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Saturday, January 19, 2008
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Saturday, December 29, 2007 At the moment, I have just taken a batch of adult gluten-free brownies out of the oven, put in a butternut squash, and with the three pans remaining out from storage, am making a sorta fancy quinoa stuffing with a mirepoix, fried tempeh, sauteed mushrooms, and a package of GF gravy. GF. Gluten free. "Thank you so much, but I can't eat sugar or gluten." It's a phrase that has become such a part of my vocabulary. "Gracias, pero no puedo comer azucar o harina." It's amazing how much my relationship with my body and with food has changed. I'm tiny, for me. I hope that I stay tiny. I'm even joking about fattening up because we will be riding about 4000 miles in the next four months, so I'm not really concerned about my body image. For once in my life! And I'm hungry. I mean, really hungry. For things like hamburgers (no bun of course), carne asada tacos, bacon. BACON! It's great. Not eating gluten + eating meat is pretty good for me. The health problems from the candida are being aggressively treated, and I have such hopes that as my body adapts to riding with a fully loaded bike every day for hours on end, what I eat will cease to matter, and the number of calories will be the most important bit. I hope. The aggressive treatment involves herbs and a minimum of intimacy. It will be over soon. So. I'm leaving. Portland, my girlfriends, ackward encounters with Ken (who still doesn't get why I hate him...dumb guy), my job, my beautiful apartment, and this life. Hugo, the most wonderful cat in the world except at 6am, will be living with my folks for the duration. Hopefully he will come with us to Tahoe. Oh yeah-When we return, we will be living in Lake Tahoe, Incline Village, really- where I will be the Production Stage Manager for the Shakespeare fest there. And Andy and I will be living together and not out of a tent. The plan is roughly this: drive to Colorado, drop off Hugo, disassemble bikes. Fly to Buenos Aries. Bus to Northern Patagonia. Ride to Lake Titicaca in Bolivia. Bus to the Atlantic coast, and then spend the final few weeks being beach bums. Then, in early May, fly back to Denver. From Denver, ride back to Grand Junction (because why not? We'll have all our gear, and we have three weeks of unscheduled time in the Rockies in the spring). In GJ, spend our time getting our mountain biking skills back by riding in Fruita, maybe doing the Kokopelli trail from Moab to Fruita, backpacking, and sleeping in a real american bed. Then off to Tahoe for the summer. Then...well, probably back to Portland, but we are both open to whatever will happen. What if we love S. America? What if we love Tahoe? What if we (gasp) love GJ? Graduate school and teaching jobs are still our goals. I feel like I am FINALLY FUCKING DOING IT. And it feels great. The details are, as they say, the devil though. Farming out plants, packing four very important bags to bike tour with, last minute bike things, packing for Tahoe, putting things in storage, getting rid of as much as possible, immunizations, birth control, gear, and every other facet of our lives being planned out and itemized for the next four days. Moving's a bitch. As far as we are concerned, we are doing pretty well. It's been stressful and at least one of us has a mid-level freakout every day. Sometimes it's about the Stuff and the Things. Sometimes it's a stupid miscommunication or irrational assumption. Sometimes it's just a thing. I think it's ok though. This is really stressful. But then there's the part of me that is so madly in love with Andy. And we can fucking communicate. And I am so proud that we are doing it. We are risking a lot, and we both want to, and I can't believe I'm not doing this alone. It's really cool. I remember thinking when I moved in with Ken that he would not support me in a lot of my goals. I was right. But what I didn't realize was that it is incredibly important that my partner supports me. And Andy does. He wants to be a part of this, he wants to do it, but he would be super proud of me if I did it on my own too. I am super stoked that we are a partnership. It makes a lot of things easier, and it's neat to think that we will be sharing this experience for the rest of our lives. I still have lots of issues about trust and, well, trust. I still get nervous that he will tell me he was lying all along, or that he will just up and leave. I'm working on it, because I don't think he will. He is so honest, and he loves me. I gave up being a vegetarian. Andy said that he loves me. I don't think I will ever forget that moment. We are probably moving to Ashland. Steak is good. And I turned into a bike racer. No shit. Well, I'm really glad that I journalled, and took deep breaths, and went running, and made a very specific list, and stayed calm. Because not only did I not cry at all last night, we both came out of the discussion with a much better understanding of what we are doing, why, and what that actually looks like. I am really glad I put the pile of Andy's things away. It seems like Andy is finally ready to communicate with me about what makes him so scared, and what makes him so anxious. He has decided that he is not able to be anxious any more and be in this relationship, so he started telling me a lot more about what's going on, why he's scared, and what he needs to work on and what he is asking of me. The conversation was characterized by a lot of this: Andy: I need to work on.... Chiligirl: and I can try to ... Andy: I would like it if you... Chiligirl: that's reasonable, but what about when... Andy: oh, I think I undertand why you xxx when I...so maybe I can remember to .... And so on. He straight up admitted that the reason he can't be in love with me is because he's so anxious, and he also admitted that he hasn't been addressing that anxiety with me in any way I can understand. He said that he has not given love a chance at all to grow, that he is not ready to give up, and that he wants me. He took a lot of responsibility, but was also very clear that he needs some things to change (yeah, no shit) and wants them to change, and will work at changing them with me, but that changes need to happen. He also asked me to tell him to stop babbling when he does. That was nice to hear. And he asked me to take a deep breath before I assume that something he's said is asshole-ish, and to not pounce on him. He asked for the right to tell me I was being pouncy, and then to remove himself from the situation. I asked that he not ever tell me about sex with other girls. We spent some time talking about generalities, but also specifics- he has some goals and he chose to tell me what they are BEFORE assuming that I am going to disagree/get in the way/whatever. That was nice. I asked him to come up with a plan-especially about his training (he is signed up for a huge race this summer) and where I'm going to fit. We talked a lot about when it's ok for me to ride with him, when it's ok for me to go camping with the group, when it's ok for me to be left alone to do my own thing (he said that seeing how much time I spent by myself in Grand junction really helps him understand that I can be by myself in a lot of situations, and that I like that. He did not understand that at all), and when it's not appropriate for me to be along for whatever reason. We agreed on those definitions. I agreed to step back- to give more space than I have, to recognize that just because I can always make time for him he can't always make time for me and that does not mean he cares about me any less. And in stepping back, I feel like I can get a chance to garden, clean, do some of the things I've been putting off or missing because of my attitude of "well, he has time for me now so I'd better take it." We both admitted that between him being depressed and out of work, it's been easy to spend a lot of time together and it's not totally indicative of what we want in a functional relationship. I don't feel like I am compromising anything that I don't want to. Feels good. We had nice reassuring time in bed together (getting yeast under control=weird diet=TOTALLY WORTH IT) and now I'm starting to plan what I'm going to do with my time- how I'm going to balance work and training on my own, with some splashes of boyfriend for fun and support. I feel good. The hopeless feeling has dissapated, and I feel like I'm making the right decision, being true to myself, and being honest with myself. Nice change. It looked so, so hopeless. April Fool's day isn't being very funny. Andy and I are pretty much splitting up. Well, we have a date tomorrow to talk about what we are going to do, and since it's clear that we are in different places in our lives, it seems prety damn inevitable. I've cried so much today I am actually cried out. This whole week, in fact. I would like to not give up on this relationship. I've put so much into it, and I have realized I am in love with him. But since he's not in love with me, and he doesn't want to think about the future with me, and he doesn't even think relationships are the most important thing in the world, then I don't really think we have a future together. It really sucks. I am going to suggest a hiatus. One or two months apart, separate lives, to give him a chance to get his shit back together. But a part of me recognizes that I might be prolonging the inevitable by doing that. Another part of me doesn't really know what will happen tomorrow night, but I started pulling all his belongings and putting them in a corner. I am pretty sure he is going to come and say that in order to be good to me, he can't keep being my boyfriend. Which is true, and fair, and tragic. The tragic part is that neither of us wants out of the relationship. We just want a change- but the change I want and the change he wants is different. It's too different. I don't see any way to reconcile it. I love him so much. I know, I have said that before, and I am sure I will say it again. It's really frustrating that no one seems to be able to love me. It's funny that all my friends, when I spoke to them (hysterical, bawling), said that they love me when they hung up the phone. They all told me how strong I am, and how tough. They all told me that I should do what I think is right, and be true to my heart. My heart says that if he can't love me because he's decided he can't, then that's that. If he could change his mind, well, that'd be great. I don't fucking want to give up. There is a whole life I want to explore with him. I love the person he's pushed me to be, and I think he can help push me to being someone even better. But he doesn't fucking love me. Although that's such an ambigous word, I know what it means in a practical sense, and he can't give me that. So. So it goes. And this is what I was doing the night before. That's me and Egon, one of the other bike safety instructors. Andy and I had a schmooze-tastic time. Between the two of us, we were invited to sit (read: paid tickets) at 4 tables. And much to my surprise, it was fun. My favorite quote - "Elicia looks like she needs a red carpet." Shee-it. Well, that and I was so incredibly proud to introduce Andy as my boyfriend all night long. He's so great. In fact, he's proved to be greater than great the last few weeks. So, we climbed up as far up Mt. Hood as we could get (without better gear for me). Up up up the Cooper Spur, and down. We skiied to a backcountry cabin (up up up) with packs, and stayed one night. It was glorious. Fucking glorious. But instead of talking about my rad boyfriend, maybe I should mention what's really going on. I'm on an elimination diet. The things I'm not supposed to eat: I'm freaking out. I've had some kind of headache for days. My friends are remarking on how skinny I am getting (and for once I don't think that's a good thing). I'm grumpy and cranky. I am spending at least two hours a night cooking because there is no way I can go out and buy food from a restaurant. I'm exhausted trying to think ahead and make and have enough food. This is a result of the persistant candida in my body, probably exacerbated by Hugo's illness and Andy's ex-girlfriend. (Not to mention the amazing amount of wine i consumed in one week.) I want to be healthy, and god forbid have a sex life again, but this is terrible. Like I said, Andy has been amazingly supportive. When I was totally freaking out about the diet, he said it will give him a chance to prove that he's not an asshole. And how. Other big news: while we were on Mt. Hood, I realized I'm in love with my boyfriend. Yep. Pretty fucking big. Dude, I just ran an 8k race. 50 minutes. OK, 3rd place, first for women. Yeah, I rock. Much has happened. Great japanese food. I asked Andy to make me dinner because I needed to be coddled. And he did, and it was awesome. Andy's new favorite soup (green split pea). Great communication, mixed communication, a cancelled snow camping trip. And most sad of all, my cat Hugo, Hugo Chavez the Democratically Elected Leader of My Apartment, is dying. I didn't think he'd make it through the night, but he seems much better, although he won't eat. I spent yesterday crying, and last night too. Andy held me, and took us to the vet, and brought movies and food, and rubbed my back while I cried. I don't want to lose my kitty. Some times last year, he was the only reason to get out of bed and the only reason to care about anything. He is a reason to come home, and such a joy to know that I never have to sleep alone. He makes this apartment seem so much like my home. I don't want him to die. He sleeps under the covers with me every night! Even when andy stays over. Andy pointed out that this past year of Hugo's life has probably been the most comfortable and best for him- raw turkey to eat, warm bodies to love him constantly, and a parading cast of people who think he's the greatest. Andy said that he came into my life because we needed each other- I needed the unconditional love, to know that I'm not alone, to have some other warm presence who doesn't care if I cry. I've cried so many tears into my kitty's fur. Like i said, he seems better, as in he's moving and visibly breathing, and he doesn't seem to be in pain, and in fact he seems much more present than he was 24 hours ago, and he's stopped puking. I'm afraid to leave the house because I don't want him to die alone. We cancelled our trip to a back country cabin on Mt. Hood this weekend. There is a possibility that we might go later in the week, if I can rearrange work and if Hugo is either gone or totally Ok. I don't know. Andy has been so reassuring, and telling me to not worry about the trip; we can go anytime, and he and Casey and Christina think it's really huge of me to be taking care of Hugo like I am. But the possibilty of losing him is daunting, and I am scared to be in this house alone. All I want to do is hold him so if he's scared he won't be, and so he knows that I love him. Discussing the possibility of putting him to sleep has been so difficult. Of course I don't want him in pain, and of course I want him as comfortable as possible. I just don't know what that is. If he doesn't eat, I know I'm going to have to make that decision, and I'm going to be strong and hold him while he dies. All I wanted, after this started yesterday morning, was to hear him purr. His deep throaty purr on my chest while we cuddled. This morning, he did. He sat on me and quietly rumbled contentment. Yo requerdo hablando a mi gata: contento, estas contento, te amo, te amo, estoy contento tambien, mi amor, mi gato contento. The best dessert ever So Andy came over for dinner the other night. I should perhaps add that things have been good. Great, even. He's been letting me know just how important I am to him, and getting a better idea of what it means to be in a relationship. Did I mention he's been telling me how happy he is to be my boyfriend? Or showing up unexpectedly in my bed? Yeah. I like it. I feel good. Anyway, I made the eggplant and tuna dish, with capers and a secret anchovy in salt, over pasta. He brought salad, and was being a little cagey, like there was something he wanted to say but didn't. When I pushed my bowl away, he asked if I was finished. He handed me a mysterious bag, obviously some bike part. I opened it and had no idea what it was. He explained that it was a shock fork pump. Oh, like for a mountain bike. Like for the mountain bike I ordered through him and was expecting in a week or so. Sweet, I love little gifts. Then he handed me a bag of reflectors and cleats, and an owner's manual, and smiled huge. It began to dawn on me: The bike was in my basement, built up and brand new. He had ridden it over that evening. He had also put a new wheel and made a few other special modifications and improvements. I was so overcome I almost started bawling, but instead he handed me a jacket and a helmet, and I took my new bike out for a spin. It''s gorgeous. Pictures soon. Now we are off to Eugene to ski and ride the new bike. Last night, I spent all night telling an old friend how wonderful Andy is. I hope it all remains true. Snow day skiing to mt. tabor- taking video of dramatic falls- laughing Again, we had a choice to go forward. This time, he left it in my hands. If I said no, I never would've skiied to Mt. Tabor with him. No, it's more complicated than that. I want to see where this might go because it's worth it. Because he brought me his super fancy mountain bike yesterday to ride home on, because he admits that he has unrealistic ideas about love, because we can honestly communicate. Because I would regret walking away much more than I might regret working hard and getting heartbroken later. To quote Belz-" If there is a big fall out, well then-it's better to hop into your coffin sliding head first kicking and screaming "That was CRAZY!!!" rather than just laying down peacefully and saying "I guess that was it"" And since this is supposed to be a food blog, well, it's become appearant that I have some major food issues. I know, no surprise, but it seems that I'm not eating nearly enough; my hypoglycemia isn't getting better with all the exercise, and i'm hungry and grumpy too often. And it's all tied to my body image. I've learned that I'm eating about 65% or less of the calories I should be eating. Some days, I suppose I'm better. But I'm not eating because, well, I like being tiny. I like that everyone comments on how thin-not just lost weight, but thin-I am. I like fitting into tiny dresses, and having smaller boobs. I feel great about myself. Yeah, I know. I'm going to see if I can find a shrink and/or nutritionist. I'm afraid of not giving our love a chance, and I'm afraid of hanging on to something that is doomed. And being afraid is not how I want this relationship to be. I think I need to learn how to accept the little bits of love and care that Andy gives me, and believe it's enough. Last night and this morning he was as loving as he's ever been- tea, dinner, listening to me, holding me and kissing me and telling me I look good, and laughing and talking and checking the barometric pressure for me and fixing my light. So why is that not enough? Why, why, why do I want or need more? What more do I need? Reassurance. How is him being so good and gentle and compassionate and listening and wonderful not reassurance enough? How can I learn to trust him? To accept what he is willing to give, and know that it is honest and meant for me and not anyone else. Yet another thing that Elicia needs to work on. The Big Talk occurred. It was kind of hard, but the upshot was that we need to talk a lot more than we have been. A lot of things were said- nice and not so. We both feel very strongly that this relationship is worth our time and effort, and that we are good together. He still isn't in love with me. That, strangely enough, is less upsetting than it might seem.After, as he was leaving (we both needed some time to digest what was said) he said that he felt like this was a step towards saving our relationship. He cares so much, and he wants this so much. And so do i. I told him that I need more than he's given me. We both took responsibility for our actions. I feel drained still. I feel reassured and much better about our relationship. I feel like it's not just me alone, wondering. I feel like I can talk to him more now, I hope. I feel like I'm doing the right thing by sticking around and trying. I feel like I could fall in love with him any minute. Last night, when he was being honest, I was falling in love with him. I hope that some day I can be. New Year's Snow Camping Bestest ever quote: Would you ever have believed me six months ago if I'd told you we'd be snow camping on New Year's Eve? -Andy And then, when I went skiing and he stayed to clean up camp, I returned to warm butternut squash soup and everything packed. Role reversal: I hauled almost everything for this trip. From our apartments (and his involves 3 flights down and one flight up, or vice versa) and to the camp- about a 5 minute walk through the snow to the car, and back again. I'm physically exhausted. We had a lot of shit, but then again, I was warm and safe. Holy shit. This is a most excellent way to start 2007. Andy...Andy is a great partner to begin it with. Andy blows my mind and makes me think I'm capable of anything. Snow camping? And being his girlfriend? I love both. And I think maybe him too. Still thinking about what that means. Xmas was lovely- beach, hotel, booze, huge tub, and enjoying being with my boyfriend again. 6 month anniversary date. I wore a hot red dress and drank martinis, and we were happy. The rest of the week, and the one preceeding it, was pretty fucking rough. Food: Andy made homemade thai for dinner at the hotel; we reheated it on camp stoves, and served with lots of couscous and hot toddies. Yum. Homemade sushi and daikon pickle And now? I dunno. I'm miserable. Maybe it's finally winter, or maybe it's that I'm finally processing how sucky it is to have a broken, depressed boyfriend. Maybe it's because I am having trouble balancing his emotional needs with my own. Maybe it's because, with all due respect to him, he is unpleasant and difficult, and fairly incapable of being a boyfriend at all. And I want him to be my boyfriend (of that, at least, I'm sure), but I want him whole and stoked. I want him skiing, and I would much rather be worried about never seeing him because he's gone than because he's too depressed to leave the house. I can't imagine what it would be like to live with him when he's like this, although I was there for a week solid. I'm worried about him, and I am worried about me, and frankly, I'm worried about us. I'm afraid that he's never going to come back (discussing this with him, he asked me to please believe that this is a mood, a phase, and not the way things will be), and I'm afraid that we will get through all of this and he'll just dump me on my ass (he asked me to please, please trust that I'm his girl, that he wants to be with me). At least we are sort of talking. When he can, and I need to. Of course, I need to more often than he can, which leads to me feeling needy and bad, and him resenting having to give me anything when he has nothing. But we are talking. I'm afraid that I'm spending so much time and emotional energy on someone who can't even tell me how he feels . Does showing me count? Does the fact that he tried so hard to be pleasant and awesome over xmas and had so much fun that he stopped trying? Do the nice things that he sometimes remembers count? Yes. Of course they do. And of course he can't possibly give me anything right now. I know this, just as I know that he deeply cares about me (question still remains though- just how serious is he about me? We tabled that discussion whilst in Maryland, and at the time I didn't need more than his apology for being a dumbshit and his admittal of caring for me and being serious). I also know that he's a fucking mess, and somehow when he's a mess, I tend to pick up on that and often magnify it. I remember when we first started dating we talked about how our highs are so high and our lows so incredibly low. That has proven true. I need to be on a little more even keel right now though, and instead I feel lost, isolated, and afraid. And lonely. I'm trying really hard to not sink into my own misery, but tonight it's hard. I can't even ask him for support, because he has nothing to give. It seems like every night is another breakdown, and I hate that. I hate that I'm weak and emotional and vulnerable. I kind of hate that I've come to depend on him so much, and now that he's incapacitated, I feel so lonely.
