Archive for July, 2010

“If you are distressed by anything external, the pain is not due to the thing itself but to your own estimate of it; and this you have the power to revoke at any moment.”  Marcus Aurelius.

Then is all pain not initiated externally, save for guilt, shame and remorse? and then even those may be brought forth as the result of other acts.

So how does one revoke their estimate of the significance of that which causes them pain?

Or is it greatly more about the response to those things in life which test us and pain us. We can control our response. Perhaps a re-evaluation of how one handles pain is the more effective, a means of measuring their strength, as opposed to estimating the significance of that which pained you and not measuring your capacity to forge ahead productively and peacefully, there in is a challenge.

Sorry, no pretty pictures, just the moments in life that are so easy to regret, and feel guilty over; and that sense of guilt may be the hardest emotion to rectify to ones self. To watch the unexpected unfold before you can be soul stealing. There is not much reconciliation in despair, and to those whom you cast it upon, so to shall it inadvertently be cast upon you, this is how the connectivity of man makes its claim. I shall watch you, though not through intention, struggle as you have watched me perhaps, but hopefully not, through intention. The struggle of guilt is wretched, it is bright and beautiful and attract the flirtatious desires you harbor for change and comfort; and then it shall sting you blindly when you are standing tall, it will strike you in a place that you did not know you had and the result is a loneliness so hollowing you become quite physically ill.

As humans we are cruel, terribly cruel individuals. Not necessarily with intent, but in out design.  Our ability to survive is instinctual – what we need, who we need, how and when we need it. And those instincts are often inexplicable. reactions and reactions justify our daily existence in small and often insignificant ways that develop over time to produce a more lasting affect.

We love and hurt each other too often. The ability to love becomes clouded by the things that we put into the suitcases and bring with us – children, fights, finances, work, house hold maintenance, personal weakness, family, personal strength, and more. There is so much that over time we take on. The greatest hurdles are perhaps our children.

The birth of a child will test the relationships you have with friends and your wife/husband like no other. This is where you loose sight of all that is good about each other this is where a lack of sleep and a lack of stability try to ripe you apart. It is often a successful process.

My strength rests in my ability to admit defeat here. A significant personal weakness. The defeat of difficulty. I chose to not learn, yes actually learn – stop, reflect, listen and learn, I was young – how to cope, how to relate and how to accept the imperfections of my situation and of those I loved. The fear of failure, the fear of change, the fear of difficulty consumed me. I have left myself lonely, though admittedly, as I have a great deal of friends, I am not alone. Unfortunately no amount of friendship can alleviate the associated guilt of previously being unable to accept the world – dirt on the kitchen floor, ice cream dripping on my jeans, a compliment from my husband, the trash left a bit too full – the tiny things that I now know are so minor in the greater scheme of life, the tiny things that suck the fun and enjoyment out of laying on the couch to watch a movie, the ability to forgive and destroy my walls – these are what I regret the most.

And yet, regret, is as unproductive as any affair we partake. There is no means by which to resolve yourself to knowing that you did and acted the way you did for reasons that are not so clear if you are engulfed by regret. To leave regret is to move on to despair, and that is a more painful place, but with luck, a place that promotes some sense of motivation to change, to strive, to create, to relate, to become another form of you as you grow and age in wisdom and maturity.

There is no greater teacher than regret. And there is no greater crime. To regret our actions is to regret who we are. If we regret who we are the problems are infinitely more serious. If we choose to learn and accept our actions we develop more fully.

I do not regret who I have become. I do regret that who I have become has not been shared with those who would of, and perhaps still do or can appreciated it the most.

Though I know the changes are for the better, and I know who I am more clearly, and I love life more fully, it does not reconcile the fact that it should always be – while in process and in completion – shared with the ones you are closest, and should always be shared openly and honestly, to hide your feelings out of fear or frustration or insecurity will only consume you and push away that towards which you feel and those you wish to feel it. To use those great cliches we all love – “Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage; If I have freedom in my love, And in my soul I am free, Angles soar above Enjoy such liberty” – Richard lovelace for those unaware.

Life’s lessons are hard, and often we have to be open to accepting them as arriving in our lives and in other. We must accept that people can change for the better and the worse (which is often the case as it is relevant e to ones own desires) and we must accept that people need time to adjust to their change, as well as the change of others, and that we need time to adjust to them as well, but first, we must be wiling to change, our ability to accept change in each other is often the hardest and most under appreciated.

