I'm sitting in our house listening to the after-effects of Hurricane Irene. She turned inland earlier, and we are now getting the windy side. The house sounds like a subway as the train is coming into the station. Earlier, we had an old maple come down next to the house, and when I say next to the house, I mean that it is touching the house. And it's a big tree. The kid woke up and wouldn't go back to bed for a while.
After a summer of relationship and PTSD hell, tons of transitions and personal learning, and a week of earthquakes and a hurricane that almost scuttled our trip up here, I am about ready for some respite. Some sense of moving forward. Cooking again. Talking about beer, literature, and whatever else seems cool again. New music. Time with the kid. New horizons, and maybe a trip or two this fall. Certainly, there is a puppy on the horizon, and that's as much of a new start as anyone could ask for.
In any case, Maine. I have a love-hate relationship with our history up here. As the youngest of eight grandchildren in an old New England family, warmth isn't exactly the first word I'd use when describing my memories of summers up here. Nonetheless, it's one of the places I know best and one of the places that has been most restorative at times in my life. Driving up from Boston yesterday after we had flown out just ahead of the hurricane, I spent a great deal of time remembering my visits here over the years — the food, the music, the beer, the company, the quiet moments, the joyful moments introducing the place to people. I remembered it in part because I had only ever been up here this late in the season once, 20 years ago, when I last experienced a hurricane.
More than that, the memories came at me because so much has happened this year, and because I am doing so much rebuilding. And this is a place that has allowed me those moments in the past. When we got here, I opened a Geary's Ale and watched my mother and the kid make crab cakes with the local peeky-toe crab meat. It's a delicate meat that has a softer, less buttery flavor than the backfin crab meat we get in Virginia. But in the past, taking over the preparation of the crab cakes and corn would have been my purview. This time, however, I was happy to sit back and watch grandmother and grand-daughter work as a team. Not only did it mean I got to relax after a long day, but it was a reminder that sometimes we can let other people do what they do well.
Even if I had an opinion about a touch of this or a touch of that in the crab cakes, the moment wasn't about control. It was perfect as is. And the food was perfect when we ate the corn, crab cakes, and local leaf lettuce (something we miss in VA right now) and tomato salad. Letting life be perfect and happy as-is (but with potential for greatness) is something I'm trying to remember as part of this rebuilding.
Showing posts with label lifehacking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lifehacking. Show all posts
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Thursday, August 04, 2011
Collateral damage
Warning: Navel-gazing post ahead.
One thing I have come to realize recently is just how toxic I became over the past few years. I took everything that had been thrown at me over the years and hid it away behind the pain and trauma of the shooting. Then, I took the pain and trauma of the shooting and hid it away. Unfortunately, I did so without adequately confronting what had happened and what it had done to me. As a result, I became the trauma.
One of the consequences of this, I've realized, is that I became a weight to bear for those around me. This weight didn't make itself known so much in big, overt ways as it did in small-but-growing compromises that I forced those around me to make. And it meant that they began to bear my weight. The scary part is that I not only didn't realize what I was doing — and probably didn't listen when confronted with it — but that I don't remember whole swaths of time from the past few years.
As I wrote in an earlier post, the feeling is that of waking up from a long, boozy, bad dream. You're not quite sure what's real and not for a while. In fact there are whole periods of the past two years that I simply don't remember. I recently tried to remember when something happened at the kid's school. In my mind, it had happened this spring; in reality, it happened almost a year and a half ago. This wouldn't bother me if it was an isolated example, but I am regularly reminded of conversations I had completely lost, of things that happened that I had completely lost, of a rush of daily life that completely eluded me. This is not a fun feeling.
In fact, one of the most distressing parts of this process are the moments when I spiral backward. I don't necessarily beat myself up for things that happened or didn't happen; I realize I just wasn't there. In pieces and parts — when I most needed to — I'd break through the fog and show up for a few minutes, hours, days, or maybe even weeks. But by and large, life just carried me along with it while I fell farther and farther into myself.
In the end, a series of life circumstances and realizations started chipping away at the walls I'd built. And as the walls cracked, I started to lash out. When I had a brief glimmer of what I was doing, I shored up the walls. Until the shoring up started cracking too. All the toxicity that I'd been trapping behind those walls started dribbling out in comments and fights and anger.
Around the time this was coming to a head, my partner Kevin was injured by an exploding keg. I took him to the emergency room at MCV. It was the first time I'd been there since the shooting. Walking past the ambulance bays was difficult. And then two weeks later, the keg blew up at me — blew up at my heart. And the walls came down.
I started shaking that day, and haven't quite stopped yet. My life was in a shambles. My heart was in a shambles. My body was in a shambles. I had forgotten to bleed the pressure on the keg — and on my life. Collateral damage was all around, and I hadn't seen it for months, years.
Time to rebuild.