And when I reflect on how I've been trying to not be isolated, this is what I come up with: I have been trying, to some extent, to de-isolate. So that's good. Oh well. This too shall pass, and Andy will come back to himself, and things will be good again. Or they won't. Moping about it now won't change the future, but it will ruin my evening. It's like I've been thrown the maximum amount of stress I can handle, and I'm just barely above water. Emergency Root Canal. Bits of my tooth popped off when I was flossing. $1000.00 plus 200.00 plus another grand for the cap that I have to have put on. Andy's broken knee cap. Working 12 hours a day, last two weeks between Alta and the Symphony, and starting tomorrow just the Symphony. Andy in surgery. Andy in the hospital. Andy freaking out and in pain, and me? I have never dealt with this before. I've never been a nurse. I've hardly ever been in a hospital. My only experience in this realm was with that raging asshole, who was, well, an asshole when he was hurt and a terrible patient. It's been a tough week. I haven't really slept for more than two hours at a time in the last two days. I was checking on Andy every hour last night. I'm exhausted. I've been driving the truck around- ick. Well, convinient ick to be honest. And trying to get ready for tech. Double ick. I want some pampering, some love and support and all those things that I don't have right now. But...on the other side of good: Andy keeps saying thank you. He keeps acknowledging that this is tough for both of us. And I honestly don't want to be anywhere else. I mean, I wish he weren't broken, and I weren't stressed, and I weren't in tech, and December 14th wasn't next week, but I feel so lucky that he's my boyfriend. I feel so fortunate that he is cooking me dinner tonight. And saying thank you. It makes such a difference. Why having an awesome boyfriend is, well, awesome
1. He helps me pick out a really nice water filter. And even though I'm fighting the winter depression and sickness, even though I haven't worked out in ages, even though I'm not in the best of emotional places, I'm so incredibly lucky and happy to be with him. First Race Halloween= I rode to the Flying M ranch last week- 25 miles of the best road riding ever- all rolling hills and organic vineyards, no rush, golden empty roads. Then 10 miles of super deep gravel and steep grades. Not nearly as fun, but I did it anyway. And then drank a fantastic spanish coffee in the bar, and waited for Andy to show up with the camping gear and extra bikes. This is the kid I taught to ride a bike, with his mom (my boss), sis, and me. In his first race too. I ran the course as a warm up with Skyler. Sometimes the kids (and me) need help getting the bike over the barrier. If you didn't know, Cyclocross is about being knee deep in a mud pit, up to my axles in cold water, rain in my eyes, mud on my lips, barely able to breathe, carrying my bike over a barrier and clawing my way to the top of a run-up. And this picture is from a pretty mellow day. The idea is that you run stuff, you climb stuff, you scamper over stuff, and you do it fast and repeatedly. Yesterday's race was in a gravel pit. Seriously. A gravel pit with extra mud. And rain. And mud. And gravel. And mud. Vertical run ups (and downs) that I literally slid down. They cheered me when I leaped down and up out of a ditch with my bike in my arms. Andy cheered me every time I did a lap. So did my other friends. I am doing things on a bike that I never thought possible. For about an hour while i was waiting for my race to start, I felt so scared I thought I was going to puke. Andy told me to walk anything that I didn't think I could ride, and spent Saturday showing me how to dismount my bike the fancy way, and fixing up my Vanilla to be a cross bike. I remember telling Andy once (when we were on our trip in Eastern Oregon, somewhere climbing to Hell's Canyon overlook) that I could do anything on a bike. At least, that I wasn't scared of my body failing me on a bike. So, i'm really pushing my own limits. Because cross does scare me, but I can do it. I guess that's why it's so fun. And I placed 15 out of 45 in my first race. That's pretty damn good if you ask me. Cross is very social. (And highly photographed.) That is certainly part of it's appeal. This is my new friend Lucy. Andy wore several costumes. This doesn't really do him justice. This one is better. And he is so very hot when he rides. Andy turned 32. I made a hangover dinner out of his fridge. His birthday party was an endurance pub crawl, that started with shots of aquavit at his house (and his new vaporizer), continued to a fancy italian restuarant for the two of us, then a 6 pub crawl, finished with a house party. And breakfast at Gravy. All in all, we biked over 15 miles on our cruisers, hard and fast because it was so cold. He had my old bird costume- he looked amazing. We bought crock pots. And I bought 2 down jackets (well, a jacket and a vest) for 56.99. I love rich people's cast-offs. Chillis rellenos, guacamole, banana bread, arugula salad, and beans to celebrate- what? That this winter is not going to suck. "You are incredibly fit. And motivated." Andy gets a clue, and starts telling me how awesome I am. I am eating it up. And racing is, to my great surprise, fun as hell. And then we bought tickets to go to Baltimore-his family- for turkey day. I am so, so, so incredibly glad I stuck this out. I am so happy to be his girlfriend, and his best friend.
M'jadara, from Elizabeth My relationship with food changes hourly. My relationship with my boyfriend is growing into a kind of depth that is entirely new to me. It is different. Mornings like this one; phone calls, rain. Today, we went to a cyclocross race, spattering mud and cowbells. Today he thanked me for being so supportive. Later, i called him to tell him the same thing. He said he felt there was balance. Every day this week he has been around for me in a different way. I am learning how to say goodnight, and not wonder/stress when I am going to see him next. He is learning how to fit me in, in a way that is new for both of us. There is a gentleness between us. It makes sense that fall has been more difficult than summer. The seasons are all becoming more pronounced. My world has gotten much larger, and more full of mountain peaks, and stars, and the moon. I don't mind. Sometimes it's worth fighting through misery to get to a good place. It's been a bitch of a couple of weeks, since the wedding. But then it gets better. English muffins with salsa and cheeseWhole wheat pasta with red sauce and cheese and tofu and red peppers breakfast tacos at 11pm tea, warm and waiting when I needed to be comforted These are things my sweetie has made me And me? When i finally started eating again after being so stressed: kichiri- I don't have the energy to type the whole simple recipe, but it's delicious; two kinds of dal, rice, spices, vegetables, and enough to feed me and Andy for a week and a half. Enough that I sent some to work with him, so that I know he's eating. It's important. Tomorrow I go get a nutritional evaluation from my naturopath. I'm scared. This weekend I went on a 20 mile mountain bike ride, and I fucking rocked it. It was great. Amazing vegan dinner- 6 coursesgerman potato terrine with some kind of non-cream heavenly sauce and cucumber And now, a taste of fall. Figs heavy outside the office, two jacket evenings, labor day, summer is on it's way out. I have reached a pinnacle of Portland, a mountaintop that I never thought to be worthy of standing on top of. This morning at Stumptown on Belmont, I got heavily flirted with by the barista. Like, grade A level 10 flirt. Where do you work, what do you do, are you having a good morning, let me ignore the other customers so I can gaze into your eyes. For the non-portlanders amoung us, let me say that Stumptown is where the hottest of the hot, the coolest of the cool, and the hipper-than-thou congregate. The baristas are all incredibly attractive and untouchable, though after a few years and a few parties (yes, I do go to Stumptown parties and feel tragically uncool)I have come to understand where the 'tude comes from. And then the guys on Andy's racing team were checking me out too. I doubt they know that I'm their superspeedy teammate's girlfriend...won't they be surprised. New fruit that has appeared for my neighborhood munching pleasure: figs and plums.
Summertime
white and purple yogurt tubs
every time i look in my freezer
tomato oregano cilantro jalapeno, kettle coming to a boil late summer sun
so later
I wanted to inhale the Death of Slugs
Every time i open my god damn freezer
roasting chilis in the fire pit Bitch of a week It's been a tough week. I know I've been cooking. I have certainly spent enough money on food. Oh yeah-zuchinni fritters (garden zuchinni!) and fruit salsa; lentil soup that was supposed to be with plaintains, but i the plantains were terrible. It's been a tough week. I have, up until this morning or maybe last night, felt utterly freaked out and miserable. Hormonal. Not sure which way was up. Confused as hell. How does one become a good girlfriend? How do I make this work? And if I do, well, how do I know if he's going to be a good part of my life or make me miserable? I don't. I don't know. It took me a while this week to figure out that I want to try anyway. It's been a tough week. Getting my period was a blessed event (if that's any indication of the kind of stress I was having). Getting stoned and hiking up mt tabor at a superhuman pace-jogging on the uphills-with Shawna as she was completely freaking out about her boyfriend too was really good. Getting up this morning and going to yoga was good. Now, of course, I want to see Andy. To check in. I woke up yesterday morning crying, and he held me. He went to bed the night before after a big 'ole blowout, all but crying, and I held him. We are just big balls of emotion. This is how it will probably be. That's ok. And now I feel ok, except that I want to see him, to see if he's ok, to tell him that i care for him even more because he can feel stuff, because he's special and good and the person i want to figure stuff out with. As usual, I have no idea when I'm going to see him next. I hope it's soon. I hope we can work out this whole weird time thing soon too. It's hard on me. It's hard on him too.
Saturday, July 22, 2006 Apple Mango salsa with roasted jalapenos, cilantro, and lime Home made tortillas/ meditation spicy chipotle beans Andy on the top of Mt. Tabor, racing and sweaty, disconnected but aware. Sun setting. Eating with our hands, wrapped in a blanket. Mosquitos. Maybe this relationship can last through more than one edition of Chiligirl. I am about to go camping by myself at the coast. Solo. Andy is racing, and will be for the next 6 weeks or so. I will not get to see much of him. That's ok. I told him, atop the old volcano, that I'm not going anywhere. He said he wishes he had more time for me. Yeah, me too, but i feel like we have a whole lifetime together, so a race season here or there really makes no difference. Despego. (Unglued.) Edgy. Rain in July. Can't sit in my seat. I had to get up and go for a walk. I nibbled my way around the block- cherries, nasurtiums, checked out the progress from the apple tree, then blueberries on the way back. Looked for mint but strangely enough we seem to be in a mint-free zone. Honestly can barely bear the 4 or so hours until I can see Andy. Like my whole body is in withdrawal. Is that bad? It feels weird. What a weekend. 60+ miles on Saturday, our first sorta-fight, and a new-found sense of wonder coupled with a little more reality. I want this to work so badly. I want to learn how to be the best I can be. I think I even know what that means. Independence from Bullshit This is from a letter to a friend... I don't even know where to begin. He's amazing. Camping with him was the POLAR OPPOSITE of being with K. Everything about him (up to and including his use of MJ) is really incredible. He's a teacher. Here's a really good example of his pure goodness: So, I went on sort of a serious if not super-hard mountain bike ride for the first time with him and his best friend, also a teacher (7th grade history in Eugene) and his wife (7th grade math). The woman let me borrow her bike so I had a sweet high end mountain bike, and Andy and Steve were basically cheerleaders. Now, they are both very hard-core mountain bikers and freestylers, who like to go hard and fast and hard. They were ecstatic to go at my pace, showing me tricks but not ever telling me what to do or how to do it, mostly just making suggestions, encouraging me, and seriously cheering me and telling me how amazing i was doing and how good and awesome I am FOR THE ENTIRE RIDE. It was about 14 miles, 10 of them up hill. To the blast zone on Mt. St. Helens. Slow. Steve sat behind me while I spent 10 minutes trying to get started on this particularly difficult section, while Andy waited ahead. They never once harrumphed or groaned or made me feel bad. It was such an incredible experience to be told by my boyfriend that I'm awesome. Camping with them was super mellow, car-camping with a couple of dogs and plenty of stuff. Andy was really trying to make me comfy-extra hat, extra jacket, lots of food, beer, etc. And you know what, it worked. Instead of camping being stressful, where I feel like I'm inadequate and always uncomfortable and generally a failure, i had a fucking great time. Steve and Becky made me feel really welcome, and joked that they had never met one of Andy's girlfriends, not even the one that he was with for 5 years. I guess she was real anti-social. So that was nice too. And Andy. So fucking considerate and sweet. Interesting to talk to. Really intelligent. Done a million things, ready to talk about them all, but totally capable of listening. Deep listening. He knows I'm terrified of cars, so he drives really carefully and doesn't smoke weed and drive. I guess I'm a little embarrassed that that kind of consideration about my feelings is such a big deal (it should be normal, right?) but it feel so good to be cared for. And he does shit-hiking and biking and racing and making shit happen. He's 31, has his own place, has his shit together, smells like Chiligirl's Pheremonal Wet Dream, and thinks I'm the shit. And he's fucking gorgeous. And the sex is all that too! Holy shit. Holy shit. I don't feel out of control or like I'm being dangerous; in fact, I feel like I'm an adult (ha!) and this isn't a crush. It feels really good. I fucking love summer!
