On the mend

So yeah, I said that I was back and then I disappeared again. Shortly after my last post, I came down from that horrible flu. And then once I had recovered, I was really busy with work. But now I'm feeling like myself again. As proof of that, I have been back in the kitchen.

It all started with Profiteroles. Actually this batch is the second that I have made; the first was for New Year's Eve. They are supposed to be with coffee ice cream and a chocolate brandy sauce. But then I had some leftover butterscotch bourbon sauce in the fridge as well as some vanilla bean ice cream.

And then I realized that profiteroles are made from pate au choux -- the same dough used to make eclairs. So you know I had to attempt those as well.

I was really worried about whether I had been successful in piping in the pastry cream. But when I sliced this one open, I saw that the cream was indeed throughout the pastry. Now to work on my piping technique so that I can get a much more evenly shaped eclair.

Old and new

So here it is five years later and I'm back. A lot of things have happened in the time since I last wrote here. I moved. I was laid off from my job and am now basically self-employed. But most importantly I believe that I have finally found some peace and happiness. While it may not always be easy, I like where I am most of the time. But there are some things that never change.

I still make my tray for New Year's Eve but this year I decided to also make a dessert.

Profiteroles! The recipe called for coffee ice cream. I decided to mix it up and do half with vanilla bean ice cream. Tasty but a bit of work. Not sure if I will repeat the recipe. Who am I kidding? I will because one day I will conveniently forget the true amount of work involved. In the meantime, Happy New Year's!

Debate

So I am thinking about returning. A whole new me.

That's all she wrote

There are times that I have questioned this all over the past year. I just don't have it in me anymore. Really. There's nothing left to share with the world at large. I delve into my brain, my heart for something new and there's -- nothing. Perhaps one day this will all return in some new incarnation but for now I'm content in walking away. (I wouldn't hold my breath waiting, though.) So much so that I wrote this post a week ago. I take that back. I wrote the first version of this back in September when I thought that my stepmother would die within a couple of weeks. I think it's the longest that I have let something marinate. And it still feels right. So much so that I have also spent the past week paring down my subscriptions in my blog reader as well. Baby steps. But this? This has to end.

Thank you for coming along for the ride. It's been real. And sometimes it was even fun.

Peace.

Off the couch for now

So many thoughts in my head. Where to start? I am the queen of stream of consciousness though so let's just let it flow.

First of all, thank you to everyone for your comments. I just don't have the energy to respond to them individually like I usually do. Hell. Most of the day I thought that I did not have the energy to even write another post -- ever. But now I've remembered how writing it all down helps me to find my way back.

My stepmother's death was not unexpected. It's just that there is nothing that can ever prepare you for that moment. And I'm still hurting sooo much from the loss of my aunt. I mean it's only been a little over three months.

My other aunt told me this morning that the hospice folks have arranged for grief counseling for the family. She has signed my dad up. She insisted that I needed to go as well. I told her that I'd call the folks at Thrive on Monday. I mean I did already check into the whole thing back in May.

Mostly I'm trying to make sense of why I hurt so much. My stepmother and I had a rocky relationship most of the time. But it was getting better in recent years. And she's been a part of my life since I was 9.

But mostly I think that my pain comes from my father. I started grieving for her months ago. He's just starting. And he is in so much pain. He keeps saying that he's worried about me but I'm sure I'm more worried about him than he is about me. He's one of those guys who needs to have someone there. He doesn't have the nomadic soul that I do.

This evening was filled with phone calls to his best friend and his cousin. We're approaching the holiday season. Holidays in the past were at my dad's house. I think he needs to be somewhere else this year. We all do.

I called my mom earlier in the day to let her know. After she spoke with my dad, she called me. She said that my dad kept going on about how I was now his closest living relative. (For those of y'all new around here, I am an only child.) My mom told me that I need to get up to Sacramento immediately. It was pouring rain here all day though. I just couldn't pull it together enough to drive up there today. Perhaps tomorrow.

And my dad's in-laws are putting the pressure on. They want a Catholic service even though it's been years since my stepmother has set foot in a Catholic church.

Huh. Guess I was wrong. Most of the day I kept thinking that this is how this would all end -- the blog I mean. Because most of the day I kept thinking that I had nothing left in me. Nothing to write that is. I guess I still do.

Oh, and the weight loss has been going along swimmingly. Just not fast enough. I still can't fit into any of my black dresses. I think I'll be going out shopping for a body shaper in the next couple of days. That's easier than going shopping for a new dress.

And Fluffycat and Zombie Mom? We're still on for next Saturday. Even if I have to drive like a demon from Salinas. Because I think I'm going to need that night out by then.

But now I'm going to resume my fetal position on the couch.

