Life.
Not a straight line. Not a smooth path. And not always on solid, stable ground.
Ups. Downs. Highs. Lows. Ebbs. Flows.
Wipeouts. Dust ups. Bruises. Blood. Sweat. Tears.
Getting up. Dusting off. Wiping down.
Then, back at it.
No matter what’s been thrown at me, I’m still on the tightrope.
And I’m down with some acrobatic, Wallenda-level teetering…as long as I don’t topple.
Here’s a look at what has been keeping me balanced (-ish) lately
Food and drink…
Once my mom got back from Florida one of the first things we did was a Costco run. (I love going to Costco with her—it’s been our thing for a good 15 years. 🤷🏼♀️) She had a dentist appointment in the morning so we went midday, which kind of threw me off my game. Typically we get there around when it opens to avoid the lines and the crowds—doesn’t bother us that the buffet of samples isn’t heated up yet. Also the day we went it was school vacation so there were lots of kids who clearly did not share the same joy of Costco-ing with mom. The crowds and their behavior was problematic but I needed to stock up on my Kirkland Ti Point Sauvignon Blanc for the summer so I had to suck it up and ignore the aggressive wagon pushers, the annoying children, and the people going for the sample stands like they just got voted off the island on Survivor. Anyhow, I’m no wine connoisseur but I do love a nice chilled Sauv Blanc when the days get warmer (or with the right meal in winter) (oh who am I kidding, it’s good any time) and for eight bucks a bottle this stuff is liquid gold. I like Kim Crawford and some of the other standard lower-middle tier brands, but I love The Kirkland. Only problem is people being snobby about and thus disparaging “Costco wine”—can’t bring it as a hostess gift, cant’s serve it at a dinner party. (Once again, what other people think—or what we think other people think—is the problem). But I say this: don’t knock it until you tried it. (Dying to try a glass? Maybe we should get together. I’ll bring or serve a bottle.)
I also grabbed some stuffed peppers from the prepared section…if you like stuffed peppers and you’re a Costco member, you can’t go wrong with these. You might think, “Twenty bucks for stuffed peppers??? Are you out of your mind? You don’t even work. Why are you buying such a high-end version of a low-end food???” I’ll tell you why. You get six (big) peppers (two red, two yellow, two orange), heaped with filling (ground beef, rice, etc.), topped with a sprinkle of parmesan) and we get four meals out of them (two meals x 2 people). So I’ll turn the tables and ask you this: “Where are you getting four square meals for five bucks a pop these days???”
Last time I wrote on a Wednesday, I carried on about this Banana Snacking Cake. It was so good. So good that I bought bananas to let them turn brown just so I could make it again, which I was very (abnormally?) (certainly unusually) excited to do. But something really bad happened to the glaze. Last time it was a touch runny at first (though it did firm up nicely) so this time I was attuned to making it better, a touch thicker. And even though I used less liquid (less butter and milk) I put the confectioners’ sugar in at the wrong time and so when I poured it on, the glaze pretty much sprinted off the top of the cake and puddled on the sides. Glaze crisis notwithstanding, we ate the cake, and it was very good. Not great like last time but still quite good. Not the same extreme tender perfection. Anyhow, the next day, mid-morning I saw a Pyrex dish of something…ohhhhhh…semi-congealed butter…on the counter…d’oh…how did I not put the butter in? How did I not see it sitting there when I cleaned my workspace or made dinner a few hours after? (See? My head is somewhere else. Balance is a challenge!) I called up to Kerri to report why the cake wasn’t as good—no butter—and she said she had discovered it in the microwave when she went to make her oatmeal and had no idea what it was or why it was there but when she called up to me to ask I didn’t answer (headphones on). That made me feel a bit better, that I left it in the microwave and not right there on the counter, but still. All this said, in summary, it was probably healthier, not as good, and the glaze ended up ruining it by the next day (what stayed on the cake sogged it up). Needless to say it’s time to buy some more bananas and watch them brown to put the old “third time’s a charm” adage to the test.
We recently went out and tried a new place one town over, a place called Tree. Parking was kind of a pain in the ass (they valet for free, but that’s another kind of pain in the ass) so after we handed over the car and the keys we went in and decided to sit on the bar side (I kinda feel like in places where the bar side and dining sides are in discrete and separate wings, the bar side is always the way to go—high tops, lively chatter, maybe some sports on TV, etc.) which was accurate in this case and thus perfect. The menu was a little all over the board and the food was only ok, but the place is still finding its way. We’ll go back, but we won’t trip over ourselves to get there any time too soon—give them time to work things out. Service was fine, though I was still chewing a French fry when the server asked to take my plate (pet peeve!)—guess they thought I had enough. 🤦🏼♀️ The drink I had there was excellent, though carefully measured (read: small/chintzy). It was called The Roots, it consisted of Woodford Reserve, Fruitful pineapple liquer (which I am obsessed with but can’t find to buy other than online and shipping is astronomical), orange bitters, and—the piece de resistance—a smoked glass.