Salad Rolls Momentous. There is a tiny chili in my pocket that i was nibbling on all day yesterday. It was good. It kept me spicy. I was drinking mushroom tea and beer, water and smoking funny cigarettes. It was my 30th birthday party and I organized a hell of a ride. Riders got little envelopes with a map and 5 sets of instructions. Cryptic instructions, and only "tee marks the spot." So here's what we did: (we being Shawna and I to set it up, and about 20 riders) 1) at tbe burnside skate park, and old skater tee from Ian taped up to the wall, and a game of Eat poop you cat. The instruction sheet was a photo of some boys in scout uniform, and read : two wheeled geeks seek two and some four wheeled geeks for a game of Eat Poop you cat to get us to Gwendolyn Mountain. Peek and you fucking die. EPYC is a game in which you draw a comic and fold over your panel, then someone else draws, etc.etc. Somewhere along the way, a joint got passed around, and we smoked and sat in the sun and drew. 2) At a random corner in industrial NE, inner NE, by the Franz bakery, we had a tee shirt that said "mad lib ad lib" and the instructions were non-exsistent. Merely a sheet of paper with some words, like a madlib sheet. Sorta. It was for a dream resume-one desired quality- a mineral and emotion - calcite sadness. 3) at the 17th street underpass, a t-shirt of MC escher, and a whole lot of sidewalk chalk, and messages: MC who? Who are yoU? and so on...it was fucking brilliant. Draw what you see, it said. And they did. 4) the stop I didn't get to see- at the crazy convent in SE, the t-shirt said Rome. The instructions said More, l'mort, c'est l'amour, more, limerick. Or something. And a big heart. And hopefully people wrote limericks. 5)FInally, at my house, there was a beautiful diorama with heaven (kitties and elliot and ET on bikes flying through the trees) and an angel, and a place to worship- with all kinds of deities and a candle, and then death, with a grinning skull and the dinosaurs eating all the cars, and then a bike with happy little critters all over it, and the instructions said make your perfect world. Every one changed things just a little-playing and moving things. So it was a cumulative thing-as one group passed, they left something for others to see and read and find. It was really, really, reallly fucking fun. I worked my ass off for it and it was FUCKING AMAZING. And then there's Andy. No cute nickname, just Andy. Andy, who was a little nervous last night, and kind of stoned, and talked a lot. Andy, who gave me so much space and was so super-respectful. Andy,who kissed me when I woke up. Who said "at some point down the road I want to be your boyfriend, and I know you have a lot of stuff to figure out, and I want to be your friend too." Andy, who is so beautiful it took my breath away. I could go on and on...how he smells, how he smiled in the morning, how we sat on his balcony and smoked a naughty cigarette and i felt really really good about it, and him, and me. About breakfast at grand central, about riding cruisers down to the waterfront to talk and make out. Andy who found out what quema means. Thirty? Fuck yeah. Momentous indeed. I can't describe the feelings so well today. We sat in the park and made out like teenagers. I feel good. Not confused so much. He was very honest with me about a lot of things. I hope I am being as honest as he. God he smells so good.
Sunday, June 11, 2006 Waiting for a man to show up. A man who smells good when he's been riding a bike all day. A man who asked me out. Interesting sensation. I've been on the 10+ hours a day plan for work(s). It's been tough. I feel like I'm very disconnected with reality right now. On the other hand, I feel like I've never been stronger, more beautiful, more exactly where I am supposed to be. I was riding my bike one morning and it clicked. I'm not broken. I'm not broken. I am NOT FUCKING BROKEN. I wish J could realize that, but since he can't, or won't, or chooses not to, I'm not going to wait for him to figure it out. I feel momentous. I don't remember what I've been eating. Bok choi with a handful of red chilis, soy sauce, toasted sesame seeds, rice wine vinegar, onions. Quinoa. Rice. Cans of beans. Mixed with leftover cans of salsa from the bike trip. H(Gloat-I rode with canned food, and I didn't die. So fuck you asshole ex -boyfriend.) Salmon patties from Trader Joe's. Coffee. Fruit that I dumpster, made into smoothies. Bad bread, also from the dumpster, but it's free. I feel like food is all about surviving my days, and I'm on the verge of not making it every day. So I eat whatever i can manage, even if my appetite varies. I started writing again. I turn 30 in a few days. It is times like this that I think, OK, maybe I will be ok after all. Sitting on the balcony, sun going down, drinking a glass of wine, taste of a forbidden cigarette clouding my mouth. I smoked a bunch of cigarettes this weekend. It wasn't good, exactly, But ok nonetheless. A carpenter just came over and built my bed up, so it's on 2 foot stilts, and I can store my fabric and stuff underneath. He also drove me to Beaverton yesterday, so I could buy a stereo. His name is Joe. Joe the carpenter from Vancouver, WA. You have to say Wah, so you know it's not BC. I met him at the BOG. Remember the last guy I met at the BOG? Yep. Course I do. Joe gently pushed his way into my life. I don't feel a frisson, a spark, but he was very, very sweet, and I enjoy his company. And he didn't even give me the "i'm only making your bed so I can sleep in it" vibe. And he sat in my living room and read Chiligirl II, and it felt strangely intimate. Nice, no? Itook the opportunity today to watch a beautiful man in my bedroom build a bed. What a lucky, lucky woman. Even if it never leads to a kiss. I'm pretty sure it shouldn't, see, because I don't think I need that. Some days I'm very upset about J and I. Other days I'm just sad. Others, well, i try not to think about it too much. Just getting through. Working my ass off, keeping my head above water, and enjoying my home. Oh home. Sweet, perfect, gentle home. This morning I spent too many hours at the Busy Corner, the best coffee shop cafe in all of Portland, possibly the world. I'm secretly in love with everyone who works there. Especially one barista, M, who is geeky and bikey and stammers a bit when I smile at him. And the woman who owns it. She moves with such grace. It's fascinating to watch her cook. She turns out the simplest, most amazing food on the tiniest two-burner hot plate thing. And the coffee, and the company, and the flowers...Everything tastes like Spain, like I am sitting in a sunlit cafe somewhere else, and it's ok to sit and drink coffee and write letters, read cookbooks, just sit and stare into my americano and day-dream. A very old woman brought in so many flowers today, and M put them in a vase and everyone stuck their nose in and appreciated. I've been cooking. Green beans from South India, Korean scallion pancakes, fish. Trying to keep myself together. Renegotiation. Or break-up. Or ending. Or beginning of something new. -from email from J: "Is it rejection when one chooses not to harvest something from ones garden for it is not yet ripe. Instead they choose to make sure that it is nurtured with water and free from weeds?" So which is it? I don't know, honestly. I know I'm not very happy about the whole thing. I feel bad and rejected (see above response to that feeling) but I don't think he's wrong. He says he'd rather have me as a friend then a scorned lover. I want to know where he got the crystal ball from, how come he sees into the future? Yet I think I understand what he's trying to do, and why. It just sucks to feel stuff. I'm still so angry, and that's part of the problem. I don't know how to process all this crap with K. I have a letter. It's just two pages long. It says two things: you don't have to be so fucking awful to me (i.e. make out with la tonta in front of me), and it's really not ok that you blame me for not leaving you when you were so horrid. I don't know if I should send it. I wish I could fast forward through all this hard stuff. What is easy is rarely right. But why does it hurt, why does it feel like a test i'm going to fail? Anyway, before we got to the lame sad crying shit, we made dinner. Habenero Mac and Cheese, roasted butternut squash, spinach, and fried red potatoes. And a lovely syrah. And frankly, it was a lovely homecoming for a not-quite-couple that hadn't seen eachother in a couple of weeks. I guess I'm glad we got that out of the way. This was inspired by my dear friend Ilana, who served me a variation on this theme the night before. She also showed me the insanely gorgeous pictures she took of my bike wedding, and put a bug in my head about collaborating on a more serious version of Chiligirl, the Printed Material. Habenero Mac and Cheese 1/2 habenero, finely chopped1 onion, chopped 3 tsp olive oil 2 cups whole wheat pasta 1 or 2 broccoli trees, made into fairly thin treelets 2 tomatoes, sliced 3 tbs flour, more as needed 1 - 2 cups warm or room-temperature milk or soy milk 1 cup cheese, chunked salt and pepper You also need a big oven-proof casserole to be greased, and aluminum foil or a lid. Preheat oven to 350. Put water on to boil. Cook the pasta until just tender; drain. Toss with a bit of oil, and set aside. Heat the oil in a sauce pan. Saute the onions and the habeneros until soft and very fragrant, and sprinkle a little salt in there too. Now add 1 tsp of the flour and mix it well. Slowly add the rest of the flour and cook for a bit. Now comes the tricky part-adding the milk. It works better if the milk is warm or room temperature. As you add a little bit at a time, keep stirring. The sauce will immediately thicken up and it's your job to just keep incorporating the milk with the flour/fat mix. This takes practice and patience. When you have a sauce, a thick white sauce, add the cheese and stir until melted. Pour the noodles into the oiled casserole. Pour the sauce over the top. Dot the whole thing with the broccoli. Cover the top with sliced tomatoes. You could also add breadcrumbs. Cover the whole thing with foil or a lid and bake for about 30 minutes. Let the mac sit for about 5 minutes before serving.
Monday, May 15, 2006
April 29, 2006
Friday, April 21, 2006 Imagine: me, looking like that. Dress up to...well, you could see my new tattoos. Platinum wig, cat eyes, HIGH HEELS (first time in public, ever). Red, red lips, just like back in the day. It was a gorgeous night. My film was debuting. All my friends were going to be there. I was smooth, gracious, happy, organized. Everything like I wanted it. Then ken and his little slagbag showed up, and she wasn't really wearing anything that could be qualified as clothing. And they proceeded to all-but-hump for the evening. In the theatre, outside, etc. It was awful. One of the worst nights of my life. I left bawling. People were coming up to me apologizing for his (and her) behaviour. She tried to speak with me- in that "i pity you, you fat old sad bag because I win and look how great I am" sort of way. I know I shoudl just feel sorry for her, for she is stupid. But I felt so bad. Fat, old, useless. It's not that I want him back, but does he have to be so horrid? By the way, she is 18 years younger. 18 fucking years. Anyway, that was tough. J was great, let me cry, held me, and listened. More bullshit came pouring out, examples of how much K was trying to control me. After hearing about the heater thing, I was told unequivocally that I was being emotionally, nearly physically abused. If you keep someone cold, they have to hold on to you at night. They are miserable and completely dependent. Oh god, this has been a shitty week.
I need vegetables I somehow manage to get everything that i need. Days spent teaching and wondering what I'm doing. Horrible fight with K because he can't handle boundaries; he tries to control me. I hate him. I hate feeling so bad because of him. I'm not happy in my home. I want a space where I'm not uncomfortable. I want a home. My friends have volunteered to move me again. They don't like coming over here either. I go through periods of confusion about J. Sometimes I hate that he doesn't understand the finer things in life. That he doesn't really taste what I make; he can't. He doesn't have a strong sense of taste or smell; he likes food that is utilitarian. He appreciates it because he knows it's my way of saying I care, but he doesn't really get it. Nor does he think it's super important, except that it's important to me. Then I think i'm being stupid, comparing too much. Future tripping. Sometimes I want him to be quicker, more like me. Then again I think I'm being foolish. And other times, I just want to kiss him, curl up and talk and touch and hold and sleep so close in his arms. And fuck. Oh I had forgotten about sex as communication. Sex as togetherness. Sex as honesty and not about reparation. Thai Peanut Sauce for Rice noodles and Stir Fry 1/2 cup peanut butter2 jalapenos or serranos, finely diced 1 1/2 inch slice of fresh ginger, shredded 4 cloves garlic, minced 1/3 cup coconut milk 2 tsp soy sauce 1 tsp fish sauce (optional, but awfully good) 1 tsp sugar juice of 1/2 lime pinch salt to taste 1/2 cup cilantro, minced Put the chilies, ginger, garlic, and little bit of coconut milk in the blender and blend to a rough paste. Add the soy sauce and peanut butter. Blend more. Add everything else, except the cilantro. Blend until smooth, scraping the sides down as needed. Stir Fry Stir fry vegetables. I'm just not going to give the recipe. It's too simple. Make it yummy.
Rice noodles Heat water to boiling. Add the rice noodles and turn off heat. Let them soak for 5-7 minutes. Drain under cold water to keep them from getting very sticky. Coffee and temperance Ride Listing: Prohibition Ride April 1, 2006 Meet under the church sign at the prohibitive Sandy/Burnside/12th Avenue intersection.
P rohibit Toothbrushes encourged. Led by Teetotalandia and the kid from Dontuchthestuffistan. Ride report:
And they did celebrate the P.A.N.S.Y. credo: And they did gently ask all representatives of the satan-loving Freaky Uppity Cycling Kids to leave. And they did visit Hooper Detox Center (and had a quiet moment of reverence for His Right Hon. Rev. Phil's moment of revelation and sobriety). And they did stop at the advertisement on the corner of Sandy and 12th, and gaze in wonder at the new Mid-Sized Hummer, the H3. And they did pause for a moment of peace and tranquility at the Salvation Army, thanking that fine Institution for guidance during the Dark Times. And they sang reverenly and read from a book in a language few spoke. Brothers Prudence, Abstinence, Diligence, Patience, Kindness, and Humility, Lammy, and Sister Chastity did ride along the scenic 205 pathway, thanking our temperate figurehead (in his stylish suitjacket) for guidance. And thus they came to Fairview, and Gresham, and finally Troutdale, where it was revealed that all were fools, FOOLS, and gave into the call of the Multnomah County Poorhouse and Farm, aka Edgefield. Thus they drank themselves into what was revealed as "the worst hangover in my life" and "the worst morning of 2006." Awaking in the township of Troutdale, our lost family mourned the loss of a pair of sunglasses, the cost of the hotel room, and the overflowing bathtub. Learn, ye timid sheep who want not to be like these intemperate fools: bring ye aspirin, vitamin B, extra waterbottles, and vicodin or oxycotin for the mornings when Temperance is made the fool, and Yeah verily we are mere Freaky Uppity Cycling Kids and know not what we do. Actual recipe!In light of recent festivities, I've decided to learn how to make the perfect cuppa. Nothing says love to myself like good coffee. Naturally, i turned to Stumptown Coffee Roasters, the only coffee worth drinking, for advice on the matter. I have to admit that I thought that at first I thought the directions were rediculously fussy. I mean, "wait 45 seconds for the water to cool"? Silly, right? But no. I have now consistently made the Perfect French Pressed Coffee every day for the past week. I'm hooked. I'm sold. I'm never going back. And yes, I'm fussy and stuck up about it too. So here goes: The Perfect French Press Coffee 4 - 6 TBS coarsely ground coffee, the fresher the better Measure 1 TBS of coffee for every 4 oz of water, or to taste. I like 5 TBS in mine. Bring 16 oz of water to boil. When it comes to a boil, remove it from the heat and let it sit for 45 seconds exactly. Pour the water in after it has cooled a bit, pouring in a circular motion. All the water probably won't fit. That's ok. Start your timer! After one minute, stir. This allows the coffee to settle and release some CO2. At this point, you can add the rest of the water, but make sure the water is just as hot and fresh. At exactly 4 minutes, press the press, and pour the coffee off so it doesn't overbrew or become bitter. When you clean your press, don't use soap either. There you go. Picture Picture Picture Picture I know why I spent the night there: because I wanted to. Things that go along with that: i feel good there, i feel safe, i feel like he's not bad for me, i feel good about myself when i'm with him (and even when i'm not, often). TAKE BACK THE COMFORT FOOD! Some people eat chocolate, cook pastries, drink whiskey for comfort. I make Frijoles Chipotles con Azucar. (Chipotle beans with sugar). While this recipe made it into the print version, I guess it's never made it to the web, so here it is. Frijoles Chipotles con Azucar 2 cans of black beans, drained and rinsed (save about 1/2 cup bean liquid!) Heat the olive oil in a large skillet until shimmering. If you are using onions, add them, and cook until translucent. Add the beans, and, stirring frequently, fry them up. Begin to smash them into a paste with the back of a spoon or a potato masher. You want them to be mashed but not smooth. Fry and smash for about 5 minutes. Add the chipotles and a little salt and mix. Keep frying and stirring. Take the sugar (if you are using piloncillo, melt it in the bean liquid before this step) and mix it in. Stir in the lime juice. The whole mixture should be thick and spicy and sweet. Serve with tortillas, lime slices, maybe some cojita cheese? Bottle of red wine(orleans hill zin), sage cheddar cheese, baguette, olives, hummus, apple, blanket, kisses.
