Day 7: Someone who has made my life worth living.
There's a few people. My support system - my parents, Jeremy, Betina, my sister, Trav, Diddy...the people I feel comfortable texting no matter what kind of crazy shit goes down. My kids, because they're smart, loving, happy, hyper little boys that seem to know exactly when I'm down and need a hug or a kiss, and because watching them grow and learn is just way too cool. Makes me want to be around longer, so I can watch them do the same with their kids.
Sorry, this is another short entry...Michael Collins is on, and even though it's not St. Patrick's Day anymore, thanks to the blessing of birth I'm Irish all year round. :D Much love, and don't drink the green beer. Try Jameson's.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Day 6 (music: McDermott's 2 Hours vs. the Levellers)
Day 6: Something I hope I never have to do
Call me superstitious, but I won't go into great lengths on this one. I don't want to draw any bad luck, and I don't even like speaking of these things, so I'll just make a list.
*stay in a homeless shelter
*see my kids in the hospital
*bury my children
*lose another sibling
*go deaf
*become braindead
Sorry for the short post. That's all for tonight.
Call me superstitious, but I won't go into great lengths on this one. I don't want to draw any bad luck, and I don't even like speaking of these things, so I'll just make a list.
*stay in a homeless shelter
*see my kids in the hospital
*bury my children
*lose another sibling
*go deaf
*become braindead
Sorry for the short post. That's all for tonight.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Day 5 (music: P!nk)
Day 5: Something I hope to do in my life.
This one's a no-brainer. There's a few answers to this.
I hope to see my children and their children graduate from college. Especially because I didn't go, and while I don't think I would have done things any differently if I went back in time, I want my boys to have a better life. No public assistance, higher earning potential right off the bat, etc.
And, I hope to be a sous chef in a high-end restaurant. Somewhere between Sage and Le Bernadin, quality-wise.
Why not an executive chef or chef de cuisine? Easy.
I don't mind having some responsibility on the job. I've trained several people over the course of my career thus far, and it's fun, provided they aren't giving me attitude for being a small, young-looking female, and provided they aren't being deliberately dense or slow in order to make me do all the work (you'd be surprised how many people pull that one). I can make a game plan, I'm great at delegating tasks, etc. But, I'm also being realistic. Most places of the caliber I want to work at will not have a boss chef without a culinary degree, and most of them prefer some sort of classic European training. I have neither. I have a steady hand, decent knife skills and speed, focus like a laser, loyalty to my kitchen, and a big heart which I can also harden when absolutely necessary. I can come up with ideas for specials and such, but a whole menu? Probably not. At least not at this point in the game, and to be honest, cooks start getting slow and physically burnt-out once they hit their 40's. The heart is there but the physical strain wears your body down. I'm close to 29. I've only been doing this since I was 18, 16 if you want to count the deli. So, not even fifteen years in. I have very little sensation in my fingertips (as discussed in a prior post). I have back issues at times - the muscles that run along the right side of my spine are more heavily developed than the ones on the left, which causes some back pain when I need to exert both of them. Also, my spine is curved a little more than natural toward my lower back, but not enough to be scoliosis. Throw in the severely flat feet and that's a recipe for a lower back ache. I have ruptured veins on the sides of my feet and the backs of my calves. I have enough burn and knife scars that I've had a few different doctors try to put me on antidepressants, thinking that I was self-mutilating. (Note: My current doctor worked back of the house restaurant jobs - meaning cooks, dishwashers, porters, etc - while he was in college, so when he saw my arms, in particular one scar running partially down my forearm from a hot saute pan, and my hands, he checked my file again and said, "Oh, a cook, huh?" and proceeded to tell me about the night he was allowed to fill in on grill. Great guy. Awesome doctor. I would have loved him for that alone, lol.)