So after that trip to Tree and that smoky drink, once we were back home I had smoked drinks on the brain…I had an idea of what I wanted—to stick with a similar taste profile, not too sweet—and found a drink a named both Smoke on The Boulevard and Smoke on The Water, that was close to but not exactly what I wanted. I studied my basement bar shelf and decided to create my own version, which I named Life in Flames: Aftermath. Buchanan’s Pineapple Whiskey, Averna, sweet vermouth, and cherry bitters. Shaken over ice, poured into a glass with a giant rock, smoked with cherry wood chips. Heaven.
On the subject of drinks and bourbon, we need to revisit fat-washed spirits, namely coconut-washed bourbon. I first experienced and told you about it here, see # 4, when I also told you I was going to try it at home and would report back. Woman of my word, here I am, reporting back. Bottom line: OMG. I was worried that I was going to disappoint myself relative to my inaugural experience with it, but I did not let myself down. First things first, if you’re in a rush for a drink, this is not for you. It’s a process (not hard, just takes time). Step one involves mixing the liquor with the right amount of liquid fat (in this case it was 250ml of Bulleit and 55g of virgin coconut oil). You have to keep it warm enough so the oil doesn’t solidify (warm water bath did the trick) and swirl it around every so often (which in my case was about every five minutes—obsessed) over the course of several hours. After that you freeze it for a while (let the fat harden and separate from the liquid), then strain it (in my case through a coffee filter placed over a kitchen strainer (fine but not too; backup for stray chunks)). I’m glad I did that straining step on a rainy morning. A) Because I had time and B) because otherwise the sound of the (very) (VERY!) slow drip…drip…drip of the fat-washed bourbon into the old glass jelly jar would have been more than my sensitive brain could take—thanks to the rain for drowning it out. And as it drip drip dripped I started to wonder (panic is a kind of wonder, right?) whether I’d have enough infused bourbon for more than two drinks.
As I waited and watched CBS Saturday Morning, drinking my coffee, and listening to the alternating drips and drops of rain and bourbon, my mind wandered…oooh, ooohhh…wouldn’t it be so fun to open a craft coffee and cocktail bar? I’d open the place in town and call it Mouth. Of course first we’d have to figure out how to fat-wash liquor at scale as I don’t see myself building a business on a Bonne Maman BJ’s-sized jar of coconut-washed bourbon…but still…I feel the vibe of this hypothetical venue as I think about it…could it work? I google “secrets to straining fat-washed spirits at scale” to see if this idea might have even the shortest legs (it does not, but still…a gal can dream, right?). Even so, despite the sheer impracticality of it, the notion of opening my own joint excites me. Anyone in the service industry and/or investors want to get in on this idea with me? (I already know who my craft coffee and tea suppliers will be. They don’t, but I do. 😂)
Anyhow, back to my experiment…when the process was complete, the final product smelled delicious. But as mentioned, it was pouring rain and early in the morning so I wasn’t particularly anxious to get to Total Wine for the Campari my drink needed. I eventually got it and made a Lost At Sea at home. It was every bit as good as at the restaurant. I also got crafty and created a Coconut Bourbon Old-Fashioned (working name)—coconut bourbon, brown sugar syrup, and cocoa bitters. What a sensational drinking experience! At that point I realized I probably should have done the math first. 250 ml of liquor is 6 shots. So about 4 drinks. In any case this “small batch coconut-washed bourbon” experiment was a smashing success, such that I washed a larger batch, 500ml of bourbon with 125g of coconut oil (going for a stronger coconut flavor and aroma). Strained it twice for utmost clarity, and it looks gloriously golden hued, almost heavenly, sitting there in the jam jar on the counter. Who knows what I will get into with it next?
I recently had dinner at a friend’s house and while she had no bourbon to offer, she did have Jameson’s. It had been a very long while since I’d had that but it was delicious…old school…reliable…rock solid…like our friendship…which made each sip that much sweeter. Which is really saying something when it comes to whiskey. 🤣
I saw this recipe for Lemony Shrimp and Bean Stew with this commentary: “it’s the best thing I’ve ever cooked—I’m 71” and with that as a lead-in, I had to do it. Invited my mom for dinner Monday and while it wasn’t the best thing I’ve ever cooked, it was delicious, and different than a typical shrimp dish. After dinner we enjoyed this sinful Flourless Chocolate Coconut Cake for dessert (almost catastrophic incident with the Springform pan removal—broke the hinges and had to wrestle it out—but fortunately the cake was no worse for the wear).