One thing I have come to realize recently is just how toxic I became over the past few years. I took everything that had been thrown at me over the years and hid it away behind the pain and trauma of the shooting. Then, I took the pain and trauma of the shooting and hid it away. Unfortunately, I did so without adequately confronting what had happened and what it had done to me. As a result, I became the trauma.
One of the consequences of this, I've realized, is that I became a weight to bear for those around me. This weight didn't make itself known so much in big, overt ways as it did in small-but-growing compromises that I forced those around me to make. And it meant that they began to bear my weight. The scary part is that I not only didn't realize what I was doing — and probably didn't listen when confronted with it — but that I don't remember whole swaths of time from the past few years.
As I wrote in an earlier post, the feeling is that of waking up from a long, boozy, bad dream. You're not quite sure what's real and not for a while. In fact there are whole periods of the past two years that I simply don't remember. I recently tried to remember when something happened at the kid's school. In my mind, it had happened this spring; in reality, it happened almost a year and a half ago. This wouldn't bother me if it was an isolated example, but I am regularly reminded of conversations I had completely lost, of things that happened that I had completely lost, of a rush of daily life that completely eluded me. This is not a fun feeling.
In fact, one of the most distressing parts of this process are the moments when I spiral backward. I don't necessarily beat myself up for things that happened or didn't happen; I realize I just wasn't there. In pieces and parts — when I most needed to — I'd break through the fog and show up for a few minutes, hours, days, or maybe even weeks. But by and large, life just carried me along with it while I fell farther and farther into myself.
In the end, a series of life circumstances and realizations started chipping away at the walls I'd built. And as the walls cracked, I started to lash out. When I had a brief glimmer of what I was doing, I shored up the walls. Until the shoring up started cracking too. All the toxicity that I'd been trapping behind those walls started dribbling out in comments and fights and anger.
Around the time this was coming to a head, my partner Kevin was injured by an exploding keg. I took him to the emergency room at MCV. It was the first time I'd been there since the shooting. Walking past the ambulance bays was difficult. And then two weeks later, the keg blew up at me — blew up at my heart. And the walls came down.
I started shaking that day, and haven't quite stopped yet. My life was in a shambles. My heart was in a shambles. My body was in a shambles. I had forgotten to bleed the pressure on the keg — and on my life. Collateral damage was all around, and I hadn't seen it for months, years.
Time to rebuild.
Thursday, January 06, 2011
Going public
So there is a very big change happening in my life in the next two days... I will be leaving my current company. The end-result of this is yet to be seen, but the short-term plans include helping out some friends with art direction, design and copy freelance work (both web and print) and pushing at a business plan. At the same time, I will be looking at full-time jobs in the vein I've been in for years now, but the business plan is an important side note. The goal I and a couple partners have is to take the upsized homebrewing project legit and open a new brewery in Richmond in the next year.
To that end, I've got a fun little project set up for next week: a beer dinner on Sunday, January 16 at Ipanema.
When I was originally approached about it, I was excited to do it, but then I'll admit I was a little nervous. After all, I'm veggie-friendly but also a committed omnivore. What kinds of beers would not only pair with an interesting vegetarian winter menu but would also be distinctive enough to set the dinner apart from similar events in town. In the end, I opted to stay local with the beer choices, and the menu turned out to be this:
Kudos to Will at Ipanema for a terrific menu. More details and tickets here, if you're interested in joining us.
To that end, I've got a fun little project set up for next week: a beer dinner on Sunday, January 16 at Ipanema.
When I was originally approached about it, I was excited to do it, but then I'll admit I was a little nervous. After all, I'm veggie-friendly but also a committed omnivore. What kinds of beers would not only pair with an interesting vegetarian winter menu but would also be distinctive enough to set the dinner apart from similar events in town. In the end, I opted to stay local with the beer choices, and the menu turned out to be this:
Course 1
Winter vegetable terrine, roasted mushroom pâté, and local cheeses
Foggy Ridge First Fruit Cider — This dry cider from Floyd, VA, with a touch of fruitiness will pair nicely with the local cheeses and rich terrine and pâté.
Course 2
Welsh rarebit with honey roasted radishes and walnuts
Tupper’s Keller Pils — While the first inkling was to go with a brown ale here, the dry taste of the pils should provide a nice contrast for the richness of the rarebit.
Course 3
Root vegetable cassoulet with black-eyed peas and winter greens
Stillwater Existent or Cellar Door — Existent is a deliciously hoppy black IPA fermented with a Belgian yeast, and Cellar Door is a classic saison flavored with a touch of white sage. There's an either/or here based on label approval for the Existent (VA ABC!).
Course 4
Churros with spiced chocolate, Orange/vanilla flan
Blue Mountain Dark Hollow — This is our coup of the evening. The Dark Hollow is traditionally only sold at the brewery, but the kind brewers at Blue Mountain have agreed to release a case for this event.
Kudos to Will at Ipanema for a terrific menu. More details and tickets here, if you're interested in joining us.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Burned, thrice.