J surprised me with the suggestion of a picnic, and a blanket on which to eat. We found a quiet spot in Laurelhurst park and ate as the sun set. We were celebrating his finals being over, and my discussion with my boss about discussing benefits and salary and stuff. And each other.
Monday, March 20, 2006 German Apple Pancake 3/4 cup flour3/4 cup milk or soymilk 3 eggs 1/2 tsp salt 1 1/2 tsp butter 1/2 an apple, cored and thinly sliced topping 1 tsp butter 3 TBS sugar 1/4 tsp ground cinnamon 1/4 tsp ground nutmeg 1/4 tsp garam masala (optional) 2 tsp toasted sesame seeds 2-4 apples, cored and thinly sliced Preheat the oven to 450. Beat the milk, eggs, flour, and salt together until very, very smooth. Add the apple slices. Mix well. Heat the butter in an oven-proof skillet. Pour in the batter, then place in the oven for 15 minutes. If big bubbles start to form, pop them. After 15 minutes, reduce the heat to 350, and cook for another 10 minutes. It's done when it's toasty brown all over. Meanwhile, make the topping. Melt the butter in a medium skillet over medium heat. Add the apple slices, sugar, seasonings, and sesame seeds. Cook, stirring frequently, until they are soft but not mushy. Serve hot on a platter with the topping spooned over the top. You could dust it with powdered sugar, cinnamon, or just about anything. Serve in wedges. Greg and I had this for breakfast yesterday. It was lovely. I had a great great breakfast on Saturday too. J and I were eating take-out from wild oats, juice boxes and chili and samosas, while sitting on the library dumpster and sunning ourselves. As we were eating, someone rode by and said "now that's love." We just smiled. It was wonderful. And we dealt with my blood sugar being really really really low that morning too, and of course he was a dear. Roasted Parsnip, Beet, and Garlic Soup with greek salad, sweetness, and a play I cooked dinner for J last night. Thick, pale pink soup with a huge greek salad and bread. We sat and coughed at each other and made out. It was wonderful. The soup made up for the cold snowy days and what feels to me like the unending list of to-dos and projects that I can't seem to get my head around. I feel like the busy time is already starting, and I'm not ready yet! I have more time to spend with J, I'm not done with Chiligirl '06, I need to get tattooed! Last night was spent holding each other and talking. I love to talk to him. Politics, interpersonal relationship, food, bikes, anything. It's lovely. This morning we ate breakfast, sat holding hands, and then he suggested adjourning to my bedroom, where he did math homework and I did some mending. We then biked downtown to see a show at Oregon Children's Theatre. We saw The Giver. It was amazing. I cried. We held hands. It was an amazing play, and it blew my mind. After, we went back stage and all the kids were so glad to see me. I got to see Lauren, the young woman that I wrote about when she was about 11, and I told her she could see the 'zine when she was older. Well, she's 16 now, and I haven't seen her in years. We just squealed and giggled and I was so glad to see how wonderful she has become. And because J is so lovely, we aren't spending any more time together than we ought. Like, he left to go study after the show, and I went home. That's so nice. Roasted Parsnip, beet, and Garlic soup
5 large parsnips, peeled and coarsely chopped Preheat the oven to 400. Wrap the garlic cloves in foil. Place the chopped parsnips and beets on a baking sheet, drizzle with 1 tsp olive oil, salt and pepper, and bake in the oven for 45 minutes. Remove from oven. Open the foil packet and squeeze the garlic out into a small bowl. Heat the remaining olive oil in a large stock pot, and saute the shallots until just cooked. Now add the roasted parsnips, beets, and garlic. Add the lemon zest and stock and water, and bring to a low simmer. Turn down the heat and cook for about 10 minutes. Let the soup cool for a minute or two. Fill up 1/2 a blender with the soup, and blend until as smooth as you like. Keep doing this until it is all pureed. Now, return it to the big pot. Stir in a bit of creamy goodness, salt, and pepper. Add the mustard. Taste for seasoning. What does it need? Too sweet? Add some vinegar or wine. Greek Salad
1/4 cup kalamata olives, pitted and halved A greek salad is an art to dress. The idea is to dress it an element at a time, with only lemon juice and olive oil, salt, pepper, and oregano. Wash the lettuce, and tear it into bite sized pieces. Dress it lightly with a bit of oil and lemon juice. Add a layer of onions, and again dress lightly, this time adding oregano, salt, and pepper. Now add the tomatoes and cucumbers, and more olive oil and lemon juice. Add the feta and olives, more oregano, salt, pepper, and lemon juice. Taste? More? Go for it. I could talk about the trip to the store, and the meal (pasta, veggie sausage, red sauce, mushrooms, peppers, cheese). I could wax poetic on the fact that we went with sparkling apple cider and tea rather than wine. I could get graphic and describe what happened after dinner. That was all wonderful, but the bit that seems much more important to me is what happened last night. I left the place where I was working on my movie at about midnight. I was feeling like total ASS. I mean, horrid, awful, exhausted, miserable. I didn't think I was going to make it the 6 + miles home, much less the three stops that I was supposed to make on the way. I showed up at my gentleman caller's house just after 12:00am. When he answered the door, I about fell into his arms. Not in a romantic way either. He took one look at me and asked if I wanted tea, food, a nap, or anything. He said he thought maybe I needed to eat. I suddenly realized that my blood sugar was very, very low. I was sick. And so he took care. Oh wow. Back rub, electric blanket, tea, raisin and peanut butter tortillas, and arms to hold me as I protested "no, i have to get home...no, I have to get going....snore." He kindly obliged my wish to have him set an alarm for 2am with the half-assed idea that I would leave at that point. Yeah right. I slept so warm and although I feel horrible today, my heart feels so warm.
Monday, March 6, 2006 Just got back from Breitenbush and cross country skiing. I've been waiting for this trip for 3 months, and it was worth every second of anticipation. Highlights: Then we got back to portland, Adonis dropping us off by my house, and went and ate fried food at the Barley Mill. My friend Kenny L was visiting, so I went to the clinton street pub to drink with him and retoxify. Which I did, with style. Met some lovely people, smoked a cute boy's cigarette, and talked about cooking with a chef from wild abandon. Told kenny that I love him, coz of course I do. Sometimes I wonder if i can handle all this. Yesterday the nice young gentleman reminded me that i am strong. Last weekend i threw that same phrase in ken's face: I am strong. I am a strong woman, but I've been hurt so very badly. Sometimes I think that working on Chiligirl for this year is my own healing, and when it's finished I'll be ok again. If only it was so simple. If A. then B. If i can stop crying, i will be ok. If i can get through today, than tomorrow will be easier. I guess it's true in some ways. Today I found a pair of stripper wings, black as crows, and about 4 feet wide. I also found a sweet pink wool hoodie and got my hard drive fixed. The revelation of niceness is intense. The nice young gentleman is so nice. He brought me breakfast in bed on Saturday morning. I kind of freaked out and asked if he was becoming infatuated with me. He said no, and later looked it up in the dictionary. When we spoke in the evening, he said he definitely wasn't. And what's so bad about infatuation? I dunno. I'm not there, nor am i ready for it i guess. I've been ill, and he brought me an orange, and spinach for the miso soup i was making, and popcorn for the movie we watched in bed. How different is that from being made to feel as if I'm a moral failure when I was ill? I almost started crying from the pleasure of being fussed over. We looked at pictures (london, spain, boston, grand junction, florida) and i told him a little about way-back-when. He saw Kenny A's tattoo (flames, head) and laughed. Then he asked me how it went when i met with ken. He knew it was a disaster, and it left me shaken and pale for what felt like days. But then he asked really, how did it go? And I told him. About how bad I felt, and how awful ken made me feel, and how we both left crying, and how I can't do that again, and how much it hurts to lose your best friend. And he listened, and helped me understand a little bit too. Then he went home, kissing me goodnight and telling me that I look very sexy in my pajamas. Hmmm. Could I have been luckier? I feel like this is moving at the right pace. He is my friend, and every day he is a better friend. And I don't have to be his girlfriend, or his sleepover friend, or his friend with benefits, or whatever. I can just be me. And he hasn't ever said that he will be "patient" or "will wait for me" or any of that. And then tonight he complimented my cooking. Hot damn. lentil soup with spiced yogurt
Mountain cheese and cabbage layers
random acts of kindness: a gorgeous blue on blue crocheted scarf from a girl i went to simon's rock with, 12 years ago, who heard i was having a rough time, and a card that said things will look up an hour or two in bed with just talk and honesty, kisses but no sex because today i can't handle it and that is ok.
Breakfast with my best girlfriend Breakfast For Dinner, with kisses and wineMenu:Omelettes, Salad, red wine, and toasted dessert tortillasOmelettes for two
1 small red potato Heat the oil or butter in a small skillet. Slice the shallot, and begin to saute it until very fragrant, but don't let it brown. Thinly slice the potato, and saute until tender. Add salt and rosemary to taste. Thinly slice the apple, and add towards the end. It doesn't have to lose it's crunch unless you wish. Set aside. Clean the crap out of the skillet, or switch to an omelette pan. Chop the avocado into large pieces, and tear the spinach. Heat more butter or oil in the omelette pan. While it's warming, beat the eggs until fairly frothy, and add a touch of milk if you wish. Pour half the egg mixture into the heated skillet and swirl. Cook for a minute or two, lifting the edges and getting more of the runny middle cooked. Add the avocados, the spinach, the cheese, and the potato/apple mix, and fold over. Do your best to execute a graceful flip of the omelette, and don't be hard on yourself if you make scrambled eggs. Garnish with more avocado or a rosemary sprig. Repeat for the second one. Spinach Salad
Spiced Nuts Swirl a little oil and vinegar in a large bowl. Season with a little salt and pepper. This salad should be just barely dressed. Add spinach, raisins, and nuts. Toss to mix. Toasted Dessert Tortillas I didn't actually see this being made, but i surely enjoyed the results, and i can extrapolate(per serving) 1 flour tortilla butter cinnamon and sugar mix mix of fresh berries chocolate syrup Toast the tortilla very lightly. When warm, add butter and cinnamon sugar, and toast again until crunchy, and the sugar has formed a crust. Sprinkle berries on top and drizzle with chocolate syrup. Brilliant, isn't it? It's best eaten with your fingers, licking the chocolate off. So maybe you all have guessed that I went on a date, made a late dinner, and had a wonderful time. Frankly, I had such a lovely time that I stayed the night, sleeping on (yes, laugh because the irony is fantastic) van seats that have somewhat been converted into a bed. I say somewhat because we were required to sleep more or less on top of each other, though if I may be honest, there wasn't a lot of sleeping going on. How do I feel? Gastronomically fulfilled, certainly. We rode bikes, and shopped together, and cooked together, and talked and talked until we were hoarse, and then kissed until our lips were chapped. And then we talked and kissed some more. I feel good, actually. Not freaked out. He is remarkably grounded, and seems to wholeheartedly believe in communication and affection. And he isn't bothered by my broken heart. He said he figures I'll be honest with him and let him know what I need. Can I mention again that I feel as if I should be feeling all weird, but I'm not. Not a bit. Ooogy and warm and fuzzy, and a little glowy from a very serious makeout session and a lot of adoration and sexual tension, but not weird. I feel a bit as if I deserve to hang out with someone who is smart and driven and cool. I feel like maybe I can handle this, and maybe not repeat the same mistakes. For instance, not jumping in blindfolded and headfirst. Not trying to make something out of nothing. Vital stats: 30, ex-airforce, some kind of punk, intelligent, student of poly sci and other sciences currently, bike activist, cute as hell, driven. Met through bikey fun. Sunny Day/unexpected release from Jury Duty/new clothing obsession/bad case of spring fever. Maybe a date, too, wherein we cook dinner together. And ride bikes. I'm pretty excited. Question is though: is it a date? What is a date anyway? Can I even begin to handle a date? The other night, I was out with this fellow and we got drunk and kind of, well, touchy. Not overly so, just sorta. I think I would like a little of that, but slowly. How do I feel? How am I doing? Mix. Turbulent. Mostly bad. Survival mode, ya know. I'm medicating myself, and participating in some retail therapy. I think it's good. Tent, stove, handlebar bag. Everything that was on my list but the water treatment, and the bike stuff I need to get either from my roommate's shop or the BTA. My bike is coming in two weeks and I want to be ready. I'm using a lot of Rescue Remedy to keep me from freaking out, especially at work. My new job is pretty much what I expected. I get a few really crap organizing jobs, and show how great I am, and move up in the world. I don't mind, actually. I spent today organizing catalogs of bike racks and playground equipment. And everyone who works there is very nice. I love the indoor bike parking. I'm trying not to imagine things. I'm really glad that I deleted The Cunt's name from my phone list so I don't call her and tell her stuff. Ken thinks we should meet. I think he should take a long walk off a short pier. She's 22, for fuck sake. I rented a pretty great movie last night: Slim Susie. It's a swedish movie in the style of Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrells and other similar films. Quirky characters, possible murder, small time mobsters dealing drugs and shooting things, and stolen money. I enjoyed it. I would love to own the soundtrack. One of the principal actors was astonishingly good, and was found in a cattle call (open audition). He had never acted and I was totally blown away by him. I am lonely and I don't feel like i can even be with my friends right now. It's a gorgeous night and I'm not sure that I can leave the house. Bummer. Thanks. Thanks for gnocci with spinach and ricotta and a deep, dark tomato sauce.Thanks for IPAs from the Pelican Brewery at the crow bar. Thanks for a ricotto with carmelized onion, potato, and god knows what else except that it was the most amazing itialian food I've had in years, and antipasti with cippolini onions, boccocini, broccollini, mushrooms, white bean pate, olives, tapanade, bread with rosemary, olive oil, balsamico, and espresso. A good bottle of wine, water, and great company. It's funny that now, it's great company to be with old friends who once broke your heart. He wouldn't at first say Krista, the old ghost, but i did, and i didn't care, and he made me feel beautiful and great. Found out who ken is sleeping with. A friend, who is, of course, much skinnier than I am and probably likes to hike. Am apalled because she recently came up to me and said we have to hang out. Left the bar (sober) sobbing, had to walk my bike, called a bunch of people in the middle of the night, started puking again. Per kelly's instructions, am in Survival Mode. Whatever I have to do to get through the hour. Can't get through day by day at the moment, it is too much. Hour by hour seems somewhat manageable. I am glad to be home, but this is bad.