In my ears…
It should go without saying that I have been spending a lot of time with TSwizzle’s latest release, The Tortured Poets Department (TTPD). Of course I have. I’ve written about her before (here, for example), but in summary, I think she’s a genius, for a number of reasons and on a number of levels. I also think she’s flawed—we all are. But as I listen TTPD—and as I read wildly varying reviews, from harsh criticism to calls that she be anointed for sainthood—what I’m realizing is, that despite my very different lived experience than hers, despite being from a different era, as it were, I’m able to quickly and easily find a place for my angst in her angst, a room for my feelings in her feelings, a home for my complicated emotions in her complicated emotions. Listening taught me a valuable lesson about angst and feelings and emotions. About the differentness and the sameness of them, and how none of the details really matter because in the end we all feel joy and pain and that’s enough to connect us. It’s a strong enough basis for us to achieve mutual understanding of each other and to build connections (if not relationships) from there. Yes, the album is way emo. It’s not uplifting in any traditional sense of the word, but it’s still a triumph. And for me, there’s an important lesson in that too. Because like emotion takes many forms, so too does triumph. Why can’t we support the triumph of others as easily as we find fault with it, as readily as we call attention to shortcomings? I love “Florida!!!” as she sounds great singing with Florence + the Machine. Kinda wish the album had more uptempo stuff. “I Can Do It With A Broken Heart” is upbeat and peppy, but you still feel her heart’s brokenness in it, so it’s hard to find pure joy in it. I do think her “hit hard by Travis Kelce” era will deliver some real bangers (pun intended) and provide a bump in the hits people are missing. Maybe not. She owes us nothing. She doesn’t belong to us. As noted, the reviews were all over the road—but regarding all of the reviewers, myself included, I bet all of us wish we were so talented and committed and whatever it takes to achieve the level of greatness that invites that level of scrutiny. Or maybe we wish for just a fractional share of greatness…like in my case, enough greatness to get me a job. 🤷🏼♀️ I don’t think it’s a great album. The songs are great. Her lyricism is sheer brilliance. There’s not enough melodic or thematic or stylistic variety for me. But beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And that’s never been truer than when it comes to artistry. Her job is to create—and she is doing it exceedingly well. Who are we to judge otherwise?
I wanted to see what would happen when I played “Fortnight” of TTPB then turn it over to Spotify, and that led me to Waxahatchee’s song “Right Back to It.” I dug the vibe. It also led to some Chappel Roan (“Good Luck,, Babe”), some of her music I like, some I don’t. I started to panic that TTPD was leading me to what might be characterized a whiny angst indie-ish pop. But then it featured Khruangbin’s “Pon Pón” and Labi Siffre (“Crying, Laughing, Loving, Lying”) and I felt myself coming to all these kind of weird musical intersections crafted by (haunted by?) the algorithms. If you have Spotify and haven’t done this, you must try it. Pick a kind of obscure song you like, search it, play it, and let Spotify take it away from there. (If you do it with a not-so-obscure song you’re gonna get a playlist including more mainstream tunes and fewer hidden gems.) For me this is the auditory equivalent of mining in a stream out west in 1849, as I imagine it—a pleasant activity with a potentially very big payout, and lots of other (more temperate) possibility. I also did it with Aztec Camera’s “Walk Out to Winter” and had so much fun. Though—word of caution—it’s not foolproof. I got out of the shower and heard the unmistakable voice of Bono belting out “well tonight thank God it’s them instead of you.” My auto-path had veered squarely into Christmas music territory and required some human intervention to get it out of the holiday season—too soon. Still…it’s very fun. (As an aside, I’m digging “I Know a Place” by MUNA (who I saw as an opener for TSwizz).)
I’ve also been listening to the sound of silence, not the Simon & Garfunkel song, but rather the actual sound of silence…I thank god for the peace that my noise-cancelling headphones bring me, even when I am in a quiet house, alone. Sometimes even the sounds fo the day are more than I can handle. Sometimes the rhythms of life are a symphony of their own…but other times they are absolute intolerable cacophony that make nails on a chalkboard seem relatively melodic. I’m glad I have an out in those latter cases.