It's done

My stepmother passed away early this morning.

I know I've done something like this before...

but I figured it wouldn't hurt to revisit it.

What American accent do you have? Your Result: The Midland   "You have a Midland accent" is just another way of saying "you don't have an accent." You probably are from the Midland (Pennsylvania, southern Ohio, southern Indiana, southern Illinois, and Missouri) but then for all we know you could be from Florida or Charleston or one of those big southern cities like Atlanta or Dallas. You have a good voice for TV and radio.
The West
Boston
North Central
The South
The Inland North
Philadelphia
The Northeast
What American accent do you have? Quiz Created on GoToQuiz

I've always thought that I don't really have an accent. Makes mimicry that much easier.

And don't forget about the contest. The deadline for entries is 11:59 PM PST Thursday, November 6.

More iPhone fun

So after spending those bucks on all the photo applications for my iPhone I decided to take them on a test run. As I pointed out to Marty, you can use these applications to take photos or to edit existing photos on your device.

I needed some other entertainment while watching TV over the weekend. Natasha was nearby, looking oh so cute. Voila! End of boredom. This is the original photo taken.

First I opened CameraBag. CameraBag simulates the styles of photos taken by various cameras. I settled on 1974 for this one.

For my second edit of the original photo, I used Picoli to add a sepia tone.

This last image is courtesy of Photogene. I adjusted the color levels and added a frame. If I was into making my own lolcats, I could even add dialog balloons with this app.

I think the 1972 courtesy of CameraBag is my favorite of the bunch.

Oh, and Natasha would like to wish y'all a safe and happy Halloween -- or Samhain as we call it over in our place.

Update: Thanks to a suggestion from Fluffycat, the contest is on. That's right. I am willing to part with one of my bags of Halloween Circus Animals. (I don't really need them anyway.)

"How do I get my hands on a bag of that yumminess?" you ask. Simple. Come up with a caption for Ms. Natasha. She will be selecting the winner. Because it's her world after all.

New to me

This whole weight loss thing? Fairly new to me. And the idea of my losing weight right now? Well, I think that Jade and some of my coworkers summed it up best. "Why?" Actually it was that look that my "favorite pest" gave me as he walked into the midst of my conversation with a couple of female coworkers about weight loss yesterday. He looked me up and down several times like I had completely lost my mind.

Why? Because as I said previously, I camouflage exceedingly well. I haven't worn anything truly fitted since my mother asked me earlier this year when her grandchild was due. Because my build is from my dad's side of the family. And we gain the majority of our weight around the middle. Nowhere else.

My dad's older sister who has been staying with him since early September understands. The other day she announced to me that since she has been in California, she has gained 15 pounds. This aunt has always been the reminder to me of what can happen. She's probably about a size 12 or 14 these days -- thanks mostly to her midsection. Nowadays she doesn't wear dresses much but I remember when she still did. You'd see a size 12 dress hanging over some size 4 legs. And her legs seemed so tiny compared to the rest of her. I told my mother back then that I had no problem with gaining weight; I just wanted it to be proportionate. And since I know that it would not be, I vowed to fight it every step of the way.

My dad would be the tallest one in the first photo. Check out the gut. That's what I have been hiding under the loose clothing. And if you're saying to yourself, "That's not that bad," look at the lower part of the photo. Check out his legs. Do those legs go with the rest of him? I say not. Oh, and the other end of the photo? One brother hiding his gut behind another brother. And that brother, the one in blue, is the one I hope to be like. Because he is so chill. He goes through life without anything upsetting him. Except the death of his younger sister back in July. It was the only time I saw him lose it. I use this as a point of reference for folks. If my uncle who is so Zen loses it, then what do you expect from me? Reminds me that once I've pared down the stack of books to read, I really must get around to The Art of War.

But let's talk about the second photo now. The photo in which my dad kind of hides his gut with proper clothing selection. The one that makes me scream, "Why can't my stomach look like that now?" Because the photo was taken only eight years ago. And at this point in my life that feels like yesterday. Yes, in my mind I'd love to be that size again but I am now settling on five pounds heavier than that.

That said, I've never really had to try to lose weight. I mean I've tried to lose weight in the past, and was pretty successful at it, but I didn't need to back then. That was just my twisted mind at work. The mind that told me that at 5'10" and 120 pounds that I was fat. OK. Back then I had a modeling agent tell me that I could stand to lose about five pounds or so. When I was 21, I managed to get down to 110 pounds. As I pointed out in comments the other day, I'm currently somewhere between 135 and 140. So those of y'all who have met me try to imagine that. Because even though I was told that I was really thin in some of those photos I posted on my birthday, I wasn't that skinny.

