with old friends. The highlight would be Ben’s annual cookie decorating party the night before Christmas Eve. Many folks from my high school days (people who I see regularly in Seattle and folks I haven’t seen in years) show up for sugar cookie decorating, stiff drinks, and good conversation. With the absence of the highly alcoholic “Christmas” drink in a mug, (Ben said the combination of wine and five different kinds of liquor heated over the stove was too intense for him this year) Kris made me a hot apple cider healthily spiked. Some guy who was in my class in high school and middle school was there with his wife and I grilled him saucily about his life. Where did he live? What does he do? If he’s always warm in body temperature does he wear shorts everyday? Three children? He’s been busy during the past twelve years. He was robust and round in a Hawaiian print shirt–a stark contrast to the kid I remember from middle school. Suddenly, I felt useless, what with the absence of my husband (Josh was at a slumber party in Portland with his own friends from high school), unimpressive job history, and non-procreation since graduation.

I found out another friend is pregnant, which adds to a total of three women I know who are all expecting sometime in the June/July range–a lovely time to have a child in my opinion. In a panic I suddenly feel ‘behind’ as if everyone is out there experiencing life to its fullest, having babies, and nestling down into the fabric of life. My performance career seems pale in comparison, a facade, a selfish hobby that I have in order to put off the inevitable pull of babyhood. My sister-in-law pawns off her crib, a decadent little piece of furniture that tears down into a delicate pile of baby representation and is stuffed in our backseat. Why turn down a free crib? I try and hide the fact that we’re taking this gift but end up telling everyone. The crib becomes a weird iconic object; a shaking of my clock so violently that I can’t wait to stash the thing into storage.

My family operated without my brother this Christmas Eve/Day for the first time in 27 years. As much as we wanted he and his wife to be with us the pull to her hometown was stronger. I tried to keep my sadness private, understanding that things change and traditions shift. Without him, our Christmas Eve mass seemed strangely serious: I missed the way he used to tickle my palm during the offering of Peace, jingle his car keys in place of bells, and turn to me very seriously and state, “It is right to give God thanks and praise.” When we were little it was my brother who was always up first–sometimes not sleeping at all–ready to open his presents at 5am (but waiting patiently until 6am when our parents finally gave in). As adults he is the last person to rise, only moving when placated with the smell of coffee, and me shouting at him to check his Christmas stocking, (which my father artfully fills every year). Typically, Sam will roll out of bed and then spend a frantic few minutes wrapping his presents before presenting them to us moments later. Lumpy and oddly shaped packages give way to some of the best gifts I’ve received…

My sister is usually absent, dutifully showing up for the actual holiday celebrations of Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and Faux Christmas (Dec 22), but otherwise entrenched in the drama she left behind when she moved to Seattle. My parents and I jokingly resume the solitude we once had 29 years ago–before the addition of my younger siblings–although I doubt we went on as many stoic walks as we do in the present day. My Dad and I watch MST3K’s Manos: Hands of Fate, a documentary on Wolves, and listen to classical music on OPB while we drink cups of black coffee and read the NY Times Sunday edition. My Mom and I hike the nature trail outside of Burnt Bridge Creek, talk about contemporary literature, and eat chocolate constantly.

Last year at this time Josh’s grandfather died and we spent most of the holiday apart, as Josh handled the very personal experience of losing a family member while surrounded by kin. We went to a wedding and then a funeral and then back home to our cat. Similar to this year our cat has been extremely restless upon our return. The first night she woke both of us successively every few hours with pitiful and insistent meowing. Part of it is Josh is sick and sleeping on the couch and I can tell Hobbes feels uncomfortable by our separation. I try everything to placate her, even allowing her to sneak under covers with me. She is restless and unsettled as she leaves me time and time again to go bother Josh in the living room. Josh threatens to throw her outside into the wind and cold rain, but I tell him ‘no, it’s the middle of the night.’ At 7am Josh returns to our bed, his coughing subsided in the meantime, and Hobbes falls asleep exhausted against my back.

