Laurustina

i can’t seem to make myself do the simplest things these days; call my father, reschedule a dr.’s appointment, remind mr. j. that i need jumper cables for my car, send off a resume for that swanky college job I’d like, change the sheets on the bed, set foot on the elyptical trainer, mop the bathroom floor…the list goes on and on and on, and everything seems overwhelming.

The only task i seem to manage with any gusto these days is cooking; my first from-scratch pasta sauce, a chorizo quiche, fresh bagels, oven-roasted tomatoes drizzled with balsamic vinegar and sprinkled with goat cheese, basil mashed potatoes…this list too goes on and on and on, and it never seems to be quite enough. There is always something more left waiting to be made, mastered, plated up and forked over. This cooking habit is new, or at least newish in that until six months ago, a “nice salad” for dinner came pre-mixed out of a bag, no roasted pine nuts, sprinkle of herbed feta and fork-whipped vinegarette. Omelettes did not slide onto the plate with fresh chives and crumbles of bacon sprinkled on top or sauteed mushrooms and peppers tucked in between chunks of cheddar and black forrest ham. Eight months ago, Brandy, Chardonnay and Pomegranate juice were meant to be sipped from a glass, not measured into a pot to be reduced.  Sea, Kosher and Table salt were all just SALT.

And I know, just so you know, that I’ve got to get out of the kitchen if I’m ever going to get back out into the world, but the truth is, with all the things I don’t want to do or deal with or take care of these days, it’s nice to have one thing, even just the one, that I’m getting better, if not quite great yet, at.

mr. j.’s computer likes me ok, which is some consolation, but still, it’s not mine, ya know?

Two days ago, I had a late lunch of wine and salad with my friend Suzanne The Scot. Then last night, I found myself with a couchfull of teenagers giggling over a Ben Stiller movie. Both events were happy and satisfying in their own way. There is not enough of that in my life these days and I was reminded that I must make a concerted effort to stretch outside of myself and touch the world more often.

The Atlantic had an article on transgender children back in November. I didn’t link to it at the time, but saw a discussion on it again this week on Mother Talkers. I am torn, each time I see news stories about transpeople, mostly because they are either sensational or terrifying. But on days like to day, I remind myself that the fact that the Soap Opera Mama’s who watch the hens on The View and the teenage girls who watch America’s Top Model are thinking about and discussing gender identity, well it gives me hope. It is not where I wish we were as a society, but it is headed, I have to believe, in the right direction.

* I am happy to inform you that the neighbors who live behind us have the noisiest dogs in the neighborhood. There are two of them, dogs that is; a lab named Mylie and a Rottweiler called Sasha. These names we know only because we have heard them shouted above the din of barking on a number of occasions. This evening, while sitting out on the porch, Mylie and Sasha started up thje vocal sparring and one of Ashlie’s friends called out loudly for them to shush up. “No, no,” I jumped in, “let them go at it.” I insisted. You see, I like that they are noisy and I like that their people rarely shush them. Oh the sound itself is irritating and droning and endless, but honestly, I totally dig NOT having the noisiest dogs on the block. I absolutely adore not being the inconsiderate shit who lets their dog bark and bitch and whine and irritate everyone living within a two-block radius all the damn time. I am NOT that asshole, and I fucking love that.

* It is no secret that I have lusted over the Magic Bullet for some time now. I have lingered over the freakishly excitable infomercial while flipping channels. I have paused and sighed in front of the display in the window of the strangely transient As Seen On TV Store in the mall. I have a bookmark for the product website under the FOOD label in my Favorites. But deep down I am my mother’s daughter and anyone who knows my mother even casually, would tell you that my mother’s daughter would never indulge in the frivolity of a kitchen gadget that requires “easy monthly payments” of any kind. Even when I saw Magic Bullet at a local drugstore, marked down to $60.00, I didn’t bite. Oh I stood there in the aisle and stared at it, practically salivating at the thought of the salsas and fresh pesto and daiquiris and mousses I could make with the flick of a finger. Still I did not give in.  And then (of course there is an “and then”), on a completely unrelated search for the perfect stovetop griddle/grill, I stumbled across a $22.00 knock-off of The Magic Bullet, titled simply The Elite. Instead of 21 pieces, it had a mere 17. No shaker and steamer tops (I understand the shaker, but the steamer is still a mystery). No gloriously full-color recipe book. No handles on the freezer/microwave ready mugs. But $22.00? THAT was a kitchen gadget bargain my mother could be proud of. And so I bought it. I came home and promptly whipped up scrambled eggs in it and proclaimed it the BESTEST THING EVER. And that’s all I really have to say about that.

* Normally I love winter, but this year it snuck up quick and unexpected, not particularly rainy, but with a pervasive chill and gloom. I’m curled up and reading all the time, only peeling out of my jammies and into real clothes when absolutely necessary (a trip to the store or the library). I’d burrow deeper into myself, my couch, my comfort zones if i could only figure out how.