honors
Yesterday, I became an officially official Godmother.
My great friend and her husband -the parents of ridiculously beautiful children – honored me by asking if I would be Godmother to their son. I think I can’t quite explain adequately how incredible it was to be asked, and how full of love my heart is, and will always remain, for my friend and her gorgeous family.
Listen, life isn’t always a smooth ride, and I would be telling a huge fib if I pretended that Minda and I had an easy journey as friends. We didn’t. But I think the truth is at the bottom of it, at the heart of the struggle. We lived together for a total of two and a half years … as real, true adults ~ and ps. that ain’t bad! We managed to remain friends through the transition from college, through a nearly two year separation, the fickleness of female friendship, three weddings and a partridge in a pear tree. (Juuust kidding about the pear tree.).
To be the only person (out of four) who isn’t related by blood to be her child’s Godparent? Yeah, that’s for real.
I remember when we moved in together, and our goal to have our first ‘grown-up’ apartment. (We achieved this, thanks mainly to Minda). I remember a snow storm, watching movies curled up under blankets on the couch and great food (I didn’t cook at the time, so it was all Minda). I remember the other things too – when we fought or vehemently disagreed. But here we are, over ten years later, still friends. And that speaks more to me than a small incident years ago. We chose -as individuals and as friends – to let the small things slide and stay friends because the big things were more important.
I wonder, sometimes, how similar female friendship is to sisterhood. I don’t have a sister, so my knowledge is limited. But I’ve always explained Jess & my friendship as a sort of sisterhood. Even when we want to kill each other, we love each other more.
It was such a great honor to become a Godmother and I hope that I am better to my Godson than my Godparents were to me (aka, absent. For my whole life). But mostly, it makes me feel as though Minda decided to actually make our friendship a family. And I love her and thank her for that.
the constant search
I looked in the mirror the other day -close on the heels of my last blog post, and my public declaration of love for musical theatre – and I wondered, with sadness, where I’d gone.
Huge, dark circles accentuated my tired, opaque eyes. Ashen skin, dull colorless hair. Just a walking declaration of fatigue, and life kicking my butt. Not only life knocking me around, but succumbing to it. I looked and felt completely beaten down, defeated and … forlorn? I’m struggling to find precisely the right word and failing -so I will settle for ‘forlorn.’
I will obviously not deny that this has been quite a challenging year thus far. And it doesn’t seem to be letting up very much. I thought last year was bad … but I think this one triumphs in that department. In the beginning I tried valiantly to be positive and upbeat – focusing on healthy eating, and living normally with MS. Plus, I got married this year, and that was a beautiful, incredibly special day.
And then I broke my foot.
And MS started to take my life away.
And work became unbearable on so many different levels.
And suddenly, I had lost any drive or desire to find the positive, do anything or go anywhere. Walking was challenging, seeing was challenging … everything felt like an insurmountable obstacle. I was ready to give up.
I don’t mean this to be ‘oh woe is me’ or ‘please pity me.’ It sounds that way, and there is a part of my soul that yearns for comfort, for soft words and sympathy to make this easier – less unbearably difficult. But another part of me – the one I got from my mother, and Jennie J, and all the tough ladies whose DNA I share – says I will not be beaten. I will not lie down and give up. And becoming a broken human constantly in need of fixing isn’t okay.
Many years ago I made a mistake. I’ve been paying for it ever since, in icy cold words begrudgingly directed in my general direction, in subtle jabs at who I am, where I am from and the choices I have made. Fifteen years hasn’t eased the apparent injustice I caused, or the color of my character in certain people’s eyes. (Black, in case you were wondering. Although it should have been sort of obvious).
That moment, so many years ago, when I made what felt like a fairly innocent, naive mistake, changed my life. Not just the course of it, but the damage the aftermath did to my character, my confidence and my very being. I started living my life trying to make up for the terrible, horrible “crimes” I committed against others.
The manner in which I reacted to the criticism of my very being has morphed over time. I am not sure I should still be apologizing — and I certainly should NEVER have apologized for certain aspects of my actions (or more specifically, myself). But the consequences of how it affected me continue to be far-reaching.
So how does this all tie together?
I don’t know. I think it all came to a head about a week ago. I got some news from my brother (now far away in Texas starting a new life), I wrote that blog post marking an important moment for me, I received another lovely email from a family member, and work nearly broke me.