On the telly…
Is it me or is Prince Harry in Season 6 of The Crown the absolute worst casting job ever on a TV show? Good thing that was the final season or someone would have been sacked. The hair…I can’t even. After he seceded from the royal family he’s gotten beaten about in the press, chewed up and spit out by the pop culture machine we live in, but this is the most ghastly treatment of all. Positively atrocious.
Was anyone surprised by the Golden Bachelor divorce “bombshell”? You’re in your 70s—do you really think getting married on national TV after such a short courtship without first sorting out some key details (like, “where will we live?”) is a good move? People will do anything for their 15 minutes.
Speaking of 15 minutes…after reading Jennette McCurdy’s memoir I’m Glad My Mom Died, I decided to watch a related series on Max, Quiet on Set: The Dark Side of Kids TV. It’s awful. Disgusting. The fame whoring by the parents, and the shameless (and greedy) predatory response by the production folks. Fame is a funny thing, I think. We see what “famous” people “endure,” yet the quest for fame is real…and when people get it, they seem surprised that the lose privacy and then they decide they want it on their own terms. Like when Meghan Markel married Prince Harry and then acted surprised by how the royals were scrutinized and treated. I’m not saying I think it’s right, but I do think it’s kind of what she knowingly signed up for. Or when you see Gisele Bündchen crying to the cop who pulled her over—melting down because of the paparazzi and having no privacy. I was talking to my mom about all of this—and I love how she is so dialed in on what’s up with pop culture. I also think it’s “funny” how sorry people are when they get caught. Oh, and speaking of fame, Monday morning Donna Kelce was pushing a line of Mother’s Day gift products on the Today show…wind chimes, cheeseboard, phone case with a purse/chain, spa robes, a blow dryer…what the hell???
I started watching One Day…again. What constitutes a problem? 😬😳🤷🏼♀️🤦🏼♀️
I’ve also been taking in a lot of sports. It’s like a dream when the Sox, Bs, and Cs all play (and win) on the same day. But this morning finds me still a little heated about the linesman taking down Marchy last night. Seriously, what the hell was that? Totally uncalled for. And the OT loss stings. Remember last year, fellas. Tonight, go Cs.
Words on the page…
After trying to force myself to keep reading, I am reminded of a key point about forcing fun—it can’t be done. When I was working, I was good at taking the time between end of the day and watching some news to sit and read, undistracted. It was a buffer zone. When life became a giant distraction I started trying to mandate fun for myself, which was bad form…but now I’m back to finding distraction-free time to allow myself the relaxation that comes with pleasure reading. I’ve re-(re-)(re-)(re-)(re-) picked up Jennifer Egan’s The Candy House, and while I still am finding focus is a challenge, I’m starting to rediscover the joy in someone else’s journey/story. And that is huge.
I started Brad Stulberg’s Master of Change, a book about dealing with change and being resilient, which I think is an appropriate read for right now. That said, while the subtitle talks about excelling I need to be honest—I’m just looking for strategies to avoid a crash and burn. Realistically I know that for every action there’s an equal and opposite reaction…and I do believe that all this drag now is getting caught up somewhere and then it’s gonna eventually be the force that propels some sort of life catapult. So I need to do this work now and to figure out how get ready so I optimize that catapult throw…how do I get the most leverage, aim right, and end up closest to where I think I wanna be?
Other stuff that’s occupying my mind and time…
Two high-profile trials, one involving the Cheeto and the other (known locally, anyway) involving Karen Read (seriously if you don’t know about this one but like a good crime drama, Google it…the Canton Coverup will suck you right in). I follow each with different levels of interest, but no shortage of entertainment. I saw someone on social say, essentially, “you liberals are quick to forget about Kennedy’s and Clinton’s infidelities.” Uh, I remember them (even though Kennedy died before I was born)…but I don’t think either of those cases involved hush money to save a presidential bid. Big difference. Apples and oranges. Not tomato, tomahto. And regarding Karen Read—regardless of what side you’re on, there are a lot (A LOT!) of things that don’t add up.
Sunday was a perfect confluence of time and tide (and weather) so I hopped in the car and headed to Hull for a walk on Nantasket Beach. Kerri was away, I was nobody (addled brain) so this was just what I needed. It was an in-between weather day, 59°, which meant you had no idea what the temperartre was by looking at people. For every brown, leathery skinned person walking in a bathing suit and sandals there was a pasty white person in a parka and a beanie. I did see one ver pale gal in a bikini in full sunning mode and I wonder if she is crispy and full of regret today. Of course I was dressed like someone who has lived her whole life in New England, in other words “appropriately”. Shorts, long sleeve T-shirt, baseball hat, sunglasses. 6 miles of sheer bliss.
