Sunday, May 30, 2010
Saturday, May 29, 2010
The Soundtrack to My Summer (with video #1 of several)
(Videos will be appearing on my blog at random. Tracks in no particular order)
Dashboard Confessional: "Don't Wait"
Journey: "Don't Stop Believing"
Modest Mouse: "Float On"
The Killers: "Smile Like You Mean It"
Everything: "Hooch"
Green Day: "Whatsername"
Santana ft. Rob Thomas: "Smooth"
Finger 11: "One Thing"
Hot Action Cop: "In A Little While"
Our Lady Peace: "Somewhere Out There"
Sublime: "Badfish"
Silverchair: "Without You"
Fall Out Boy: "I've Got a Dark Alley and a Bad Idea That You Should Shut Your Mouth"
Something Corporate: "Fall"
Clutch: "Electric Worry"
The Dissociatives: "Horror With Eyeballs"
Brand New: "The Quiet Things No One Ever Knows"
Finch: "What It Is To Burn"
***The only criterion needed to make my soundtrack for any particular summer is that the song needs to "feel" like summer to me, for lack of a better way to phrase it. It should lift me up (whether the lyrical content is happy or depressing or completely random), and make me think of other summers. All of these songs do that.
Here's a video from my summer 2010 soundtrack.
Dashboard Confessional: "Don't Wait"
Journey: "Don't Stop Believing"
Modest Mouse: "Float On"
The Killers: "Smile Like You Mean It"
Everything: "Hooch"
Green Day: "Whatsername"
Santana ft. Rob Thomas: "Smooth"
Finger 11: "One Thing"
Hot Action Cop: "In A Little While"
Our Lady Peace: "Somewhere Out There"
Sublime: "Badfish"
Silverchair: "Without You"
Fall Out Boy: "I've Got a Dark Alley and a Bad Idea That You Should Shut Your Mouth"
Something Corporate: "Fall"
Clutch: "Electric Worry"
The Dissociatives: "Horror With Eyeballs"
Brand New: "The Quiet Things No One Ever Knows"
Finch: "What It Is To Burn"
***The only criterion needed to make my soundtrack for any particular summer is that the song needs to "feel" like summer to me, for lack of a better way to phrase it. It should lift me up (whether the lyrical content is happy or depressing or completely random), and make me think of other summers. All of these songs do that.
Here's a video from my summer 2010 soundtrack.
Navel-Gazing
I've seen and done many things in the past twenty-seven, nearly twenty-eight years. I've lived all over the northern portion of this state. I've burned more bridges, both deliberately and accidentally, than I can remember. While I am not haunted by my past, there are certain nights where I can feel it swirling around me, thick enough to breathe in, a taste on my tongue like the ghosts of all the cigarettes I've smoked, all the hard alcohol I've consumed.
I miss aimless late night drives behind the wheel of my old Chevy Cavalier, arm draped out the window, headlights cutting through the fog as another sad acoustic song played on my stereo and I sang along.
I miss walking through razor-edged grass near my childhood home, bare feet on warm sand, as the sun set over Lake Michigan and my body was surrounded in the borrowed golden glow reflecting from beach and water.
I miss sitting outside my apartment down on Clarion, lighting a new cigarette from the butt of the old one, riding high on an intoxication born of youth and love and copious amounts of Captain Morgan's.
I miss walking home from the pub at two in the morning, confident in the amount of space my body occupied, stomach flat and tanned, shoulders broad, the smell of the asphalt rising up through a humid July night in this small town.
I miss looking up through the lilac streaks in my once-long hair, not in a flirtatious way, but in a questioning one.
Going back further, I miss cradling my guitar against my chest and belly in the days when I still played. I miss B.'s overnights at my house, when he'd play "Hotel California" and we'd both sing. I miss sneaking cd's to J. and hoping his mother wouldn't find out.
I miss making snow forts out of the giant piles created by the plow when they came to clear our driveway, the way the cold never seemed to touch me until I went inside. Running down a dirt road, then cutting through the woods to get to the beach, calloused feet oblivious to the stones and sticks.
I miss the days of being responsible only to and for myself, the freedom of being single and broke but capable of working whatever hours were necessary, however many jobs it took to get what I needed.
I miss sitting down at the pub and staring into Jeremy's eyes as we got progressively more and more drunk, then walking out, stopping at 7/11 for cigarettes and snacks, and making our way home, sometimes with friends, sometimes not. Nights spent sitting in my unfurnished living room, an afternoon lying on the floor listening to Bill Hicks, that sexual tension between us thick and heavy.
There are so many things I miss, and yet, I doubt I'd go back and relive them, for fear of messing up my chances to get to where I am now.
I miss a lot. But every bridge burned, from my first conscious decision to cut some unhealthy tie, to the events of the past few days, has been for my good, and while I spend my introspective moments looking back on my past, examining every path that's parted from mine of my accord, I refuse to feel grief, and I refuse to question those decisions.
They are in my best interest.
I miss aimless late night drives behind the wheel of my old Chevy Cavalier, arm draped out the window, headlights cutting through the fog as another sad acoustic song played on my stereo and I sang along.
I miss walking through razor-edged grass near my childhood home, bare feet on warm sand, as the sun set over Lake Michigan and my body was surrounded in the borrowed golden glow reflecting from beach and water.
I miss sitting outside my apartment down on Clarion, lighting a new cigarette from the butt of the old one, riding high on an intoxication born of youth and love and copious amounts of Captain Morgan's.
I miss walking home from the pub at two in the morning, confident in the amount of space my body occupied, stomach flat and tanned, shoulders broad, the smell of the asphalt rising up through a humid July night in this small town.
I miss looking up through the lilac streaks in my once-long hair, not in a flirtatious way, but in a questioning one.
Going back further, I miss cradling my guitar against my chest and belly in the days when I still played. I miss B.'s overnights at my house, when he'd play "Hotel California" and we'd both sing. I miss sneaking cd's to J. and hoping his mother wouldn't find out.
I miss making snow forts out of the giant piles created by the plow when they came to clear our driveway, the way the cold never seemed to touch me until I went inside. Running down a dirt road, then cutting through the woods to get to the beach, calloused feet oblivious to the stones and sticks.
I miss the days of being responsible only to and for myself, the freedom of being single and broke but capable of working whatever hours were necessary, however many jobs it took to get what I needed.
I miss sitting down at the pub and staring into Jeremy's eyes as we got progressively more and more drunk, then walking out, stopping at 7/11 for cigarettes and snacks, and making our way home, sometimes with friends, sometimes not. Nights spent sitting in my unfurnished living room, an afternoon lying on the floor listening to Bill Hicks, that sexual tension between us thick and heavy.
There are so many things I miss, and yet, I doubt I'd go back and relive them, for fear of messing up my chances to get to where I am now.
I miss a lot. But every bridge burned, from my first conscious decision to cut some unhealthy tie, to the events of the past few days, has been for my good, and while I spend my introspective moments looking back on my past, examining every path that's parted from mine of my accord, I refuse to feel grief, and I refuse to question those decisions.
They are in my best interest.
Friday, May 28, 2010
One Way To Achieve Temporary Tranquility
There's a world of difference between cooking at home and cooking professionally. I spent ten years of my life - well over a third - in professional kitchens, doing everything from washing dishes to prep work to desserts to single stations to swing and float. (Float, aka all-around, meant that on busy nights, rather than have an assigned station, meant I ran around the kitchen and bailed out anyone in danger of going into the weeds. Swing, to put it simply, meant that I covered the station of whichever cook had the day off.) I've worked brunches, lunches, and dinners. I've worked in high-volume kitchens and kitchens where a good day's take was 350 covers. It's intense. You get burned, cut - my hands and arms still have scars, nearly ten months after leaving my last position. Every movement needs to be precisely calculated for speed, agility, and grace, while be being economic - after all, coffee and Red Bull will only get you so high on caffeine before you crash. It's crazy, it's hectic, it's harsh and unforgiving. Part of me misses it.