Tuesday, February 7, 2006 Cried tonight. Maybe it's because Kelly turned 30 today, and marries her sweetheart in a few months. Or maybe that I sat with Kenny L today, looking out over the grand valley and the monument in those terracottas and deep blue tones that will always define my childhood, and we talked about nothing much, just bullshit, sat in silence sometimes, Kenny smoking and me trying to breathe in as much of the blue and red as i could, to ingest the juniper scrub and the layered rocks and the cacti. Reflecting that it isn't always going to be there like I've assumed. I wish I could reconcile my deep need for love from ken, and also my disgust and hatred of him and what we became, and my disgust and hatred of myself for being that. I wish there weren't so many damn pictures of me all over this house. I can see what I looked like as a blond child, as a feisty teenager wearing a gold bustier, as an opera stage manager posing with the show elephant, as a model for a portrait artist in college, at my graduation. Those girls aren't much to do with me, except for the hatred of all things car, and the love of all things book, and the persistent terracottas and blues. I am so entertained by the idea that my parents just assume that I'll read the two books that they've picked out for me to read over the five and a half days that I am here. I have, and it's just past one am, and I return home tomorrow. They were good books too: The Tender Bar, by JR Mohnringer, and a very famous spanish novel full of Dumas style romance, intrigue, unrequited love, revenge, and some serious high-falutin' language. Home. With my friends who call me, and my terracotta and blue walls, and my cat and my bike and my own life. How strange it must be to watch your kids grow up. I've tried so hard the past few years to let my parents back into my life, feeling so much compassion for those years that I wanted them out out out. But how much can they be in my life? Aside from bailing me out yet again because I moved in with someone I was in love with, and got my heart broken again. At what point do they stop being there to bail me out? And what if I still need them to? Kenny L and I talked about how our parents age and we become their caretakers, and how we, childless and single, will have no one. Is it appropriate for me to even be thinking of this? I just looked at my body and reflected that I'm not 22 anymore. Not that I'm becoming obsessive about being old. I'm already obsessive enough about my weight and body image; I certainly don't need something else in the mix. But it's true. I remember so clearly a conversation I have had with Kelly many times as we've tried to grow up together. About how we thought that once we got out of college we'd have it all figured out. Then it was 25. Then it was...and then...And now we really are bona fide grownups, and I still barely know which way is up and what the hell I'm doing. I'm hurting, and possibly healing. I'm trying to stay afloat and be a good person, and it's fucking hard.
Sunday, February 5, 2006
Friday, February 2, 2006 Shmooze-o-rama Celebration of the highest degree is in order. I have been given a job at an urban design (specifically bike and pedestrian) agency. It's an entry-level, admin sort of job with the clearly stated opportunity to grow. HOLY SHIT. This actually is my dream come true. Leading me to muse on the old "two out of three" adage. The adage being this: "You generally get two out of three if things are going well: work, housing, love. Three out of three is practically unheard of, but a nice thought to dream of on rainy days." Yesterday was my last day at the Commissioner's office. I got wonderful kudos from everyone and facilitated the weekly staff meeting. I also got a card from my immediate supervisor (he prefers associate) that made me cry and I had to hang it up on the wall. Later in the evening, I got a hug from Sam and he thanked me for all my work. He also mentioned something about perhaps bringing me back in the future. So what if it was just politician speak. It felt really good. I also got to hang out with Timo, staff members of the BTA, my new friend Emily, neato PDOT folks, and of course Jonathan, the Man Who Knows Pretty Much Everything About Bike Advocacy Efforts In Portland. There was another moment where Mia, my new employer, turned to Tom, the Chief of Staff at the Commissioner's office, and said "You know I just hired Elicia." Tom just made a face and mumbled something about already knowing. The best part was that she was very proud of this fact. Not nearly as proud as I am, of course. I was so proud I called Ken. Shit. Now I am on my way to Colorado. I am torn between being horrified and depressed (Greg reminded me that alcohol makes Grand Junction much easier) and excited to see the family, the clear desert air, the house where I grew up, and the mountains that form such a part of my mental landscape. I am glad to come home with the prospect of a job. I'm old enough that I no longer feel like quite such a failure in everything when I return, but it's still really nice to have a job. I'm trying to ignore the bit about how I wanted to come here with ken. And the bit about how I've never brought anyone that I loved to this place. And the bit that the only friend there is from Portland. Well, he moved to Portland with me from GJ, and moved back to take care of his dad. I'm not sure if i can handle looking up my best friend from HS who is still there. His 10 year wedding anniversary is in June. (I just found the invitation in my scrapbook when i moved.) He finally gave in and had a kid, then another one in rapid succession. They bought a bigger SUV and a god-awful house (oh, but it's near the safeway) in the 'burbs. But I love him dearly and his wife too. We have been friends for so, so long. Basically, I have really mixed feelings about this trip. And I'm worried as hell about my cat. I can't believe what an idiotic, doting cat person i've become, except that the whole unconditional love thing is so great, and i adore how he insists on sleeping with my arms wrapped around him. How dear is that? Desayuno con Ian y ShawnaHuevos divorciados frijoles refritossalsa roja salsa verde tortillas de maiz huevos yum I feel like shit. Emotionally. Maybe physically too. I stayed out all night drinking with Kiran and Timo. Karaoke at the Eagle's lodge, then the most amazing dark chocolate, cream cheese, jalapeno, and tomato veggie dog at Zach's Shack (the all night hot-dog joint on Hawthorne). I sang a whole lot, and since the audience consisted of the lodge members and the two guys i was with, i felt pretty good. But now i'm having a bad time of it. Seeing ken yesterday freaked me out a lot. Not being invited to Chops' housewarming upset me a lot more than i realized or let on. I just wish i knew how to be graceful, but all i want to do is punch him and then do all the hurtful things he has done to me right back. While i realize this is the attitude of an eight year old, it doesn't really change my feelings on the matter. I'm pretty sure i'm never going to be a whole person again, and that makes me so sad. Drinking last night didn't help. Nothing helps. Shit. Luckily my roommates took one look at my state of being this morning and offered to share breakfast. They are so lovely. Fried oyster omelette with remoulade and a spicy sauce blended with powdered sugar. And bloody marys' with a beer back, and coffee, and sparkling water, and rye bread. That was breakfast. More happened. We drank several hundred dollars worth of alcohol at the bar in the afternoon/early evening. I tried all sorts of things. I appreciate trying new things. A tequila drink with vodka and oj and an olive; a coffee drink that i requested;a 'mystery drink,' white wine. And stuff. Then back to Alvin's friends, who were gracious hosts, and squash soup, and stinky runny cheese smuggled in from france, and wine to match. And a NY joint, just like back in the day. And the hosts had great stories to tell about working on the ROYAL TENENBAUMS to boot! Perfect, actually. Now I'm eating pizza (since we missed lunch and dinner; I had soup ages ago) and sipping real absinthe. I am so excited to go to NYC I can hardly contain myself. The idea that I get to see Paul, Alvin, Thor, Darcie, Aaron, and whomever else passes by just seems so good. So, I did something very interesting yesterday. I decided to go through the chiligirl archive to see what I could see. Three years ago, I was writing almost the same things. "He has lost the right to be my friend." "I just need to get by." "I'm puking." I can't decide if this means I'm totally stupid and never learn my lesson, or if actually I'm very strong because I am able to realize what it means to heal and be strong about it.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006 I don't think I ever posted this link. It makes me so happy to have friends. Rant about relationships I think finding the balance between compromise and committment versus standing up and demanding what you need or getting the hell out of the relationship is the hardest part. For me, I now see that I erred on the side of compromise, and ended up compromising myself and losing very important parts of myself. I can see where ken just wore me down and was mean to me whenever I tried to be a version of me that he didn't like. I remember giving up on fighting with him/standing up for myself so many times because it just wasn't worth it, and compromise and stability were. And you know what? I was wrong. There is such a thing as too much compromise. And yeah, living together and stability and committment are all really important, but so is my personality. And in so many ways, i sacrificed the one for the others. It's been really hard realising that over the past two months. It's been really hard coming to terms with the fact that I let ken walk all over me and try and control everything. And accepting that whenever i tried to fight back, he'd make my life so miserable I stopped trying, so it's not that i'm weak or bad, i was just out gunned. And i wanted the stability so, so badly. The month of december was awful. I think i am going to chalk up september - december 05 as The Wasted Horrible Really Bad Awful Autumn. January has been better, though the winter rains make it so hard to get out of bed. Everything smells horrid, moldy and old, and i gag everytime i put on my gloves because i just can't get the smell out of them. How far will she ride to get a bagel? 40 + miles. I am not kidding.So what is it about these bagels? They are at the end of a 20 mile bike ride, of which 85% is on an off-street bike path. Which means no cars except at crossings, and virtually flat the whole way. Along the way, there are the nutria that are so acclimated to humans they come out and wait to get fed. They wait about 6" from your feet if you let them. There is also the section of the path known (to Sara Stout and myself) and the Mt. Hood Highway, as it faces due east and on a clear day at sunset it will take your breath away. The pathway happens to be the way that I had to ride every day during the particularly icky part of the break up, and it proved incredibly good to just ride and let my mind go where ever it needed to, so I felt maybe that was what I needed to do today. And, at the end, there is a bagel with lox and cream cheese and red onions and capers, and a half dozen genuine boiled bagels. Since i no longer live wtih Ken, I have to fulfill my bagel fetish another way. As I was riding back, I ran into Nisey and Ryan. Nisey and Ryan, who were my closest friends for so long and then suddenly we broke up (that's the only way to describe it) and I was missing them for the past two years. And there they were, Nisey still riding my old 10 speed, Ryan riding like a sane person. And then I was hanging out in their tiny little house throwing a ball for shock, and feeling totally at home again. Maybe what Jemiah says is true. Some planetary body is doing something in particular, and it means reunion. In the past two weeks, I've gone to a party with Sam, spoken at great length with tim B and tim P, went over to Tim B's house, spoken with and emailed Christoph, and planned on sending a package to Lou. And ran into Scott T at the coffee shop, and Nisey on the way home from Gresham. I guess it's time to come out of hiding? Alvin wants me to come to NYC next week. I'm going to call him in a few minutes to figure out logistics. Soup. Soup makes the rain more bearable. Soup makes me think i'm crying because the onions are sauteing, not because I'm so sad. Soup makes me remember to eat. But mostly, soup is good, cheap, nourishing. You have to have stock for this. I used a stock made from the scraps of basil stalks, parmesean cheese rinds, and lots of other bits of vegetables. Minestrone Serves 10, or makes enough to freeze a ton, so have tupperware ready
4 tsp olive oil Chop the onions and garlic. Dice the potatoes, and slice the carrots. Coarsely chop the kale. Chop the cabbage. If you are using other vegetables, dice and chop them too. Open the tomato can and dice the tomatoes, saving all the liquid. Heat the oil in a deep, deep soup pot over medium heat. Sprinkle a little salt in the oil at this point. When it smells like warm olive oil (the sexiest smell ever), add the onions. Saute them for a couple of minutes, and add the garlic. Saute that for about two more minutes, and add the carrots, potatoes, kale, cabbage, and any other vegetables. Cover and saute the whole mess for about 8 minutes. Add the drained beans and the undrained, chopped tomatoes. Add the spices at this point. Add the stock/water combination. There should be enough liquid to cover the vegetables plus 2 or 3 inches. Bring the whole lot to a slow simmer, and simmer for 40 minutes. After 40 minutes, add the pasta, and simmer for another 20 minutes. Taste for seasonings. Add salt and pepper. Serve in warmed bowls with grated parmesan cheese on top. So good. Grace. What does it mean to be graceful? What does it mean to spend at least once a day crumpled in the corner crying because I can't get over the fact that he doesn't love me, and that I have to get on with my life alone and without my partner? At what point does it stop? A mutual friend of ours was extremely unhelpful in trying to make me feel better by telling me that he's been dating and having a hard time of it. Let's see -that set off a crying bout that feels like it's been going on for days. I can't even imagine. Oh sure, my mind occasionally lingers on what someone might think if i brought them back to my room, to my sneezy cat and broken heart. And then I come back to reality. I have no interest, no business trying anything like that anytime in the near future. I can't even imagine someone wanting to give me the time of day. Or how to touch someone. At least I am eating. And amidst the rain, trying to be productive. I have goals and things. And I'm trying to heal myself. I am trying, but I don't know where the line between mourning and self-flagellation is. I am so terrified. Team Canada, Part Two So four of us went to canada, with bikes and an ungodly amount of Sparks (malt liquor + energy drink=totally gross, and a favorite of Canadians) and other alcohol. It was really amazing. I'd speak more about it, but we solemnly swore that what happens in Canada stays in Canada. I will say that our hosts were great, we all drank too much, and I was brave and made a bit of a fool of myself on the new year with being honest and bold, but whatever. It will all turn out in the end. I decided to make myself feel better via retail therapy, and spent an ungodly amount of money on the sexiest pants ever (two pairs), and two bras that I actually look forward to wearing. And in the body image department, well, I fit into a 34 D bra with minimal discomfort, and I dropped a pant size. So FUCK YOU KEN. I am not either fat. Ken called twice whilst I was away, and emailed once. I'm counting. I called him back and asked him to please refrain from contacting me. I just can't handle it. I just can't fucking handle it, and it's not ok. I'm having a hard time. Hugo seems to be sick and I'm going to have to take him to the vet. Bummer. I've realized that nothing is ever in the same place in my kitchen twice, and it's driving me nuts. Perhaps it's just that I'm premenstrual, so while I generallly think it's better to address issues as they occur, perhaps it would be wise to wait until this time has passed. I'm having a hard time. In lieu of cooking Hoppin' John and Collard greens, I cooked Hoppin' Juan and kale (Black beans, refried with 3 kinds of chilies). I think it is fitting, and I hope it brings me luck into the new year. I feel like I need any charm or bit of good luck I can get. Christmas ended with the Royal Tennenbaums watched on a HighDefiinition Gigantic Television Screen at the house where Ammon's house sitting. I cried a whole bunch of times. Gawd I love that movie. And somehow the spell of not being able to cook seems to have been broken. It may have something to do with the fact that we reorganized both the kitchen and the living room/dining area, and made room for my spices. Today, I made a groundnut squash stew. Ok, well, that's a fancy name for Peanut butter and Butternut squash Stew
1 onion, diced Heat oil in a big soup pan. Add onions, garlic, and carrots, and saute until soft. Add the potatoes, chilies, cabbage, and squash. Cover, and saute for about 15 minutes. Meanwhile, heat the cup of broth and gently stir in the peanut butter. When the vegetables are starting to get cooked, add the broth/peanut butter mixture and remaining water. Bring to a slow simmer and cook for 25 minutes, or until everything is soft. Season with salt, pepper, and ground cumin. Serve with slices of limes to squeeze over, and spoon over bulgar. You probably don't want to eat the chilies. Bulgar, plain
1 cup bulgar Bring water to boil. Add bulgar. Cover, and simmer for 25 minutes, then remove from heat and let sit, uncovered, for 10 more minutes. Christmas Eve Lots and Lots of Mulled wine and a great party all night long. Wore a cleavage shirt to see if anyone would look me in the eye. K did, and one other. Met some really nice women; that was very, very cool. One is my neighbor (one house over), and another is a woman with whom I have been sharing a very small kitchen the past few hours. I got home at about 5:30 am. K stayed all night, much to my surprise. Christmas Morn Two kinds of quiche (turkey and broccoli), eggnog pancakes, and coffee with kalua. Takes the edge off, ya know.It's been unseasonably warm. We took a bike ride up Mt Tabor, and I was treated to the unusually gorgeous sight of three couriers (or courier figures) standing up in the saddle, lined up across the road, with their perfect asses riding in perfect rhythm. And Mt. Tabor was rainy and perfect. We had to sweat the alcohol out. Back to the house to begin cooking: Treats included slices of a fig loaf with manchego (cheese) and spanish almonds, fed to me by new and old friends alike. Also, olives, clementines, sake, and other tasty treats. Candied Walnuts/Spiced Nuts
1/2 tsp cinnamon Heat a sturdy skillet over a low flame and toast the walnuts to a nutty brown. Remove them to a bowl. Mix a paste of everything else. It should be fairly watery, but still have some substance. Put the syrup into the skillet and heat gently over a low flame until it starts bubbling. Stay patient, stir occasionally. When it starts getting quite thick, add the toasted nuts. Let it continue to thicken up until all the liquid is gone. Yum. Mulled wine This is an almost infintely expandable recipe2 Bottles of full-bodied red wine (Three Buck Chuck Cabernet from Trader Joes is ideal, and feel free to blend at will) 2 oranges 2 cinnamon sticks 30 whole cloves 4-6 TBS of brown sugar 4 TBS of "mulling spice" which includes cinnamon sticks, cloves, nutmeg, cardamom, black peppercorns, and whatever else you feel like, tied into a cheesecloth bag sugar to taste optional: more oranges, sliced in quarters Slice the oranges in half, globe-wise. Stick the cloves in each half, on the skin side. Turn them over, and stuff the brown sugar into any cracks and crevices you find or create. Add a half a cinnamon stick to each orange piece. Bake on a cookie sheet for 3-5 hours at 350 degrees. When it's time for the party, heat a large saucepan over very low heat. Add the wine, the orange halves, and 1/4 cup sugar. Add the cheese cloth baggie of spices. Let come to just below a simmer. Keep adding spices, sugar, wine, or anything else you like.