Yesterday I remembered all of this. I have an obsessive personality. This is why I don't own a scale. If I did, I'd weigh myself at least twice a day. So years ago I gave up owning a scale and started to rely upon how my clothes felt, how I felt -- without the definition of a number.

I've been eating over these last few months because the other end of the spectrum is still frightening to me. I realized in wanting to drop ten pounds or so, this obsessive part of me has now kicked in. I am completely addicted to Calorie Count. Before I eat something, I now enter it into my food log to see what the calorie impact will be. (This is how I was able to substitute a cup of yogurt for some goat cheese yesterday.) I look each morning to see what the calorie count from the previous day was and tear it apart to see where I can eat less.

The first day of the log, Monday, I ate about 1700 calories. For Tuesday I was able to drop it down to 1500. Yesterday was a 1250 day. Yesterday was also the first day during which I actually felt hungry for a bit. But I'm good at ignoring that voice. Because until I started playing around with some of the other foods in my diet, I was starting to think that I would have to give up meat to reach that calorie level.

The other fun on Calorie Count is that they have a quiz to discover what kind of eater you are. Shocker. Apparently I am an emotional eater. Yes, I have an emotional connection with food. It's just that in years past, I would get upset and not eat. Thus the rapid weight loss.

All this week, I kept thinking that the idea of calorie control was foreign to me. Last night it dawned on me that it wasn't. At least since I was in high school, my mother has tried out a number of diets. When she was given choices, she would hand the reading material over to me. My job? Plan a week of meals that stuck to the guidelines yet gave her some variety. I realized that this is why it was so easy for me to know what I needed to eat during this week. I thought it was all new to me when in fact I'm an old hat.

So yes, I honestly believe in my mind that I need to drop a few pounds. I just need to be aware when my old habits start to come back -- the ones that told me that being skinny were worth any cost. Or I could just go out and invest in a body shaper and say, "Screw it all."

Oh and on a different note, since I'm up early enough to see those few moments during which MTV actually plays videos, I must admit that I am kind of addicted to this one. (Sorry. Would have embedded it if I could have.) "You say I'm crazy. I've got your crazy." Or "Lollipop. Must mistake me for a sucker."

I was told that I could listen to the radio at a reasonable volume

Isn't it a thing of beauty? I think it is. If I ever leave my job, it's coming with me. Even if it doesn't work all that great.

My company occupies two locations. Currently these locations are across the street from one another. At first the bulk of my location was to be moving to the East Bay. And the other location, home of my former department? There was not enough office space to accommodate all of the folks who were supposed to be staying in San Francisco. So they were going to do a build out. In preparation for that, everyone became combined in one location.

This meant cleaning out of unused cubicles. That's how I came across this gem. When my former supervisor pulled it out of formerly unused drawer, I instantly claimed it as mine.

And of course, once we were all under one roof, the plan changed. Now we're all moving to the East Bay. In a matter of weeks. Woohoo!

I'm starting to think that perhaps I should start dating again, or something. Because should one be this excited over office supplies?

More changes

That seems to be the theme of this year. I'm OK with the positive ones. And a lot of the positive has come out of the negative.

Now I'm sure that some of y'all have been scratching your heads wondering why you have not seen any dresses here. Because I've only looked at dresses online. Because I'm not sure what size I need at this time.

And it's been mostly that last one. Since my aunt's death I've put on at least five pounds. Zombie Mom will tell you that for someone my size that is a huge amount. So much so that over the last couple of weeks, the sweats I wear when hanging out at home are no longer comfortable. And in answer to Fluffycat who I know is thinking, "But I never see this weight she bemoans," I spent many years of my life wanting to be a designer. I am well versed in camouflaging flaws.

So yeah, I know that I am at the low end of normal. We've discussed this before. The thing is that this is not where my comfort is. Why? Because I know exactly where those five pounds are -- around my middle looking like a spare tire. And there's the health thing to consider. Because apparently folks with subcutaneous fat around their middle are more prone to diabetes. Kind of like my dad. Who is a diabetic. The man is 6'1" and weighs around 175. But he has a gut -- slighter now that his diabetes is under control. And part of hanging out with my dad on Saturday was asking him to test my blood sugar. I am proud to say that post-meal, it was a mere 92. Which fits into the idea that a doctor told me years ago -- that I'm borderline hypoglycemic.

But the layer of fat gnaws at me. I know that I should exercise more. But then I started looking at my eating habits as well. These last few months? I've been doing a great deal of emotional eating, for the first time ever in my life. Scratch that. I've done it before but just not for such a prolonged period of time.

In my mind I'd like to drop about ten pounds. In reality what I want is to drop a few inches from my waist. If I keep going at my current pace, my waist and bust measurements will be the same. Because while everything else spreads, the boobage does not. And that so is not cool.