I consider myself a good cook. I know my way around the kitchen, around ingredients, around different preparations. It's a hobby that has gotten more and more serious in the past few years — maybe filling a void left by not playing pool lately. Friends and family enjoy what I cook, and I can usually take an eclectic set of ingredients from idea to execution handily. From time to time, though, there are reminders that I'm just an amateur. Tonight, I made a couple of such mistakes.
The plan was to prepare some sockeye filets we'd picked up TJ's with quinoa and a salad. No big deal, right. Easy. Prep the salmon and give it a quick sear on the stove before putting it under the broiler to get the top. Chop up some veggies for a little slaw to go on it. Add some veggies to the quinoa. Salad. Simple stuff.
The thing is the fish wasn't great. I knew that the moment I took it out of the package. Usually TJ's fish has been pretty consistent, but the last couple times the quality seems to have dropped off a little bit. This salmon was a little beaten up and might have seen a bit of freezer burn, but I didn't have a back-up plan. It was getting late, too. Time to pull some cumin and lemon to the rescue. If I couldn't grab a better piece of fish, maybe I could at least cover up the imperfections. I prepped it and moved on.
The garnish was going to be a bit of cucumber, some sungolds, parsley and a bit of pepper. For the pepper, I opted for a bright yellow hot pepper I'd picked up at the market. It seemed fairly innocuous, and I made sure to prep it correctly — slice open and remove the seeds with a quick wash, dice. I even cleaned my knife and hands afterward to prevent cross-contamination.
The quinoa had a good start on the stove. I salted it liberally and added diced some yellow squash and green pepper a friend had given L. I tossed it in the pan to cook with the grains. Seemed like a fine idea at the time.
Before pulling the salad together, I shoved the salmon under the broiler. I love cast iron for its versatility, and for the ability to get a perfect sear on almost anything. I pulled some greens from the bag and mixed them with the rest of the parsley and a red pepper that had landed on our counter this afternoon. Crumble some stilton over it, add a little balsamic, and we're all good, right?
It was just a couple minutes later that the burn started. My lips were the first hit, then my eyes. Then I realized I'd forgotten one very important detail — the cutting board. I'd washed everything but the cutting board. And now everything was covered in sweet, hot pepper. The salad was, if not ruined, at least the wrong set of flavors. The quinoa had an extra bite to it. My eyes were burning, and to add final insult to injury, I left the salmon under the broiler too long.
The last was the least of my problems since the salmon was already a bit of a flavor and texture fail. The mistake with the peppers bugs me though. It seems like the kind of mistake you shouldn't make if you consider yourself a serious-enough cook.
The truth is that life is filled with those moments, however: little lessons that teach you to always be vigilant, no matter how much you think you know.
The plan was to prepare some sockeye filets we'd picked up TJ's with quinoa and a salad. No big deal, right. Easy. Prep the salmon and give it a quick sear on the stove before putting it under the broiler to get the top. Chop up some veggies for a little slaw to go on it. Add some veggies to the quinoa. Salad. Simple stuff.
The thing is the fish wasn't great. I knew that the moment I took it out of the package. Usually TJ's fish has been pretty consistent, but the last couple times the quality seems to have dropped off a little bit. This salmon was a little beaten up and might have seen a bit of freezer burn, but I didn't have a back-up plan. It was getting late, too. Time to pull some cumin and lemon to the rescue. If I couldn't grab a better piece of fish, maybe I could at least cover up the imperfections. I prepped it and moved on.
The garnish was going to be a bit of cucumber, some sungolds, parsley and a bit of pepper. For the pepper, I opted for a bright yellow hot pepper I'd picked up at the market. It seemed fairly innocuous, and I made sure to prep it correctly — slice open and remove the seeds with a quick wash, dice. I even cleaned my knife and hands afterward to prevent cross-contamination.
The quinoa had a good start on the stove. I salted it liberally and added diced some yellow squash and green pepper a friend had given L. I tossed it in the pan to cook with the grains. Seemed like a fine idea at the time.
Before pulling the salad together, I shoved the salmon under the broiler. I love cast iron for its versatility, and for the ability to get a perfect sear on almost anything. I pulled some greens from the bag and mixed them with the rest of the parsley and a red pepper that had landed on our counter this afternoon. Crumble some stilton over it, add a little balsamic, and we're all good, right?
It was just a couple minutes later that the burn started. My lips were the first hit, then my eyes. Then I realized I'd forgotten one very important detail — the cutting board. I'd washed everything but the cutting board. And now everything was covered in sweet, hot pepper. The salad was, if not ruined, at least the wrong set of flavors. The quinoa had an extra bite to it. My eyes were burning, and to add final insult to injury, I left the salmon under the broiler too long.
The last was the least of my problems since the salmon was already a bit of a flavor and texture fail. The mistake with the peppers bugs me though. It seems like the kind of mistake you shouldn't make if you consider yourself a serious-enough cook.