When I looked in the mirror and saw that sad reflection staring back at me with emotionless eyes, I felt overwhelming sad … I didn’t know who that woman was – I didn’t recognize myself. I was tired of feeling so terrible, so broken, so angry, so slighted, so unheard. I was tired of the pain in my body from stress, disuse and anxiety. I was tired of seeing myself in the mirror and not knowing myself anymore.
I’m also a little tired of apologizing. So pardon me while I have a small, much-needed moment.
I’m an American, and I’m proud of being an American. I’m proud of my country and the noble men and women who strived to make it a better place to live than where they were born. It is a great, magnificent country full of people with big personalities, pride in their heritage and pride in their country. Anyone who has only spent a day or two here, or a week long vacation, doesn’t have any idea of the greatness that still exists in this nation. We are not Hollywood, we are not a stereotype, and we are certainly not less than any other country in the world.
I have made mistakes. And I have let them define me for far too long. Here’s the truth – we all make mistakes. We all make wrong choices, say the wrong thing, pick the wrong person to marry. Shit happens. It happens every day, and it happens to most people, and a lot of times, it happens more than once. Holding any person accountable for a mistake, or a misunderstanding without any real knowledge of who that person is – is absolutely ridiculous. Especially for fifteen years. And you can tell me I need to let it go, or tell me that it’s ‘just how it is’. But here’s the thing – I have tried to let it go. I’m not the one still taking shots at me – all I’ve ever done is apologize and try to be polite and the picture of contrition. And I’m done now. It’s eating away at my soul.
Life is effing hard. And the people that we all choose to surround ourselves with should lift us up. They should be the kind of people you can break down in front of, who hear you and who love you without judgement. They should encourage you to chase your dreams, and make you laugh until your face hurts. Those are the people worth fighting for.
Today, after overcoming my paralyzing fear of going new places (which has compounded with walking & eyesight problems) i went to the gym and I swam. I swam for forty minutes and my arms ached and I could barely breath ~ but memories came flooding back of swim practices and high school and pushing myself even when I felt like I couldn’t go anymore. It felt like a relief. And in the water, my legs don’t fail me the way they do on the ground ~ and my vision (despite working out) is crystal clear.
I stood in the bathroom today, and my skin had a little more color, and my hair was shiny at the roots, and I didn’t feel so weighed down. Exercise is a miraculous thing. I believe in it with as much conviction as I believe in vegetables, green juice and smoothies. I believe these things are the rungs on the wall that will help me climb out of the despair I’ve found myself in. I am clinging to that, and the phenomenal way I felt (and out of shape, if we’re being totally honest) in the pool today. And to the idea that I’m done apologizing for who I am. I’m really not that bad.
who I am
I had one of the most random conversations yesterday. And when I relayed it to the man while cooking dinner tonight, I was reminded acutely of the oddity of it all.
Without getting weighed down by too many (perhaps unnecessary) details, a girl in my office stated that she had been to three shows so far this week and just as people followed Phish, she would follow DJs if she could. Sort of random, I know, but at the time (while still a wholly odd sentiment for me to wrap my head around) not completely unfounded. She then continued, talking about her love of house music, and how it (and this is my wording, and how I understood what she was trying to say, as I really can’t remember her exact words) reached her soul, her very being. It woke her up when she was tired, inspired her, spoke to her. It almost became a sales pitch, as though she was trying to convince me that if only I gave it a listen, I would feel exactly the same way.
“I’m not embarrassed to admit it. I totally love it.” She smiled and laughed a little, tossing her hair over her shoulder.
Initially, I felt slightly disconnected from the conversation ~ almost an interloper. I looked up and smiled weakly back at her, shrugging. Our other two co-workers were simultaneously declaring both their love/disdain for house music, stating their cases emphatically. She looked expectantly to me, to hear where I came down on the issue.
“Listen, I listen to musical theatre every day, so all I have to say is, whatever makes you happy.”
She laughed, as though that were infinitely more ridiculous on every level than her love of house music and DJs. I felt a little stung, and then reminded myself that I was at the mecca of ‘judgement central’ (aka, the restaurant industry), raised an eyebrow and went back to work.
Here’s what it made me think today. I am who I am. I’m a girl who grew up in a very protected environment, who believed the commercials of a fried egg being your brain on drugs, who followed (and still follows) rules because, well, that’s the rule … a girl who fell in love with Andrew Lloyd Weber at the tender age of five, and the majesty of his music. A girl whose entire music collection, until her first year of college, consisted nearly solely of musical theater.