Monday, December 19, 2005 Going crazy. Hating stage managing. Discovering that no matter what, if there is a bass playing sound guy in the house, he will be attracted to me. Finding out that I will be bored to tears by him, sweet as he is, pheremonally attractive as he may be. Drove to salem with Kira and back. Did a show, a one-off of the show i've been rehearsing for 3 weeks. Came back, joined the bike pub crawl, and sang karaoke for the first time since new year's 2004. Trying to keep it together. Trying to deal with mad crush on someone. Trying not to cry all the time. Failing frequently. This is the month in which i am an alcoholic. My body hates it, but what the hell. Off to eugene for 4 days for more theatre. I fucking hate the theatre. Thirteen years ago, a teenage college student at Simon's Rock College, got a semi-automatic rifle and went on shooting spree that ended with two dead, several wounded, and a hostage situation. Wayne eventually turned himself in and the hostage was unhurt. Every year it hits me in a different way. Almost every year, I'm back in a theatre, trying to keep my shit together. When the gunshots happened, I was in the tech booth of the college theatre with my friend Lou. We had said we could cover for Galen Gibson, the student technical director so he could go to the library and study. We were freshmen at the time, nervous for our first show and just about to start finals. The lights all came on in the theatre and the dean of the college stepped on stage. I will never forget how he looked in the the stark light, everyone's eyes adjusting to the brighness, wearing an overcoat with a solemn expression on his face. He said that a student had a gun on campus. That we couldn't leave the building. That there was no other information. All night information started trickling back from the main campus. Rumours. I remember screaming. I remember calling my parents in colorado and saying i didn't know what was going on, but I was ok. I remember walking back in some kind of pre-dawn light across the field, covered with snow and icy pinpricks of stars. Sitting in the cafeteria with everyone I knew, and our law professor, Barbara, telling us what was going on. I remember hearing that Galen was killed. Others were in the hospital. Nacuńan was dead. Other people have said that something precious was lost that night. Not just the lives of Galen and Nacuńan, but something in all of us. Innocence? Trust? Hope? Some of all of that. The next year, and for years after, i watched how it affected all of us. Lou and I started a relationship. Our theatre professor produced a play that was ostensibly a comedy, but was actually about death. I started passing out at the sight of a gun, quitting jobs where there were gunshots in the play, seeing a shrink, learning how to shoot a gun so I could survive in this culture. Everyone went slightly crazy. Thirteen years later, i have learned how to dampen my fear of firearms, of loud noises, of having everything taken away so quickly. I've learned that other people don't really want to know about what happened. And for the ones that do care, they have nothing to relate to. So I keep quiet and light candles by myself, and think about life and death and how theatre saved my life and killed my friend Galen. And going though another time when i feel like everything was taken away from me, thinking about the shooting gives me a little perspective. No one is dead, just broken this time. I will call a perfect show tonight for Galen. Thirteen years ago, a teenage college student at Simon's Rock College, got a semi-automatic rifle and went on shooting spree that ended with two dead, several wounded, and a hostage situation. Wayne eventually turned himself in and the hostage was unhurt. Every year it hits me in a different way. Almost every year, I'm back in a theatre, trying to keep my shit together. When the gunshots happened, I was in the tech booth of the college theatre with my friend Lou. We had said we could cover for Galen Gibson, the student technical director so he could go to the library and study. We were freshmen at the time, nervous for our first show and just about to start finals. The lights all came on in the theatre and the dean of the college stepped on stage. I will never forget how he looked in the the stark light, everyone's eyes adjusting to the brighness, wearing an overcoat with a solemn expression on his face. He said that a student had a gun on campus. That we couldn't leave the building. That there was no other information. All night information started trickling back from the main campus. Rumours. I remember screaming. I remember calling my parents in colorado and saying i didn't know what was going on, but I was ok. I remember walking back in some kind of pre-dawn light across the field, covered with snow and icy pinpricks of stars. Sitting in the cafeteria with everyone I knew, and our law professor, Barbara, telling us what was going on. I remember hearing that Galen was killed. Others were in the hospital. Nacuńan was dead. Other people have said that something precious was lost that night. Not just the lives of Galen and Nacuńan, but something in all of us. Innocence? Trust? Hope? Some of all of that. The next year, and for years after, i watched how it affected all of us. Lou and I started a relationship. Our theatre professor produced a play that was ostensibly a comedy, but was actually about death. I started passing out at the sight of a gun, quitting jobs where there were gunshots in the play, seeing a shrink, learning how to shoot a gun so I could survive in this culture. Everyone went slightly crazy. Thirteen years later, i have learned how to dampen my fear of firearms, of loud noises, of having everything taken away so quickly. I've learned that other people don't really want to know about what happened. And for the ones that do care, they have nothing to relate to. So I keep quiet and light candles by myself, and think about life and death and how theatre saved my life and killed my friend Galen. And going though another time when i feel like everything was taken away from me, thinking about the shooting gives me a little perspective. No one is dead, just broken this time. I will call a perfect show tonight for Galen. Weekend of Ex- Boyfriends. Done. Done. Done. My dearest Shawna moved me out. Done, except for the spice rack. I'm glad that it's over. I got to wear lipstick and perfume last night, and i didn't get in trouble. By that, I mean that my partner didn't make me feel like shit for wearing lipstick or perfume. That hasn't happened in a long time. This week has been possibly the worst ever. I fell apart. In one day, I got locked out in my pajamas, left my purse (and money) at the rehearsal hall, and had a Total Complete Breakdown at ken's house. My computer broke. My printer broke. Then my bike broke! Then i broke. And broke and broke. I think the worst is over. While i really want to be friends with ken sometime in the future, i need a few ken free weeks. Seeing him doesn't make me feel good. It makes me feel bad, and that's the last thing i need. Shit. Tim B broke up with his lady after about 6 years. We talked at great length. He's hurting too. For those who don't know, he's the guy i moved out here with. It was good to talk. We've been making feeble efforts over the past couple years, but haven't really ben able. Now it just felt good to talk to someone who knows me so well. We went to high school together. This was the weekend of ex boyfriends. Sam in the morning yesterday, then christoph at the basement. Then ken today, and tim calling out of the blue. Small town. Smal world. Today has been one of the worst. Maybe it's the smashed fingers (caught in a garage door yesterday) that make my whole hand sore, and make carrying heavy things a real drag if not a complete impossibility. Maybe it's my final straw being reached with ken regarding his intensive gastro-intestinal problems(it is actually incredibly gross to share a space with him; he needs to see a doctor but of course he never will) , his constant cheerful singing, and his weird unending monologue. Maybe it was the 15 minute long shouting match that occured after breakfast, leaving me hysterical. I asked him to go somewhere else because i realised i would never be able to finish packing if he was still around. So he left,but it was a huge, gigantic, horrible fight. Maybe it was the 30 minute breakdown last night when i got home, when i just couldn't stop crying. Maybe it's the way he asked "what's wrong" like it's a big surprise to him that i'm upset. Maybe it's the stress of moving all my shit, and not being able to get everything done. Yeah, that's why i'm having a bad day. In department of things that don't suck:
Friday, November 25, 2005 Things are looking up Bike move on Sunday A little something to sweeten my thanksgiving dinner...thanks friend who knew me before my hair was blonde. Kissing other lips was strange beyond belief, but i think good. I got through that crucial close to tears moment, and continued on. Yeah, i guess they are right when they say the only way to get over one man is to get back on another. Or something like that. I feel pretty damn good, actually. THanksgiving dinner was full of drunken cheer . Turkey for everyone else, and stuffing and cranberry sauce and mashed potatoes and homemade gravy and an herb tofu leek tart, and pumpkin pie, and whiskey and beer and a vaporizer and all kinds of good fun. Ken and i cooked together for what I predict will be the last time. We decided to collaborate on t-giving dinner, then split up the dishes and go to our respective parties. It was lovely, actually. He made cranberry sauce and tart crust; I made stuffing and tart filling, then at the party i made the veggie gravy, using homemade stock and a mushroom/shoyu stock mix. Damn it was good. I am glad we got to cook together because i am ready to not really have anything to do with him anymore. I've been thinking about the next edition of Chiligirl,the zine. I realize I haven't really been typing recipes; i've been keeping the sketchiest notes, and so many of the recipes are from books that ken owns. That's ok. I don't mind copying them later in the winter. I hope to have a couple of weeks at least of down time in January or February. I am pushing hard but sweetly for a job at city hall, or in the department of transportation. The feedback is positive; if there is money, I have a very good chance of getting a full time job with benefits. The possibility of that makes me fly, even if it would mean giving up the BTA, the Symphony, and the Rose Festival. Working with the suits for a couple of years would, i think, guarantee me a job wherever i wanted it. And maybe push me into a position of house buying or something similar. Hugo Chavez, the democratically elected feline leader of this household, has decided that he really likes to help me type. I hope he takes the move well. He is so chill about most things, it should be ok. I put a collar on him and he appeared not to notice. I failed to come home last night and ken said he was pissy, but ok. So i haven't slept yet. And K is coming over to take me to trader joes and help me move from the storage space. He is so good to me. The gentleman referred to as my thanksgiving sweet lives in a cabin in the woods. I plan on staying over some winter night and cooking and revelling in the senses. Doesn't that seem like something to look forward to? I am...better now that i know where i am going, and that it will be good. I am sad and frustrated and pissed off, but the relief of having a plan is immense. The house that i'm moving into is large and had two housemates, a couple. I have a gigantic bedroom and my own bathroom, plus use of the full house. They are super bikey cool; he works at a bike shop in NE (Cyclepath) and she's a rad ex-bike tour guide. The house is gorgeous, TV free, has ample secure bike parking and a shop in the garage. And a garden. I have been looking at studios for the past couple of weeks because i don't really want roommates, but this situation is just too perfect to pass up. And maybe it's good to not be alone during the winter. Oh, and the best part? There is plenty of space for my cat, and they are stoked to have him move in with us. Response to Ken's completely shitty remark: Ken: I would love a job where I could only work 6 months. I would love to work half time. I would take a 50% pay cut. Elicia: Yeah, well, if i took a 50% pay cut my income would come down to $6000.00, not $35,000. Ken: Yeah, I would love to work half time. What Elicia didn't say, but really wanted to: WHAT THE FUCK??? I've spent the last year fighting accusations of being lazy and irresponsible FROM YOU because I don't want to work a shitty 40 hour a week job. I've been called lazy and fat and much, much worse by you and had to put up with a FUCKING YEAR of disrespectful behavior because I choose to make less money and not work as hard. Except when I work 11 hour days for 2 months straight and then take the summer off. FUCK YOU. But it's ok for you to want to work half time? The more this sort of shit goes on, the more the blinders of good sex and a secure (ha!) living environment come right off. While I am still incredibly sad that this hasn't worked out, I'm positively delighted to not have to deal with this cruel, demeaning hipocracy any more. Note: I'm 100% done with the packing I was planning on doing today, and 75% done with the Chores I have to Do. And it's only 10:30. Plenty of time to sit on the couch and be lazy and irresponsible!
Tuesday, November 8, 2005 In the photo, I'm hiding in back with my 2nd place zuchinni. Shit, it got me 25.00 worth of organic produce. That's not so bad. But bad, well, had day. He had the fucking gall to come back here with the girl who he wouldn't shut up about before we broke up. Is he trying to make my life hell? WTF??? I sure do pick the fucking idiots to break my heart, don't i? I'm not even sure why he came back here? He did invite me out to beer with them. I don't understand. Our sweet neighbor asked if there was anything she could do and gave me a hug. I thank her so much. In the good news department, i thought the cat was lost but he came back, and i got fitted for my vanilla today. HOLY SHIT i am getting the sweetest bike in the universe.
As you may be able to tell, i'm not doing so well. I started packing, yeah, and i know i need to do more, but why not let myself work best under pressure? I'm not ok right now. I'm just not ok. Stuck in Toffee, only not as nice I seem to have broken free, temporarily, from the toffee that seems to be engulfing me. The toffee that is preventing me from doing anything but watch movies, drink beer, and sit on the couch reading with a cat on my lap. It's very sticky toffee, and it seems to be surrounding me. I broke out a bit and cooked dinner. For the last two nights ken and i have been sharing meals. Out of economy, habit, kindness, lonliness? I don't know. It hasn't been bad, except when it is. I don't know if it's that we aren't pretending to make it all ok, or if it's that we're just over it, or what, but god he's so mean and pig-headed sometimes. I guess i decided i could live with that. I'm really glad i don't have to. He's so sweet some of the time, but then i have an opinion that he disagrees with, a different view, another way of thinking, and i'm not only wrong but he's kind of mean about it. Not asshole mean, just mean. But then he does the dishes WAY more than he ever did when we were dating. And now he's (GaSP) cleaning the bathroom, after cleaning his room. He did have the audacity to ask me last week when we could clean the bedroom (HIS) together, and i just looked at him like he was nuts. WTF? Did he really think i was going to help him clean the room he kicked me out of? I guess he figured out how not-ok that was, because he did it himself. I was seriously insulted last night when a mutual friend invited him to a party and not me. That's so shitty. Instead, i felt crappy then went out with Greg, to see a silly chick movie (Kamikaze girls) and drink too much beer. He makes me happy. And he never, ever crosses the line. I appreciate that. I've been in stasis while i decide which part of my plan to go through with. I think today i have come to a decision. I am going to go to NZ, move into the young'uns' house, and just deal. I've been also considering the option of getting an apartment now, all by myself. But i have almost everything i need to go: time, money, no rent, a job to come back to, and a cat-sitter. And what would i do in a studio apartment all winter long? Be bitchy and sad and bitter and lonely. Much better i am those things around people, and then go away. So, for real, tomorrow i start packing. Strangely Numb But i am desperate for a hug. I find that i'm not feeling like a very good friend at the moment. I do care about what is going on in other people's lives, and I am grateful that they are willing to take the time to be my friend and to listen, but i find my mind wandering, disappearing into someplace else, all red and pissed off and portland grey winter day colored. And, as i suspected, i am desperate for male attention. Why? What is it in my psyche that makes me crave boy validation so much? I guess it's good that i know that i have this tendency and can combat it. This weekend was crazy. I smoked half a cigarette (and regretted it, and will continue to regret it for weeks) and stayed out until sunrise. The night before, nerf and greg took me out party-hopping, being my gorgeous young dates and making me feel so loved. It would've been easy to allow it to go further. Nerf and i jokingly said as much, recalling a different time and a different break-up. Greg, on the phone, complained that he would like to flirt with me and check me out but he can't, only he said it in that way that was really asking "can I?" And the answer is no. Emotional celibacy. Only for real this time. I got to spend some time with the old crew from rocco's/produce row. People that i've known since i moved here. People that aren't my close friends, (robert and kenny and sprigo and johnwray being the exceptions) but it was comforting to be around the history. I love them because at 6:30 am we were singing at the top of our lungs, guitar strumming, rhinestone cowboy, cecelia, songs we've been singing for years. And it was wonderful to see robert. It felt so good to just be held by him, to hear his comforting (always so good at comforting me through a break-up) "you're gonna be fine, you've had it worse." And so how am i? Well, i'm sad. I'm terrified to move and i don't want to fucking move to fucking northeast egypt, a 40 minute ride from my current location, and on the wrong side of the alameda ridge. I'm not sure about living with 23 year old vegan bike punks. I am starting to get my head around moving, and i'm very serious about coming back and living by myself. With my cat. Somehow. I went on a little fantasy shopping trip today. I looked at fancy ass handlebar bags, and stoves, and cookware, and little single-girl tents, and tiny sleeping pads that i could fit in my panniers, and it all will cost a great deal of money. Oh well. I got a raise at the BTA. I've been saving up. I am ready to be self sufficient. And get the hell out. I miss ken terribly. Last night we had dinner together (a big improvement over thursday night's shouting match that included choice phrases like "i am relieved that you aren't my girlfriend" and "well, unlike your ex-wife i'm not sleeping with anyone else so i can't just leave"-ouch) but it was hard to be chipper. I wanted nothing more than to curl up with him, have my feet rubbed, and pretend that this is all just a horrible dream. But it's not. And i am going to start packing. And i don't want to leave my cat. it's over and done. I will be moving my stuff out of "his" room tomorrow. I will be moving out of "his" house in about 3 weeks, sooner if i can, later if i can't. I will try and be civil in the meantime, and graceful. I will try not to make this any harder than it is. I will be homeless and have to pay some stranger 1000.00 for the priveledge of living in thier space. Me. He doesn't have to do shit. Oh, wait, he has to hear me crying hysterical. He has to put up with me when he just wants me gone. Fucker. He will give me no choice. He will be an asshole and whistle, chipper and fine. I won't ever have to hear the fucking ukelele, out of tune and the worst singer on the planet again. He can't ever make me feel fat, never. He can't ever make me think my opinions are wrong. I have to leave the house i called home and the cat i've fallen in love with. I have to be uncertain again about where i go back to. i have a plan- it's about 10 hours old now. Here it is: move in with some friends who have offered a spare room in their large basement for a couple of months. I don't know how many bathrooms. It's not in inner southeast. It's not where i want or what i want, but...it's there, and they are good people, bikey and fun and generous. I am going to work until all my contracts are over. I'm going to get my new bike. I'm going to buy a plane ticket to melbourne and aukland, and i'm going to bike tour in new zealand for one or two months. I'm going to come back to portland, figure out a place to live, and go back to working for the BTA. In the summer, i will try and find a real job and a real place to live, and start saving up for a down payment on a condo of some variety. I will have bad, boring, drunken sex with attractive strangers at some point. I will leave town before i have to watch ken be in love with someone else. I will get over this. I will get over this.