The truth is that life is filled with those moments, however: little lessons that teach you to always be vigilant, no matter how much you think you know.
Thursday, February 04, 2010
snow dreams of food
Richmond is seeing its snowiest winter in recent memory this year. It's almost as though all the jokes about runs on the local grocery stores for milk, eggs, and bread when the word "snow" hits the forecast have finally brought karmic retribution back on us in the form of two good-sized storms. Each has dumped nearly a foot of snow on the area and paralyzed businesses and shut schools. The kids have had a hell of a time, and parents are running out of ways to amuse them. After all, there's only so much you can do when you live in the heart of the city to send your kids out to pasture.
There have been some collateral benefits, however. They include slowing down by necessity and re-acquainting ourselves with the house, and remembering to cook more and use more of the food that stuffs the fridge. Recent adventures have included remembering how to make crépes, gingerbread and biscotti (thanks to L), fondue, chili, and more.
Last night's adventure was more of a culinary break than I've made lately. Facing down dwindling supplies of various staples and specialty items, I knew we had a few hurdles to cross. L is a pescatarian, which means I have to temper my meat-loving tendencies for some meals or find a general balance in others. The Kid has lately gotten even pickier about what she'll eat — a foodie kid losing her omnivorousness is another post for another time. Lastly, I realized feeding us all at the same time wasn't going to work. Solution time...
The kid got pesto pasta. It's not the most creative solution, but some penne with TJ's pesto on it is a sure-fire silver bullet when she's hungry and tired. Add a bit of feta and a few grape tomatoes, and the meal is complete and easy to put together while she hangs out with us.
For L and I, I concocted a wholly different idea. I had lentils that had been around a while, a small stash of grape tomatoes, an onion, garlic, and a well-stocked spice cabinet. A quick check of Saveur brought up an Ethiopian lentil stew. That combined with some savory whole-wheat crépes started to sound a whole lot like an improvised Ethiopian dinner. The lentils took about an hour to cook and come together. It was the right amount of time for mixing up a quick crépe batter and running the crepes. I pulled one of the small zucchinis in the fridge and sliced it into quarter-inch-thick half-moons. These I tossed with a bit of olive oil, cumin, salt and pepper, and put on a baking pan to roast while L was working on biscotti, round 2.
When the crépes were ready, I laid out one on each plate as one might find a bed of injera in an Ethiopian restaurant and then added two more, folded to quarters, to section off the plate. On one side went the zucchini, and on the other a pile of lentils topped with a small dollop of plain yogurt. On a shared plate, I put out The lentils weren't as spicy as I'd hoped, so I'll be looking for some real berbere powder for the next attempt. Nonetheless, the flavors came together wonderfully and both L and I finished the meal with nearly clean plates.
I recommend stepping back and looking back at your cupboards once in a while and thinking about new ways you can use the same old ingredients.
There have been some collateral benefits, however. They include slowing down by necessity and re-acquainting ourselves with the house, and remembering to cook more and use more of the food that stuffs the fridge. Recent adventures have included remembering how to make crépes, gingerbread and biscotti (thanks to L), fondue, chili, and more.
Last night's adventure was more of a culinary break than I've made lately. Facing down dwindling supplies of various staples and specialty items, I knew we had a few hurdles to cross. L is a pescatarian, which means I have to temper my meat-loving tendencies for some meals or find a general balance in others. The Kid has lately gotten even pickier about what she'll eat — a foodie kid losing her omnivorousness is another post for another time. Lastly, I realized feeding us all at the same time wasn't going to work. Solution time...
The kid got pesto pasta. It's not the most creative solution, but some penne with TJ's pesto on it is a sure-fire silver bullet when she's hungry and tired. Add a bit of feta and a few grape tomatoes, and the meal is complete and easy to put together while she hangs out with us.
For L and I, I concocted a wholly different idea. I had lentils that had been around a while, a small stash of grape tomatoes, an onion, garlic, and a well-stocked spice cabinet. A quick check of Saveur brought up an Ethiopian lentil stew. That combined with some savory whole-wheat crépes started to sound a whole lot like an improvised Ethiopian dinner. The lentils took about an hour to cook and come together. It was the right amount of time for mixing up a quick crépe batter and running the crepes. I pulled one of the small zucchinis in the fridge and sliced it into quarter-inch-thick half-moons. These I tossed with a bit of olive oil, cumin, salt and pepper, and put on a baking pan to roast while L was working on biscotti, round 2.
When the crépes were ready, I laid out one on each plate as one might find a bed of injera in an Ethiopian restaurant and then added two more, folded to quarters, to section off the plate. On one side went the zucchini, and on the other a pile of lentils topped with a small dollop of plain yogurt. On a shared plate, I put out The lentils weren't as spicy as I'd hoped, so I'll be looking for some real berbere powder for the next attempt. Nonetheless, the flavors came together wonderfully and both L and I finished the meal with nearly clean plates.