That’s who I am. Well, part of who I am.
And in the past, I’ve let people tease me, belittle me for what I loved, for who I am. And I felt proud of myself yesterday, for that small passing moment when I didn’t deny who I was, or pretend I should check out house music.
I’ve done it in the past. Rap and punk, psychobilly and R & B. Some of it was alright. But none of it was me … not like folk, and acoustic singer song-writers, country and bluegrass, classical and opera and musical theater.
I’ve had the idea of ‘who I am’ on my mind recently, for various reasons. And the thought that I’ve come back to time and again, is how much more comfortable life is when I’m not pretending to be something I’m not.
I like musical theatre and old movies and the comfort of fantasy tales and good, human interest books. I’m never going to be a hard-edged person ~ I’m always going to be the naive one who believes face value even when I shouldn’t. I believe that hard work and a sharp intellect are more valuable than loud words and bullying (probably why I haven’t advanced further in my career). I believe in merit and loyalty; family and true friends. I like who I am ~ my imperfect, quirky self. And that, after so many years of questioning and uncertainty, feels pretty okay.
thought chewing
Oftentimes, I arrive at my blog either void of anything thoughtful or provoking to say, or full of things which have been occupying my mind for hours; thoughts or grievances or gratitudes that have spent the day swirling around my brain. Sometimes I’m in the car, and I realize I haven’t heard a word of my book, or a word of the story on NPR because I have become so caught up and lost in my thoughts.
Sometimes, despite my fingers itching to type, I put a lid on it; knowing that the blog isn’t the proper forum to address certain issues. Other times, by the time I find myself with time or motivation to write, I’ve lost the passion or intensity of what I wanted to say. That’s always sort of a bummer.
Today, I’m in a gray area, sort of able to know what I want to say, and sort of unsure if I want to put it here for anyone to read. (PS. I know I don’t have a ton of readers, but I have a few … and those eyes are precious to me).
Last night, as the husby and I settled into the sofa to wind down the evening, he said something sort of assumed, but also sort of shocking. He said we’d never leave the Pennsylvania area. Despite knowing his answer, I asked why. His response was as I expected. And then the evening moved on, the sentiment was forgotten and we enjoyed a sitcom marathon before heading to bed at the lame hour of 9pm.
It wasn’t until I was driving to work this morning, my mind full of all sorts of things having to do with the company I work for, my future and the business’ future, that I remembered the man’s statement from the night before.
And I got annoyed.
Weird, right?
His reason for committing to Pennsylvania was neither wrong, unexpected, misguided or untrue. And yet, it made me feel trapped. It made me question who I was making life decisions for: myself, or others. I realized, as I intensely chewed on this train of thought, that I wasn’t ready to start making sacrifices or life compromises for anyone other than myself or my husband. I wasn’t ready to close the door on opportunities or adventures for any reason that didn’t stem directly from me.
And I thought how selfish that was ~ but somehow couldn’t stop feeling that way.
I thought about how every single person who chooses to become a parent inherently makes the choice that some other human is prioritized above themselves. I thought how amazing that sort of commitment was; how altruistic. And then I wondered if I could ever do it.
I still can’t seem to get my head around it, come to terms with all of it. At some point, we all inherit responsibilities that weren’t ours to begin with; that’s sort of the way of life. It feels unfair that some people shoulder these burdens at a much younger age than others, but there it is. I know that my husband is a much more generous, giving person than I am; that is who he is, has always been and will always be. That is how he understands the responsibilities we have moving forward and embraces them the best he can, while I squirm and pout and get resentful.
I haven’t found a way to accept these things yet, but I know I will eventually; I don’t really have a choice. I guess what makes humanity beautiful is that we are each individuals and we all have our virtues and vices. For me, this is about facing the ugliness of my soul, and figuring out how to change it.
taking stock
At this very moment, the hubs and I are ensconced on the couch watching football and snuggling with Lucy Lou. She is not as responsive to the Steelers as she is to the Giants, but I can’t totally blame her. Her very first month with us included a Giants Super Bowl win and an abundance of Giants TV specials and paraphernalia around the house. That, and inherently, she’s her daddy’s girl.
