Day 352: L’Amour Français, Worries and Woes, & A Narrative Nonfiction Plot

Wednesday, September 3

I got an email from my former French boyfriend.  Well, on Facebook.  It was sweet.  And it made me feel bad for avoiding his last two emails.  On Facebook.  I don’t know.  I’m bad about Facebook.  I forget to answer emails there.  I’m not sure if I should respond when people write on my wall.  I drink and Facebook.  I’m not the most diligent or responsible Facebooker. 

But, then again, I got a message like this one in my inbox which made me love Facebook:
Hello ! just a little kiss from Paris. I wouldn’t mind talk to you a little. hopefully soon
xoxo

Now, what girl wouldn’t swoon from such a message in her inbox?  The one thing I will give this man, my former French boyfriend, is that he knows how to do romance.  When I last visited him in Paris, ten years ago, I would wake up at his father’s apartment in the Montmartre (he had a couple of fabulous apartments) and Jean would have a fresh pastry, French press coffee and a USA Today on the old, wooden table in the kitchen, waiting for me.  He’d kiss me on the forehead and I’d wonder when he had left and for how long.  He’d wake early and go to the same patisserie on the block.  There were usually some flowers on the table for me, too.

His previous email, that was sent about a month ago, asked me when I was planning to return to Europe.  Ah, Europe.  Let’s see.  I have no vacation time to use.  I can’t afford to take leave without pay.  Um.  That would be never.  Or at least not until I win the lottery.  I’m glad I frivolously traveled in my twenties.  Because I practically live paycheck to paycheck now, which is ironic.  And I just found out today my rent is going up.  My limited funds seem to be flying out the windows.

Not ideal.  Not ideal, at all.  I made a list of where to cut spending.  I am worried about paying for my heating bills this winter.  They were pretty bad last year and will probably be worse this time around.

I worry.  I worry about taxes going up.  I worry about gas prices continuing to skyrocket.  I spend a lot of my time worrying. 

I know it doesn’t help to worry.  But it’s feeds the woe that makes me feel like it’s impossible for me to do this all on my own.  I remind myself how much easier it would be if I just married someone and got it over with.  You’re either taken care of or you split the bills.  Either way, you come up ahead.

It’s useless to lament over my inability to travel.  Which is more or less why I let my French ex’s messages go unanswered – it just isn’t plausible to get over there.  And, even if I could take a leave of absence, what next?  The thing is, Oregon is my home.  It’s funny that the few men I’ve met over the past year or so, that I’ve actually been interested in, all live elsewhere.  Not in Oregon.  I am unwilling to pick up and leave my beloved Oregon.  So, I have already decided it’s not worth getting the heart mixed up with anyone who doesn’t already live in Oregon or love it as much as I do.

As I drove home from work, I thought more about this.  I came to no new relevations.  It’s in Oregon I shall stay, loved or not loved.

At home, I changed and met Susan at Tryon Creek Park, up Terwilliger Boulevard.  We hiked a trail for about four miles or so, possibly more.  It was a nice change from the gym, an old growth forest with perfectly manicured trails and a nature center.  As we hiked, we chatted at length about Sarah Palin.  I have no idea how I’m voting for this coming election, but, because I am an Independent, I am interested in listening to what each of the candidates have to say.  It’s a thrilling election.

When I drove home, I caught the first half of her speech on NPR.  She had my attention.  I was surprised that this was her first major national address.  She sounded confident, competent and she had her own brand of charisma.  She has my attention.

I quickly made a gluten-free pizza for dinner.  This one had a touch of tomato sauce topped with thin slices of yellow heirloom tomato, buffalo mozzarella, shreded Assagio and Provalone.  I then topped it with fresh basil from the garden.  It was my seasonal Margherita Pizza.

While eating, I worked on my latest writing project.  I’m in the process of collecting the copy for each of my blog entries and separating them out in Word files by month.  I plan to organize the entries in a way that I can build a new narrative – the book will be based on the blog.  I don’t want it to be the blog reprinted word for word.  Instead, I plan to highlight themes and begin a meaningful narrative that reads more like a novel. 