I am a changed women, lover, mother, daughter, sister and friend as a result of the recent years. honestly. Hiding my feelings has gotten me nowhere, but there is unquestionable a fear that exposing them will prove as futile. There is not way to know, but to try, the regret of not trying has been worse.

life seems to be full of hard lessons, im slowly becoming certain that the only real lessons in life are the hard ones. By no means is this the first hard lesson i have had, but a friend said the following to me tonight, and as usual, it is one of those things that you already know, but you get blindsided, you turn so far in, that you forget to look out to see if what you are finding inside even makes sense.

“YOUR NOT GOING TO BE HAPPY IF YOU FOCUS ON WHAT YOU WANT AND NOT WHAT YOU HAVE IN FRONT OF YOU”

thanks JM I needed that one, I do have a fantastic son, and friends and others around me,and I never want to forget that again because it has done me in once already.

“…in front of me…” right now other than lyrics:

at my computer table littered with art and notes and books and cords there is the mound of silly bands my son has collected, and they sit nestled up to my glass of chinese fortunes (believe me you never know when you may need one), i tunes, via my headphones, currently playing damien rice and the piece of watermelon i decided to eat, on one of my favorite plates that i happened to just now drop on the floor and split in two (for those of you that know me, this seems rather symbolic of life right now, but im not going to read to much into the state of a broken plate that i tried to cut watermelon on while it rested on the edge of a table, it was my fault, of course that is another problematic statement, thus the dialogue on watermelon will end) and finally a section from the last page of the book I am presently reading.

"It would never have crossed her mind spontaneously that somebody might actually need silence. That silence helps you to go 'inward', that anyone who is interested in something more than just life outside actually needs silence..."

and thus i sit amongst these things that remind me both of what i want and what i have, they are equally inspiring and depressing. and thus here i sit. . .

So someone who knows me quite well knows that I love to cook things at home, and like anyone who is interested in food, I enjoy new, interesting and exotic ingredients. Well, Saffron may not be the new kid on the block, but the good stuff is not in the realm of my general trip to the grocery budget, if ya know what  I mean; and a long story short, I got some as a gift for valentines day. Lacking a paella pan, and knowing that is exactly what I wanted to use it for, it has thus been nestled snugly into my spice cabinet awaiting its debut.

Alas, the day of the saffron has arrived. My dear friend Jen got a a paella pan. I brought an interesting, dry french rose’ (strong finish of banana, its good, but different), chorizo and saffron. She got the seafood, the pan and other necessary ingredients.

If your not familiar with paella, then in a nut shell, is a Spanish style rice dish with a saffron broth and then meat, seafood or mixed with fresh peas, red peppers and arborio rice. Most commonly you see chicken legs/thighs used along with mussels, clams, shrimp and chorizo.

Our paella was mixed using the three listed seafoods and chorizo, we, out of laziness, opted to avoid the preparation of chicken. And thus, it was quite tasty, but trial two shall be using the rendered fat of chick thighs.

Our feet carry a greater weight than any that we intend them. The incredible structures bear the weight of all our burdens. The pains, sorrows, joys and frustrations that we hold in our hearts and in our heads, the sleepless nights, the excitement of a new day, of the one you love, a late nite out, and early morning run, a mud puddle – all are exposed in our calluses and toes.  Our feet carry the weight of our souls.

Feet are an odd, sort of a strangely beautiful item on the human frame. They are a means by which we can be deciphered from other mammals who lack the ability of upright mobility. Feet are our anchors and our gas pedals simultaneously. We are held up and brought forwards by these funny looking bones and flesh. To necessary to be ugly, to abused to be delicate and beautiful. Their beauty lies in their utility, it is here, as it often is in people, that we find comfort in predictability, tenaciousness, and practicality. Feet are our access to the world and to each other. Without the ability to stand and maintain balance, we in fact, would be not much beyond the realm of gorillas. Though, given the complexities that exist as a result of our ability to so easily run, mingle and hide, the gorilla may have a better grip on social life than we could hope.

None the less, though my feet are not my favorite feature, as divulged, that is my legs, they are small, and rather cute. Though there are calluses to scrub and my toes need new red paint, the general concept of my feet is some what appealing, as far as feet go that is.

My toes curl terribly, not form love, though they have, but from running mostly. General abuse. And since running has also deteriorated my knees, my feet bare the additional burden of aiding my poor knees, and my heavy heart.

so this all began as a blog devoted to my grandmother and her efforts to cook and provide for a traditionally large Catholic family. There is, amongst the women, a cookbook of recipes – some are hers, some are from friends some are cut out and included because they were tried and tested and made someone, or everyone in the family happy. But there are many elements to cooking, and family that are not explicit in the recipes.