I recommend stepping back and looking back at your cupboards once in a while and thinking about new ways you can use the same old ingredients.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Eyes on the Prize
So far on this set of lifehacking ideas, I've hit upon:
Ultimately one of the things this really comes down to is keeping your eyes on the prize. It's a cliché, I know, but it's a useful one. The prize can be any number of things, whether it's a clean house, finished projects, happy kids, a healthy relationship, saving money, traveling, achieving a professional goal, starting a business, cooking a meal, making yourself and other people happy. It could even be all of those things.
It all comes down to follow-through, whether small or large. I can't emphasize that enough. It's something that I've tried to instill in the kid — every day before school, she feeds the pets and makes her bed. It's small stuff, but making a habit and routine out of it has proved remarkably useful in the larger picture. If you move to the larger picture, it comes down to something I haven't always been good about in the past — committing to a plan. Once you commit to something, you must follow through with it, and any misgivings must be worked out and put aside — much like the obsessions mentioned above.
At a personal level, here's what it comes down to... I've screwed up a lot in my life. There have been a lot of things I haven't owned up to and mistakes I've made. I've made lots of promises without really knowing how to make said-promises happen. I've hinted at things that I knew in the back of my mind wouldn't really happen. I've taken on obligations and then struggled with myself to follow through on the obligation. Certainly, I could get into psychological dig-downs of this stuff, but talk is cheap. It comes down to action.
I don't want my daughter or anyone else in my life to have to pick up the pieces or wonder why I didn't do what I said I was going to do. I don't want to leave unrequited or unresolved hopes because I said I would do something I couldn't. I don't want my daughter to skate over to me at the rink and ask why I look sad any more. (Another story for another time.) The life-hacking I'm doing? Well, it's for me, but it's also to make my world a better place for everyone and anyone in it.
- Begin with reasonable expectations. If that means finishing one task every day or making sure one part of the house is clean every day, so be it. You've made a start.
- Focus on what you're doing, and make lists that you can actually complete. Use this as a way to clean up the "stuff" in your life.
- Don't obsess. Take the moments where you want to play with an all-eclipsing thought and find a way to bring your focus back to what's important, what needs to be done in the here and now. Beyond that, find a way to take the negative and find the positive. And in all cases, remember the positive.
- Grok things. Don't just hear them. Grok them.
Ultimately one of the things this really comes down to is keeping your eyes on the prize. It's a cliché, I know, but it's a useful one. The prize can be any number of things, whether it's a clean house, finished projects, happy kids, a healthy relationship, saving money, traveling, achieving a professional goal, starting a business, cooking a meal, making yourself and other people happy. It could even be all of those things.
It all comes down to follow-through, whether small or large. I can't emphasize that enough. It's something that I've tried to instill in the kid — every day before school, she feeds the pets and makes her bed. It's small stuff, but making a habit and routine out of it has proved remarkably useful in the larger picture. If you move to the larger picture, it comes down to something I haven't always been good about in the past — committing to a plan. Once you commit to something, you must follow through with it, and any misgivings must be worked out and put aside — much like the obsessions mentioned above.
At a personal level, here's what it comes down to... I've screwed up a lot in my life. There have been a lot of things I haven't owned up to and mistakes I've made. I've made lots of promises without really knowing how to make said-promises happen. I've hinted at things that I knew in the back of my mind wouldn't really happen. I've taken on obligations and then struggled with myself to follow through on the obligation. Certainly, I could get into psychological dig-downs of this stuff, but talk is cheap. It comes down to action.
I don't want my daughter or anyone else in my life to have to pick up the pieces or wonder why I didn't do what I said I was going to do. I don't want to leave unrequited or unresolved hopes because I said I would do something I couldn't. I don't want my daughter to skate over to me at the rink and ask why I look sad any more. (Another story for another time.) The life-hacking I'm doing? Well, it's for me, but it's also to make my world a better place for everyone and anyone in it.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Beer, the road, lessons, and North Carolina
John and I hit the road yesterday for our first beer-only trip. Past trips with his wife and L have been built around a mix of beer and wine, but this one was about getting out of town for a day, seeing some new territory and finding good beer. We batted around everything from a long (5 hrs) trip to Dogfish Head or the Philly/southern NJ area to our usual haunts in the western part of Virginia to North Carolina. The NC breweries won for lack of traffic and pure novelty. Good thing, too.
We hiked off with the MacBook Pro and the iPhone tethered to sort out the final destinations and decided upon initial stops in Chapel Hill. There, we had lunch and a tasting at Carolina Brewery. The food was quite tasty, and the beer was good. Not stellar, but good. The tasting included a kolsch, an amber, an ipa, a winter seasonal schwarzbier, a porter, and a brown. Each brew was solid, but fell off on the finish. Everything was good enough, but nothing really pulled us to buy a growler. The next stop was quite a contrast — Top of the Hill Restaurant and Brewery.