The last time that I was still happy with my body was in 2002. So I started examining what was different then than from now. My average daily caloric intake was a great deal less than it is now. I also ate three meals a day plus healthy snacks. And so while I have a freezer full of food, I went out grocery shopping this weekend.

The idea is that I will start eating three meals a day once more -- ones high in fiber and fruits and veggies. Also higher in protein than carbs. Carbs should preferably be whole grain. That photo above? Monday night's dinner. At first I thought that would not be filling enough and that I might have to supplement it with a salad. I had forgotten how starting off one's day with oatmeal can be rather filling. I only ate half of the steak as well. The yogurt that was supposed to be a part of breakfast and the apple I had for a snack? Those became dessert because I just didn't have room for them during the day.

If I can stick with this for a month or so, then I should be able to wear the majority of my existing wardrobe with no problem. And by this time I will have come up with a plan to increase my activity level on a consistent basis.

Because yeah, even us skinny chicks have body image issues.

Cross one off the list

Friday night I was going to head up to Sacramento. But after a long day at work and this yumminess from Poulet, I felt the need for a power nap. Unfortunately my nap ended up being much longer than I had planned so I didn't head out until early Saturday morning.




After visiting with my stepmother (While conscious and somewhat alert, she had great difficulty opening her eyes.), I headed over to Old Sac with my dad and his older sister for lunch. I don't think I've been there since I was 18 or so. Definitely not since when my stepbrother was killed in the area. Oh yeah. There was that one party at the railroad museum but we usually don't head into the area much these days.


My cousin, one of the birthday girls, stated upon our arrival at the restaurant, "But I thought we were going to see a boat." We explained to her that we were on the boat. The look of utter awe on her face -- priceless. She then kept telling anyone who asked that she is now four. Ummmm. Not til next year, honey.

Some more visiting with my dad and aunt after lunch during which I learned that my aunt has once more extended her stay. (She was supposed to be leaving on Friday.) Thank goodness.

Back in September I made three lists of trips I wanted to take -- day trips, weekend trips and trips requiring more time than a single weekend. And so I ended Saturday with being able to cross one of those items off the list.

I had mentioned to Fluffycat some of the items on my list back then. Turns out that one was in her area -- and she had never been as well. She then realized that the place was probably doing something special for Halloween. And so that's how we ended up at the Winchester Mystery House for their flashlight tour.

Of course, no conversation about that place is complete without a discussion of eccentricity. As I pointed out to Fluffycat, one usually has a great deal of money in order to be categorized as being "eccentric" or "quirky." No money? Then you're just downright crazy.



Yes, I know the photos are a bit dark. It was flashlight tour, remember? And I'm too lazy right now to do anything about the lighting. But I will tell y'all this. There were many beautiful features in the house along with the crazy eccentricity.


And speaking of flashlights, we got to keep our souvenir flashlights. I bet you're jealous, aren't you?





The tour dumps you off into the gift shop. Actually you start there as well. Fluffycat commented on how many of the gifts seemed to be alcohol related. (I seem to recall that she has promised me a set of the lovely pink wine glasses as a gift. I promised her a set of the Reagan and Bush pens.) You know what goes perfectly with alcohol? Firearms.




So we headed over to the firearm museum. Where there were plenty of rifles.


But there were revolvers as well. See that beauty on the lower right? Ladies, small enough to fit in the smallest of clutch bags. Fluffycat commented that it didn't look like it could do much damage but then we agreed it was probably more a way to say, "You're annoying me. Go away."

Yes, my day was quite full but also quite enjoyable. The only question is where next. But not today. Today is filled with exciting things like laundry and grocery shopping.

Hubby

Once upon a time, I used to post a quiz every Saturday. Perhaps it's time to bring that back. I found this one over at Cursing Mama's. Enjoy.

Your result for The Harry Potter Husband Test...

Mrs. Weasley Twin

Your perfect HP man is Fred and/or George Weasley.

Laughter is important to you. You want a guy who's never boring, who can always put a smile on your face, and who can pull the best of pranks and never get caught. Or possibly two such guys. Because let's face it, they're pretty much a two-fer. You get one, you get both. Even if one of them's only a friend, he'll still be around so much you'll feel like you're married to him, too. Sure, they may not seem like the most mature guys in the world, in a traditional sense, but just ask them about their business plan. When they drive you nuts by relentlessly testing their latest inventions on you, you can console youself with that huge stack of cash and dragon-leather jacket. Besides, you know you're powerless against those stereo smiles.

Take The Harry Potter Husband Test at HelloQuizzy

iPhone addict

When I first got my iPhone, I told myself that I would be content with downloading just the free app's. Then something happened that made me pay for one. Slippery slope. Next thing you know, I was downloading all of the recommended photo app's -- recommended on the site iPhone Atlas. And they were right. These app's totally kick butt.