With that in mind, the other reason I'd rather be a sous chef is to stay closer to the heart of what it is that drew me to this crazy business in the first place: the cooking. Saute or grill, pantry, apps, desserts, even expediting or garnishing. As long as I have something to do with those plates before they go out the door, I'll feel happy. Food is my art. I'm not much of a dancer, I can't draw or paint or sculpt, and you really don't want to hear me sing a capella (although if there's music to sing along with I'm all right), and I don't play any instruments anymore, but I can plate. I can draw your pretty, intricate designs with a toothpick, dabbing miniscule droplets of raspberry coulis onto a backdrop of creme anglaise, pulling the pick through to create hearts or Victorian-looking swirls and curlicues, even something resembling lace if I have the free time. That's my way of creating beauty, and it's a little more precious to me because I know it won't end up in a museum on display. I make it, I survey it with a critical eye, I place it on the pass gently - and then it's whisked onto a tray and carried out to you, the customer, where it will be devoured. And whether you realize that food presented in an aesthetically-pleasing manner actually tastes better (you eat with the eyes first), or whether you don't buy it, it's true.
At heart, I'm a cook. Give me a place on the line, my knives, and access to the coffee pot when I have time. That's all I want. That's all it takes to make me come home satisfied with my day's work.
This one's a no-brainer. There's a few answers to this.
I hope to see my children and their children graduate from college. Especially because I didn't go, and while I don't think I would have done things any differently if I went back in time, I want my boys to have a better life. No public assistance, higher earning potential right off the bat, etc.
And, I hope to be a sous chef in a high-end restaurant. Somewhere between Sage and Le Bernadin, quality-wise.
Why not an executive chef or chef de cuisine? Easy.
I don't mind having some responsibility on the job. I've trained several people over the course of my career thus far, and it's fun, provided they aren't giving me attitude for being a small, young-looking female, and provided they aren't being deliberately dense or slow in order to make me do all the work (you'd be surprised how many people pull that one). I can make a game plan, I'm great at delegating tasks, etc. But, I'm also being realistic. Most places of the caliber I want to work at will not have a boss chef without a culinary degree, and most of them prefer some sort of classic European training. I have neither. I have a steady hand, decent knife skills and speed, focus like a laser, loyalty to my kitchen, and a big heart which I can also harden when absolutely necessary. I can come up with ideas for specials and such, but a whole menu? Probably not. At least not at this point in the game, and to be honest, cooks start getting slow and physically burnt-out once they hit their 40's. The heart is there but the physical strain wears your body down. I'm close to 29. I've only been doing this since I was 18, 16 if you want to count the deli. So, not even fifteen years in. I have very little sensation in my fingertips (as discussed in a prior post). I have back issues at times - the muscles that run along the right side of my spine are more heavily developed than the ones on the left, which causes some back pain when I need to exert both of them. Also, my spine is curved a little more than natural toward my lower back, but not enough to be scoliosis. Throw in the severely flat feet and that's a recipe for a lower back ache. I have ruptured veins on the sides of my feet and the backs of my calves. I have enough burn and knife scars that I've had a few different doctors try to put me on antidepressants, thinking that I was self-mutilating. (Note: My current doctor worked back of the house restaurant jobs - meaning cooks, dishwashers, porters, etc - while he was in college, so when he saw my arms, in particular one scar running partially down my forearm from a hot saute pan, and my hands, he checked my file again and said, "Oh, a cook, huh?" and proceeded to tell me about the night he was allowed to fill in on grill. Great guy. Awesome doctor. I would have loved him for that alone, lol.)
With that in mind, the other reason I'd rather be a sous chef is to stay closer to the heart of what it is that drew me to this crazy business in the first place: the cooking. Saute or grill, pantry, apps, desserts, even expediting or garnishing. As long as I have something to do with those plates before they go out the door, I'll feel happy. Food is my art. I'm not much of a dancer, I can't draw or paint or sculpt, and you really don't want to hear me sing a capella (although if there's music to sing along with I'm all right), and I don't play any instruments anymore, but I can plate. I can draw your pretty, intricate designs with a toothpick, dabbing miniscule droplets of raspberry coulis onto a backdrop of creme anglaise, pulling the pick through to create hearts or Victorian-looking swirls and curlicues, even something resembling lace if I have the free time. That's my way of creating beauty, and it's a little more precious to me because I know it won't end up in a museum on display. I make it, I survey it with a critical eye, I place it on the pass gently - and then it's whisked onto a tray and carried out to you, the customer, where it will be devoured. And whether you realize that food presented in an aesthetically-pleasing manner actually tastes better (you eat with the eyes first), or whether you don't buy it, it's true.