We climbed the stairs to this fourth-floor restaurant/bar, and the vibe was off from the beginning. The place felt like a combination of country-club bar ("The Social Crossroads of Chapel Hill") and dingy hotel restaurant, right down to the staff wearing black shirts with ties. We ordered a tasting, but the sixth was going to be a blend because they'd just run out of their seasonal One can hope that the seasonal was actually good, though, because the other beers certainly weren't. Flavors were off. Body was awful. From the experience, there was literally nothing to recommend the beer. Period.
Our next stop, though, was a brilliant surprise. We hiked over to Durham, to Triangle Brewing Company. We stumbled into a warehouse space on the wrong end of town, but it was full of people tasting the beer, playing ping pong, chatting, hanging out, you name it. On tasting the first beer, it was clear we'd come a lifetime's difference from Chapel Hill. Rick Lyons was producing some truly excellent beers, from an abbey ale to a classic dry stout. He's not bottling much yet and isn't selling much outside of NC, but he really is one to watch. To wit, we had a good long conversation with him, and it was interesting to hear all the tricks he's been putting behind building that business. I look forward to more conversations and tastings with him in the future.
Triangle was followed by Big Boss in Raleigh. These guys are doing some crazy and good beers. Unfortunately, we didn't get to meet the brewers. Fortunately, the tap room was a fun scene. The beers included a really solid brown, a nice belgian-style golden ale, a spicy harvest, a beautifully-done Belgian dark and a few others I've lost in the notes. All were well-done, and I really liked what they were doing with the taproom business model.
The final stop of the day was at the Boylan Bridge Brewpub in Raleigh. Their space is modern and clean, and the beer is good. I'll leave it at that, because nothing stood out enough to warrant a growler purchase. In fact, I would recommend a stop at the place because the food is excellent, but I wouldn't tell a beer geek to go there for the best (fill in the blank) s/he's had. Nonetheless, it was a good end to the trip, and the brisket special really was over-the-moon good.
In between all the major events, there was an intensive conversation, and I finally understand what it means to grok things. An excellent day, really.
We hiked off with the MacBook Pro and the iPhone tethered to sort out the final destinations and decided upon initial stops in Chapel Hill. There, we had lunch and a tasting at Carolina Brewery. The food was quite tasty, and the beer was good. Not stellar, but good. The tasting included a kolsch, an amber, an ipa, a winter seasonal schwarzbier, a porter, and a brown. Each brew was solid, but fell off on the finish. Everything was good enough, but nothing really pulled us to buy a growler. The next stop was quite a contrast — Top of the Hill Restaurant and Brewery.
We climbed the stairs to this fourth-floor restaurant/bar, and the vibe was off from the beginning. The place felt like a combination of country-club bar ("The Social Crossroads of Chapel Hill") and dingy hotel restaurant, right down to the staff wearing black shirts with ties. We ordered a tasting, but the sixth was going to be a blend because they'd just run out of their seasonal One can hope that the seasonal was actually good, though, because the other beers certainly weren't. Flavors were off. Body was awful. From the experience, there was literally nothing to recommend the beer. Period.
Our next stop, though, was a brilliant surprise. We hiked over to Durham, to Triangle Brewing Company. We stumbled into a warehouse space on the wrong end of town, but it was full of people tasting the beer, playing ping pong, chatting, hanging out, you name it. On tasting the first beer, it was clear we'd come a lifetime's difference from Chapel Hill. Rick Lyons was producing some truly excellent beers, from an abbey ale to a classic dry stout. He's not bottling much yet and isn't selling much outside of NC, but he really is one to watch. To wit, we had a good long conversation with him, and it was interesting to hear all the tricks he's been putting behind building that business. I look forward to more conversations and tastings with him in the future.
Triangle was followed by Big Boss in Raleigh. These guys are doing some crazy and good beers. Unfortunately, we didn't get to meet the brewers. Fortunately, the tap room was a fun scene. The beers included a really solid brown, a nice belgian-style golden ale, a spicy harvest, a beautifully-done Belgian dark and a few others I've lost in the notes. All were well-done, and I really liked what they were doing with the taproom business model.
The final stop of the day was at the Boylan Bridge Brewpub in Raleigh. Their space is modern and clean, and the beer is good. I'll leave it at that, because nothing stood out enough to warrant a growler purchase. In fact, I would recommend a stop at the place because the food is excellent, but I wouldn't tell a beer geek to go there for the best (fill in the blank) s/he's had. Nonetheless, it was a good end to the trip, and the brisket special really was over-the-moon good.
In between all the major events, there was an intensive conversation, and I finally understand what it means to grok things. An excellent day, really.
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
It all comes back to focus, and lists.
After thinking further about my last couple entries, I think I've struck on a good way of playing this all out. See, you have to understand that I come from a family of pack rats. My father is the messy sort with everything he's ever owned stashed somewhere in the house he shares with his wife and their adopted daughter. From broken ship models (casualties of a brief foray into cat ownership years ago) to the original patio furniture he had when married to my mother, it's all there. My mother is the neat sort of pack rat, the sort who keeps things for years but who can also get rid of things when she recognizes that it's time — though sometimes the "getting rid" involves sending the box of old childhood trinkets to me.