Cooking at home is a different story entirely. At home, I achieve a state of calm usually only attained by a large dose of Xanax. It's my home kitchen. I listen to the music I want, the counters are at a proper height for me, my standard four-burner gas stove and oven are familiar to me, my pots and pans are great non-stick non-Teflon (a Christmas gift from Jeremy's dad and stepmom three years ago), and there's no pressure, no machine spitting tickets or irritated expediters telling me to hold or fire on salads for table 409.
I love the challenge of buying cheap, tough cuts of meat and doing something other than stew them. Being in dire need of some tranquility today, I got in the kitchen and did some messing.
First step: I pulled out three chunks of bottom round. The butcher had sliced them in such a way as to make them unsuitable for grilling. I used one of my favorite knives, one that I highly recommend to everyone, to slice the meat cross-grain on the bias.
8 1/2" high carbon molybdenum vanadium steel blade, anti-stick coating, super-light, high clearance to avoid knuckle bumping
I set the meat aside. In a medium sized sauce pot, I placed fresh rosemary, two crushed cloves of garlic, a single juniper berry, some freshly ground black pepper, and a few shots of balsamic vinegar. I then filled the pot 3/4 full of beef stock. I brought it to a boil, boiled it for ten minutes or so, then turned off the heat and let it sit.
After turning off the heat under my jus, I melted butter in a large, heavy skillet over medium heat. Once the butter had foamed and subsided, I browned my strips of bottom round, after seasoning with kosher salt and some freshly ground black pepper. Once the meat was browned, I placed it in the pot with the jus in it, then sampled a piece. Tasty, flavorful, but very chewy and tough. No biggie. I turned the heat under the jus up to medium-high and brought it to a rolling boil. While the meat boiled in its sauce, I threw some butter into a smaller, heavy skillet, turned the flame to medium high, and melted it. Again, I waited for it to foam and subside. Once it had, I added sliced white button mushrooms, added a pinch of salt, and sauteed them till they were dark golden brown on both sides.
I turned off the heat under both skillet and pot. We placed meat on soft white rolls, Jeremy added his mushrooms, we each added a slice of mozzarella cheese, ladeled out small bowls of jus for dipping, and feasted.
This is one of my favorite things to cook. Stripping rosemary leaves from their stems, slicing the meat and the mushrooms, tasting, correcting seasoning, tasting again... We have a curtain over the kitchen door. Its intended purpose is to keep the cool air from our window A/C unit in the living room and bedrooms. It also serves well to muffle sounds. So while Jeremy was watching wrestling on his computer and the boys were playing and watching kids' movies on the TV, I was in the kitchen listening to a mix of Journey, Green Day, and The Killers, singing along, and not allowing my brain to process anything. I've made these sandwiches so often that I don't have to think about what I'm doing. It's the closest I can get to autopilot, and being on autopilot for an hour or so was exactly what I needed. Yes, I could have boiled the jus while I browned the meat and saved some time, it's true. But I did it the way I did it for the simple reason that I was at home, I didn't have a ticket time I was trying to achieve, and I was relaxing. Those sandwiches gave me peace, relaxation, and inner quiet.
Plus, they were damn tasty.
Cooking at home is a different story entirely. At home, I achieve a state of calm usually only attained by a large dose of Xanax. It's my home kitchen. I listen to the music I want, the counters are at a proper height for me, my standard four-burner gas stove and oven are familiar to me, my pots and pans are great non-stick non-Teflon (a Christmas gift from Jeremy's dad and stepmom three years ago), and there's no pressure, no machine spitting tickets or irritated expediters telling me to hold or fire on salads for table 409.
I love the challenge of buying cheap, tough cuts of meat and doing something other than stew them. Being in dire need of some tranquility today, I got in the kitchen and did some messing.
First step: I pulled out three chunks of bottom round. The butcher had sliced them in such a way as to make them unsuitable for grilling. I used one of my favorite knives, one that I highly recommend to everyone, to slice the meat cross-grain on the bias.
8 1/2" high carbon molybdenum vanadium steel blade, anti-stick coating, super-light, high clearance to avoid knuckle bumping
I set the meat aside. In a medium sized sauce pot, I placed fresh rosemary, two crushed cloves of garlic, a single juniper berry, some freshly ground black pepper, and a few shots of balsamic vinegar. I then filled the pot 3/4 full of beef stock. I brought it to a boil, boiled it for ten minutes or so, then turned off the heat and let it sit.
After turning off the heat under my jus, I melted butter in a large, heavy skillet over medium heat. Once the butter had foamed and subsided, I browned my strips of bottom round, after seasoning with kosher salt and some freshly ground black pepper. Once the meat was browned, I placed it in the pot with the jus in it, then sampled a piece. Tasty, flavorful, but very chewy and tough. No biggie. I turned the heat under the jus up to medium-high and brought it to a rolling boil. While the meat boiled in its sauce, I threw some butter into a smaller, heavy skillet, turned the flame to medium high, and melted it. Again, I waited for it to foam and subside. Once it had, I added sliced white button mushrooms, added a pinch of salt, and sauteed them till they were dark golden brown on both sides.
I turned off the heat under both skillet and pot. We placed meat on soft white rolls, Jeremy added his mushrooms, we each added a slice of mozzarella cheese, ladeled out small bowls of jus for dipping, and feasted.
This is one of my favorite things to cook. Stripping rosemary leaves from their stems, slicing the meat and the mushrooms, tasting, correcting seasoning, tasting again... We have a curtain over the kitchen door. Its intended purpose is to keep the cool air from our window A/C unit in the living room and bedrooms. It also serves well to muffle sounds. So while Jeremy was watching wrestling on his computer and the boys were playing and watching kids' movies on the TV, I was in the kitchen listening to a mix of Journey, Green Day, and The Killers, singing along, and not allowing my brain to process anything. I've made these sandwiches so often that I don't have to think about what I'm doing. It's the closest I can get to autopilot, and being on autopilot for an hour or so was exactly what I needed. Yes, I could have boiled the jus while I browned the meat and saved some time, it's true. But I did it the way I did it for the simple reason that I was at home, I didn't have a ticket time I was trying to achieve, and I was relaxing. Those sandwiches gave me peace, relaxation, and inner quiet.
Plus, they were damn tasty.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Ricotta and Ravioli Recipes
Ricotta Cheese:
1 gallon whole milk (will make about 1 lb of cheese)
1/4 cup white vinegar
a large colander lined with fine cheesecloth or butter muslin. may use
ham bag or jelly bag in a pinch
Pour milk into large non-reactive pot. Heat SLOWLY to 200 degrees,
using candy thermometer to check temperature. Once milk hits 200
degrees, add vinegar. Milk should instantly separate. If it doesn't,
continue to heat. Once it's ready, it will react nearly instantly.
Once it separates, remove from heat and let sit 5-10 minutes, giving
it an occasional stir. Place lined colander in sink over open drain
and slowly pour contents of pot into it. Do not skim anything off! Let
sit over drain till cloth is cool enough to handle. Gather the ends of
the cloth up and tie into a bag which must be suspended over the sink
until it stops dripping. Let drain about an hour. Add salt if you
like. If you are using for a dessert such as cannoli, mix in some
heavy cream and stir well. Store in a tightly sealed container in the
fridge for up to three days, or freeze.
Easy Homemade Ravioli:
pasta dough:
2 1/2 cups AP flour, plus extra for dusting
1 cup very hot water
pasta filling:
3/4 cup whole milk ricotta
1 egg
1/4 cup grated parmesan
2 tbsp fresh finely chopped basil leaves
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 tsp freshly ground black pepper
For the dough:
Combine flour and water in large mixing bowl. Using a wooden spoon,
stir to combine into a large ball. Cover with plastic wrap and let sit
for 10 minutes.