I’ve been struggling with writing the book proposal for this, as most nonfiction book proposals are constructed for writers who are experts in a field or promise to help the reader accomplish something (learn how to cook, self help, etc.).  My nonfiction book is all narrative, so it doesn’t really fit the typical model.  I’m not claiming to be an expert on finding love in all of its manifestations, nor am I trying to teach anyone how to find love in all of its manifestations.  I am simply writing about my own experiences that have helped me to seek out and sometimes find love in its many manifestations.  And I’m satisfied with that.  Now, I have to figure out how to get an agent or publisher on board.  Between that and figuring out how to launch my new website, I’ve got a lot to do in my few hours of ‘free time’.

 

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Day 339: Moody, Bluesy, Lonely & In Need of Chocolate

Thursday, August 21

Another gray start to the day, rain channeling in and out of the sky.  I wasn’t really hungry, so I had a lovely frozen fruit pop in coconut milk and pineapple.  It’s packed with vitamins and tasted like a pina colada.

I chugged through a busy to-do list.  It’s amazing how quickly the days fly by.  I’m still stunned that we’re in the near last leg of August.  How did that happen?

I wasn’t feeling great early in the day.  Not sick.  No, more mood-wise.  I had PMS, I guess, unless that’s just an excuse I’m using for feeling a little bluesy.  I played some music at my desk today and kept it on artist Meiko for awhile.  Her song Hawaii is ethereal, delicate and haunting.  I imagined myself floating on a longboard under a pink sunset, towering palm trees behind me, cautionary fronds swaying in the wind telling me to paddle in.  It’s easy to get carried away by gentle waves of distraction.  I am rocking over the rise and fall, sweating under the languid breeze, hot and warm, while the persistent pull, the letting go rolls me along.  And sometimes I really just want to let go.

I met a photographer for lunch today at the Dundee Bistro to go over some shots we need for our stock photo library.  It’s all part of a larger piece of work I’m doing to use better images for storytelling.  I had Italian sausage with polenta and broccolini and a side salad.  It was pretty good.  My favorite sausage and polenta remains to be cooked up at Bar Mingo, mamma mia!  But this hit the spot.

After lunch, I finally went to the post office to send my cousin’s new baby the adorable Portland designed onesie and baby cap I purchased at the Saturday Farmer’s Market a few weeks ago.  I picked up a book of stamps with sunny sunflowers on them.  Very vibrant.  I needed vibrant.

I didn’t leave work until 7:15 p.m.!  What the heck??  I had a lot of work to do.  And I also emailed Kerry, who was back on the east coast for work, to give her my typed verbal diahharea on the usual woe-is-me crap that came with the said “PMS” blended with boredom and loneliness.  There.  I said it.  The dreaded “L” word.  I’m normally not so down, not so, well, lonely.  Mostly, I missed my family.  At least I’ll see them in a few weeks.  I’m looking forward to that.  And I missed my friends – we haven’t been able to hang out much these days.  I’m flailing all by myself, so I suppose it’s good that I have a lot of work to do.  It’s a distraction.

I have also been concerned with my aunt in Seattle.  I received an email this week from my cousin that she had to have surgery on her gut.  Well, apparently, there was some kind of infection.  I’m really not sure.  But, she’s back in the hospital.  So, I called my dad’s brother the other day to check in.  It sounded like she’s stable and doing okay for now.  Hopefully she’ll get to go home this weekend.  I have been thinking about them all week.  I plan to go up for a visit when I return from the east coast, which means, most likely, in early October.  Plus, that will give her ample time to recover.

I went to Fred Meyer to stock up on some fruit, salad mixings and, oh yeah, Dagoba chocolate.  I found a new organic, gluten-free EnviroKidz cereal in peanut butter and chocolate, called Leapin Lemurs.   I also picked up a box of Frosted Perky-O’s.  I don’t usually eat sugar cereals, but, well, clearly I’m jonesing for some sweets.  I got organic strawberries and white nectarines, as well!

