I love gardening. This season, I discovered that my artichoke plant was finally producing some beautiful thistles for my dining pleasure. I had a total of 4 awesome chokes in all. Well, I went on a road trip last week, having forgotten that I had a couple waiting for me. This was perfect timing. I had next to nothing in the fridge. I always like to have something green, and this qualify, even if they are not technically a vegetable.
Two nights ago, I steamed one, and decided to peel off the leaves beforehand. I usually just peel as I go, but I wanted to enjoy it without having to scoop out the heart. It was ready to eat. Yum. Sometimes I like to eat two at a time. This gives me more meat. I will tend to eat fast and furious, as if my life depended on it. I have been working on that. But still, I scarf my food down.
So…Even though I had pre-peeled, I hadn't noticed that some earwigs had decided to make this artichoke their home. I had boiled them along with my meal. One of the leaves I had eaten had one stuck to it. Ewww! Thankfully, it had been the leaf on the bottom of my stack, so I had not really eaten an earwig, but I was close.
Here's the deal. I am a lover of all living things. Correction: most living things. No matter how hard I try, I just cannot like the earwig. My last home was in a studio where it tended to get a little moist. I had a very large earwig infestation once that totally grossed me out. They were right outside my front door, and making their way inside. There were literally hundreds of them swarming at my doorstep. Those pincers creep me out, and the scales are reminiscent of cockroaches.
I am one of those people who carry a Daddy Long Legs out, gently laying them down on the porch. That is not the case with earwigs. I will step on them, flush them, whatever it takes to get them as far away from me as humanly possible.
Apparently, this time, I cooked them up as a delicacy.
Knowing my feelings about earwigs, I decided to try not to make too big of a deal out of this. I carefully inspected each artichoke leaf, remembering that the crunch I tasted was in fact the garlic in my butter and not a bug. This was challenging, but I got through it. The fact that the artichoke was absolutely delicious really helped.
Last night, I thoroughly rinsed my choke, peeled beforehand, AND looked at the leaves before devouring my feast. Luckily, there were no earwigs present in this one. Whew.
I survived a near earwig consumption, and did not have nightmares. There is a God.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Monday, May 26, 2008
Summer Break
At the beginning of each summer break, I often feel a little out of control. School is officially over, so I know I have no plans, at least for a couple of weeks. I end up ditching my routine almost entirely and tend to stay up til the wee hours, complaining later about how I feel horrible being tired. So here I am at 10:35pm, at a crossroads. I could continue on the same self destructive path, known in some circles as a state of SLOTH. Or, I could change my behavior. Hmm.
Here's the rub: I am trying to loosen up a little. I am so attached to a certain routine, particular foods, etc, that I feel like I ought to shake things up a bit. But instead, I turn to meaningless internet activities when I have free time. I isolate in my kitchen, googling things like Pastor Britt (on You Tube), who I used to know as plain ole Britt, or Burt. I went to high school with him, and the last time I saw him in person, he was walking across our stage at graduation yelling "Burt don't surf!". Now he gives sermons at Reality Church in Carpinteria that are reminiscent of Baptist fire and brimstone with some sales pitch mixed in.
Anyway...the point is that all of this free time drives me crazy. I am stuck between overplanning and becoming one of those people who play guitar hero for 5 hours straight (just making that up, as a good example of what I am doing).
My road trip is another fine example of trying to mix things up, Michelle style. I took nearly every item of clothing I own (and wore only 2-3 outfits), all my regular foods in a cooler, and my favorite utensils and dishes. I loaded my car to the brim, including a guitar I never played, and a beach chair I never sat in. I drove 7-9 hours a day (!) to the weirdest places. Some were quite breathtaking, others were downright nasty. I visited my friend Rozanna and her family. That was ok. But other than that, what was my motive for taking a trip anyway? Well, I had time to kill and money burning a hole in my checking account. Why not stay in a motel near a meth smoker who yelled at his girlfriend about peeing in the bed, among other things. BTW, I smelled meth in the bathroom after my shower, and still smelled it on my nightie the next night. I was so grossed out! Other than the obvious entertainment factor for writing an interesting book, why did I endure such ridiculousness?