For one, most of them make large quantities, very large. Indicative of a large family and later of entertaining (be it family or friends). My mother has done nothing to aid in the transformation of these recipes to being family (fourish) sized. If anything, the portions are the same and the amount has actually doubled.

Entertaining is huge in my family, and I used to think that it was huge in my life; that I needed more than myself and my son and a husband to entertain. It is just no the case. Though I love my friends dearly and love having them over to eat and to cook, the acts within the confines of ones family are even more intimate and meaningful. To be fair, the act of creating memories always is.

I presently have no need to cook for more than one routinely and thus, in this situation, one turns to ones friends and shares these moments with them. Here in the comfort of our homes, neighborhoods and porches we begin the creation of our own cookbooks.

so lets start here – feet, legs. I must say my feet are worn are tired and well used. I suppose that my feet are like my hands, they hold my life line, my fortune and downfall. As a runner and a mother, my feet see little rest, and well it likely shows – my toes are rarely perfect, it also shoes the many summers of bare feet in the grass, long walks on the beach, aching heels, and sixteen hours shifts with no break. My feet show my wear and tear more than any part of me. And yet, my legs are my (in my opinion) best asset, and favorite feature. Strong and shapely. Toned and tight, the legs of a runner. My legs have brought me through more tough times than any hand can claim to. They are toned, presently tanned, not long as I am short, but long for someone so small. There strength and slender combine to make them sensual. They are always the feature I choose to show – tight hamstrings, swollen knees and all (as that is what years of running will do). More to follow…. There is something to be said for self examination, and only in the most critical sense. To take a good picture is hard, and I certainly do not take claim to any sort of photographic integrity, however, it is perhaps even harder to take a picture of any part of one’s self; further more, harder still to view it, as the results, thus far, are not the most flattering. Therefore, it is good to note that I have played with the minimal access to photo alteration techniques available on my mac and tried at the least to make these images more, well interesting, at least to me. In doing this it is hard to ignore the image. This is me. There are a great many details I have begun to notice about myself. Some manifest themselves in ways that are obvious and visible, others are only decipherable to those that know me well, and then there is what I see. Legs are symbolic of strength. They are my strength. I am most comfortable here on my feet that bear the burden of my legs. They are uneven, in tone and length, they house scare tissue, feed mosquitos and brave the climbable elements of nature; they run, and stroll, the wrap and twist in comfort and distress. In my sleep they curl up, coaxing me into positions long forgotten outside of REM. They are my pillars of strength, my grace and my glory. I love my legs. They are long and strong, though I am short, in fact a staggering 5’1. None the less, I would argue that for someone of this stature, in proportion to the yet seen portion of me,my legs are long.One is longer, the arches on my feet are almost flat, largely as a result of running, one leg has two prominent bumps which decorate the front, the other, tiny indications around the knee cap of the swollen misery to come. Both are sustained by feet that are strong, and highly abused. Rough, and delicate; tiny and able. My feet support my burden. My burden is held largely in my legs. legs I love, legs I have earned, legs that have not failed me yet; and I call on them now more than ever to maintain my course and keep me steady.

so in the true spirit of growing, i feel one first must admit to where in life it is they need to grow. The greatest hurdle i face is me, my physical me. I have suffered the burden of anorexia, of depression, of adult acne, of pregnancy and of course all the aging that comes as a side affect. Thus the hardest thing perhaps to develop is a comfort in ones own skin. Here, i will begin. from the bottom up i vow to explore who I am and what that means in relation to the world at large, if, and likely not, it means anything at all. Though it undoubtedly means that I too have at one point suffered the submissive pressures of the couture world and aimed for a certain level of perfection in an attempt to gain the acceptance and adoration that so many others seems to receive despite photoshop. There is no make up and any photo alteration is just in contrast, tone and sharpness, not in correction. And this, i can not deny is a first for me, to expose myself in images for all to see, unaltered in terms of qualities of perfection. So here it goes. . . . .

A blog untended becomes much like a garden treated the same, as do ourselves.

I created a blog in devotion to my late grandmother and as a means of carrying on delicious family treats so rarely created. Needless to say, the devotion to the endeavor faltered as a result of the many complications we all run into in life such as work, school, kids, etc.

So here again i sit redirected and revived.

Thus, here you will find one young individual’s attempt to better understand how to live a life that would make her grandmother proud – a life true to the individual. here in these pages you will find snippets of events, images, recipes and ideas; that with luck, determination, and probably some wine, will take one individual to the next level of adult hood.