Thursday, October 20, 2005 Ok, so i just wrote this awesome muse on what i should be doing, and promptly erased it. In summation: I don't know. Should i: Is this: What do i need? I don't know. I still don't know, but I do know that not knowing is making me a little crazy. And I don't know how to approach it. Or, maybe I'm scared to. Ok, that's pretty likely. still confused I had a great camping trip last weekend with ken, but i realized that he may never get what it means to be nice in the way i want him to be. This became more clear last night. We were having dinner with my parents who are visiting. I had just worked nearly a 10 hour day. I was exhaused and pms-y. We were having a good time, except that he kept talking over me. Finally, he actually grabbed something out of my hand and was raising his voice to be heard over mine. Spoiled brat like. It pissed me off, and i was trying to decide whether i was being over-sensitive and exhausted, or if i should say something, when he asked what was wrong. I told him. Bad idea. He freaked out, overreaccted, began invalidating, etc. etc. I told him that i was tired of not telling him when he was mean to me, and that this reaction was not OK at all. I told him that if i felt it, he needs to accept that. And figure out what he was doing to make me feel bad. I know he doesn't mean to, but he does it and i hate it. He did apologize and i think he really meant it, but i wonder what this means. It was weird and uncomfortable, and now it is all weird and uncomfortable again. I don't know. I just don't fucking know. Should i just leave? Will he ever learn how to be nice to me? CONFUSED AS SHIT. Morning breakfast and kisses. That was nice. He slept over. He kept saying i'm his best friend. I said I'm protecting myself.Does he think it's all ok? Does he think it's all better? I can't tell. Does he just not get that we have to really figure this out? Or, more likely, he is as confused and mixed up as i am. Loving the here and now. Ignoring the next day. Don't get me wrong. I'm stoked. He's been so kind and loving and fun. And i feel liberated. Like I don't really care what happens tomorrow or the next day, or if i spend my life with him or just tonight. I know that is super-ultra-healthy. But where do we start falling apart again? When does he say "I too will take responsibility for change?" How long will this nice part last and should i roll with it? Am i just prolonging the painful stuff? Should i just skip to the end so that it doesn't turn out like it did with TDB? What if we can do it? Do i want to? I go back and forth. I want to, but ONLY if he takes some responsibility. This weekend was amazing. Amazing sex, amazing fun, a bike move to beat all bike moves, and time to myself to think and read and write. I think i need to do some more crying though. I may have stopped for a while, but i'm not done. Confused. So yeah, I've been hysterical. Monday night was very, very bad. And then something changed. The air cleared. Maybe it was my head clearing? Maybe it was the house? I don't know. But something changed. I stopped crying quite so much. I felt much better, strangely. I started laughing a little. Just doing my own thing, ya know? Feeling ok. Not walking around the house like i was going to shatter, no longer walking with my tip toes, afraid to look him in the eye. Still weird, freaked out, but better. And then on Wednesday night, we were biking home from an event that we both wanted to attend. We arrived seperately. Didn't save seats. Went out for beer afterwards. It was lovely. Nervous, like first date nervous sorta. And when we rode home he said "the last couple of days have been great. Do you think we could work this out?" (Or something similar.) Now friends, before you are disgusted with his flipflops and his weird quasi-emotional abuse of my poor brain, realize that I am too. And i said "I am not sure." Whooee! Score one for the grown up woman! I continued "I don't know if too much has been said, or what. I have been having fun too, but see how happy I am when you aren't treating me like shit? I like it too." Zing. "Why don't we just be friends and see..." So a little more time passes. We are in separate beds still, BTW. And it's kind of fun hanging out. I realize some pretty weird stuff I've been doing, and he's not being even a little bit mean. And then today, well, today we talked a little bit about how much we miss eachother. He says "I love you when you are fun. This is what I want." He even cleans the kitchen. And I am confused. I refuse to get back on his emotional roller coaster. On the other hand, last week I was willing to work on this and accept him as he is, fucked up and all, with some modifications (like not treating me like shit anymore). The only thing that has changed this week is that he wrote me a horrible, truthful letter that freaked me the fuck out. And then we started being nice to eachother again. I am withholding decision making for a while. I am still looking for another place to live, even if in the back of my mind i would love to stay here and just be roommates. I would like to ask him what his plan would be (realistic, communicative) to make this work. I would like to really, really decide if i can handle this, because even though i love him, i'm not sure i can. Not much cooking going on. Rather: tears, hysteria, total shock, anger, throwing things, some Actual Communication, and abject resignation. After a particularly bad night last night in which he admitted he thinks i'm fat, and some other much more disturbing, wrong things which i can't even bear to think about much less repeat, we actually talked. The grand outcome of this was that I am much less mystified why it has all played out this way. It makes a lot more sense now. Not that it's ok. Not that he did anything right. Not that I did a lot of things right. But i get it, sorta. It still hurts, feels like shit, makes me want to cry, but at least i understand a little now. I'm not sure if that helps. I'm going tomorrow to look at a place. It actually sounds pretty good. Electric stove though. I'm exhausted to the point of falling over but it's only 8pm. I am worn out. I taught 8 classes today, 7 pedestrian safety (second day ever of this program) and then 2 hours of after-school bike safety. Now i am physically and emotionally exhausted. But it's only 8 and i don't really want to go to bed. Truly, i want to hang out with ken and have a beer, talk about our respective day, be held. Bah. No chance of that. Maybe another glass of wine and a book? Yeah. Turns out i'm WAY more attached to the bedroom than i thought. After taking a muscle relaxant courtesy of Rev. Phil on sunday night to help me sleep, I passed out in the bedroom. Couldn't be budged. Ken gave up and now we have staked our territory. My space. His. We've also staked our seperate eating times. As always, mornings and showers are the absolute hardest. Like, the worst ever. It does get easier, right? Yeah, i know. Time heals all. Shit, i've got it tattooed on my forearm to remind me. Yet i always seem to forget. The End.Thanks to all of my friends who have been wonderful on the phone with me. Thanks to everyone who has listened. When i arrived home this morning ken said it is over. No maybes. No "i don't know." Just over. I have been alternately crying hysterically (mostly that) and feeling completely numb. If i thought there was a chance in hell of changing his mind, i wouldn't be crying the way i am and making life difficult. But there is not. Tim Pipe, from way way back when, offered me his spare room in texas in january and february. That's a pretty good thought, actually. Wait til i get my vanilla and ship it down there, ride all over texas, teach something, live for free out of the rain for a couple of months, and come back for spring at the BTA. Liz encouraged me to cry. Kelly just encouraged me. I know that this is just another part of growing up, right? And eventually the tears will dry up and i will be out of this house and i will move on. And i won't be any more emotionally damaged than i already was. Right? Speaking of moving: i have as much time as i need to leave. I think i would like to find someplace quiet, close-in, put much of my crap in storage in Ryan's garage, and live very simply for a while. I would like to stay in this general area for ease of commuting. I need to buy my own trailer. I also need to not panic and rush into a questionable situation, while at the same time I need to be proactive and get the hell out as soon as i can. This is a sad letter to a friend. But it encapsulates what is going on. Remember the last break ups? Yeah. I puked again. Already, and it hasn't even happened yet. But then I opened the paper to the roommates wanted section and wanted to die. And I puked yet again.Dear ___. This is one of the scariest things that has ever happened to me. Ken and i have gotten into some bad patterns and finally I have recognized them. Or, he blew up and that caused me to recognize them. With that recognition has come the realization on both our parts that we have to change; that we can't go on like this. So, we sat down last week and agreed on some stuff. Some changes, some good communication practices, etc. It felt good, even if we both know it will take a lot of work. And today I had a rough time while we were being intimate; i said stop and I don't think this feels fun, and he freaked out and said he can't do this. He doesn't think he can do this. And then he closed down. Emotionally, communicatively, in every way. And i went upstairs to cry and realized I didn't want to cry and feel unsafe, feel bad for for feeling bad. I feel bad crying in that house. And i realized that I needed some time, that he needed some time, so I left. I said i'd be back; I said I'd be ok, and I asked him to talk to someone, anyone, about being in a relationship. I also told him that I love him, that conflict and communication are hard but they are part of a relationship, and we have to have them. And then I went away. I'm pretty sure (but maybe i'm jumping the gun) that when I go home tomorrow he will say it's over; i will find a house to live in and move out; that lifetime committment that we made will mean nothing to him because it's getting to be hard work. And that will be that. I know that I am capable of handling that and I know that I am lucky to have great friends and a strong network of support and love, and that I'll be ok eventually. But I am not sure. I have had more breakups in the last 4 years; I swore I wasn't moving in with anyone ever again unless it was the last time, the for real time. The forever one. And then i did move in and I've never been happier. Sure, we've got shit to work out but relationships don't just happen; they take effort to be special and real. I know that I do want to make a lifetime committment out of this. And he doesn't seem to care. I wanted to write to you because I miss you and I wanted you to hear about this from me and not someone else. Maybe I am wrong and he will welcome me with open arms and this will all be in vain, but this feels final and bad.
love,
Saturday, September 24, 2005 Look at how happy I look. Look again at me sitting in front of my friend's computer, typing while trying not to start crying again. Funny that. Things were better. We talked. We came up with agreements, a list of things to work on, a cleaning schedule to mitigate that stress. He surprised me by saying that he did want to work on our relationship. He also took some responsiblity for some things that have happened. It was good. We even did it and it was fun. Then today something happened. We were having sex and it felt weird-bad. I said something. He flipped the fuck out. Said he can't do this. Said he just can't. Then said he doesn't know. I started crying and went up to our room. Realized I couldn't be there-didn't feel good or safe. That house...sometimes it's not right. So I decided to leave. I packed an overnight bag, called my friend crying, and told ken that I was leaving. I said I'd be back tomorrow. I said I love you. I said that it's pretty normal to fight. Communication = conflict= resolution. Sometimes you get to skip the conflict; sometimes you don't. Damn. I am trying. But I can't live with this up/down. I can't live with him saying i don't know. So when i go back and he says No, I can't live with you and I can't do this, that's that. And then my heart is broken. Things fall apart. Possibly my living situation and my relationship with my partner. When does it become ex? I don't know. He sure as hell doesn't know. Horrible things were said. I'm sad to say that they weren't said out of anger. Now i'm looking at my house and wondering if i will be leaving soon. I am not ready to give up on this relationship. I think it would be stupid to, but i also want to retain my grace (hah!) and leave when it's time. I don't know how to do this. He claims fundamental differences. He thinks i'm delusional, not proactive enough about many things, not driven is the phrase he used, depressed, mopey, clingy, and insecure because I need to hear him say that he loves me. I think i've never been happier in my entire life and I'm doing everything that i've dreamed of. I think i've finally grown into someone I can be proud of, and that i'm working toward my goals. Clearly there is a big problem. So i don't know. Leave? Leave for a couple of days? He slept on the couch last night. Leaving feels like i'm admitting defeat, and i'm fighting tooth and nail for this. I don't move in with someone just for the hell of it, nor do I take a lifetime committment lightly. But staying? Is that wise? He said he doesn't respect many parts of my personality. Do i dare continue to live with that attitude? Won't it kill me? space? time? Breath? I don't know. I am sure that i want to fight if there is something worth saving. I think there is something worth saving. I am also sure that we both have shit to work on and I just don't see him doing his part. And that's not ok. I am not sure if i believe in fundamental differences at this point. But then again, yesterday it felt like he was just saying things to get me to leave, to be the first to break up so he didn't have to, so he could say "look, i've been left again." No.
Monday, September 12, 2005
Friday, September 9, 2005 Another cyclist is killed. This time, it's not an anonymous face. It's Gareth, annoying, frustrating, full of energy Gareth, who was a safe rider, a knowledgable rider, and a very well-lit rider. He was struck by a truck. It was a hit and run. That makes what? Nine deaths this year. Or is it ten? I've lost count. While the southern part of this country is completely devastated, and human beings are being treated like vermin by the people supposed to save and protect them, and girls are getting raped in so-called shelters, while people are starving to death and dying of dehydration, where people who are trying to survive because the services won't help them so they take food and water and get SHOT and KillED... I don't even know what to feel. Ken and I sat holding each other when we heard of Gareth's death. Only no one could confirm it was him; I had to call the state police (who were very kind) to find out. And it was. And at the same time, all i can think about is how grateful I am that we have our home and water and food, that my boyfriend hasn't been killed, that i am still alive. With every cyclist death, it moves closer. Yesterday i was very late in coming home from work. Ken heard sirens and helicopters and started getting worried. Of course he did. He called me and said "i just wanted to make sure you are still alive." I was almost killed on Wednesday in broad daylight, in a bike lane, not even in the usual spot for cyclists to get hit. A car didn't want to wait for the left-turning car in front of it, so swerved quickly to pass on the right- into the bike lane. I screamed and swerved and the driver flipped me off. That's right. The driver flipped me off. Oh god, i don't want to live in this country any more. Please, please let's move somewhere where it's safe to ride bikes, and governments don't starve poor black people just because they are poor and black. The only good that may come out of katrina and the ensuing disaster is that the idiots running the country will be summarily kicked out. Impeached. Forced to live in the Houston Astrodome for 3 weeks, with the rotting bodies of their own family.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005 Hmmm. Ken and i went on another bike trip. Instead of a camera, we took water colors, and almost everyone in the group contributed a picture. My personal favorite is one of me trudging through the unexpected 16 miles of uphill gravel, with the phrase "tough as shit" hovering above me. Greg, a friend from GJ and Ammon's brother, painted that one. We rode to Vernonia, but due to poor ride leadership and a bridge being out, the first day was something of a clusterfuck. and an extra 25 miles, uphill through some of the scariest gravel trails i've ever been on, fully loaded with all our camping crap. We all had roadbikes and it sucked. It was hella fun though, once we got past the gravel. We had a pub crawl and a midnite mystery ride-all the bike fun in a month of Portland, in one night. First day was 65.3 miles, the second was over 52. Meanwhile, our garden has been growing and growing and growing. And i've been trying to be creative with what i do. I made the most incredible pickled jalapenos last week. This week I made rice patties, black beans, and tomatillo salsa (Scroll down to August 13, 2003).