Well, because I needed something to do.*sigh*
Here's my solution: I will sign up for a class of interest, like meditation, yoga, or hiking. I will plan on attending said activity once a week. I will go to more meetings, and do more writing. I also need a part time job, so that ought to keep me sorta busy. And...I could call my friends more often. Lunch dates at Daily Grind would be very pleasant. Butterfly Beach is awesome, as always. My bald friend returns from New York soon. Hmm. I should discuss the bald one in another blog. Yes, I could write about him all day long, and into the night. Ha ha.
See, I have plenty to do. Wish me luck with that. I am gonna need it.
Here's the rub: I am trying to loosen up a little. I am so attached to a certain routine, particular foods, etc, that I feel like I ought to shake things up a bit. But instead, I turn to meaningless internet activities when I have free time. I isolate in my kitchen, googling things like Pastor Britt (on You Tube), who I used to know as plain ole Britt, or Burt. I went to high school with him, and the last time I saw him in person, he was walking across our stage at graduation yelling "Burt don't surf!". Now he gives sermons at Reality Church in Carpinteria that are reminiscent of Baptist fire and brimstone with some sales pitch mixed in.
Anyway...the point is that all of this free time drives me crazy. I am stuck between overplanning and becoming one of those people who play guitar hero for 5 hours straight (just making that up, as a good example of what I am doing).
My road trip is another fine example of trying to mix things up, Michelle style. I took nearly every item of clothing I own (and wore only 2-3 outfits), all my regular foods in a cooler, and my favorite utensils and dishes. I loaded my car to the brim, including a guitar I never played, and a beach chair I never sat in. I drove 7-9 hours a day (!) to the weirdest places. Some were quite breathtaking, others were downright nasty. I visited my friend Rozanna and her family. That was ok. But other than that, what was my motive for taking a trip anyway? Well, I had time to kill and money burning a hole in my checking account. Why not stay in a motel near a meth smoker who yelled at his girlfriend about peeing in the bed, among other things. BTW, I smelled meth in the bathroom after my shower, and still smelled it on my nightie the next night. I was so grossed out! Other than the obvious entertainment factor for writing an interesting book, why did I endure such ridiculousness?
Well, because I needed something to do.*sigh*
Here's my solution: I will sign up for a class of interest, like meditation, yoga, or hiking. I will plan on attending said activity once a week. I will go to more meetings, and do more writing. I also need a part time job, so that ought to keep me sorta busy. And...I could call my friends more often. Lunch dates at Daily Grind would be very pleasant. Butterfly Beach is awesome, as always. My bald friend returns from New York soon. Hmm. I should discuss the bald one in another blog. Yes, I could write about him all day long, and into the night. Ha ha.
See, I have plenty to do. Wish me luck with that. I am gonna need it.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Going to Any Lengths With Macrame and christianity with a little c
Sunday, May 11, 2008
I had a lovely Mother's Day dinner at the folks' house tonight. We talked for an hour or so about various topics, beginning with my sneaking out as a teen and ending with christian with a little "c".
So here's the story. I only snuck out of my bedroom window once. After that, my dad simply screwed it in place so I could not even open the window. I was probably around 15 years old at the time, just starting to get a little crazy, but not so bad that I got arrested or injured...yet. That was not until I became a legal adult. Anyway, it astounds me that I didn't just take out the screw. Maybe I was scared of getting busted for taking it out, or worried I wouldn't be able to replace it? It also surprises me that I didn't use the front door. That is all I remember doing, although the memory of the window came back upon reflection.