I realized that I have much more to discuss when it comes to food. Therefore, I’m going to extend this food post to include a Part 2a:

For Christmas I received the Relief Society Cookbook from the Kansas City, MO chapter. For those of you who don’t know what that is, many Mormon women are part of the Relief Society, which is a big ole’ organization that helps members of the church. Everything from religious education to baby-sitting is covered under the Relief Society and my mother-in-law has been an active member all her adult life. Now before I come off sounding like a total jerk, these cookbooks (this is the third one I’ve received) do have some nice, basic, recipes. They also assist me when I want to cater to the more decadent tastes of my Mormon raised husband. Sprinkled throughout the pages are Basic Guidelines for Losing Weight, Microwave Cooking Tips, and Food Labeling Definitions. These cookbooks are also an interesting glimpse into mid-western cooking; where else can I find a recipe for Creamed Tacos, Hot Dog Casserole, and 50 different recipes for Jello salad? While flipping through it I found this recipe:

Zwiebelrahmschnitzel
Pork cutlet
Heavy whipping cream
1 env. instant onion soup mix
Cut cutlet really thin. In roasting pan, cover bottom of pan with cutlets. Sprinkle onion soup over cutlets then another layter of cutlets, sprinkle onion soup, and continue until gone. Pour the cream all over until slightly covered. Let sit in fridge for one day. Bake in 400 oven for 1 hour. Serve.

Now, while I might look at Zwiebelrahmschnitzel as stomach ache on a plate I know my husband would love this recipe. If this is an entree what is a side dish? Is it possible to overdo vegetables?

The Best Way To Eat Carrots
4 cups cooked carrots
1 c celery
1 c onion
1/2 pound of Velveeta
Bread crumbs
Butter
Dice celery and onions and saute in butter. Add to cooked carrots and melt Velveeta into hot veggies. Cover with buttered crumbs and bake 30 minutes at 350.1 c onion

HALF POUND OF VELVEETA…incredible. Again, my food snobbery is showing, I know…I suppose if you’re part of a group that does not permit alcohol or coffee then inevitably you have to find your pleasure at the bottom of a butter soaked pan. All of this is just an excuse for me to pass on this delicious Light Chocolate Chip cookie recipe I’ve been harboring for the past year:

Light Chocolate Chip Cookies
1 ¼ cups all-purpose flour
¼ tsp of baking soda
¼ tsp of salt
4 TBL (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, melted and cooled
1 large egg
2 tsp vanilla extract
1 cup packed light brown sugar
4 ounces semisweet chocolate chips (a generous ½ cup)

1) Adjust an oven rack to the middle position and heat the oven to 350 degrees. Whisk the flour, baking soda, and salt together in a medium bowl and set aside.
2) In a large bowl, whisk the butter, egg, and vanilla together. Stir in the brown sugar until smooth. Stir in the flour mixture and the chocolate chips until thoroughly combined. (I do all of this mixing in my Kitchen Aid).
3) Roll the dough into one inch balls and lay on two parchment-lined baking sheets, spaced about 2 ½ inches apart.
4) Bake the cookies, one sheet at time, until the eggs are light golden and centers are set, 9 to 11 minutes, (rotating the baking sheets halfway through baking if you feel up to it). Let the cookies cool on the baking sheet for 5 minutes, then serve warm or transfer to a wire rack and let cool completely.

Per cookie: Cal 100; Fat 2.5 g; Sat fat 2g, Chol 15 mg; Carb 16 g; Protein 1g; Fiber 0g,; Sodium 30 mg

Because we don’t have any serious tragedy, because we all relatively get along and we enjoy good food, because we like each other’s company and have a lot in common, my outlook on Christmas continues to be merry. The following is a look at the prerequisites to having a happy holiday (broken down into parts):

FOOD
Of course, let’s put the presents aside and remember how truly wonderful it is to sit, cramped and crowded around the dining room table, the tree bumped right up to the table as if a guest itself, wine and sparkling cider flowing the whole evening (not to mention dried fruit, chocolate, and other goodies). My parents busy themselves in the kitchen all night long, pulling out handmade pirogi, seafood pasta, and salad. We burn off our food walking around the neighborhood, my Dad showing off the house down the street with all its horrible blow up Santas, blinking lights, and tinny music playing from little speakers planted inside illuminated plastic trees.

On Christmas Eve my sister and I kicked both parents out and spent the entire day in the kitchen making lasagna. I also made a fig cake (my father loves figs). Gina decked her lasagna out with fake cheese and vegan ingredients while I went all out with the hot sausage, hard boiled egg, and ricotta. I’m always slightly nervous when I cook for my parents (they’re such great cooks) and I want to impress them (and not forget the onion like I once did with the meatballs). I cooked the cake in the morning and prepped the lasagna all afternoon. We wanted to be really busy all day because it was the first Christmas Eve without my brother EVER and Gina and I wanted to distract ourselves. Josh grated an entire block of mozarella cheese and assembled a baby lasagna with all the left over ingredients. It turned out really well…