For the filling:
Combine all the ingredients in a medium bowl and stir to combine.
To form the ravioli, cut the dough into 4 evenly sized pieces. The
dough should be slightly sticky. Add extra flour as necessary for
rolling, but use only a little as necessary. Form each piece into a 2
by 6-inch rectangle. Recover the dough with the plastic wrap.
Lightly dust the work surface and a rolling pin. Working with 1 piece
of dough at a time, roll the dough into a 4 by 19-inch rectangle.
Place 9 rounded teaspoons of filling about 1-inch apart down the
center of the dough. Fold the dough over the filling. Press down
around the edges of each of the ravioli with your fingertips. Cut the
ravioli into small squares and press down around the edges again with
your fingertips to seal. Place the finished ravioli on a baking tray
and continue forming the remaining ravioli.
Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil over high heat. Add half
the ravioli and cook until the ravioli float stirring occasionally,
about 3 to 4 minutes. Drain into a large bowl and cook the remaining
ravioli.
1 gallon whole milk (will make about 1 lb of cheese)
1/4 cup white vinegar
a large colander lined with fine cheesecloth or butter muslin. may use
ham bag or jelly bag in a pinch
Pour milk into large non-reactive pot. Heat SLOWLY to 200 degrees,
using candy thermometer to check temperature. Once milk hits 200
degrees, add vinegar. Milk should instantly separate. If it doesn't,
continue to heat. Once it's ready, it will react nearly instantly.
Once it separates, remove from heat and let sit 5-10 minutes, giving
it an occasional stir. Place lined colander in sink over open drain
and slowly pour contents of pot into it. Do not skim anything off! Let
sit over drain till cloth is cool enough to handle. Gather the ends of
the cloth up and tie into a bag which must be suspended over the sink
until it stops dripping. Let drain about an hour. Add salt if you
like. If you are using for a dessert such as cannoli, mix in some
heavy cream and stir well. Store in a tightly sealed container in the
fridge for up to three days, or freeze.
Easy Homemade Ravioli:
pasta dough:
2 1/2 cups AP flour, plus extra for dusting
1 cup very hot water
pasta filling:
3/4 cup whole milk ricotta
1 egg
1/4 cup grated parmesan
2 tbsp fresh finely chopped basil leaves
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 tsp freshly ground black pepper
For the dough:
Combine flour and water in large mixing bowl. Using a wooden spoon,
stir to combine into a large ball. Cover with plastic wrap and let sit
for 10 minutes.
For the filling:
Combine all the ingredients in a medium bowl and stir to combine.
To form the ravioli, cut the dough into 4 evenly sized pieces. The
dough should be slightly sticky. Add extra flour as necessary for
rolling, but use only a little as necessary. Form each piece into a 2
by 6-inch rectangle. Recover the dough with the plastic wrap.
Lightly dust the work surface and a rolling pin. Working with 1 piece
of dough at a time, roll the dough into a 4 by 19-inch rectangle.
Place 9 rounded teaspoons of filling about 1-inch apart down the
center of the dough. Fold the dough over the filling. Press down
around the edges of each of the ravioli with your fingertips. Cut the
ravioli into small squares and press down around the edges again with
your fingertips to seal. Place the finished ravioli on a baking tray
and continue forming the remaining ravioli.
Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil over high heat. Add half
the ravioli and cook until the ravioli float stirring occasionally,
about 3 to 4 minutes. Drain into a large bowl and cook the remaining
ravioli.
Blargh
Tonight's post was meant to be a real introspective one, the kind of cringe inducing too-personal writing that I excel at. But it's 4:30 in the morning and my boys just now fell asleep, so it won't be happening till tomorrow. I'm sorry. I promise it'll be up tomorrow, along with my ricotta and ravioli recipes (I know you're looking forward to those, Rose!) For now, I've got a belly full of pasta, my herbal muscle relaxers are kicking in (Hyland's Calms Forte, for anyone else with back/hip issues like I have. They're great if you're one of the uninsured like me, who can't afford to get into the doctor for anything non-life-threatening. I picked up a month's supply at Meijer for $4.95.), and I've got a busy day ahead of me tomorrow - we're getting ready to rip out the carpet and see what lies beneath. Fingers crossed I can sleep in a bit - the relief of knowing Grandpa is out of the hospital and at home, and the relief from finally being able to get Jonah in for his consult with the surgeon, have combined to make these shoulders a little lighter, and I'm thankful.
Mom, Dad, Mary, Diddy, Phil, Rose, Aimee, Mat, Betina, and as always Jeremy, thanks for being reminders that it's good to get out of my head once in a while (although being in my head helps with the blog posts). I love you all.
Mom, Dad, Mary, Diddy, Phil, Rose, Aimee, Mat, Betina, and as always Jeremy, thanks for being reminders that it's good to get out of my head once in a while (although being in my head helps with the blog posts). I love you all.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Marinara Sauce
Marinara
*sorry I don't have exact measurements on this one, it's just something I taught myself how to do, out of a profound dislike of canned foods
Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Have another large pot of ice water ready next to it.
Using a wok spider or a strainer insert, lower several large tomatoes into the boiling water. Cook for four minutes, then immediately submerge them into the ice water.
Gently, using your bare hands, rub the tomatoes. The skin should slip right off.
Cut your peeled tomatoes into large rough chunks. If you don't want the seeds, pick them out, but save as much of the pulp and juice as possible.
In a large heavy skillet, heat a few tbsp of olive oil over medium heat till it shimmers. Saute 3 minced shallots and 2 minced cloves of garlic till translucent.
Reduce heat to low-medium-low and add your tomato chunks. Add 1/8 cup white wine or rose. Add 3 cups BOTTLED (not canned)
tomato juice. Cook fifteen minutes, stirring frequently.
While that's cooking, mince 2/3 oz fresh basil and 2/3 oz fresh rosemary. Strip the leaves from 2/3 oz fresh thyme. Add to pan.
Using a slotted spoon or potato masher (or immersion blender, if you have one), crush the tomatoes, stirring with your mashing
tool as you do so. Once you have a more or less smooth mixture, cook another five minutes.
Increase the heat to medium-low and cook, stirring occasionally, until sauce has reduced to desired thickness. Serve immediately.
***I like this with my homemade ravioli, but Jeremy's had it on spaghetti too.
*sorry I don't have exact measurements on this one, it's just something I taught myself how to do, out of a profound dislike of canned foods
Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Have another large pot of ice water ready next to it.
Using a wok spider or a strainer insert, lower several large tomatoes into the boiling water. Cook for four minutes, then immediately submerge them into the ice water.
Gently, using your bare hands, rub the tomatoes. The skin should slip right off.
Cut your peeled tomatoes into large rough chunks. If you don't want the seeds, pick them out, but save as much of the pulp and juice as possible.
In a large heavy skillet, heat a few tbsp of olive oil over medium heat till it shimmers. Saute 3 minced shallots and 2 minced cloves of garlic till translucent.
Reduce heat to low-medium-low and add your tomato chunks. Add 1/8 cup white wine or rose. Add 3 cups BOTTLED (not canned)
tomato juice. Cook fifteen minutes, stirring frequently.
While that's cooking, mince 2/3 oz fresh basil and 2/3 oz fresh rosemary. Strip the leaves from 2/3 oz fresh thyme. Add to pan.
Using a slotted spoon or potato masher (or immersion blender, if you have one), crush the tomatoes, stirring with your mashing
tool as you do so. Once you have a more or less smooth mixture, cook another five minutes.
Increase the heat to medium-low and cook, stirring occasionally, until sauce has reduced to desired thickness. Serve immediately.
***I like this with my homemade ravioli, but Jeremy's had it on spaghetti too.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Thinking
Tonight is the type of night that feels like July, not May.