It was a good weekend ~ beginning with John arriving home on Friday, spending some great quality time with friends last night and rounding out with having an incredibly productive day today. I had an overwhelming feeling of happiness and contentedness when football revved up onscreen, and I found myself making a mid-afternoon snack in our -insanely!- organized and prepped kitchen, the late afternoon sun slanting through the windows. I have to admit that those moments (during the week) are few and far between. And yet, so often on the weekends, I find them to be in abundance. This morning, hot Starbucks in hand, walking Lucy through the woods; this afternoon as we organized our grocery shopping, prepped lunches, dinners and juice for the week; twilight, as Lucy curled up between us on the couch, at peace amid her mummy and daddy. Last night, sitting around the fire pit, enjoying light-hearted conversation with friends; driving home through the farmland, the stars twinkling over the meadows. Weekends, now more than ever, get me through the week … either remembering a good one, or anticipating the next.
It’s been a challenging year ~ for me, both personally and professionally. On Friday I moved my work offices for the fifth time in less than four years. Exhausting. I also spoke with a nurse from the third -yes, third- medical therapy my MS doctor has prescribed me in less than a year. ( have moments when I long for life to be normal, regular. And then I realize that it won’t ever really be normal again. After all, I won’t ever NOT have MS. So what I need to do is catalog days like today, full of happiness and contentment, and remind myself that this is normal now. And it’s not so bad.
revelations
Once a year, the hubs heads down to Washington D.C. for a week as part of a study through NIH. I used to dread those weeks ~ so many days alone in my apartment, spooked by every noise, barely able to sleep through the night … Ugh. Shivers.
I still don’t like being away from him, especially for long periods of time (I weirdly don’t enjoy talking on the phone, which is a necessary part of being apart). But on Monday, as I prepared dinner for Lucy, and then dinner for myself, I realized that it was the first day since I’d broken my foot and had terrible MS flares that I’d been entirely on my own. No one to do the ‘tough’ stuff, no one to pick up the slack, no one to baby me or take care of me. I was completely alone.
And it felt wonderful.
Strange, right? I feel as though, in turn, I should have felt guilty at the small joy of my solitude, but instead I felt … comfort? Knowing that as I adjust to my new ‘normals’ of legs and arms and speed and vision, I could do it on my own. And I was okay. No husband, no parent, no kindly neighbor baby-sitting me. Just me, and my furry friend Lucy.
We had a good day, too. Work was uneventful (a small miracle, or karmic balance for yesterday … I’m not sure), we went on a walk, and then we settled in to enjoy dinner, some TV and finally, bed.
For our walk, Lucy and I headed to the trails I used to train on for my long runs. We used to visit them most mornings, and run them from end to end. I hadn’t been in quite some time, so it was nostalgic and also a little sad. She was overjoyed, her nose full of so many fall smells that she zig-zagged across the trail, unsure which sniff was superior. Her tail wagged, and her mouth hung open in a huge doggy smile. My heart swelled for that, just knowing that this creature, whose care (this week) is solely entrusted to me, was happy. She’s a funny thing, smart as a whip and so intuitive, and yet bursting with energy from every cell of her body. We walked a mile ~ a long, tough mile, especially at the end ~ and I tried to remind myself that when I began to run (ahem, jog) I began at a mile, and worked my way up. I don’t know how this whole MS thing works, but I’m hoping that with practice, a mile won’t be so tough anymore. I focused on that, instead of the irony of the entire situation. Learning to walk again, instead of beginning a fitness routine.
I have to admit, this week got off to a bumpy start. The man & I journeyed to his cousins’ annual Halloween party. We put together last-minute costumes (purchased exclusively from Lowe’s ~ now that’s creativity!) because our original idea did not come together well at.all. And then, despite the ratio of one water bottle for each glass of wine, I did not calculate for the jello shots (which kicked my butt). By the time I curled up in bed on Sunday night (after a great afternoon with my parents watching the Steelers … well, best to forget about that part) I was ready to sleep for days without waking.
However – and this goes to show how far I’ve come regarding being home alone – I still got up Monday morning, made a smoothie for breakfast and got myself to work at a reasonable hour. It’s small things like that that help keep life in perspective, that help me stay positive and believe in myself. It was rewarding to get home that night, and instead of feeling adrift and painfully alone, I felt proud of myself.