My mom asked me tonight if I remembered the bells on the front door. I was drawing a total blank. She told me that they nailed an old macrame wall hanging above the door (I remember it as a plant holder actually) so the bells attached to it would sound if I snuck out. I think this is hilarious, imagining some ugly macrame whatever thing over the door to deter their wayward teen from sneaking out. Instead of confrontation, they used tactics that would (conceivably) prevent me from leaving. Tonight, I referred to this as "natural consequences". They usually had no problem with confronting me about this kind of stuff, as I recall. But perhaps what I remember is young adulthood, when I bounced in and out of living there and just came and went through the front door. The bells were gone by then for sure.
The other challenge I had was when my mom would be awake, watching TV, after getting a call from a patient. She often would have trouble getting back to sleep, and was up at all hours at times, in the living room near the front door. In my 20s, I would do the walk of shame, reeking of booze at 3-4am, disappointed that I couldn't make food. When I could make something to nibble on, it was a full course meal of cheap elbow macaroni and tomato paste, seasoned with lots of spices.
My mom asked me where I went when I snuck out. As an adult, I told her a few likely places without hesitation. We usually went down to a place in Carpinteria (CA) called the Square, above the beach. Sometimes we went to State Park, and other times down to Shit Creek, as we so lovingly called the creek near our shores. Carpas, or Carp (Carpinteria for short) is a small town, so everyone knows everyone and everything you're doing. My parents didn't know the details, but I am sure they could have guessed that there was drinking involved. I am not sure if the vomiting and confusion set in until age 17, but there was definitely beer and boys. Actually, I was hanging with men in their late 20s, early 30s. Not such a good scene, in fact.
As I ought to get into my cozy bed soon, I will tell you about the christian with a little "c" part of this story. My mom was brought up Jewish, and does not practice any formal religion. Although we celebrate Passover and Hannukah, we are not orthodox and have never been to temple. My dad has a Christian upbringing, his parents following the King James Version of the Bible. I went to Protestant church as a wee child, but do not currently attend any congregation. My mom has claimed over the years to be an atheist. One time she did qualify as spiritual, however. I totally understand this. Anyway, we were discussing religion and all its aspects, all the way from Religious Serpent Handling in the Pentacostal churches of West Virginia, to ancient history, to Catholicism vs. all other Christian sects. Specifically, my mom was referring to those in the Catholic Church suffering through this life, with the belief that the after life will be better, and the others' belief in being good in this life.
I believe in the power of being completely in the present moment. The Universe, power greater than ourselves, or what some call God, takes care of the rest. I believe in consequences for our behavior, that either will serve us or will not. I want to remember daily that all beings want to be free from suffering and want happiness, that compassion for others is paramount.
That being said, my mom's closing thoughts on the subject were, "I believe in being christian with a little c. You know, living by the Ten Commandments." She was saying that a good life did involve some rules, but that all we need to worry about is being kind to one another. Nice. I like that kind of simplicity.
I had a lovely Mother's Day dinner at the folks' house tonight. We talked for an hour or so about various topics, beginning with my sneaking out as a teen and ending with christian with a little "c".
So here's the story. I only snuck out of my bedroom window once. After that, my dad simply screwed it in place so I could not even open the window. I was probably around 15 years old at the time, just starting to get a little crazy, but not so bad that I got arrested or injured...yet. That was not until I became a legal adult. Anyway, it astounds me that I didn't just take out the screw. Maybe I was scared of getting busted for taking it out, or worried I wouldn't be able to replace it? It also surprises me that I didn't use the front door. That is all I remember doing, although the memory of the window came back upon reflection.
My mom asked me tonight if I remembered the bells on the front door. I was drawing a total blank. She told me that they nailed an old macrame wall hanging above the door (I remember it as a plant holder actually) so the bells attached to it would sound if I snuck out. I think this is hilarious, imagining some ugly macrame whatever thing over the door to deter their wayward teen from sneaking out. Instead of confrontation, they used tactics that would (conceivably) prevent me from leaving. Tonight, I referred to this as "natural consequences". They usually had no problem with confronting me about this kind of stuff, as I recall. But perhaps what I remember is young adulthood, when I bounced in and out of living there and just came and went through the front door. The bells were gone by then for sure.