I gave baby brother's mom a ride home from work about an hour ago. After I dropped her off, I turned right at the light and headed over to the Meijer gas station for a pack of smokes. Something about the warm weather, my headlights pointing down a two lane road still relatively free of light pollution, and the playlist I had going on the van radio triggered sudden flashbacks of every other solo summer nighttime drive I've made over the years. Working in Pellston, and heading home - to wherever I was living at the time, since it changed up some over the course of six years - or driving back into Petoskey to grab a drink at the bar with Jeremy, or just out driving around when I was still young and somewhat immortal.
I gave the guy my money and my ID through the window, and he returned with my change, my ID, and a pack of Camel menthols. I got back in the van, lit one, and started back toward home. Turning off the highway onto one of the side streets that leads toward my place, I started thinking.
There's a lot of years and mileage between Megan-now and Megan-at-22. Yet somehow, the warm summer air, Hot Action Cop on the radio, and the taste of mentholated smoke being drawn into my lungs sends me flying back through time, past babies and tattoos, cuts and burns and fractured bones, addresses and phone numbers - it all gets sucked out the window into the slipstream of warm air rushing past my windshield. I feel lucky.
Megan at 22 didn't have to worry about feeding her kids, keeping up on the latest baby gear recalls, the price of diapers, or the ins and outs of potty training. She had another sort of quiet desperation that she had to work through, in order to get to where she - I - is/am now. There's fifteen pounds, two feet less hair, a jar of blue hair dye, a pair of glasses, and numerous small scars separating us. I don't really miss her or envy her. I'm good with who I am now.
My house is small compared to some of the others on my street. This town is wealthy, conservative, and predominantly white. Every time I go to the grocery store, I get at least one dirty look from a stuck-up rich man or woman. Usually their evil eye is aimed at the nose ring or the blue hair, although if I'm wearing a tanktop the tattoos get their share of glare as well. While I'd like to have their money, I don't envy them for where they are in life.
Here's the thing. What we have, we've worked for. I've earned every disfigurement to my body. I've paid for my deliberate body mods with sweat and blood and pain. I'm still relatively young, smart enough to be thankful for what I have, and ambitious enough to want to work toward a better life, for myself and for my children.
These people who stare at me and cluck in disapproval, what do they have? Six figure incomes, multiple homes and cars, and a bitter spirit to accompany. They get lipo'ed and botoxed, they have affairs with the secretary or the gardener, they feel their own private miseries just like everyone else. The difference is, most of them are so far out of touch with themselves and the simple things that can bring joy that they throw their money at what they perceive as the hindrances preventing their happiness.
Houses, cars, vacations, cruises, therapists and hobby classes and gardens fit for landscaping magazines, and yet they pay people to wash their windows and never sink their fingers into warm rich soil. They try to repurchase their youth and beauty with expensive cosmetics and surgical procedures and look down on me for being monetarily beneath them.
Here's the secret. I might be below them on the social-class scale. But all it takes to make me feel young and pretty is a warm dark night, some good music on the car radio, and the knowledge that everything tends to work out in the end.
I gave baby brother's mom a ride home from work about an hour ago. After I dropped her off, I turned right at the light and headed over to the Meijer gas station for a pack of smokes. Something about the warm weather, my headlights pointing down a two lane road still relatively free of light pollution, and the playlist I had going on the van radio triggered sudden flashbacks of every other solo summer nighttime drive I've made over the years. Working in Pellston, and heading home - to wherever I was living at the time, since it changed up some over the course of six years - or driving back into Petoskey to grab a drink at the bar with Jeremy, or just out driving around when I was still young and somewhat immortal.
I gave the guy my money and my ID through the window, and he returned with my change, my ID, and a pack of Camel menthols. I got back in the van, lit one, and started back toward home. Turning off the highway onto one of the side streets that leads toward my place, I started thinking.
There's a lot of years and mileage between Megan-now and Megan-at-22. Yet somehow, the warm summer air, Hot Action Cop on the radio, and the taste of mentholated smoke being drawn into my lungs sends me flying back through time, past babies and tattoos, cuts and burns and fractured bones, addresses and phone numbers - it all gets sucked out the window into the slipstream of warm air rushing past my windshield. I feel lucky.
Megan at 22 didn't have to worry about feeding her kids, keeping up on the latest baby gear recalls, the price of diapers, or the ins and outs of potty training. She had another sort of quiet desperation that she had to work through, in order to get to where she - I - is/am now. There's fifteen pounds, two feet less hair, a jar of blue hair dye, a pair of glasses, and numerous small scars separating us. I don't really miss her or envy her. I'm good with who I am now.
My house is small compared to some of the others on my street. This town is wealthy, conservative, and predominantly white. Every time I go to the grocery store, I get at least one dirty look from a stuck-up rich man or woman. Usually their evil eye is aimed at the nose ring or the blue hair, although if I'm wearing a tanktop the tattoos get their share of glare as well. While I'd like to have their money, I don't envy them for where they are in life.
Here's the thing. What we have, we've worked for. I've earned every disfigurement to my body. I've paid for my deliberate body mods with sweat and blood and pain. I'm still relatively young, smart enough to be thankful for what I have, and ambitious enough to want to work toward a better life, for myself and for my children.
These people who stare at me and cluck in disapproval, what do they have? Six figure incomes, multiple homes and cars, and a bitter spirit to accompany. They get lipo'ed and botoxed, they have affairs with the secretary or the gardener, they feel their own private miseries just like everyone else. The difference is, most of them are so far out of touch with themselves and the simple things that can bring joy that they throw their money at what they perceive as the hindrances preventing their happiness.
Houses, cars, vacations, cruises, therapists and hobby classes and gardens fit for landscaping magazines, and yet they pay people to wash their windows and never sink their fingers into warm rich soil. They try to repurchase their youth and beauty with expensive cosmetics and surgical procedures and look down on me for being monetarily beneath them.
Here's the secret. I might be below them on the social-class scale. But all it takes to make me feel young and pretty is a warm dark night, some good music on the car radio, and the knowledge that everything tends to work out in the end.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Herb-Roasted Chicken
Ingredients:
1 4-lb whole chicken, neck and guts removed, pinfeathers (if any) pulled
1 stick butter, at room temperature
2/3 oz fresh basil
2/3 oz rosemary+sage+thyme (you can buy this as a "poultry herbs" kit with the produce at Meijer's)
1 clove garlic
paprika
Preheat oven to 350.
Remove stems from basil, sage, and rosemary; reserve stems and place leaves on cutting board. Use a sharp heavy knife to FINELY chop the herbs. Place chopped herbs in small bowl. Cut butter into chunks and add to bowl. Use a fork to combine well.
Cut garlic in half; reserve for later use. Mince other half of garlic and stir into herb butter. Set aside.
Pat chicken dry. Use fingers to gently loosen skin over breasts. Try not to tear the skin. Push a few lumps of herb butter in between skin and meat. Smear chicken skin with remaining herb butter. Place thyme and herb stems inside chicken cavity. Season outside of chicken with a little paprika (for color).
Place chicken in roaster pan, or in a 9x13" pan if you don't have a roaster. Bake at 350 for 75-90 minutes, or till juices run clear when the breast is pierced at the thickest part. If your chicken has been previously thawed, there may be a few red spots in the dark meat; this is okay. You won't get sick.
Remove chicken from oven and let rest 10 minutes before carving. (This will allow the juices to move back into the meat, instead of leaking out when you carve it.)
Your chicken should look similar to this before you bake it:
And it should look something like this when you pull it out:
(I put a bunch of baby carrots in the pan to roast with the chicken for Jeremy)
1 4-lb whole chicken, neck and guts removed, pinfeathers (if any) pulled
1 stick butter, at room temperature
2/3 oz fresh basil
2/3 oz rosemary+sage+thyme (you can buy this as a "poultry herbs" kit with the produce at Meijer's)
1 clove garlic
paprika
Preheat oven to 350.