It’s hard every year to put aside the feelings of guilt over eating piggishly for a week or so…I usually resolve to walk a few miles a day (which isn’t hard because my parents do this consistently) but inevitably I feel jiggly. I try the usual tricks: drinking lot’s of water, filling up on salad first, eating in moderation, avoiding sugary drinks (I’d rather have my sugar in a cookie versus a soda) and helping myself to everything in small portions. It’s inevitable that I’ll eat like a queen…and that’s just fine. There is always chocolate lying around all over the place, from Sees candy to the “chocolates around the world” my dad found at Costco. I drank black coffee in the morning and drank wine every night. I had blue cheese and salami sandwiches on homemade bread for lunch. I took a break from the Italian style holiday food and ate delicacies at my sister-in-law’s house we never had growing up: artichoke dip laden with cheese, french dip sandwiches, and Jello salad.

Every Christmas morning I have my traditional breakfast of chocolate and coffee…well, when I was younger I didn’t have the coffee. But Santa always brought Hershey kisses and I would nervously nibble on them while waiting for my turn to open presents. Many a cold, gray morning was spent waiting for my parents to wake up, waiting for my siblings to assemble under the tree for the doling of presents, and I would feast on my kisses as a way to steal a little holiday sweetness before the Big Day began. As an adult I absolutely love the combination of chocolate and coffee–it is my FAVORITE, and that’s over chocolate with almonds, chocolate with peanut butter, or chocolate with caramel. Who cares if it’s only 8:30 am? It’s never been too early for chocolate.

Because we don’t have any serious tragedy, because we all relatively get along and we enjoy good food, because we like each other’s company and have a lot in common, my outlook on Christmas continues to be merry. The following is a look at the prerequisites to having a happy holiday (broken down into parts):

GIFTS
I was reading Dear Abby, or some equivalent, and it was discussing the whole concept of gift free Christmases. Josh had mentioned this previously in the week, a meandering thought that was received by me with a big fat ‘no.’ There is something really lovely about buying presents and then giving them away. How often do we really do this in real life? I know when someone buys me a cup of coffee it is always a thrill. Or when I find something really appropriate and funny (this happens when I’m shopping for my sister all the time) like a pair of metallic stretch pants that someone (my sister) has been wanting and waiting for but would never buy themselves. Isn’t that the neat part about it? Seeing what people buy with you in mind, coming up with what they think you’ll like and use? I would never have a calender in my kitchen if it weren’t for my family. I would also be short on socks and pajamas. These are things I like but don’t usually buy for myself. The same goes for the lovely Lush products my sister-in-law purchased as a belated birthday gift (and gave me 2 days before Christmas, score!).

Both my husband and my sister underestimated my size this year…each of them purchased tops for me in size small in the hope that somehow I might have shrunk. I certainly know what that’s like, as I too have tried to trick myself into being a size smaller. It is the nature of things to be cuter when they’re smaller. T-shirts and hoodies sell out in bigger sizes, leaving the funky patterns and neat prints plentiful in size small. While I’m flattered that they think I might even be a small, I know they mentally shrunk me down while Christmas shopping.

I read an article in the NY Times Magazine about how children are encouraged to hand make their cards and gifts. This saves the parents money (no need for the kid to pick out a Hallmark card when he can make his own) and encourages creativity and ingenuity. We lose this when we get older, the handmade aspect, as we grow busier and less patient. Suddenly, we find ourselves angrily walking around a suburban mall looking for yet another piece of plastic to wrap. Is it time we need and if so, is it worth it? I know I had this fantasy of making canvas bags this year but traded in the time for a stroll around the mall. I like the decorations and the hubbub of the holidays but I can only handle a few hours before I throw in the towel and find half of my gifts online. And sure, it’s hard to know exactly how much you should spend, if they’ll really like it, but most of the time it’s the thought that counts.

I also understand the exhaustion of gift giving. While Christmas Morning part one at my house is laid back and full of grown ups sipping coffee and unwrapping The Lord of the Ring trilogy, Christmas Morning part two at Josh’s sister’s house involves six children. The sheer madness, selfishness, irritability, coked up on sugar craziness is absolutely jarring in comparison. I hand a present to one niece, she opens it, finds a book (I know: boring), and asks me, “What else?” At the end of the event they’re complaining how bored they are, even while sitting in the middle of a mound of toys. I know that this is not fair; I’m sure I threw diva fits about fantastic gifts I never received (like the year my brother totally scored with a new bike AND a train set and I felt my presents weren’t comparable).