At heart, I'm a cook. Give me a place on the line, my knives, and access to the coffee pot when I have time. That's all I want. That's all it takes to make me come home satisfied with my day's work.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Day 4 (music: The Dissociatives)
Day 4: Something I have to forgive someone else for.
Need to pick a good one, because sadly, I do tend to hold a grudge, however, in my defense, I will say that it takes a lot to push me to the grudge-holding point.
That being said, I really should forgive Rob for not hiring me for that job at Sage. I have a really hard time not taking it personally, like I'm trying not to do. It's just hard. We're close to broke right now, which I really freaking hate, I'm job-hunting, which I also hate, and after him telling me things like "I will teach you everything I know [regarding cooking in a fine-dining establishment]," and "I really hope you get the full-time job here...You're a good person who deserves a break and I'd like to be the one to give it to you," and being so fast to fill out the application once it appeared online....
I understand that that's the nature of the industry I've chosen. I understand that the dude he hired was probably more qualified than me, even though I worked there twice and busted my freakin' ass while I was there, perfect attendance, even volunteered to work extra hours and put in 7 days straight during Hell Week.
What really burns my ass about it is that he TOLD me REPEATEDLY that he would stay in touch, that he'd let me know how the interviews were going. And I found out the position had been filled from my friend four days after the fact. Strikes me as being slightly cowardly, IMO. I can safely say I would never do that to someone.
Will I get over it? Yes. Do I miss it there? Yes. Good money for doing what I love? Of course I miss it. Does this add to my trust issues? Um, yeah. Just a little. Is there a reason in the grand scheme of things? Oh, most likely, I think I even know what it is. But we'll see. Right now I have to focus on getting another job so I can have some positive cash flow. Hopefully the one at the Grain Train - I have a couple friends who work there and it's healthy food. So we'll see.
Need to pick a good one, because sadly, I do tend to hold a grudge, however, in my defense, I will say that it takes a lot to push me to the grudge-holding point.
That being said, I really should forgive Rob for not hiring me for that job at Sage. I have a really hard time not taking it personally, like I'm trying not to do. It's just hard. We're close to broke right now, which I really freaking hate, I'm job-hunting, which I also hate, and after him telling me things like "I will teach you everything I know [regarding cooking in a fine-dining establishment]," and "I really hope you get the full-time job here...You're a good person who deserves a break and I'd like to be the one to give it to you," and being so fast to fill out the application once it appeared online....
I understand that that's the nature of the industry I've chosen. I understand that the dude he hired was probably more qualified than me, even though I worked there twice and busted my freakin' ass while I was there, perfect attendance, even volunteered to work extra hours and put in 7 days straight during Hell Week.
What really burns my ass about it is that he TOLD me REPEATEDLY that he would stay in touch, that he'd let me know how the interviews were going. And I found out the position had been filled from my friend four days after the fact. Strikes me as being slightly cowardly, IMO. I can safely say I would never do that to someone.
Will I get over it? Yes. Do I miss it there? Yes. Good money for doing what I love? Of course I miss it. Does this add to my trust issues? Um, yeah. Just a little. Is there a reason in the grand scheme of things? Oh, most likely, I think I even know what it is. But we'll see. Right now I have to focus on getting another job so I can have some positive cash flow. Hopefully the one at the Grain Train - I have a couple friends who work there and it's healthy food. So we'll see.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Day 3 (music: The Clash)
Day 3: Something I have to forgive myself for.
I could be real glib with this and say "every mistake I've ever made," but I think that that would be a cop-out. This requires some thought, and I've been putting it off for a half hour now - chatted a little on Facebook, changed the way this blog looks. Time to bear down.
Secretly, I've felt extremely guilty about not being more into the idea of the whole stay-home mom thing. I've given it several shots - two maternity leaves, three layoffs...honestly, I suck at it.
When Matthew was still small and I was still getting used to this sea change in my life, I was enamored with the idea of being a stay-home mom. How wonderful to be there every single moment of my son's day! I could watch every single new development!