I’m also gearing up for a weekend away, heading up to Arlington VT for the Battenkill Fly Fishing Festival. No, I don’t fly fish, nor do I particularly aspire to. But my friends started a nonprofit for a local community center and this is their big findraiser so I go to support that and to see some of my fave peeps in their element. I first attended last year (the second annual), and now it’s a must-do according to my calendar. If you live in the New England area and it’s your jam, you should go.
Not complaining about the price of food (though it has gone up) but let’s talk quality—especially of onions…potatoes a close second a tomatoes a very close third. Pre-sprouted now they’re almost fully sprouted. I wish avocados would ripen as fast as onions sprout or potatoes grow eyes.
I’m also still wondering where Kate Middleton is. Whatever is going on, she is not ok.
The April writing challenge is over. I fell short of the target 50K words in the proposed essay collection…but with all the writing here and here, I think I may have hit it…or at least come close. I learned a lot about focus and consistency.
I’m also still doing some slow drawing (introduced here) and after “successfully” completing “The Simple Things” challenge in February, I’m doing a new mindful art challenge, the “Inchie Challenge.” (“Inchie” because it is built on using small squares of paper. But since anything goes, I’m using the 4x4 ones I have on hand.) This is a 12-day challenge—here are my efforts for Days 1 and 2. The prompts were “leaves” and “patience.” Today’s is “love.” I may use some color. We’ll see.
I also got my oil changed and tires rotated, an annual occurrence now that I don’t really drive anywhere, at least not anywhere of consequence. Actually I just got the oil changed yesterday; I need to go get the tires rotated today. I want to give a huge shoutout to Sullivan Tire for their amazing service. Yesterday, as I waited, the guy asked, “do you know where your wheel lock is?” My look must have conveyed the answer—“ I don’t even know what that is let alone where it is.” JK—I know what it is and I think it’s in the white plastic bag in the glove box. But since they are the only ones who touch the tires, it’s not something I actively inventory. The glove box gets opened once a year—when I put in the annual service receipt. (Twice if it’s a registration renewal year.) He gave me my options—regular lug nuts or they could order new locks (on them). The latter was a pain, but the preference, so I went with that. The guy proceeded to order the new ones (they came in late yesterday so I’ll go when my coffee and morning writing “chores” are done) and my annoyance was tempered by his handing me the oil change receipt and telling me it was all set—on them. That’s crazy good service. I thought maybe I’d ask for a discount at check out but this proactive solution was beyond. They owned their mistake, solved the problem, and didn’t make me pay for it—beyond my time, but when since I have time and not money, that’s the currency I’d rather trade in. Need tires? Go to Sullivan. Been using them exclusively for a good 20 years and can’t say enough about them. But this is a problem. They had to handwrite the sticker, and they had to do it in red???
I’ve also been trying to be neighborly (though admittedly thin on patience). The neighbors whose yard abuts ours in the back, separated by a fence (ours) and several feet of trees and bushes (quasi-overgrowth, also ours) before you get to our actual lawn. For years they’ve been throwing sh*t (leaves, branches, empty plastic gardening containers) over the fence (it’s private property (ours) not a waste station) and it’s been more of an annoyance than anything. That said when one of their trees broke through our fence they immediately came running over to ask when we were going to fix it. Anyway, a few years ago we had some substantial damage to a (relatively) new section of fence. Fence guy reported it look like it rotted on account of being waterlogged. Asked if the neighbors pumped water into our yard—no idea, no way of knowing. Well, last week we got another repair done to another substantially damaged section to fence and the fence guys called it out—the hose was running from their basement right up to the fence. I went over there yesterday to nicely ask them to move the hose and to have a broken limb hanging right over our fence removed. The husband just stood there but the woman said “there’s no water coming out” of the hose (duh, not now—it’s not raining—so then it shouldn’t be a problem running that hose right into your living room, then), then “they said the water isn’t going anywhere” (uh it has to go somewhere), and then “but the branch is so high” (which is why, if it falls, it will be catastrophic to the fence). Needless to say I’ll be out there tomorrow to see if they moved the hose. Good fences don’t make good neighbors, though they are a fine separation from bad ones.
I hate that a screen separates us so often (always in some cases) but at the same time I’m grateful to share some screen space with you. Thanks for being here with me; have a great week.
Love you too.
What I love most about TTPD is that I hear something different each time. I was not a fan at first, now I LOVE it! But I'm looking forward to the TK bangers in the future, too :) And WTF B's....why why why!?!