I realized that a big part of Christmas when you’re small IS the gifts…and later when you move away and start your adult life it becomes about being with family. The nostalgia of watching old Christmas tapes from 1988 when you had braces and funny hair but you were still you. The eager hopping around as you wait for your Mom to open this really super cool present you picked out for her. It’s a time to give back, give a nod, a heads up to the people in your life: thanks for still being around, man…here’s a sweater.

(or an octopus puppet)

The cold has wetly seeped through my thick soled clogs and into my feet. Only smartwools block out the chill. The other morning I was dozing before my alarm went off and I heard a loud whistling sound…sort of like a car that’s dying, only with more wheezing. It was so loud I actually had to put a pillow over my head. It took me a few seconds before I realized that the sound was coming from the end of the bed. Hobbes. She was snoring.

This reflects a growing realization I’ve had about my cat aging…not being able to jump up on things as nimbly as she once could; Walking around with her claws out; Snoring loudly. I remember once associating a certain noise with Josh, a sigh, a hum almost, that I used to hear when fading in and out of sleep. One night Josh was out of town and I still heard the noise. I realized that all these years it was my cat, lightly snoring next to me.

I have found a job teaching preschool very part time in Queen Anne. It pays well (much better that the average preschool gig) and is very small (only about 10 kids). The owner/head teacher is a quirky little lady who comes from a Montessori background. I’m a little hesitant because I’ll be on her turf, following her rules, and coming into a tightly knit community of kids and parents. I know I will learn a lot. She hired me largely because she was intrigued by my dance and theater experience–and interested in my hope of incorporating those elements in an academic setting. I’m bummed that the school has a shoes-off policy (which means spending Christmas money on boots seems silly) and I’m actually debating on buying some cute house slippers to wear in addition to my socks (I hate shoes-off policies).

In addition I am hoping to supplement with additional teaching gigs around the area. This means I will be in the car a lot (one of the gigs is on Mercer Island), which I had initially hoped to avoid. However, I will have more time returned to me overall–which is good and bad. I killed an hour and a half sitting around, drinking coffee, and watching my sister make donuts yesterday. I also returned home exhausted, having trekked all over the greater Seattle area…this is where I wish we had a decent transportation system. I have grand plans of buying an unlimited class card at a nearby Yoga center, working on the play I’ve been crafting for five years, creating some meaningful art, and pushing my jewelry sales via website and local venues. I hope to ignore the strangling feeling of being unsuccessful, worthless, partly unemployed, and lost in the sea of employment that is out there.

I had a really great interview at a really nice school…it was for a position that I didn’t really care for (teaching assistant and after school care) but they called and asked me to interview to be a full time teaching assistant in a preschool classroom. The pay starts at $9.50/hr and increases based on education and experience. This sucks. If I was hell bent on being a classroom teacher this would be all about ‘paying my dues’ to get ahead in the teaching world. However, I’m done with making dirt. I’m continually insulted by what people are (not) willing to pay instructors in the classroom. I would much rather teach older children, but I can’t seem to get away from 3-5 year olds–and I can get away with teaching that age without certification. So until I figure it out, I’m piecing together a career out of…something.

I’ve realized that my husband’s approach to grocery shopping is a great commentary on how we individually approach food. Sure, there is the guise of responsibility: the milk is organic, the cereal is whole wheat, and the weird swiss cheese triangles he found are billed as having 30% less fat. But the naughty stuff has still been slipped in: Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup cereal, Oreos, and chips. Even when Josh accompanies me to Trader Joe’s the organic Pop Tarts still make it into the basket. It used to be in CO our only option was Safeway…now that we live in Seattle a whole array of food stores are available–from the hippie grocery store a mile from our house to the much beloved Trader Joe’s.

Now Safeway is convenient, a mere five blocks from our house and boasts a newly remodeled produce section, huge sprawling aisles, and the most dangerous parking lot in Seattle. The last time I was there commercials screamed at me half the time I was shopping–which I found deeply offensive. I’m already supporting your store, the last thing I need to hear is tinny advertisements over the loud speakers while I shop. Therefore when I must resort to Safeway I usually send Josh.

This is risky…usually I try and tell him to shop conservatively–I’ll be going to TJ’s later that week–but inevitably Josh makes up for lost shopping opportunities by buying freely. He strays from the list, supplementing the bananas with waxy, non-organic, Argentinian apples. He buys in large quantities because once he finds something he loves, Josh does not want to risk being out of it–therefore we now have six boxes of whole wheat crackers (which incidentally contain the same amount of saturated fat as Oreos). Cans of soup in abundance arrive in our cupboard for those late nights when I’m not home and Josh needs dinner. Ice cream shows up, a pint of whole milk, and six boxes of cereal (from Special K to Cocoa Puffs).