Remove stems from basil, sage, and rosemary; reserve stems and place leaves on cutting board. Use a sharp heavy knife to FINELY chop the herbs. Place chopped herbs in small bowl. Cut butter into chunks and add to bowl. Use a fork to combine well.
Cut garlic in half; reserve for later use. Mince other half of garlic and stir into herb butter. Set aside.
Pat chicken dry. Use fingers to gently loosen skin over breasts. Try not to tear the skin. Push a few lumps of herb butter in between skin and meat. Smear chicken skin with remaining herb butter. Place thyme and herb stems inside chicken cavity. Season outside of chicken with a little paprika (for color).
Place chicken in roaster pan, or in a 9x13" pan if you don't have a roaster. Bake at 350 for 75-90 minutes, or till juices run clear when the breast is pierced at the thickest part. If your chicken has been previously thawed, there may be a few red spots in the dark meat; this is okay. You won't get sick.
Remove chicken from oven and let rest 10 minutes before carving. (This will allow the juices to move back into the meat, instead of leaking out when you carve it.)
Your chicken should look similar to this before you bake it:
(I put a bunch of baby carrots in the pan to roast with the chicken for Jeremy)
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Something A Little Different
I found the following recipe here, on a blog I recently started reading (and greatly enjoying), called Waiter Rant. After the recipe, I'm going to re-write it with the tweaks I would add to make it my own. Try either version, but send me a pic and a review if you do, please! I love feedback.
"I throw some rice, water, pignoli nuts and a bay leaf into my roommate’s rice cooker and turn it on. Then I break out some pork chops, trim away the gristle and bone until only the medallions remain, season them with salt and pepper and put them to one side. Breaking out my cast iron skillet, I put it on high heat and add a liberal helping of olive oil. When the oil’s sizzling I brown the chops and throw in a whole glove of garlic. When the garlic’s softened I open a can of pineapple chunks and drain the heavy syrup into the pan and cover it.
After ten minutes I remove the cover and test the chops. They’re done so I put them on a plate and cover them with foil. I reduce down the pineapple syrup, mash up the garlic, toss in a handful of pineapple chunks and then slowly add heavy cream. When the sauce is at the appropriate thickness I add some mandarin orange slices, plate the rice and the chops and pour the sweet garlicky sauce all over it."
Megan's Version:
Place jasmine rice and water in a 1:2 ratio in a heavy pot with lid. Add a bay leaf, a clove of garlic, and a pinch of salt. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to low-medium-low, cover, and simmer 10-20 minutes, or until rice is done. Remove bay leaf and garlic and discard; set rice aside, covered to retain heat.
In a dry small skillet, toast sesame seeds and chopped pecans.
Remove silverskin from two pork tenderloins, then slice diagonally into thick medallions. Pat dry, season LIGHTLY with kosher salt, and set aside.
Heat sesame oil in a heavy-bottomed skillet till it shimmers. Brown pork lightly; remove and set aside. Reduce heat to medium-low.
To the pork pan, add 1 clove garlic (slivered), 2 cup pineapple juice and 1/2 cup fresh lime juice. Bring to a boil, then immediately reduce to a simmer. Add 1 cup coconut milk and 1 dried chile (split, with seeds removed). Simmer 10 minutes, then remove chile (leave in longer if you like more heat to your dishes). Continue to simmer sauce until it has reduced to desired thickness. Add a dash of rice wine vinegar at this point if desired. Return pork medallions to skillet. Spoon sauce over pork just until pork is hot again. Plate the rice on a large platter. Place pork over rice, then drizzle sauce over all. Garnish with toasted sesame seeds and pecans. Eat immediately.
"I throw some rice, water, pignoli nuts and a bay leaf into my roommate’s rice cooker and turn it on. Then I break out some pork chops, trim away the gristle and bone until only the medallions remain, season them with salt and pepper and put them to one side. Breaking out my cast iron skillet, I put it on high heat and add a liberal helping of olive oil. When the oil’s sizzling I brown the chops and throw in a whole glove of garlic. When the garlic’s softened I open a can of pineapple chunks and drain the heavy syrup into the pan and cover it.
After ten minutes I remove the cover and test the chops. They’re done so I put them on a plate and cover them with foil. I reduce down the pineapple syrup, mash up the garlic, toss in a handful of pineapple chunks and then slowly add heavy cream. When the sauce is at the appropriate thickness I add some mandarin orange slices, plate the rice and the chops and pour the sweet garlicky sauce all over it."
Megan's Version:
Place jasmine rice and water in a 1:2 ratio in a heavy pot with lid. Add a bay leaf, a clove of garlic, and a pinch of salt. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to low-medium-low, cover, and simmer 10-20 minutes, or until rice is done. Remove bay leaf and garlic and discard; set rice aside, covered to retain heat.
In a dry small skillet, toast sesame seeds and chopped pecans.
Remove silverskin from two pork tenderloins, then slice diagonally into thick medallions. Pat dry, season LIGHTLY with kosher salt, and set aside.
Heat sesame oil in a heavy-bottomed skillet till it shimmers. Brown pork lightly; remove and set aside. Reduce heat to medium-low.
To the pork pan, add 1 clove garlic (slivered), 2 cup pineapple juice and 1/2 cup fresh lime juice. Bring to a boil, then immediately reduce to a simmer. Add 1 cup coconut milk and 1 dried chile (split, with seeds removed). Simmer 10 minutes, then remove chile (leave in longer if you like more heat to your dishes). Continue to simmer sauce until it has reduced to desired thickness. Add a dash of rice wine vinegar at this point if desired. Return pork medallions to skillet. Spoon sauce over pork just until pork is hot again. Plate the rice on a large platter. Place pork over rice, then drizzle sauce over all. Garnish with toasted sesame seeds and pecans. Eat immediately.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Just a general update
So I messed up my back again today. Hardcore. I can barely stand up straight.
I've had trouble with my back since I was 22. Back then, I was working two jobs - full time cooking at the Dam Site, and under the table doing housekeeping and helping provide in-home care to an elderly lady with Alzheimer's in exchange for rent on a sweet two-bedroom apartment. I worked six days a week, from 9 am-1 or 2 am. Apparently it was just too much on my back, it locked up severely, and I had to go on muscle relaxers for a couple months. I quit the housekeeping job after that, and a couple months later, I went on seasonal lay-off, which gave me time to heal up.
Two years later, I was working the double job thing again. Still cooking full-time at Dam Site, but also working on a ranch in exchange for room and board. This meant feeding, watering, pasturing, stabling, and riding horses (5 to be exact, 2 mustangs, 2 quarter horses, and a quarter-horse/mustang colt). I also had to rake their stalls, move numerous wheelbarrows full of dookie to a trailer, empty said trailer in the woods on the property, and, of course, haying when it came time to cut the hay. This meant riding around on a truck, flinging bales of it onto the trailer, and loading it into the hay loft in the barn. I also fed chickens and gathered their eggs. Once again, after about 3 months, my back went out and I had to go back on muscle relaxers.
Two pregnancies nearly back to back didn't help either, lol. I've gotten the steroids shots, taken muscle relaxers, did the physical therapy and the yoga, and had to go on Tylenol 3 while I was pregnant and afterwards while I still had insurance to pay for it. To this day, I still get horrible lower back aches while I'm PMS'ing and I have sciatica too.
Today was a doozy. I don't think my back's hurt this bad since I was five months pregnant, working at City Park, and a certain douchebag who shall remain nameless (his name rhymes with Shmaric Blawy) decided, in his infinite wisdom, that I should take 10 bags of water-softener salt (50 lbs each) down the basement stairs, load them onto a handcart, wheel them the length of the basement, and empty them into the water softener. (I cried myself to sleep that night and promptly got a note from my OB that exempted me from having to do that again for the duration of my pregnancy.)