Last night, feeling a little puffed up and proud of how I’d been handling my week alone, I decided to venture to yoga. It ended up being a great idea, as work was a bit of a beast. Rather than heading home and drowning my frustrations in a glass of wine (which would have been delicious, but unneeded) I sweat it out on the mat. Minda met me there, her own baggage checked at the door, and we both worked our way through class. For me, it was less frustrating than class a few weeks ago, because I had a better understanding of what would challenge me, and where I would find relief. I also tried very hard to focus solely on my own practice, so while I know our teacher used themes of Halloween ~ dressing up as someone else, and fear ~ I didn’t dive into those thoughts the way I normally do. I focused on my breath, and my hands, and my legs, and my movement ~ how the stretches felt now, versus how it used to feel, and how I could use certain clues to know how my body was feeling.
I thought about how Minda and I both came to the mat from situations of angst ~ but how different it manifested for me in contrast to her. She gave birth to her second child in June, and has been adjusting to life as a mother of two plus a full-time high school teacher at the same time I’ve been struggling through crutches and crazy MS symptoms. Funny how life works, right? Both emotional roller coasters on the best of days, and yet so fundamentally different in their challenges.
I’m glad I took the time to figure out my schedule and Lucy’s to make it to class last night. I think it was a healthy release for the stress that is weighing down my shoulders, and also a nice, albeit brief, catch up with my friend, whose life is winding down such a different path than mine. Moments like that are precious, and I think I understand and appreciate that more as I get older. Everyone makes choices based on their own personal circumstances, wants, desires and lives move in different directions based on those choices. It’s sort of an interesting thing to contemplate, and to me, is what makes life so beautiful.
Today marks the halfway point of my girls’ week with Lucy. And I’m okay with that. I’ve enjoyed my quiet evenings and my early bedtimes, but I miss my husband and am looking forward to having him home. Lucy is, too. (He’s her favorite!)
good mornings
Some of my most favorite moments include the gray early morning, when Lucy hops up on our bed and curls up down between our feet. I’m usually still half asleep, but those minutes before the alarm goes off, with our whole family snuggled together, count as some of the most precious of my day. Lucy’s breath evens out and she begins to snurfle and I feel completely contented, safe and warm.
This morning the man disturbed this loveliness by heading to the gym. Me and my bum legs stayed at home and enjoyed sleeping in a little longer.
This afternoon we have plans to attend Chestnut Hill’s Second Annual Harry Potter Festival. One of my girlfriends found a House Quiz, and I will be decked out in HufflePull colors this afternoon, while the man will be Gryffindor. Cheers to fun things to do on the weekend with friends!
new friends & byobs
There is something magical about the sun in the morning ~ stretching its arms across fields, pale fresh light building to glowing yellow. This morning, on my drive to work, I was awed by the beauty of the sun kissing the fields, full of cows and sheep and grass swaying in the breeze. I was glad ~ even though traffic stopped dead about a mile from the traffic light (which is unusual)~ that I chose the route to work I take in the mornings. Living in suburbia, there aren’t many places to see farmland, but there is a stretch near our house which also happens to be on the way to my office, and every morning and every evening it gives me peace to drive through the fields.
I would have taken a photo, but I try (very hard) to leave my phone untouched while I drive.
So, since I can’t share this morning’s enchanting beginning, I will share last night’s enchanting evening. The man, who travels very infrequently for work, went to Chicago a few months back. He had a great time and was able to visit “The Girl and the Goat,” something of a top-of-the-wish-list thing for him. On his journey home, he happened to fall into conversation with his seatmate and discussed, among other things, the food & wine business (still flush with his visit to Stephanie Izzard’s flagship). He informed me upon his return that he’d met a really cool chick on his flight home, she visited Philly for business frequently, and there was a chance that we would get together in the future.
One of our current favs, and what we enjoyed with our Veal
Fast forward a few months. On our third attempt to get together, we finally made it happen last night at a delicious BYOB, Paloma. It was enchanting! (I use that word again, and deliberately, as it felt like a step back in time when you entered ~ white linens, lots of glassware, ornately folded napkins).
I have to say that I have huge admiration for Peggy; for reaching out to John, for meeting near strangers for dinner. But I’m so glad she did, because after the initial awkwardness (have I mentioned that in general, I can be socially awkward … and talk non-stop about, well, anything and everything … and have huge non sequitur because something clicked in my brain that might not make any sense to those around me ….? Yes, well, all that is true) we had a really awesome time.
It started when all three of us ordered the exact.same.thing for dinner. It continued when Peggy and I discovered we enjoy the same ‘escapist’ television (in the form of Nashville and Scandal). After that, it was all gravy.