But right now I'm addicted to Photoboard. Natasha asked why she is not the subject. I mentioned her Greta Garbo tendencies. I think she's onboard now. Boris is thinking that he should go on a diet after being confronted with images of a more svelte him.

Yo slut

It all started in eighth grade. I cannot recall what exactly I said, but Jade responded with, "You are such a slut." I told her that if I was a slut, then she was a bitch. And thus our nicknames for one another were born. (Now before you get all in a tizzy, let me point out that I was the girl who could count how many dates she had in high school on one hand.)

I remember party hopping one Friday night my junior year of college. I was hanging on the balcony when I saw Jade and her roommate walking past.

"Yo bitch!"

"Hey slut! What's up?"

"Cool party. You should head on up."

While she was heading up to the party, one of the guys standing near me asked if he could use the nicknames.

"Have you known us since you were seven? Nope? Then you'd probably get your ass kicked for using them."

I guess when we graduated from college, we decided that we were too grownup to continue using the names. La Nicoya and I are known to start a phone conversation with, "Hey hooker. What's up?" though.

Where is this all leading, you ask? Well, Hilly was kind enough to share this item from Miss Britt. So thinking about Halloween costumes got me thinking about all of this.

Halloween is one of my fave holidays. The past few years, things have gotten a little crazy on the party scene, though, and it has become one of those holidays that I spend at home.

When I first started college, I discovered that it was perfectly acceptable to dress slutty on Halloween. Hell that first Halloween, a group of my friends went as a pimp and his hookers. Of course, over time slutty just became my everyday look. Halloween was slutty with a theme.

I used to sew quite a bit. That means that I generally made my own costumes. It started with the slutty angel. I made the French maid costume out of gold polka-dotted white satin. Add wings and a halo with gold sequin trim and a pair of white fishnets with white pumps. Yep, all kinds of sparkly sluttiness. I wore it to the Castro. There was a guy there wearing nothing but a g-string. I kid you not. I felt like I had too many clothes on.

Other past favorites were the slutty Bo Peep and the slutty Red Riding Hood. I like costumes with accessories. The Red Riding Hood basket? Stocked with candy, tequila and condoms. I'm starting to think that I stopped dressing up for Halloween because I got stuck on which fairytale character to do next.

On a final note, I have always been cool with slutty but skank? May I remind you of those oh so great words of Jade's. "It's OK to look like a ho. Just don't look like a tacky one."

I'm not going to give you a post now...

Tonight I had a long conversation with one of my mother's younger sisters. Up until this conversation, I thought I had nothing to say. The difference of one conversation.

My aunt has been actively campaigning for Obama. (We won't mention my other aunt. She thinks that Dubya walks on water. As such, she is a McCain supporter. From what I gather, abortion is a huge issue for her. Just as it was when she chose to have one. Before she was saved.) Many of our conversations center around politics. My aunt said that my mother might need to get a room ready for her in Mexico. Just in case.

We also talked about our individual relationships to my mom. My aunt laughed hysterically when I told her about the events on Sunday. Why? "It's not just me." We then spoke about the things I had thought that I had told her earlier -- the things that would prove it was not just her. We all fall under my mother's wrath. Until the day upon which my mother realizes that she too could benefit from therapy. But I'm not holding my breath for that realization.

And so yeah, I'm a little stressed out right now. My thoughts are jumbled. I switch from my aunt's death to my stepmother's impending death to the racist crap that some members of the Republican party are pulling. (I said "some members." That does not mean all Republicans.)

And I sit here broken-hearted in too many ways to count. I mourn for my family and my country. And at times, right now, I am ready to be done with both.

Ha!

Eat your hearts out, beyotches! That's right. I have four bags. But two of them are going to the Zombie household.

And then it all went downhill

Eggs Louie

This weekend was in many ways supposed to be a mom weekend. Right now a whole weekend of my mother can be rather trying. I spent days trying to get myself ready for it all emotionally. I failed.

Yesterday was not originally supposed to be about my mom. I had hoped to go to Sacramento. But my mom has always been jealous of my stepmother. She would never understand how I could cancel out on doing something that I had previously promised that I would do for her so that I could go see my stepmother. And more importantly, to see my dad. Because in the past when I have had to cancel out on my mom, I get to hear her say in a petulant voice, "But you promised..."

I had planned on taking care of all of my mom's crap last weekend. Thing is that I wasn't feeling well last weekend. I tried to explain this to my mother when I showed up. Her response was, "Have you felt this way for days? Well, you showed up to work and you didn't complain to them so I don't want to hear it." She then offered to take me to Thrive! but I told her that I wasn't sick enough for a doctor's; I just needed bed rest. She basically told me to suck it up. The second time we got into this conversation, I walked and went back home to bed. But I felt bad about not taking care of her whole list so I went back yesterday.