What happened? Well, I was coming out of the kitchen, not paying much attention to where my feet were going, and tripped over Jonah, who was squatting and playing with Matthew's MegaBloks. I tripped, threw myself to the side so I wouldn't squash him, and landed on my belly on the carpet. Matthew thought that this meant play-time, and jumped on my lower back. Yeah. 40+ lbs of compact 3 year old, right on the problem area.
Thankfully Jeremy rubbed my back for a while this evening. He felt a few muscle knots. I took two hot showers too, which loosened it up a bit, but I may have set the world record for Tylenol consumption today. Heh. Hopefully it's better when I wake up tomorrow - I've got company coming and I need to vacuum the living room and run a bag of laundry downstairs.
Company - yay! What's the celebration? Betina, one of my besties, is coming up for the day. I haven't seen her since shortly after Matthew was born. She's five months pregnant herself - I'm so happy for her. We're friends on so many different levels, so from a somewhat selfish standpoint, the fact that she's a mom-to-be makes me happy because it adds another level, you know? Anyway, I've been having fun packing up my unisex baby clothes for her (she's having a little girl) and figuring out what baby gear I can give her - she's getting Jonah's pack-n-play, the Johnny Jump-up, the bouncy seat, my copies of "What To Expect The First Year" and "She's Having a Baby, I'm Having a Breakdown." We're going to have a cookout tomorrow and possibly going shopping at Meijer's. It's been a long time since I had some girl-time, so I'm really geeked about it.
Anyone reading this, please send some positive healing energy my grandpa's way. He's a pretty sick guy right now, and even though he's tough (Irish), every little bit will help. Check my facebook or leave a comment if you don't already know what's going on.
That's about all I've got for tonight. I'll take plenty of pictures tomorrow and post them.
Much love,
Megan
I've had trouble with my back since I was 22. Back then, I was working two jobs - full time cooking at the Dam Site, and under the table doing housekeeping and helping provide in-home care to an elderly lady with Alzheimer's in exchange for rent on a sweet two-bedroom apartment. I worked six days a week, from 9 am-1 or 2 am. Apparently it was just too much on my back, it locked up severely, and I had to go on muscle relaxers for a couple months. I quit the housekeeping job after that, and a couple months later, I went on seasonal lay-off, which gave me time to heal up.
Two years later, I was working the double job thing again. Still cooking full-time at Dam Site, but also working on a ranch in exchange for room and board. This meant feeding, watering, pasturing, stabling, and riding horses (5 to be exact, 2 mustangs, 2 quarter horses, and a quarter-horse/mustang colt). I also had to rake their stalls, move numerous wheelbarrows full of dookie to a trailer, empty said trailer in the woods on the property, and, of course, haying when it came time to cut the hay. This meant riding around on a truck, flinging bales of it onto the trailer, and loading it into the hay loft in the barn. I also fed chickens and gathered their eggs. Once again, after about 3 months, my back went out and I had to go back on muscle relaxers.
Two pregnancies nearly back to back didn't help either, lol. I've gotten the steroids shots, taken muscle relaxers, did the physical therapy and the yoga, and had to go on Tylenol 3 while I was pregnant and afterwards while I still had insurance to pay for it. To this day, I still get horrible lower back aches while I'm PMS'ing and I have sciatica too.
Today was a doozy. I don't think my back's hurt this bad since I was five months pregnant, working at City Park, and a certain douchebag who shall remain nameless (his name rhymes with Shmaric Blawy) decided, in his infinite wisdom, that I should take 10 bags of water-softener salt (50 lbs each) down the basement stairs, load them onto a handcart, wheel them the length of the basement, and empty them into the water softener. (I cried myself to sleep that night and promptly got a note from my OB that exempted me from having to do that again for the duration of my pregnancy.)
What happened? Well, I was coming out of the kitchen, not paying much attention to where my feet were going, and tripped over Jonah, who was squatting and playing with Matthew's MegaBloks. I tripped, threw myself to the side so I wouldn't squash him, and landed on my belly on the carpet. Matthew thought that this meant play-time, and jumped on my lower back. Yeah. 40+ lbs of compact 3 year old, right on the problem area.
Thankfully Jeremy rubbed my back for a while this evening. He felt a few muscle knots. I took two hot showers too, which loosened it up a bit, but I may have set the world record for Tylenol consumption today. Heh. Hopefully it's better when I wake up tomorrow - I've got company coming and I need to vacuum the living room and run a bag of laundry downstairs.
Company - yay! What's the celebration? Betina, one of my besties, is coming up for the day. I haven't seen her since shortly after Matthew was born. She's five months pregnant herself - I'm so happy for her. We're friends on so many different levels, so from a somewhat selfish standpoint, the fact that she's a mom-to-be makes me happy because it adds another level, you know? Anyway, I've been having fun packing up my unisex baby clothes for her (she's having a little girl) and figuring out what baby gear I can give her - she's getting Jonah's pack-n-play, the Johnny Jump-up, the bouncy seat, my copies of "What To Expect The First Year" and "She's Having a Baby, I'm Having a Breakdown." We're going to have a cookout tomorrow and possibly going shopping at Meijer's. It's been a long time since I had some girl-time, so I'm really geeked about it.
Anyone reading this, please send some positive healing energy my grandpa's way. He's a pretty sick guy right now, and even though he's tough (Irish), every little bit will help. Check my facebook or leave a comment if you don't already know what's going on.
That's about all I've got for tonight. I'll take plenty of pictures tomorrow and post them.
Much love,
Megan
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Open Letter To the Person Who Got Me Upset
First off, let me say that I was driven to write this because 1) you are impossible to get hold of via Facebook, email, text message, or phone, and 2) on the rare occasions I can get you on the phone, you talk over top of me when I try to explain something, rather similar to the way elephants trample over the grass. On here, I can have my say without interruption.
Let me say that I understand money is tight. Money is tight for everyone, hence a big part of my frustration with you. You owe me a substantial amount of money. My sympathies that you're having trouble covering your bills and affording energy drinks, but honestly, not only am I having trouble covering my bills, there are a few that are going unpaid period. Broke is a little harder to deal with when you have two children depending on you for everything, especially two children who don't understand the concept of "Mommy will get it when she gets back to work."
I understand that business is not back to the level that it was this time last year. But honestly, slow business or not, your communication sucks. The past four weeks you've told me "we're putting it off another week," but for me to even find out that much, I've had to repeatedly call you or even go downtown looking for you. Telling me to wait another week is one thing. Ignoring messages on your Facebook from me until I get desperate and track you down is just rude.
I honestly don't see how you can't see that this hurts. You know how I feel about the business. The amount of hours I put in on the move, without expecting any extra pay, should have told you that. You sit there and say we're besties, we're homies, like family, etc. That's all well and good, but it's getting harder to believe when you leave me in limbo like this. I tried calling you four times today. I didn't like snapping at you on Facebook chat, but honestly, what else am I supposed to do? I would have all the patience in the world if you'd just fucking communicate. As in, don't leave me hanging, don't leave me guessing and waiting and watching my phone and my Facebook and my email. That's not good business practice.
More importantly, it's not what friends do.
Am I supposed to be interpreting this as a sign of things to come. Is it going to be "just one more week" all summer too? Am I going to have to start trying to catch you at your other job just to find out if I still have one?
Honestly, I feel like you're dodging me and blowing me off. It hurts. I don't like it. I don't know what the hell I did to deserve it, but I think you owe me an explanation. Busy or not, it doesn't take that long to send a text or email that says "not this week." And I understand you not wanting to have extra keys floating around, but it wouldn't be that hard to make an extra one and then take it back when the other one gets returned. Hell, I'd even pay for it.
I know you'll probably never read this. And at this point, I'm not sure I care. All I want are some straight answers, and if you're trying to passive-aggressively lay me off (again), I'd like the money you owe me from last year. Call it severance pay if you will.