We all began with the Mushroom Flan. Oh.my.goodness. Deliciousness. Light and fluffy, but full of incredible, intense flavor. And so rich. The chef’s wife (and, obviously, owner) took care of our table for most of the night, so we got to learn fun tidbits as well as lots of information about the menu. Which, interestingly enough, is being changed as of today (seasonality ~ love it!). She assured us prior to ordering that the Mushroom Flan appetizer would be remaining on the menu (it had, in fact, been on the menu for all 16 -18?- years of the restaurant’s existence). Despite the possibility of missing something else that would no longer be around, we all immediately chose the flan. And none of us regretted it one bit!
For dinner, we all enjoyed stuffed veal, which was a perfect complement to the Flan (well done, us!) The veal was served with a side of rice and asparagus, which visually cannot communicate the subtle and incredible flavors it held. I think we were all a little surprised at how good the rice was.
And then, to round out our dinner, we had two courses of dessert. Which maybe wasn’t necessary, but boy, was it worth it.
We all did a Prix Fix menu, which did not include all the house-made desserts as options (not a surprise). Our options were layer cake, biscotti or bread pudding. Peggy and I had the pudding & the man had the biscotti. But this girl loves cheesecake, and I couldn’t not have cheesecake (especially considering the lovely woman who was taking care of us was also the pastry chef and had made it herself).
It did not disappoint.
White chocolate cheesecake, homemade crust, chocolate ganache top. Mmm, mmm, delicious. And even more surprising and fun ~ a coffee bean whipped cream to finish everything off.
So good.
Now that we’ve broken the ice with Peggy, I hope we get to have lots more culinary adventures when she is in Philadelphia and free. But, even if it turns out to be few and far between, last night was a riot (our host told us several hilarious stories about her ‘other’ career as a lawyer and marijuana … you can imagine how amazing that was!).
Last night felt normal ~ something I have been striving for more and more every day. Some days, normal is driving to work and wishing to walk through the fields of cows & sheep wrapped in a snuggly sweater. Some days, normal is working really hard and getting piles of things accomplished. On other days, it’s enjoying good take-out, good wine and the company of my man and my dog on our couch. But yesterday was a different kind of normal ~ a throw back to when the man & I still worked downtown and went out to new restaurants more often. It felt fun and refreshing … and a true treat.
Til tomorrow. Xo.
paths of least resistance
Sometimes, on this crazy journey, I get more caught up in what I can no longer do, instead of focusing on what I can do. I think that’s inevitable ~ life felt established, with routines and traditions and then all of a sudden, those things were taken away, like a rug being pulled out from under my feet.
Every time I see someone posting on social media about running, I feel deflated and frustrated. I drive past the trails that Lucy and I used to run three or four mornings a week, and I am sad. I’d like to believe I will be able to run again, but the truth is, I don’t know. I feel so angry and defeated. I am full of regrets ~ regrets for not running Broad Street earlier this year before everything started with my legs … disappointed in myself for not running the Half Marathon last October in Atlantic City ~ something I may never have the opportunity to do again. It calls to mind the saying “Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today.” Had I not delayed, failed to train sufficiently last fall, at least now I would have the satisfaction of having run a half marathon, instead of the sadness that I got close and failed to get it done.
And then I think of all the things I am still able to do, and remind myself to be grateful for those things ~ yoga, swimming, walking. And I try to talk myself up and remind myself to focus on the positives. I know that what is most essential right now is action ~ creating a new routine, finding new ways to stay healthy and get exercise. But it’s harder than that … loading Lucy in the trunk of the car and heading to the trails was a matter of getting up and doing it. Swimming or yoga requires scheduling and can’t include my pupster, who deserves to stretch her legs even more than I do.
On a different, and more positive note, the start of this week was a busy one for me work-wise. Our third project hit full speed with a Tasting and Happy Hour for potential investors on Tuesday evening which had been preceded by a preliminary Panini tasting on Monday. Which has meant take-out three nights in a row at home. On Monday, I cheated and brought home treats from work (who can honestly say no to prosciutto, kunik and pizza? seriously). Tuesday was a visit to our favorite local sushi place (where they do actually know our names… and our order. As a small sidenote, there is something indefinably comforting about walking into a place of business and being recognized. I believe that is a legit part of Starbucks training … and not a bad idea. I know how important it was and what great relationships were built when I worked in restaurants every day instead of the office ~ a great part of real social interaction versus social media). We have been enjoying some choice selections from Pennsylvania’s Chairman Select collection. On Tuesday, we cracked open a bottle of Duckhorn Decoy Zinfandel. I happen to deeply love the thick headiness of a good Zin ~ the husby isn’t quite as big a fan (he prefers more dry, minerally juice) but we both enjoyed the bottle, and our movie pic, The Great Gatsby (directed by Baz Luhrmann). Totally didn’t expect the movie to be what it was but we were both completely drawn into the overly stylized telling of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s classic.