I like to say I was a stereotypical "new mom," but here's the thing. I was an extremely paranoid new mom. I called poison control once because I was scared I'd overdosed Matthew on Mylicon by giving him his second dose 2 minutes early. I felt panicky and tight-throated every time someone else held him. The nightmares I had were ridiculous, and ones I can still picture clearly today. The first time I left him with a non family sitter to go to work, I sobbed all the way to Charlevoix and actually had to pull over a couple times. So I would say that that goes a little beyond "stereotypical."
I got pregnant with Jonah when Matthew was 6 1/2 months old. Yes, the boys are 16 months apart. (I went 17 days overdue with Jonah.) I worked right up until nine days before I had him. Because of the c-section and some complications while I was healing, I had to take two months off rather than six weeks. By the time Jonah came along, I was much more relaxed with the whole parenting a newborn/infant thing, and during the last week of leave, I realized something:
I wanted to go back to work.
I did not want to be home every minute of every day.
I love my boys, fiercely, intensely, deeply. I would kill anyone who hurt them maliciously. I'm their mother, I carried them in my body, I nursed them, I labored and delivered them. Why didn't I want to be around them 24/7?
I took a good, long, hard look at the situation. I was getting stir-crazy. I craved adult companionship, responsibilities limited to my job alone, talk that wasn't "oh good job, yay!" and constant positivism. I knew I was a better mom when I worked - I brought money into the household, I had the emotional kick of knowing I was helping provide for our family, and I got a break every once in a while.
Still, that instinctive gut part of me hated me for that. It hated the fact that I could even look at the facts distanced from all emotion. That I could crunch numbers and not automatically be swayed by my kids' faces. That I could be selfish enough to admit that yes, I needed to be out of the house for so many hours every week or I was going to go insane.
It made me feel...defective. Like less of a mom, somehow.
This is something I've never talked about before - the feeling like I was less of a mom for working. And for a while I tried assuaging the gut-reaction guilt by buying the kids toys or clothes or books with every single paycheck. It's something I'm still working through.
I need to forgive myself for needing a break from my children four or five days a week. Because I'm a better mom for it, and isn't that the important thing?
I could be real glib with this and say "every mistake I've ever made," but I think that that would be a cop-out. This requires some thought, and I've been putting it off for a half hour now - chatted a little on Facebook, changed the way this blog looks. Time to bear down.
Secretly, I've felt extremely guilty about not being more into the idea of the whole stay-home mom thing. I've given it several shots - two maternity leaves, three layoffs...honestly, I suck at it.
When Matthew was still small and I was still getting used to this sea change in my life, I was enamored with the idea of being a stay-home mom. How wonderful to be there every single moment of my son's day! I could watch every single new development!
I like to say I was a stereotypical "new mom," but here's the thing. I was an extremely paranoid new mom. I called poison control once because I was scared I'd overdosed Matthew on Mylicon by giving him his second dose 2 minutes early. I felt panicky and tight-throated every time someone else held him. The nightmares I had were ridiculous, and ones I can still picture clearly today. The first time I left him with a non family sitter to go to work, I sobbed all the way to Charlevoix and actually had to pull over a couple times. So I would say that that goes a little beyond "stereotypical."
I got pregnant with Jonah when Matthew was 6 1/2 months old. Yes, the boys are 16 months apart. (I went 17 days overdue with Jonah.) I worked right up until nine days before I had him. Because of the c-section and some complications while I was healing, I had to take two months off rather than six weeks. By the time Jonah came along, I was much more relaxed with the whole parenting a newborn/infant thing, and during the last week of leave, I realized something:
I wanted to go back to work.
I did not want to be home every minute of every day.
I love my boys, fiercely, intensely, deeply. I would kill anyone who hurt them maliciously. I'm their mother, I carried them in my body, I nursed them, I labored and delivered them. Why didn't I want to be around them 24/7?
I took a good, long, hard look at the situation. I was getting stir-crazy. I craved adult companionship, responsibilities limited to my job alone, talk that wasn't "oh good job, yay!" and constant positivism. I knew I was a better mom when I worked - I brought money into the household, I had the emotional kick of knowing I was helping provide for our family, and I got a break every once in a while.