The sunflowers on my postal stamps must have been in my head, because I bought myself a bouquet of flowers with three lovely sunflowers.  I needed some cheering up.  Sometimes a single girl’s gotta buy herself flowers.  I mean, I do everything else for myself.  Why deny myself from receiving flowers?  There I go again with my moodiness.  Well, the flowers were a treat.  And, yes, I even smiled.

My sunflowers shown with the green-leaf square ceramic plate I had painted a couple weeks ago.  Painting pottery has been another soul soother for me these days.

When I got home, I re-heated the beautiful gluten-free pizza I made last night.  I actually took a photo of it:

Yup.  Brown rice crust that I brushed with olive oil, a little bit of organic tomato sauce, fresh mozz, a little salt and pepper, super-thin local heirloom tomatoes and fresh basil from our garden at work.  It’s the best thin-crust, traditional Napolitano Margherita pizza I’ve had since I was diagnosed with celiac (hey…Dad…are you looking at that photo??  Now that’s gluten-free pizza!!).

As I ate, I turned on the genius box and watched Jaws 3.  Hell, three’s a charm!  I figured, I watched the first two the past two nights, might as well fry my brain with the 3-D version without 3-D glasses.  I was stunned.  Was that really Dennis Quaid, Louis Gossett, Jr. and Lea Thompson??  Ha, ha, ha.  This was 1983.  I was nine years old when this flick came out.  And still swimming competitively.  Though, I figured out at this point that sharks didn’t swim in pools.

 

That’s awesome… Anyway.  The 3-D made for silly television viewing.  Especially when the “35 foot” Jaws swam straight for the glassed-in control room at Sea World in the end.  It was so fake, so goofy I couldn’t stop laughing.   Oh, and then when it blew up in the end – it was hilarious how ridiculous it looked with bits bursting out in blood red ocean water, namely a large half of the jaw with several jagged teeth still intact floating to the forefront.  I laughed out loud again.  Too bad I didn’t have any 3-D glasses around.  Anyway.  Why was it that all the Jaws sharks were blown up at the end of these movies?  I guess that was done for the teenaged boys.  After Jaws 3, after the great white explosion, Dennis Quaid and his lady friend surfaced in their scuba gear and called out to their dolphin friends, who flipped and jumped in the finale.  Uh, that was the teenaged girl’s ending.  All they needed were rainbows and pegasus.  And then, Jaws 4 could emerge from the bay and take down the wing of pegasus..a segue to a final chapter.  I digress…

Anyway.  I turned on the Beijing Olympics to watch the American men win the beach volleyball gold medal.  It was killer!  Again, I am pumped to play volleyball.  That’s another thing I missed about living in Seattle.  I was part of a group that played volleyball every Tuesday all summer long at Greenlake.  I missed summer volleyball.

In any case, I had a round of crunches to get to.  And another piece of Dagoba dark chocolate.  My favorite.

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Day 321: A Cool Baby Shower, Cookbooks at Powell’s & My Gluten-Free Dinner Party

Sunday, August 3

This morning I got up and prepared a lovely Capresi salad with fresh, red Roma tomatoes, fresh basil from our garden at work, and wet, organic mozzarella drizzled with extra virgin olive oil and high quality balsamic vinegar.  I wrapped up the small baby gifts I got that went into one adorable gift bag.

Then, I showered and got dressed.  I drove out to the SE to friend Vonda’s house for our friend Karen’s baby shower.  You never know how baby showers are going to be.  I hoped that it wouldn’t be smug with lame baby games.  This was actually one of the best parties I had been to in a long time.

First, it was a brunch.  Vonda’s home is completely gorgeous!  I had a cup of Yogi lemon-ginger tea and sat next to Karen to get caught up.  She was a beautiful pregnant woman.  The other guests arrived and we all talked girl stuff.  Not just baby stuff, which we did chat about – and it was fun, engaging conversation, not the smug mommy-baby conversations some types of women befall to.  No, this was different!