Rice Patties Beat the eggs into a bowl. Add everything else and mix well. It should be wet and gloppy. The breadcrumbs should hold it together a bit. Heat a layer of oil in a thick-bottomed fry pan over medium-high heat. Take a large spoonful (1/4 cup or more) of the mixture and press it together. It will hold together a little bit, but not well. That's ok. Place this patty into the hot oil. Make as many patties as you can fit comfortably into the pan. Cook for about a minute, then turn the heat down to low. Fry on each side about 6 minutes. Turn over when the rice is crispy and browned. Keep in oven until it's time to serve. Serve with tomatillo salsa, or another fresh table salsa. Oven method Preheat broiler. Take fresh green or red chilis (bell peppers too), put them on a baking tray, and put them under the broiler. Gas stove method Using tongs, hold or balance the chilies over an open flame. Turn as soon as each bit is blackened. When they are mostly all black, put them in a paper bag and close it, or put them in a bowl with a towel over the top. This step makes it much easier to peel them. Wait a few minutes. To peel, simply rub off as much of the blackened peel as possible. Now you can seed them if you wish, or just chop or slice or do what you like. I can't believe I did it, but i rode to the coast, up the coast, over the coast range, to the beach, and I didn't die. In fact, it turns out that bike touring is the most fun thing to do in the whole world, ever. Even when it's really hard and scary. There were a couple of bad moments- the first day when we were climbing (and climbing and climbing) and I started having an asthma attack-the worst one in the past decade- and realized i didn't have an inhaler with me. That was scary as hell. I walked about a mile that day because i was so scared that I was going to pass out in the middle of nowhere and turn blue. But that lasted maybe an hour, then i rode and rode some more, and coasted in to the campsite on our first night, so happy and proud I was crying. Ken turns out to be the greatest bike tripping companion too. Go figure. He was so supportive and encouraging and wonderful. He let me set the pace most of the time, and it wasn't really so much slower than his. He kept telling me how proud he was of me, how good I was doing. I felt so strong and brilliant. The best part was that I could feel myself getting stronger every day. I could go further, faster, with fewer breaks as the week passed. Although there was usually a moment (especially on Hwy 101) where I would have to pull off because of an extreme cramp after climbing a mile, once i stretched out i would be fine. Even in the damp mornings, after sleeping in a tent on uneven ground, I wasn't horribly sore. Sore, certainly, but still perfectly able to bike without hurting myself. Why has it taken me until I was 29 to start doing this? Wow! We got to spend some time on the beach, but it's oregon so there was no swimming. But we watched the waves, and the birds, and the sunset. I've never eaten so much in my entire life, and i was frequently hungry even after a meal. Biking with all your shit up hill into the wind works up a powerful appetite. On our final night, we were approached by a man called Thor, a german who was from Spain. He was bike touring from Canada to Argentina, over two and a half years. He was crazy and awesome. He invited us to share his campsite, which turned out to be very lucky as the camp we were intending to go to didn't exsist. Thor told these amazing stories about bears and cougars in canada, and being so afraid to sleep or bike sometimes. He would go door to door sometimes, in the Yukon, asking folks if he could sleep with their dogs so as to have some protection from the bears. He had so much stuff with him, which is understandable for such a long tour, but I bet i couldn't even pedal his bike. He was all muscle, a former professional diver from Majorca and a farmer. He was intense. Ken and i had great fun talking to him about biking and politics. His greatest question was "why do all these people have so many flags? What are they so proud of?"
Tuesday, July 12, 2005 HA! I am a superhero in this jacket. Finally, the world has conspired to make a perfect garment. Tight fitting. Breathable. Warm as hell. Tiny. Water resistent, sweat wicking. Extra long sleeves with thumb holes, perfect for bike riding. Fitted hood to go under a helmet. 4 pockets, two that zip. Almost nothing identifying it as a piece of gear for women; a total lack of gawd-awful floral print and "feminine colors." The stylings of a superhero. And i got one of the last ones available on the west coast. Damn, i'm good! More broke, but good! In other news, I spent almost all of yesterday getting ready to go on our bike camping trip. Mostly, i have been making the food and food shopping. I even went so far as to pull out the dehydrator and the dehydrator recipe book. Although i've been keeping very good notes about camp food, how much and what, i won't repeat it here because i don't really think the folks who read this have a dehydrator and plan on going on week-long camp trips. If you do want recipes, let me know and I will be more than happy to post them. Instead, I'm going to list menus, so the world can see that camp food can be good.
Breakfasts: Lunches: Dinners Two Tast-ee bites (instant indian food) and instant rice Large box of Annies mac-n-cheese with dehydrated veggie mix And from the dehydrator: sesame banana ginger cruch, and breakfast cookies
Friday, July 8, 2005
Friday, July 8, 2005 But not all of them. Hmmm...i rode 17 miles this morning, in a light rain. I got all geared out. God, i hate having gear, and i love how much farther i can go and how much more comfortable i am when i do ride far and fast. Here is a small list of the bike gear now have (and really like): (and where i got it)
fancy-pants helmet with visor - free from old job I guess working at the bike shop really paid off in a lot of ways. I'm glad i bought as much stuff as i did from them, because now it's not so cheap. Oh well.
Thai Green Curry with Eggplant and Sweet Potatosplus cabbage, basil, fresh leeks, and haricot verts2 TBS olive or canola oil 1 onion, chopped 1/2 jalapeno, minced, if you like it hot 1-2 TBS prepared Thai green curry paste- more if you like it spicy 1 eggplant, cubed 1 cup water or vegetable stock 6 kaffir lime leaves 1 or 2 sweet potatos, cubed 1 can coconut milk salt zest of one lime juice of one lime 2 tsp brown sugar fish sauce to serve (optional) Optional vegetables 1 cup cabbage, chunked 1/2 cup basil, coarsely chopped 1/2 cup haricots vert (french skinny green beans) Heat the oil in a large, heavy fry pan. Saute the onions and jalapeno for about 2 minutes. Add the curry paste, and continue cooking until the onions are translucent. Add the eggplant and cook for 5 minutes more. Add the water or stock, the coconut milk, the sweet potato, and the kaffir lime leaves. Bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer. Cover and cook for about 10 minutes, until the sweet potato and eggplant are meltingly tender. If you are using other vegtables, add them in during the last five minutes of cooking. Meanwhile, mix the lime juice, zest, and sugar. Add this mixture at the very end of the cooking time, and mix it in well. Taste for salt-it probably needs some. Serve with rice, rice noodles, the optional fish sauce, lime quarters, and beer. Our friend Chris moved to Germany for two years, leaving his incredible plum tree to just ripen and ripen and ripen. As he lives across the street from the co-op, it's very easy to pick some plums up on the way home fromt he store. What can you do with so many fucking plums? This is one idea.
Plum Soupserves two, doubles very easily1 lb plums 1 cup water 1 cup red or white wine (i used champagne and white mixed) 2/3 cup sugar 1 three-inch piece of cinnamon zest of one lemon juice of one lemon 1/2 tsp corn starch 1/2 cup sour cream or yogurt 1 TBS powdered sugar Take the fruit and de-stone it. Add the plums, the water, the wine, the sugar, the zest, the lemon juice, and the cinnamon to the pot. Bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer for 45 minutes. Using a sieve or cheesecloth, drain the liquid and keep the pulp and skins. The pulp and skins can surely be used for something else, right? Chill the liquid. About an hour before serving, bring the whole thing to a boil. Mix the cornstarch with about 1/4 cup cold water. Add this to the boiling soup. Stir and boil for about 2 minutes, until it thickens. Chill again. Taste for seasoning-it should be both tart and sweet. Mix the powdered sugar with the yogurt or sour cream. Serve in chilled bowls, with a dollop of yogurt/sour cream in the middle.
Thursday, July 7, 2005 So, ken really is famous. Bombs hit London today. The folks that i know how to contact are ok. I am scared. And why mass transit? C'mon, blow up the fuckers in the Hummers and the SUV's. Not the Tube! Damn damn damn. To deal, ken and i slept in and then made a great scramble for breakfast: Scramble of Goodness4 eggs a tiny bit of gruyere handful of chard from the garden, chopped 2 baby leeks, white and light green part in big chunks handful of mushrooms, quartered splash of white wine butter salt and pepper Melt some butter in a small pan. Add one leek. Saute for about a minute. Add the mushrooms and a splash of wine, and cover for 5 minutes. They are done when they shrink, smell good, and start to give off more juices. Add salt and pepper. Add the other leek and chard, and saute, covered, for a few more minutes. The chard should get bright green and be tender but not totally wilted. Meanwhile, beat the eggs and grate the tiny bit of cheese in the eggs. Heat a pan on low for the eggs, and grease it well. Remove the vegetables from the heat and allow to cool for a minute or two. Add them to the eggs and mix well. Now scramble the whole thing. The key to a good scramble is low heat and constant stirring. When the eggs start to curd up, keep stirring. Just before it is cooked all the way through, turn off the heat. The eggs will keep cooking for about another minute. Serve with orange juice, fake sausage, and good bread and butter and jam. And coffee. OK, so here's an actual recipe. Let me preface this by saying that Ken got the idea to grill. Now, last time we grilled it was a bit of a disaster as we didn't use nearly enough charcoal, and we ended up using the stovetop, and we had a guest. Oh well. This time, we erred in the opposite direction and got the coal really, really hot, really fast. This evening started with a trip to the farmer's market and store(s) for some basic groceries, a screaming shit-ton of produce, and Social Hour. See, we belong to a co-op, and it seems like everyone else we know shops there too. Especially on Farmer's Market days. So, while the actual shopping part of the trip may take twenty minutes or so, the social part of the trip usually takes about fourty five minutes. Luckily, there was food at the market (red beans, rice, collard greens, all organic, natch.) to keep our blood sugar up. And produce. We had the vague idea of grilling, and i saw some baby leeks that looked delectable, so there we go. Grilled Halibutfor twotwo 1/3 lb slabs of halibut, more if you are hungry 4 slices lemon 2 large sprigs fresh rosemary 6 large chives 2 large sprigs of thyme salt and pepper aluminum foil for making packets Liberally salt and pepper the fish on both sides. Place the halibut, skin down, in the foil packets. Take the slices of lemon, two to a fillet, and place them on top. Take the chives and twist them, 3 at a time, into a knot. Take one chive knot, one rosemary sprig, and one thyme sprig and lay that on top of the lemon slices. Close the packet. Repeat. Grill on a very hot grill for about 6 minutes, depending on the thickness of the fillet. It should be milky white all the way through. Garden Vegetable Grill1 small zucchini 2 small new potatos 4 baby leeks enough rosemary, chives, and thyme to make 1/4 cup salt and pepper 1 or 2 TBS olive oil Slice the zucchini in half, then into fairly large half-moons. Chunk the potatoes into fairly small pieces-they take the longest to cook so the smaller the better. Slice the leeks into big chunks. Chop the herbs. In a big bowl, blend the chopped herbs, the olive oil, and salt and pepper. Add the vegetables. Grill briefly. Ken is the awesomest awesome boyfriend ever. He just sat down with me and went through every freaking line of code for this and taught me stuff and we figured out how to make it work. He's so cool. Now i am off to sew sew sew. By the way, we had Pancakes with blueberries from our garden for breakfast. I love summer!
Tuesday, July 5, 2005 Finally, a quick hello: I have not died. Nay, i haven't even sunk. Although there was a period this spring when i was barely treading water. In a nutshell: I didn't get into the graduate program that i was counting on, i was consistently getting the short end of the stick at meetings because i was just a girl without a degree in urban planning (with big tits, so clearly i can't be smart, right?), and i didn't get a job that i desperately wanted. All in about 2 weeks. Add to that the fact that my regular job was incredibly depressing and stupidly low-paying and highly stressful, and things with my boyfriend were very rocky, and there was a recipe for disaster. Some things happened though: Ken dropped some relationship bombshells on me that made me realize that while he may have been with someone else for 19 years, married for 15, he has NO IDEA how to communicate. At all. Realizing that was a major victory for us both. Teaching him how to do it is a little more challenging. Then i went on a little Elicia Recouperation Weekend. I took the my bike on the train to Seattle, went to visit an old college roommate who just had a baby, then my best friend came and picked me up and we drove to her little house in Bellingham, WA, to ride bikes and drink wine and go to thrift stores and spend some time together without our boyfriends. For the first time in about 3 years. I came back and it was like a different life. There was a job opening that was my dream job, and after some discussion, they hired me although i am a rather vocal critic of some of their programs and policies. The job pays incredibly well, although it's seasonal. I am a school teacher, often teaching either gym or health, for 5th and 6th graders in the public school system. I teach bicyle safety. The program is two weeks long, or about 10 hours per class. I have to teach rules of the road, basic bicycle safety information, laws, signals, and then how to actually stop at stop signs, make left turns, cross busy streets, etc. It is the most incredible, albeit totally exhausting, job i've ever had. I love every second of it, even when it's stressful or scary. The organization that i work for, the Bicycle Transportation Alliance, provides me with tools, a fleet of sometimes working bicycles, helmets, and most importantly, support. They pay for my planning periods, they pay for my travel time, they pay for my administrative time, they pay for us to have meetings during happy hour! They even paid for two weeks of full-time training. They listen to our feedback and make changes based on our reccommendations. Mostly. It's not perfect, but is anything? And i love it. The other instructors are awesome, strong, bad-ass women that I am proud to call my friends and co-workers, even if we don't actually work together at all. Because once we are in a classroom, we are on our own- no direct supervision. We are expected to teach to the best of our abilities, and make good judgement calls when we need to. The first school that I taught at by myself was an hour-and-a-half bus ride from downtown portland, and an hour bike ride back. All paid, of course. And it was amazing. I can't wait till the job starts again. The downside is that it is seasonal, but i spent so many years being seasonal, and this year I have a contract with the Oregon Symphony for the late fall and christmas season that is lucrative, to say the least. I had all but quit my shitty job at the bike shop, but was still doing some shifts here and there. In fact, they were letting me make my own schedule, so i figured i could last the summer there. Then over the past month, 8 people have quit. As they kept leaving, the shop became more and more dysfunctional and broken, until it became totally unbearable. So, for my 29th birthday, i quit too. I am teaching an acting class in August, and i start teaching bike safety again in September. Ken and i went backpacking last weekend, and plan on doing at least 1 more trip like that and a couple of bike touring trips as well. It is my goal to ride the oregon coast, or part of it, this summer. We are also going to michigan for his nephew's wedding. I'm a little scared, but since he hates his family with a passion, it's ok for me to hate them too. They are extremely christian and conservative. His sister, who is my age, has 4-yes, FOUR, fucking children. Whoa. I am sewing curtains to cover the canopy on our deck, and growing tomatos and tomatillos and all manner of other food in our garden, and learning how to put in a fountain. I just finished organizing the Multnomah County Bike Fair, the biggest bike fair in the area, and the culmination of a two-week celebration of bike fun that i also helped organize and was a major participant in (as well as a ride leader- check out Jonathan's Pedalpalooza Blog for pictures). And i'm the vice-chair of the city's bicycle advisory committee too! So, that's my story. I have a lot of plans for the summer, but mostly i just want to enjoy my home and garden and boyfriend and life. Don't worry. There are TONS of recipes on the way.
Tuesday, June 28, 2005 Unfamiliar Foods and Terminology
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