Still, that instinctive gut part of me hated me for that. It hated the fact that I could even look at the facts distanced from all emotion. That I could crunch numbers and not automatically be swayed by my kids' faces. That I could be selfish enough to admit that yes, I needed to be out of the house for so many hours every week or I was going to go insane.
It made me feel...defective. Like less of a mom, somehow.
This is something I've never talked about before - the feeling like I was less of a mom for working. And for a while I tried assuaging the gut-reaction guilt by buying the kids toys or clothes or books with every single paycheck. It's something I'm still working through.
I need to forgive myself for needing a break from my children four or five days a week. Because I'm a better mom for it, and isn't that the important thing?
Friday, March 11, 2011
Day 2 (music of choice: Clutch)
Day 2: Something I love about myself
Shit, this one's hard too. And not in a conceited, "precious little bitch" (all-time new favorite Gordon Ramsay quote) way, either. Believe me, I'm not flipping my hair and saying "like, omigod, there's just like so much to like about me." There are a few fundamental things I do love about myself. I have a job interview tomorrow, and I don't want to be up super late writing a novel like I was last night. So that being said, here goes.
I love the fact that I've let tragedy and joy shape me as a person without any one particular experience being that defining facet of who I am. Like my facebook, Twitter, and Google profiles state, "I'm a mother, daughter, lover, friend, and ally." I'm a liberal, because I believe in things like gay marriage, my own reproductive rights, that it isn't necessary and in many cases even undesirable to marry the father (or mother) of your children. The only thing I fake about myself is my confident and cocky attitude as it regards to me alone. The rest of it - that's me. I'm not afraid to speak my mind. I'll listen to your arguments as long as you'll listen to mine, as long as you're not trying to shove your beliefs down my throat. And as long as you don't try to condemn people to hell - who the fuck do you think you are? You aren't any kind of god. You tell me someone's going to hell for anything love-related, be it homosexuality, or "living in sin," or being born out of wedlock, and I'm walking away.
I love the way that I overcame many of my body esteem issues after having Matthew. I quit hating everything about me physically after the ordeal my body went through gestating and delivering him. I quit hating my stocky body because if I'd been bone thin he would have snapped me in half. I quit hating my dark hair and eyes after I saw how beautiful they were on my son.
I love that I can put my iPhone's mp3 player on random and it will cycle from Pink to Eminem to Clutch to the Dissociatives to the Dr. Horrible soundtrack to Dashboard Confessional to the Misfits. I'll listen to any music except new country and classical. I love that I'm a reader - I have my dad to thank for that, for having me reading by the age of 2 1/2, for using the newspaper rather than Dr. Seuss books.
I love that I have so much love in my life, that despite the heartbreaks I've suffered, that I'm still capable of giving and receiving love and loyalty.
I love that I'm creative, intelligent, and strong.
I think that's about it.
Shit, this one's hard too. And not in a conceited, "precious little bitch" (all-time new favorite Gordon Ramsay quote) way, either. Believe me, I'm not flipping my hair and saying "like, omigod, there's just like so much to like about me." There are a few fundamental things I do love about myself. I have a job interview tomorrow, and I don't want to be up super late writing a novel like I was last night. So that being said, here goes.
I love the fact that I've let tragedy and joy shape me as a person without any one particular experience being that defining facet of who I am. Like my facebook, Twitter, and Google profiles state, "I'm a mother, daughter, lover, friend, and ally." I'm a liberal, because I believe in things like gay marriage, my own reproductive rights, that it isn't necessary and in many cases even undesirable to marry the father (or mother) of your children. The only thing I fake about myself is my confident and cocky attitude as it regards to me alone. The rest of it - that's me. I'm not afraid to speak my mind. I'll listen to your arguments as long as you'll listen to mine, as long as you're not trying to shove your beliefs down my throat. And as long as you don't try to condemn people to hell - who the fuck do you think you are? You aren't any kind of god. You tell me someone's going to hell for anything love-related, be it homosexuality, or "living in sin," or being born out of wedlock, and I'm walking away.
I love the way that I overcame many of my body esteem issues after having Matthew. I quit hating everything about me physically after the ordeal my body went through gestating and delivering him. I quit hating my stocky body because if I'd been bone thin he would have snapped me in half. I quit hating my dark hair and eyes after I saw how beautiful they were on my son.