What this means is that I have lots of stuff and sometimes forget to get rid of or organize stuff. And when you have a kid you acquire more stuff on a regular basis, from new craft kits to school homework. Having so much stuff makes it very hard to focus sometimes. It's easier just to stick your head in the sand and look at something else than clean up that pile in the corner you meant to tackle months and months ago.
Tackling this stuff down the line is one reason I've decided to start small as I said in the last post. But there's a bigger picture here, and that bigger picture is actually about how to tackle the small picture. And it comes down to lists.
I'm not talking about that big honking To-Do list we all tend to make — the grocery list of everything we're supposed to get done. Too often things get dropped off such lists or pushed to other lists, because it's easy to do this. I was recently reminded of something I learned years ago during the emotional havoc of my divorce — make small manageable lists.
When you make a list, only put on the items you know you can accomplish in a give time frame, be it a few hours or two days. Then tick those items off in the order that makes the most sense. I tend to knock off the small ones first and move to the biggest ones last — kind of the snowball method of Getting Things Done. That way, by the time, I get to the biggest items on the list, I don't have small stuff to worry about. I've also usually spent some part of my other productive time thinking about what's coming up — a design project, a blog post, making dinner — so that taking the larger items seems like less of a chore.
If all goes well and I keep making these little lifehacks into real habits, my plan is that I will eventually tackle the big items that keep getting pushed off because I'll actually have made the time to do it.
How do you keep yourself organized and disciplined when it comes to the things that just pile up in life? And, mind you, I'm "speaking" tangibly and metaphorically here.
What this means is that I have lots of stuff and sometimes forget to get rid of or organize stuff. And when you have a kid you acquire more stuff on a regular basis, from new craft kits to school homework. Having so much stuff makes it very hard to focus sometimes. It's easier just to stick your head in the sand and look at something else than clean up that pile in the corner you meant to tackle months and months ago.
Tackling this stuff down the line is one reason I've decided to start small as I said in the last post. But there's a bigger picture here, and that bigger picture is actually about how to tackle the small picture. And it comes down to lists.
I'm not talking about that big honking To-Do list we all tend to make — the grocery list of everything we're supposed to get done. Too often things get dropped off such lists or pushed to other lists, because it's easy to do this. I was recently reminded of something I learned years ago during the emotional havoc of my divorce — make small manageable lists.
When you make a list, only put on the items you know you can accomplish in a give time frame, be it a few hours or two days. Then tick those items off in the order that makes the most sense. I tend to knock off the small ones first and move to the biggest ones last — kind of the snowball method of Getting Things Done. That way, by the time, I get to the biggest items on the list, I don't have small stuff to worry about. I've also usually spent some part of my other productive time thinking about what's coming up — a design project, a blog post, making dinner — so that taking the larger items seems like less of a chore.
If all goes well and I keep making these little lifehacks into real habits, my plan is that I will eventually tackle the big items that keep getting pushed off because I'll actually have made the time to do it.
How do you keep yourself organized and disciplined when it comes to the things that just pile up in life? And, mind you, I'm "speaking" tangibly and metaphorically here.
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
Reasonable Expectations
I think I will declare 2010 the Year of Reasonable Expectations. It begins with my notes in this post about cleaning the dishes when they are used and goes so much farther. See, for several years now, I've battled this feeling that I was not reaching the success or goals I wanted — even if I wasn't always clear what those goals were. In the end, I'd beat myself up over failing to live up to my own expectations.
It was easy enough to blame circumstances for why things weren't working out. Someone else had let me down or something just wasn't right. There were circumstances beyond my control — even if I could just chalk it up to my own failing, there was still a way to make it beyond my control. The thing is none of it was beyond my control. I was just letting myself fail.
Part of the answer for why I let this happen can be chalked up to my upbringing. Garrison Keillor is right when he makes fun of Lutherans for their low expectations — or rather for their (our) expectation that nothing will ever be as good as you want it to be. Growing up with a good core of midwestern Lutheran values on my father's side, expectations remained low. Just do as you will, don't expect too much and get through life was a common ethos. Add to this the expectation on my mother's side that one simply goes through grad school and finds life in academia, and there simply wasn't much training for me on how to take great ideas and make them happen. As a natural dreamer, my response was to cook up grandiose ideas — say, launching a magazine in NYC in 1994 with no money and no backing — and lose interest in them when I started to run into the real problem of making something happen. It was easy then to slip quietly back to what I'd been doing before. This is exactly what I did when the prospect of working on a book and life collided in 2004.