Last night we checked out a new take-out place, Palace of Asia. I was worn out (I
usually am by Wednesday … how lame is that?) and the man and I didn’t feel like shopping and then cooking. So after some menu perusing, we got a variety of vegetarian entrees featured on the Indian cuisine menu.
Whew. Delish. Despite the major language barrier encountered when calling in, we got everything we ordered, and enjoyed every bite. Our first entrée was a selection of nine garden vegetables (squash, potato, peas, etc) cooked in a spicy cream sauce (Korma ~ my favorite!). The second dish featured tiny potatoes stuffed with cheese in a kashmiri sauce (a super amazing cream sauce with nuts and raisins). For our first foray into Indian take-out, it was a success. Although I couldn’t eat that every week ~ much too heavy! I love the flavors and seasoning Indian food employs though ~ so outside of the flavors I grew up with and know. So decadent. We caught up on some sitcoms and enjoyed another bottle of Zin (the man is going to boycott soon) which was actually (dare I say it? sacrilege) a little superior to the Duckhorn.
At the end of October, my offices will move downtown again, and when that happens, I hope the husby and I can get into a groove with cooking, and the gym and Miss Lucy. Until then, I plan on enjoying the waning days of my easy commute and spending as much evening lounge time with my family as possible. This evening we are headed out to a Mexican “Haute Cuisine” BYOB in Old City (which we have only heard rave reviews about) … I am very much looking forward to it, and to continuing our streak of not cooking this whole week. (Hehe!)
Until tomorrow. xo.
past times
Two days ago I went to my first yoga class in over four months. It was uplifting, challenging, frustrating … difficult! But when it was all done, and my legs had finished shaking, the core feeling I had was relief. I had been toying with the idea of returning to class for a few weeks but when I got right down to it, fear was holding me back. I’ve never been a star athlete -and that’s okay! – but I’ve also never had this little strength or control over my body. When yoga was difficult in the past I muscled through (just hold on through the breath ~ nothing lasts forever). That’s not an option anymore. I lost a lot of strength during the healing of my broken foot, and I lost a lot of feeling, control and balance during my last MS flare. Stepping back into the studio, I wasn’t sure where I would hit the most challenges. At the beginning, it was just sitting. My right ankle was so stiff I couldn’t comfortably sit. But as class progressed, the things I was worried about ended up being okay, and things I didn’t even think about -ahem, lunges – basically (and almost literally) brought me to my knees.
In the end, it was a relief to physically get through class without having to step out and it was mentally and emotionally a relief to get back to a part of my life that had ceased to exist for over a third of a year. Slowly but surely, the man and I have been finding a rhythm again ~ getting back to life and the basics. It feels sort of amazing.
Last night, we decided to do something that we have been wanting to do since our honeymoon. One of the masterclasses we attended in Aspen was with Andrew Zimmern, who did a whole demonstration on making noodles. It was fascinating to watch how easily he did it, and we happened to be sitting beside Carla Hall, who was given the finished dish to enjoy. She graciously shared it with those seated around her … and it was the.best.peanut.sauce.ever. Seriously. Incredible.
I have to say, one of my favorite things is cooking with my husband. Last night was a fun adventure, as neither of us had made a peanut sauce before, we knew we wanted it to taste like the dish we’d had in Aspen … and we had no idea how to achieve that.
The man found a basic recipe online (unfortunately, the recipe for the sauce that Mr. Zimmern made was not one of the included recipes in the Aspen Classic magazine). We picked up the missing pieces from the grocery store, and went about creating a dish.
The man decanted a nice bottle of vino ~ a staff pick from our local Wine & Spirits store. It was very bright, and enjoyable.
The man had an idea in his head of what he wanted the dish to be like. He cooked up some bacon and had me chop up some cilantro. We snuggled up with our wine, and two bowls of fettuccine topped with delicious sauce, bacon & cilantro. It was a good night.
D5 Creation