The other challenge I had was when my mom would be awake, watching TV, after getting a call from a patient. She often would have trouble getting back to sleep, and was up at all hours at times, in the living room near the front door. In my 20s, I would do the walk of shame, reeking of booze at 3-4am, disappointed that I couldn't make food. When I could make something to nibble on, it was a full course meal of cheap elbow macaroni and tomato paste, seasoned with lots of spices.
My mom asked me where I went when I snuck out. As an adult, I told her a few likely places without hesitation. We usually went down to a place in Carpinteria (CA) called the Square, above the beach. Sometimes we went to State Park, and other times down to Shit Creek, as we so lovingly called the creek near our shores. Carpas, or Carp (Carpinteria for short) is a small town, so everyone knows everyone and everything you're doing. My parents didn't know the details, but I am sure they could have guessed that there was drinking involved. I am not sure if the vomiting and confusion set in until age 17, but there was definitely beer and boys. Actually, I was hanging with men in their late 20s, early 30s. Not such a good scene, in fact.
As I ought to get into my cozy bed soon, I will tell you about the christian with a little "c" part of this story. My mom was brought up Jewish, and does not practice any formal religion. Although we celebrate Passover and Hannukah, we are not orthodox and have never been to temple. My dad has a Christian upbringing, his parents following the King James Version of the Bible. I went to Protestant church as a wee child, but do not currently attend any congregation. My mom has claimed over the years to be an atheist. One time she did qualify as spiritual, however. I totally understand this. Anyway, we were discussing religion and all its aspects, all the way from Religious Serpent Handling in the Pentacostal churches of West Virginia, to ancient history, to Catholicism vs. all other Christian sects. Specifically, my mom was referring to those in the Catholic Church suffering through this life, with the belief that the after life will be better, and the others' belief in being good in this life.
I believe in the power of being completely in the present moment. The Universe, power greater than ourselves, or what some call God, takes care of the rest. I believe in consequences for our behavior, that either will serve us or will not. I want to remember daily that all beings want to be free from suffering and want happiness, that compassion for others is paramount.
That being said, my mom's closing thoughts on the subject were, "I believe in being christian with a little c. You know, living by the Ten Commandments." She was saying that a good life did involve some rules, but that all we need to worry about is being kind to one another. Nice. I like that kind of simplicity.
Flying Squirrels Are Legal in Texas
Saturday, May 10, 2008
When asked if he has any pets, my checker Ron at Trader Joe's told me he has 2 flying squirrels. They are sisters. He said that they are illegal here (I will not reveal too many personal details about you, Ron), but are of course legal in Texas.
I wonder what qualifies them to be ok there and not here. Do they have more room to fly in Texas? Actually, they don't really fly. They just jump really far. He told me of someone who trained their flying squirrels to fly up and down stairs.
Ferrets are illegal here, too, but I know so many people who have them as pets. They are so cute! I heard that we are allowed to breed them here in California, but not have them. So, as long as we make money off of them, they are ok, huh? That sucks.
My kitty cats would have a field day with these little gals.
Flying squirrels. The ultimate cat toy.
I've gotta go to bed. I probably had you at pet flying squirrels.
When asked if he has any pets, my checker Ron at Trader Joe's told me he has 2 flying squirrels. They are sisters. He said that they are illegal here (I will not reveal too many personal details about you, Ron), but are of course legal in Texas.
I wonder what qualifies them to be ok there and not here. Do they have more room to fly in Texas? Actually, they don't really fly. They just jump really far. He told me of someone who trained their flying squirrels to fly up and down stairs.
Ferrets are illegal here, too, but I know so many people who have them as pets. They are so cute! I heard that we are allowed to breed them here in California, but not have them. So, as long as we make money off of them, they are ok, huh? That sucks.
My kitty cats would have a field day with these little gals.
Flying squirrels. The ultimate cat toy.
I've gotta go to bed. I probably had you at pet flying squirrels.
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