We played a couple of games, but they weren’t lame.  We did a name game which was actually functioned to help Karen come up with a baby girl’s name.  We came up with some great ideas that she was actually excited about.  Then, we went around the brunch table, drinking bellini’s and mimosas, talking about the most mischievous thing we did as a child.  It was pretty hilarious, actually.  I told the story of how my older sister and I colored the bricks around the fireplace at our house in Pennsylvania. 

For brunch we had an amazing gluten-free egg fritata topped with fresh basil, my caprese salad, delicious summer baby potatoes (white and purple) in olive oil with herbs, which was fantastic, and then fresh strawberries and cherries.  It was really yummy. 

Karen opened presents, which was really great.  She got all kinds of good stuff.  I gave her a bunch of Burt’s Baby Bee products – like diaper cream, talc, buttermilk bath powder, baby lotion and a lullaby CD.  I really had a lovely time! 

I was going to go up to Yoga Union following the shower, but didn’t feel up to it.  Instead, I went to Powell’s and picked up two great cook books.  For forever and a day I had wanted this great soup book my friend Lota has.  I haven’t ever been able to find it.  But, today, I found an awesome soup cook book called The International Soup Book by Susan R. Friedland, editor.

There are plenty of recipes in this book that are gluten-free; and those that aren’t I can explore different gluten-free flour options.

Then, I got the book the Farm to Table cookbook: The Art of Eating Locally by north westerner Ivy Manning.   It’s a beautiful book with a chock full of recipes and hints, like meet the producer or an heirloom tomato primer, all organized by season.  Love it.

While at Powell’s, I ran into a kind of new friend, poet/artist/musician Jonathan, who I had met a few months ago at the Tea Zone.  Jonathan, because of our conversation, was diagnosed gluten intolerant.  I gave him some advice about eating a mindful, balanced diet.  We chatted for a bit and agreed to meet up soon at the Tea Zone to catch up.  I really like his spirit and feel grateful to have a new male friend!

I met Kerry at the Park Blocks.  It was our intention to play bocce.  But the courts were totally filled up and so we just sat on a bench and people watched.

I drove home to clean up and get ready for my dinner guests, the Dashmores.  I vacuumed, emptied the dishwasher, cleaned the downstairs bathroom, then began setting the table.  I put beautiful orange and purple tulips in a vase and placed it on the table with my crystal grape cluster table decorations.  I chilled the wine, pulled out and polished glasses and welcomed them after six.  We sat in the living room and noshed on the gluten free baguette I pulled fresh out of the oven, served with the triple cream Camembert, the Irish hard cheese and the herb goat cheese, sprinkled with dried berries on the cutting boards.  We sipped on the Italian Soave, a light, crisp white wine with good acidity. 

 

 

Next, we sat around the table and I served a mixed greens salad with the heirloom grape tomatoes which added jeweled colors of yellow, green, purple, red and orange, topped with pumpkin seeds and a creamy dill dressing.  I pulled out the focaccia pizzas that I had brushed olive oil all over with my basting brush, then sprinkled some sea salt and added on wet buffalo mozzarella.  When I pulled the pizzas out of the oven I topped with fresh basil from our garden at work. 

 

 

 

I semi-chilled the Barbera D’Alba, as Italian reds need to be served slightly cool.  It was all delicious.  I was very pleased with this gluten-free option!  The pizza was the best I’ve had since having been diagnosed with Celiac disease.

Then, Capri jumped up at the chair at the other head of the table because she clearly needed to feel like one of us.

Next, we ate Tobleron and dark chocolate with Argyle Blanc de Blanc bubbly.  We laughed and talked about high school, which prompted me to pull out my yearbook.  It was a fun evening.  Reminded me that I want to entertain more often.  I love to cook for others, and now armed with my new fabulous cookbooks, I was going to plan more intimate dinners in at my place.  My dining room looked absolutely lovely.  I was very happy, indeed.

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