Yesterday was also combined as a movie outing. We went to see The Secret Life of Bees. I read the book years ago and had forgotten just how many sad moments there were in the story. I probably spent at least half the movie in some sort of tears. But at least I didn't walk away from it saying to myself, "This is such a letdown from the book." I think overall it stayed pretty true to the book. My mom was slightly peeved with me for not warning her how sad the story is. My response was, "But I brought you extra napkins from the snack bar."

This morning I got up at what is ass crack of dawn for me on a Sunday -- 9 AM. Why? Because Zombie Mom was running the Nike half-marathon in San Francisco. There was no way possible that I could be up early enough to cheer her on at the various points along the race but I knew that I could meet her and the rest of the Zombie family for brunch after the race. Also meeting her at the finish line would have meant that I would have to drive. Today my car could not move. More about that later.

The photo above is of my brunch selection over at Stacks in Hayes Valley. Not only did I get up at ass crack of dawn, but I did some walking as well. I was about to include the walk to the Berkeley BART station but that's only four blocks away -- in case you potential stalkers are interested. Fastest way to Hayes Valley on PT? Get off BART at Civic Center and hoof it the rest of the way. I did this without the aid of caffeine.

Seeing Zombie Mom flashing her Tiffany's bling? Hello? You get a pendant from Tiffany's for completing? Almost enough to get my lazy ass up and running. Key word here is "almost." Because while I love that little blue box, there are limits.

But most importantly, I got to see my favorite parts of the Zombie family -- the Commander and Lala. (Sorry about that Zombie Mom.) Because I have come to realize that through all of the crap over the last few months, those two are a large part of what has kept me tethered in the here and now. I love them because I realize that if I had kids, they would be like them. I also don't have kids because I realize that they would be just like them.

Then it was time to head back to Berkeley. I met this wonderful gay couple from Austin at the BART station in San Francisco. We helped this woman navigate her way through the system. Once we were finally on a Richmond train, I told them that I had been fascinated by Austin for years. A friend from undergrad -- OK. So he was a major crush -- had ended up there. He told me at the time that Austin was like Berkeley in the middle of Texas. The couple told me that in Austin, they always like to compare themselves to San Francisco but that Berkeley was probably the more apt comparison. They also bemoaned the gentrification of Austin. It's driving all the quirkiness out of the city. And that offbeat kind of vibe? That's what makes cities like Berkeley and Austin what they are.

So I stepped off the train to start part two of the mom weekend. Because today was The Spice of Life Festival. I have never missed this festival since moving to Berkeley. The first year, I attended it alone. Every year since then, my mother has been in attendance. Not that I necessarily wanted her to be.

My mother's worst traits come out at street fairs. "They want how much for this item? The food is crap. The music is crap." But I have heard this every year so in some ways I was prepared.

I met my mother at the BART station and we began our trek. I kept waiting for her to tell me how much she hates my hair worn in this way but then I remembered she had already told me that last weekend. It's all about tearing me down. Don't say that to her though. She will tell you how she had been nothing but supportive of me. And in some ways, she has been.

So we started our way through the fair. The food was overpriced. The Obama t-shirt, at $20, was overpriced. This after she complained about the long walk from the downtown Berkeley BART station to the fair. (Number one. I live north of the BART station but I met her there. Number two. The walk from the start of the fair was no more than seven blocks. My mother is just a suburbanite who just needs to suck it up.)

We finally found food that was a value in my mom's eyes. She then started to mention that it would be nice to sit down. I found her a table and then said that I was off to search for food for myself. Specifically potato puffs from Gregoire. After checking the last few stands that I had not previously, I headed to Gregoire. Right after I placed my order, I realized that perhaps there was a slight fiasco. But my mother was more than a block away enjoying her food so I stayed. And I waited. Once I had potato puffs in hand, I headed to a stand for the lemonade my mother had requested.

Upon returning to the table, my mother was nowhere to be seen. She is also too cheap to carry a cellphone. (Actually she's too cheap for a lot of things but is really big on telling you about how poor she is.) So I sat down at the table to wait for her return. In between, I called Zombie Mom. I just knew that my mother would be pissed off with me when she returned. I was right.