/end rant
Let me say that I understand money is tight. Money is tight for everyone, hence a big part of my frustration with you. You owe me a substantial amount of money. My sympathies that you're having trouble covering your bills and affording energy drinks, but honestly, not only am I having trouble covering my bills, there are a few that are going unpaid period. Broke is a little harder to deal with when you have two children depending on you for everything, especially two children who don't understand the concept of "Mommy will get it when she gets back to work."
I understand that business is not back to the level that it was this time last year. But honestly, slow business or not, your communication sucks. The past four weeks you've told me "we're putting it off another week," but for me to even find out that much, I've had to repeatedly call you or even go downtown looking for you. Telling me to wait another week is one thing. Ignoring messages on your Facebook from me until I get desperate and track you down is just rude.
I honestly don't see how you can't see that this hurts. You know how I feel about the business. The amount of hours I put in on the move, without expecting any extra pay, should have told you that. You sit there and say we're besties, we're homies, like family, etc. That's all well and good, but it's getting harder to believe when you leave me in limbo like this. I tried calling you four times today. I didn't like snapping at you on Facebook chat, but honestly, what else am I supposed to do? I would have all the patience in the world if you'd just fucking communicate. As in, don't leave me hanging, don't leave me guessing and waiting and watching my phone and my Facebook and my email. That's not good business practice.
More importantly, it's not what friends do.
Am I supposed to be interpreting this as a sign of things to come. Is it going to be "just one more week" all summer too? Am I going to have to start trying to catch you at your other job just to find out if I still have one?
Honestly, I feel like you're dodging me and blowing me off. It hurts. I don't like it. I don't know what the hell I did to deserve it, but I think you owe me an explanation. Busy or not, it doesn't take that long to send a text or email that says "not this week." And I understand you not wanting to have extra keys floating around, but it wouldn't be that hard to make an extra one and then take it back when the other one gets returned. Hell, I'd even pay for it.
I know you'll probably never read this. And at this point, I'm not sure I care. All I want are some straight answers, and if you're trying to passive-aggressively lay me off (again), I'd like the money you owe me from last year. Call it severance pay if you will.
/end rant
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Another Couple of Older Poems
**This was written to baby brother, eight years ago, so please forgive the awkwardness of its structure and composition - I was 20 years old, going to adult ed to get my high school diploma, and working full time as a cook too.
Andrew
originally written 8-4-02
Sunshine dances circles in deep brown eyes
thin shoulders quiver with little-boy glee
but too much practice at saying goodbyes
especially in one so young as he.
Joy shines around him with no effort made
his happiness he shares with open hands
his intentions honest, and they don't fade
leaps off the couch, and in my arms he lands.
I always try to catch him when he falls
he always says, "I love you lots, May-may"
my heart bursts with love and pride when he calls
he hugs me tight at the end of each stay.
My little man, I'd give ten years away
of my life, if it meant you'd always stay.
me and Andrew, summer of 2002
*** I used to try to write song lyrics, despite the fact that I have no musical composition ability whatsoever. This one was written back when I still had the luxury of being pissed off and had time to write about it.
never dreaming you could fall
and thinking you're all grown-up
didn't work out after all
such a pity when you find out
things won't always go your way
and the dreams that you've been keeping
only lead you far astray.
chorus:
Daddy's little princess better grow up quick
all your vanity, self-flattery has only made us sick
twisted webs of self-deceit, and no defeat could hold you back
when reason and a conscience are the only things you lack.
So you flirted with the guys
tossed your hair and drove them mad
led them on till they all grew bored
and then you thought, "Hey, this ain't bad"
empty vows laying discarded
on your filthy bedroom floor
while your parents gave you all they could
but you thought you deserved more.
chorus
You scorned the love of Mom and Dad
the gifts they tried to give
rejected them, embarrassed them
and the life they'd hoped you'd live
free of stains like lies and cowardice
and theft from those who care
they kept saying that they love you
you pretended they weren't there.
chorus
You spout your tired rhetoric
of "no one loves me, I'm alone,"
systematically destroying
the only true home that you've known
you treat us all like servants
worse than that, indentured slaves
while we tell ourselves, "Get used to it,
it's just how she behaves."
chorus
And you think you're independent
all grown up, a child no more
and if the chance arises
you'll be running for the door
because your family is awful
home life "shitty" at the best
you tell yourself that often
think you're better than the rest.
chorus
There's a warning I should give you
though I doubt you'll even hear
you're a petty, shallow person
not the child I once held dear
you'll be out there in that big, cruel world
with no friends to call your own
and that's when you'll start to hate yourself
for burning the bridge to your old home.
chorus
Daddy's little girl better wake up pretty quick
yeah, your vanity, self-flattery has made us all quite sick
spin your webs of self-deceit, 'cuz no defeat could hold you back
since logic and a conscience are the only things you lack.
originally written 10-30-03
Andrew
originally written 8-4-02
Sunshine dances circles in deep brown eyes
thin shoulders quiver with little-boy glee
but too much practice at saying goodbyes
especially in one so young as he.
Joy shines around him with no effort made
his happiness he shares with open hands
his intentions honest, and they don't fade
leaps off the couch, and in my arms he lands.
I always try to catch him when he falls
he always says, "I love you lots, May-may"
my heart bursts with love and pride when he calls
he hugs me tight at the end of each stay.
My little man, I'd give ten years away
of my life, if it meant you'd always stay.
me and Andrew, summer of 2002
*** I used to try to write song lyrics, despite the fact that I have no musical composition ability whatsoever. This one was written back when I still had the luxury of being pissed off and had time to write about it.
So you took a couple steps
never dreaming you could fall
and thinking you're all grown-up
didn't work out after all
such a pity when you find out
things won't always go your way
and the dreams that you've been keeping
only lead you far astray.
chorus:
Daddy's little princess better grow up quick
all your vanity, self-flattery has only made us sick
twisted webs of self-deceit, and no defeat could hold you back
when reason and a conscience are the only things you lack.
So you flirted with the guys
tossed your hair and drove them mad
led them on till they all grew bored
and then you thought, "Hey, this ain't bad"
empty vows laying discarded
on your filthy bedroom floor
while your parents gave you all they could
but you thought you deserved more.
chorus
You scorned the love of Mom and Dad
the gifts they tried to give
rejected them, embarrassed them
and the life they'd hoped you'd live
free of stains like lies and cowardice
and theft from those who care
they kept saying that they love you
you pretended they weren't there.
chorus
You spout your tired rhetoric
of "no one loves me, I'm alone,"
systematically destroying
the only true home that you've known
you treat us all like servants
worse than that, indentured slaves
while we tell ourselves, "Get used to it,
it's just how she behaves."
chorus
And you think you're independent
all grown up, a child no more
and if the chance arises
you'll be running for the door
because your family is awful
home life "shitty" at the best
you tell yourself that often
think you're better than the rest.
chorus
There's a warning I should give you
though I doubt you'll even hear
you're a petty, shallow person
not the child I once held dear
you'll be out there in that big, cruel world
with no friends to call your own
and that's when you'll start to hate yourself
for burning the bridge to your old home.
chorus
Daddy's little girl better wake up pretty quick
yeah, your vanity, self-flattery has made us all quite sick
spin your webs of self-deceit, 'cuz no defeat could hold you back
since logic and a conscience are the only things you lack.
originally written 10-30-03
Friday, May 14, 2010
Growing Up and the Difference Between Happiness and Contentment
Have you ever been asked a question that, at the time, merited a simple yes or no answer, and yet it stuck in your head for a while?
My friend J. was up for a visit a few months ago. We were standing out in my driveway, having a smoke, and I was talking rapidly, attempting to catch him up on the past thirteen years of my life. He'd had more than a few drinks though, and he interrupted my verbal torrent to ask, "Yeah, but are you happy?" Trying not to lose my place in my narrative, I quickly answered "Yep!" and continued with whatever story I was telling him at the time (I forget what exactly it was).