I love that I can put my iPhone's mp3 player on random and it will cycle from Pink to Eminem to Clutch to the Dissociatives to the Dr. Horrible soundtrack to Dashboard Confessional to the Misfits. I'll listen to any music except new country and classical. I love that I'm a reader - I have my dad to thank for that, for having me reading by the age of 2 1/2, for using the newspaper rather than Dr. Seuss books.
I love that I have so much love in my life, that despite the heartbreaks I've suffered, that I'm still capable of giving and receiving love and loyalty.
I love that I'm creative, intelligent, and strong.
I think that's about it.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Day 1 (music of choice: Ninja High School)
Day 1: Something I hate about myself.
Wow. I usually spend so much time trying to remind myself of all the things I love about myself in order to keep that good ol' self-esteem up that this topic is going to be interesting. Time to let the demons loose.
I have the concept in my head...how do I phrase it?
Oh yeah. Here it is.
I hate that every time I've made the decision to truly give my loyalty to a job, I've gotten screwed in one way or another. Usually emotionally.
Yes, this is the nature of the restaurant industry. Yes, I should be tough. I am, most days.
There have been a few jobs that I loved dearly. Truly loved. I gave my heart to the company, gave it my loyalty, spent precious time at home, where you should check your job at the door, doing research and pondering and practicing and trying to get better.
Sage. Yeah, I've stated ad nauseum how much I loved working there. Guess what? They rejected me. Apparently (this is my inference), I was good enough to pitch in over the summer and during hell week and after the one guy got fired, but just not good enough to keep around. Despite the chef telling me he'd teach me everything he knew, that I was a "good person who deserved a break," that he'd "like to be the one to give you [me] that break," and that he really hoped I got the job. In the end, he hired someone else.
Sage is a damn good restaurant. The food is awesome. It was a trip while it lasted. I miss working there. It's the nature of the beast to get beat out by someone better, and I imagine that that's what happened. But after all the sweet things the chef said to me, the way he kept telling me to keep in touch, a damn email from him would have been nice. I love Pepe for caring enough about me to pop my little bubble. He's an amazing friend and a good person to have in your corner, and he has some of the best jokes in the world. But yeah, it still hurts. Probably will for a while.
So in a very long-winded way, that's what I hate about myself the most. That I care too much about certain jobs/workplaces when I really should know by now that I'll just end up incinerated.
Wow. I usually spend so much time trying to remind myself of all the things I love about myself in order to keep that good ol' self-esteem up that this topic is going to be interesting. Time to let the demons loose.
I have the concept in my head...how do I phrase it?
Oh yeah. Here it is.
I hate that every time I've made the decision to truly give my loyalty to a job, I've gotten screwed in one way or another. Usually emotionally.
Yes, this is the nature of the restaurant industry. Yes, I should be tough. I am, most days.
There have been a few jobs that I loved dearly. Truly loved. I gave my heart to the company, gave it my loyalty, spent precious time at home, where you should check your job at the door, doing research and pondering and practicing and trying to get better.
Sage. Yeah, I've stated ad nauseum how much I loved working there. Guess what? They rejected me. Apparently (this is my inference), I was good enough to pitch in over the summer and during hell week and after the one guy got fired, but just not good enough to keep around. Despite the chef telling me he'd teach me everything he knew, that I was a "good person who deserved a break," that he'd "like to be the one to give you [me] that break," and that he really hoped I got the job. In the end, he hired someone else.
Sage is a damn good restaurant. The food is awesome. It was a trip while it lasted. I miss working there. It's the nature of the beast to get beat out by someone better, and I imagine that that's what happened. But after all the sweet things the chef said to me, the way he kept telling me to keep in touch, a damn email from him would have been nice. I love Pepe for caring enough about me to pop my little bubble. He's an amazing friend and a good person to have in your corner, and he has some of the best jokes in the world. But yeah, it still hurts. Probably will for a while.
So in a very long-winded way, that's what I hate about myself the most. That I care too much about certain jobs/workplaces when I really should know by now that I'll just end up incinerated.
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