After I had been at the table for about 15 minutes, my mother showed up. And then screamed out, "Where have you been?" I said, "Getting food -- and your drink." She didn't like the tone of my answer and so said, "I don't need to put up with your sass." In my mind, I thought, "Kiss mine, bitch." Instead I answered with telling her about waiting for her at the table at which I had last seen her. And apparently all my responses were disrespectful, so I said, "I am sorry for not catering to you every second of the day today." (Ummm. I told y'all that I can get real bitchy at times.) And then she said some crap back and I said, "Next time I'll be sure to check in with you beforehand so that you can plan each second of the day." That was me being nice. I had wanted to add, "This is why no one else wants to do anything with you." Which would have been true but really hurtful.

My mother's response was to walk off but not before asking for the phone. I shit you not. Once I got my iPhone, my mother has been bugging me about what I was going to do with my old phone. She kept telling me how I should give it to her. And this is one of the other things that pisses me off as far as my mother is concerned. I get something -- either through my work or my father -- and she feels like she has earned a piece of it all. It is my obligation to share with her -- and no one else. I briefly thought about telling her, "Hell no," as far as the phone is concerned but then I decided that I am the bigger person and gave it to her. (There is still a part of me that thinks that I have "sucker" written on my forehead.) A minute later after storming off, my mother returned to ask if I still would buy the Bed, Bath & Beyond gift cards off of her. I pulled out the cash and took the cards. I then told her that the stuff she wanted me to come to Pacifica tomorrow for? Leave that stuff at her house. I don't need to see my mom anymore this trip.

After my mom left the fair, I was in such a foul mood that I didn't want to be there. I was blocks from home so I went there. And along the walk, I fought back the tears. Because when I'm really mad, I cry. Once home, I started making phone calls. But no one was available. Except for that one person. And so in desperation, I called my dad. Because there was no one else.

And so my dad and I talked about how bad things are with my stepmother. And how he's just dealing. And then we talked about my mother. How she is so obviously lonely. And how that's all about her and not us.

My dad started talking the steps. How we should not care about those things over which we have no power. Instead we should concentrate our energy on those things we can change. And also realizing that we cannot change others.

And this is why I love my father. Even when I know that he is dealing with pain beyond his imagining, he can still find it in himself to point me in the right direction.

Even though my father's words did a great deal, I am still trying to pick myself up form the place in which I was left after my interactions with my mother. Because since walking away from her, I have found myself crying. Thank goodness she's going back to Mexico on Tuesday.

But now she's crawling back in. Just as I was ready to post this, I listened to a voicemail that my mom left. A family friend has had a heart attack and is in the hospital. When will it all end? Because just when I think that I have nothing left it me, something else happens.

When hormones attack

Fried mozzarella with mixed greens and proscuitto

What have I had from my freezer this week? If you answered, "Ice cubes," then you are quite correct. Nothing else has left the freezer.

At the beginning of the week, it was, "Gee. You really should have more vegetables. Let's stop at the store for salad fixings." So a few days of Cobb salads led me to this place.

This afternoon at work, I had decided to go to Gregoire's. I was going to try out their version of the pork and quince. Then this really small voice in my head said that I should eat was already at home. *grumble, grumble* The hormones said, "Let's look at Epicurious." And gosh, wouldn't you know that one of their featured slide shows was of comfort foods. Evil people.

You know that once the hormones saw the fried cheese it was all over. "Look! It's cheese! And it's breaded and fried!!! Could there be a more perfect food?"

Ummm. Yeah. A small wheel of Camembert placed in an egg white wash and dredged in Parmesan. Then fry that sucker up. Yes, I really used to do this. Throw some chopped scallions on it and slice up a baguette. Luckily I did not think about this until I reached home. Otherwise, the hormones would have been demanding this as well. They're pretty pushy, those hormones.

So the hormones and I headed to Berkeley Bowl when I got off work. And there were no bunches of arugula. None at all. The hormones almost burst into tears right there in the middle of the produce section. I assured them that we would improvise with some mixed greens. They decided that the mixed greens were just fine. They just thought that the arugula bunches would have been cuter. Whatever.


Corn cream soup

And if you know me, you know I like to multitask. Why go into the kitchen unless you're going to have a few pots going? Love this soup. Hated having to go to two different stores to look for dried corn. I also dislike any recipe that says "strain out solids" even though I know that I will like the end results.

Once more the hormones had a say here. It was not enough that there were dairy products involved. Noooo. The hormones said, "We're not really in the mood for shrimp. And look? It says that you can use crab. We'd really like some crab." And I responded, "You idiots. Do you realize that it is not crab season around here?" When we hit the seafood counter in Berkeley Bowl, they ended up winning out. Because not only did Berkeley Bowl have Dungeness crab meat, they had Chesapeake lump meat. And the blue crab meat was half the price of the Dungeness. So I told the hormones they could have a half pound. The guy behind the counter asked if I was making crab cakes. "Nope. Soup." And then the hormones made me go to the meat counter to get a pound of applewood smoked bacon. It took a lot of convincing on my part to convince them that we could not put both the crab and the bacon in the soup.