The question stuck in my head though. I've been turning it over and over in my mind since February, and I finally decided it would make a good blog entry.
When I was a kid, I had these wild dreams, technicolor visions of grandeur. I was going to be a famous author and poet. I was going to be a rock star (despite having a mediocre singing voice and negligible skills on the guitar). After spending some time with my cousin Robbie, who was afflicted with severe cerebral palsy that aided in ending his too-short life at the age of 19, I was going to invent a system that would allow him to communicate his thoughts in college-level language through facial expressions. After my mom was diagnosed with degenerative disc disease and had disc surgery that was only partially successful, I was going to invent the perfect painkiller that worked like a charm without the potential for abuse. I was going to leave northern Michigan and everyone would know my name.
Times change and people grow up. I fell into cooking, moved out of my parents' house, and found myself occasionally working two full-time jobs just to pay the bills. I settled into a routine of cooking for hours, coming home, taking a shower, heading down to the bar, drinking myself stupid, coming home, passing out, and getting up in the morning to do it all over again. I still wrote on occasion, but my dreams were fading under the gray glare of everyday life and its necessities, the responsibilities of adult life, the things like grocery shopping, cutting coupons, renewing my car insurance, paying my rent, etc. I made friends. I lost two that were very dear to me, one a victim of drunk driving, the other a casualty of a heart too big for his body and a replacement heart that wore out before he did. I got pierced and tattooed and spent so much time living in the moment that I forgot to give much thought to the future. And then I got pregnant.
Once again, my life and all I knew shifted. Now I was thinking about the future, but only about what it would mean to my unborn child. My focus concentrated and narrowed. I educated myself on pregnancy and newborns. I still worked full-time, went to the doctor, took my prenatal vitamins, and gave all my thought and remaining energy to becoming the best mother I could possibly be.
Matthew was born, small but healthy. I kept my kitchen job, and worked a couple odd jobs to help make extra money for diapers and books and toys. Jeremy kept his kitchen job too, but also started experimenting with different ways to make money online. We discovered the unsuitability of our duplex apartment, and moved to a small house with a great big yard. We started settling in and making it a home for our small family. Jonah came along nine months after the move. I decided two kids was enough and took the necessary measures to ensure that there would be no more children. Jeremy found his online niche in graphic web design and started making money from it a little more regularly. I took a second job at Ill-Lusions, and ended up leaving City Park in favor of the retail job right around Jonah's first birthday.
I regret none of this. This is the life I've created for myself, my boyfriend, my children, my part time job at a store I love. Sure, I'd still love to go to college, and someday I will. I'd love to figure out what my dream career is, make a buttload of money, buy a brand new car, a new house for my parents, all of that. But for now, my dreams are on hold while I take care of my family.
I don't view this as a negative thing. I view it as realistic. To me, my children come first. I'd rather use my money to buy them clothes, diapers and pull-ups, the occasional toy or book. Matthew will be going to Head Start in September, and Jonah the following year. There's time enough for other things. Life is short, but I'm doing what I feel is most important, in the order I deem proper. The day will soon come when my boys will be at school all day, where I won't be spending 16 hours a day saying "don't climb," "spit that out," "time to change your diaper," etc., when I'll have time on my hands and need ways to fill it.
Am I happy? Yes, relatively. As I told J., I'm 75% happy, and I think that that's good - you always need to have room to improve, to grow, so that you have something to dream about. I think for anyone with ambition, or for a dreamer, 100% happiness is nearly unattainable. You need goals, plans, dreams, something to work for. What is more important, to me, is that I'm content. Sure, I'm not in the "honeymoon" stage anymore. And you know what? It's nice to have my head out of the clouds and my feet grounded in reality. It makes those few moments a day I get to myself to daydream that much more precious.
My friend J. was up for a visit a few months ago. We were standing out in my driveway, having a smoke, and I was talking rapidly, attempting to catch him up on the past thirteen years of my life. He'd had more than a few drinks though, and he interrupted my verbal torrent to ask, "Yeah, but are you happy?" Trying not to lose my place in my narrative, I quickly answered "Yep!" and continued with whatever story I was telling him at the time (I forget what exactly it was).
The question stuck in my head though. I've been turning it over and over in my mind since February, and I finally decided it would make a good blog entry.
When I was a kid, I had these wild dreams, technicolor visions of grandeur. I was going to be a famous author and poet. I was going to be a rock star (despite having a mediocre singing voice and negligible skills on the guitar). After spending some time with my cousin Robbie, who was afflicted with severe cerebral palsy that aided in ending his too-short life at the age of 19, I was going to invent a system that would allow him to communicate his thoughts in college-level language through facial expressions. After my mom was diagnosed with degenerative disc disease and had disc surgery that was only partially successful, I was going to invent the perfect painkiller that worked like a charm without the potential for abuse. I was going to leave northern Michigan and everyone would know my name.
Times change and people grow up. I fell into cooking, moved out of my parents' house, and found myself occasionally working two full-time jobs just to pay the bills. I settled into a routine of cooking for hours, coming home, taking a shower, heading down to the bar, drinking myself stupid, coming home, passing out, and getting up in the morning to do it all over again. I still wrote on occasion, but my dreams were fading under the gray glare of everyday life and its necessities, the responsibilities of adult life, the things like grocery shopping, cutting coupons, renewing my car insurance, paying my rent, etc. I made friends. I lost two that were very dear to me, one a victim of drunk driving, the other a casualty of a heart too big for his body and a replacement heart that wore out before he did. I got pierced and tattooed and spent so much time living in the moment that I forgot to give much thought to the future. And then I got pregnant.
Once again, my life and all I knew shifted. Now I was thinking about the future, but only about what it would mean to my unborn child. My focus concentrated and narrowed. I educated myself on pregnancy and newborns. I still worked full-time, went to the doctor, took my prenatal vitamins, and gave all my thought and remaining energy to becoming the best mother I could possibly be.
Matthew was born, small but healthy. I kept my kitchen job, and worked a couple odd jobs to help make extra money for diapers and books and toys. Jeremy kept his kitchen job too, but also started experimenting with different ways to make money online. We discovered the unsuitability of our duplex apartment, and moved to a small house with a great big yard. We started settling in and making it a home for our small family. Jonah came along nine months after the move. I decided two kids was enough and took the necessary measures to ensure that there would be no more children. Jeremy found his online niche in graphic web design and started making money from it a little more regularly. I took a second job at Ill-Lusions, and ended up leaving City Park in favor of the retail job right around Jonah's first birthday.
I regret none of this. This is the life I've created for myself, my boyfriend, my children, my part time job at a store I love. Sure, I'd still love to go to college, and someday I will. I'd love to figure out what my dream career is, make a buttload of money, buy a brand new car, a new house for my parents, all of that. But for now, my dreams are on hold while I take care of my family.
I don't view this as a negative thing. I view it as realistic. To me, my children come first. I'd rather use my money to buy them clothes, diapers and pull-ups, the occasional toy or book. Matthew will be going to Head Start in September, and Jonah the following year. There's time enough for other things. Life is short, but I'm doing what I feel is most important, in the order I deem proper. The day will soon come when my boys will be at school all day, where I won't be spending 16 hours a day saying "don't climb," "spit that out," "time to change your diaper," etc., when I'll have time on my hands and need ways to fill it.
Am I happy? Yes, relatively. As I told J., I'm 75% happy, and I think that that's good - you always need to have room to improve, to grow, so that you have something to dream about. I think for anyone with ambition, or for a dreamer, 100% happiness is nearly unattainable. You need goals, plans, dreams, something to work for. What is more important, to me, is that I'm content. Sure, I'm not in the "honeymoon" stage anymore. And you know what? It's nice to have my head out of the clouds and my feet grounded in reality. It makes those few moments a day I get to myself to daydream that much more precious.
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