Bless his heart, in reaction to my uptight approach towards food, he’s gotten better. We both read labels and have been known to stand side by side in an aisle looking at the ingredient list of two different boxes of mac and cheese. (”I’ve got 200 mml of sodium, how about you?” “250 mml!” “No way, how big is you serving size?”) But his attempts, while with the best of intentions, are no where near to what I might actually buy. How can I tell him that, while Special K does have some fiber in it, the amount of sugar and over-processed bullshit about weight loss on the package discount the minimal health benefits? I prefer the off brands, specifically Trader Joe’s minimally packaged cold cereal with their unassuming list of ingredients and high fiber count. I’ve ruled out corn syrup for the unassuming cane juice, swapped fluffy rice cereals for the stomach-filling sticks and twigs, and made the switch to non-fat milk 2 years ago. Sure, I get made fun of when I truck home the shredded wheat (”You’re becoming just like your Dad!”) but I’ve steered clear from puffed rice and anything that has zero sugar (Styrofoam cereal we used to refer to it as a kid). Some of this was in reaction to my high cholesterol reading last year–all the research pointed to a hearty fiber diet as a way to clean out your arteries (and your gullet). Part of it is that as I grow older, I find that I can’t stand the extremely sweet or the over salted. My sister actually commented on my under salted cooking when she lived with me. I always figure people can just salt to taste and, while the salt shaker still stands dutifully next to the stove, I’ve found myself turned off by super salty dishes (specifically in restaurants and even more specifically: the soup).

Do I steer away from the center aisles? Hell no. I love packaged and processed food as much as the next red blooded American. I revel in frozen pizza (fire pit baked, shipped from Italy to Trader Joe’s), boxed mac and cheese (no preservatives, 5 ingredients, supplemented with boiled broccoli), and ice cream (1/3 less fat, custard style, from Breyers). And while this post may seem to tease my husband, I’m actually making fun of myself a little bit….seriously.

Click here for details…

I have lost my job.
Well, I guess I didn’t LOSE it, like ‘oops where did my job go?” but rather they are down-sizing, shifting gears in a new direction, changing the focus, and I wasn’t factored into the future equation. Part of this is the fact that I was simply unable to mask my genuine dislike about where the company was headed. I was no longer able to act my way out. I can’t really claim unemployment because I was asked point blank when I was leaving (since it was obvious to the owner I wasn’t comfortable working there anymore). She wouldn’t let me leave the meeting until I gave her a date…so I picked one: December 21.

I participated in 60 sec max at the Annex Theater last Friday. It was extremely overwhelming because they had 42 performers and a sold out house. The performers crowded the stage while we were called one by one for our 60 seconds of glory. From sock puppet Shakespeare to modern dance it’s really hard to botch 60 seconds. In fact, even the not-so-hot acts were executed just fine because they were only one minute…which is like canceling a show at the height of its popularity (i.e. Arrested Development), better to quit while you’re ahead.

I had had this whole interpretive dance idea that I was going to do, complete with a little cassette player that I was going to shove down my shirt so that music emanated from my bosom while I danced. I had great success with asking the audience for a suggestion of a body part and an emotion during Thalia, and I was going to do this with the 60 sec max crowd. In hindsight I’m very very glad I didn’t. Some of the biggest names in modern dance were at the show and I immediately felt competitive. While they were frolicking around in their striped tights and acrobatics I would have been doing an interpretive dance to Suspicious Navel…and flunking. The cosmos must have known this because after attending (and back up singing) for Mark’s one man show at The Jewel Box Theater I found this on my car:

I really thought for a second that someone and bestowed a million dollar bill under my windshield wiper before realizing that a) million dollar bills probably don’t exist and b) the first line on the bill was :”The million dollar question: Will you go to Heaven?” I immediately decided that this was what I was going to present for my 60 seconds.

I was shaking when I approached the stage (following the 1 minute performance by my fabulous friend Rachel), and I turned to the audience and said, “I was totally going to do something different tonight but then I found this on my car…” I pulled out the fake bill, pressed the tape recorder nestled in my bosom, and read the terrible, offensive, religious propaganda to the sweet sounds of Spoon Harps and Bellowphones. And believe me it was bad: “Have you looked with lust? God sees you as a lying, thieving, blasphemous, adulterer-at-heart.” The audience listened in breathless silence as I condemned them and I actually thought, ‘I hope they don’t think I actually BELIEVE in any of this mean bible talk.’ The lights came down as I yelled, “Read your Bible daily and obey it!” The timing was perfect and the audience rewarded me with thunderous applause.