So now the hormones are quite content. For today. And please don't mention to them that I forgot to take the chives out of the fridge for the soup. Please. I fear them more than I fear Natasha.

The kitchen is sort of closed

No new food here for some time. I need to work my way through the things I have accumulated in the freezer over the last couple of weeks.

I tried to put this off on Monday by heading to Poulet for the Basque chicken. Alas, they were closed due to the holiday. How dare they?


But this was the sight I caught on my way home so I guess the outing was worthwhile.

And now I'm going to go out on a limb. There is a post that I actually meant to publish today about privilege. But then I decided that I'd probably catch a lot of crap for it and I'm really not in the mood.* The thoughts started a couple of weeks ago when folks were reacting to the Tim Rice piece that was being circulated via email. I noticed that while many of the folks who wrote posts about the piece understood it, there were quite a few commenters out there who just didn't. And yeah, I got pissed off. So instead of that post, I ask you to click on the link. I ask you to re-read the section on "The Persistence of White Privilege." Notice what Zetzer says about achieving change? It's about open dialogue. Hmmm. I vaguely remember saying something about that in the past year or so.

Also pay special attention to the section about wealth. This Wikipedia explanation is pretty on-point, although I do question the deletion of the stuff on housing. OK. So it's clearly discriminatory behavior. And I guess the link would be that it is due to privilege that realtors feel comfortable in engaging in this kind of behavior. Also I highly suggest that you check out the References and Suggested Reading at the bottom of the page. Perhaps after reading this you can understand why slavery enters the conversation so often. If a group of people are denied ownership, then there is no way that they can acquire wealth. And guess what? Most standardized tests do not measure a student's knowledge of a subject but the wealth of their parents. Yep, there is a direct correlation between wealth of parents and how a child performs on a standardized test. Now apply that fact to what we know about wealth distribution in this country.

Read a good portion of this and then you can have a conversation with me about what privilege is. Because this is a topic upon which I feel like Heather does about politics. I have spent way too many academic hours engrossed in this topic and it used to be part of my professional life. As a result, I may know more than other folks because I have read a lot of the writings in the area. So all I ask of y'all is that if you're going to write about a topic such as this, do your research first. Don't just base it on the one thing that you have read. Do the research.

Hell. My mother sent me an anti-McCain email tonight. I don't believe I have ever said on this blog how I plan to vote but I think I have made my political leanings pretty clear. While the email was compelling, I felt the need to do some fact-checking. What I found was that the alleged source of the email denied ever writing it. And so I did not forward it. If I do not have supporting evidence that something is true, then I will not pass it along. I think it's called having principles. And then I emailed my mother the details of the questionable provenance.

Oh dear. I just realized that I have written that post after all so I may as just keep going. This was really supposed to be about telling you to check this post out. But whatever.

So how did I become such an uppity bitch? My father's paternal grandfather somehow got his hands on 500 acres in Alabama. We still haven't figured that one out. My grandfather bought out his siblings upon their father's death and expanded the farm to almost 1800 acres during my grandfather's lifetime. It gave him the ability to send all ten of his children to college, if they wanted to go. All this while year after year, he took the tests to prove his fitness to vote -- and passed them every time -- only to be told that he could not vote. (It is for this reason that I vote in every election.) So yes, my family has wealth but a lot of my folks don't.

I have a small retirement fund. I rent an apartment. These are not necessarily signs of wealth. Of course, when certain family members die, I will suddenly find myself quite wealthy. I'm just not now. And so I can feel for folks who aren't. The folks on my mother's side? Far from wealthy. Many of them are just getting by. And this is why I can understand.

I just think that if we can't have these conversations, then we are fucked as a society. And if that's the case, then I'm out of here. I've already told my mother to get my room ready at the house in Mexico (Much easier to enter than Canada if you are fleeing. Or so I've been told.) because I might just have to move there. And you know that things have to be pretty bad here if I would seriously consider living under the same roof with my mother once more.

So let your indignant comments fly. Because the rule on my blog is that everyone can be heard. Except the spammers. Those are the only comments I delete. Because if we're going to have a conversation, then we all need to be heard. But the spammers don't count because they are clearly not a part of the conversation. And they're a rarity around here. I think I've only had to delete two comments at most as a result of spammers. Just so y'all know what kind of principles I hold.

*Death Watch 2008. My stepmother is now completely bed-ridden. She no longer has the muscle control to sit up. She is bloated and when conscious, hallucinates a great deal. I keep trying to make plans but I also know that they need to be fluid. The end is around the corner. May I never again have to experience the slow deterioration of someone about whom I care.