The problem with these goals and others I have in mind is not that they were unattainable. I just didn't know how to attain them. I didn't grok how to set reasonable expectations so that I could methodically get where I was going. It's akin to trying to beat back the clutter that has taken over our house. Looking at it globally and saying I am going to do this, I practically guarantee my failure. It's just too easy to put off the vague parts of the large goal until they become just one more lost opportunity. If, however, I set reasonable expectations — keeping the dishes clean, for instance — I can move on to the next reasonable task once I've consistently met that goal. Or, for instance, if I'm working on a project, it's fair to know what the big picture is, but I can't spend my time worrying about the big picture as I try meet each small part of the tasks at hand. My discipline is weak, and if I do get caught up in the big picture, the risk of stumbling or making excuses is much greater.
I explained to the kid the other day that it was important for us to finish something before we moved on to the next thing. She wanted to know why. I asked her how many unfinished projects/books/ideas we had around the house, and she looked at me sheepishly. The lesson seemed to stick, though, because a couple days later when I asked her to do something else, she said she needed to finish what she was working on first. Remember? she asked.
I will. And now I have to go tick one more item off the list.
It was easy enough to blame circumstances for why things weren't working out. Someone else had let me down or something just wasn't right. There were circumstances beyond my control — even if I could just chalk it up to my own failing, there was still a way to make it beyond my control. The thing is none of it was beyond my control. I was just letting myself fail.
Part of the answer for why I let this happen can be chalked up to my upbringing. Garrison Keillor is right when he makes fun of Lutherans for their low expectations — or rather for their (our) expectation that nothing will ever be as good as you want it to be. Growing up with a good core of midwestern Lutheran values on my father's side, expectations remained low. Just do as you will, don't expect too much and get through life was a common ethos. Add to this the expectation on my mother's side that one simply goes through grad school and finds life in academia, and there simply wasn't much training for me on how to take great ideas and make them happen. As a natural dreamer, my response was to cook up grandiose ideas — say, launching a magazine in NYC in 1994 with no money and no backing — and lose interest in them when I started to run into the real problem of making something happen. It was easy then to slip quietly back to what I'd been doing before. This is exactly what I did when the prospect of working on a book and life collided in 2004.
The problem with these goals and others I have in mind is not that they were unattainable. I just didn't know how to attain them. I didn't grok how to set reasonable expectations so that I could methodically get where I was going. It's akin to trying to beat back the clutter that has taken over our house. Looking at it globally and saying I am going to do this, I practically guarantee my failure. It's just too easy to put off the vague parts of the large goal until they become just one more lost opportunity. If, however, I set reasonable expectations — keeping the dishes clean, for instance — I can move on to the next reasonable task once I've consistently met that goal. Or, for instance, if I'm working on a project, it's fair to know what the big picture is, but I can't spend my time worrying about the big picture as I try meet each small part of the tasks at hand. My discipline is weak, and if I do get caught up in the big picture, the risk of stumbling or making excuses is much greater.
I explained to the kid the other day that it was important for us to finish something before we moved on to the next thing. She wanted to know why. I asked her how many unfinished projects/books/ideas we had around the house, and she looked at me sheepishly. The lesson seemed to stick, though, because a couple days later when I asked her to do something else, she said she needed to finish what she was working on first. Remember? she asked.
I will. And now I have to go tick one more item off the list.
Saturday, January 02, 2010
The New Year is here, with a burble.
As it has a few times now, the New Year blasted in with a blaze of paella. A friend and I had a throwdown at a neighbors' house. She dove into a seafood rendition while I put together a traditional dish with chicken, chorizo, and a few shellfish for good measure. To boot, I cooked in my tux since we (minus one, sadly) were all headed to a neighbor's house for a black tie party after dinner.
It was a hell of a time, and both paellas came up beautifully. In the past couple years I've discovered a couple of my favorite secrets for a great dish — the right chorizo and smoked pimentin. The chorizo this year was a spicy, coarse-ground variety I located at Whole Foods. It had a delicious earthy character, and just enough spice not to overwhelm the other ingredients. This year, I finished the paella on the grill and finally managed a perfect soccarat. As a nod to some other great paellas I've had, I add asparagus and freshly-roasted peppers. The final trick for the New Years paella is a nod to Southern tradition — black-eyed peas. Buddha knows with the way December went and all the plans on tap for 2010 that I can use all the luck I can get.
Kudos to my neighbors for putting together such a great evening — both parties. In fact, at the dinner house, we concocted a little dinner party for The Kid and four others, complete with a babysitter to manage a slumber party while we trucked off to the party down the street.
That said, it is the new year, following a rather ignominious end to 2009. The hiccups of life and relationships got the best of me, and I spent a good bit of December melancholy and reflective. This past year was full of challenges and tests — and efforts to move into the next phases of my life. As it came to an end, I found myself looking at The Kid and realizing how remarkable she is — and how she will never be seven-and-a-half again. I found myself licking a few wounds and getting perspective on some old ones. John and I brewed a couple stellar batches of beer. All in all, the end of the year was much like the rest, full of contrasts between high points and low points and full of teaching moments.
For the new year, I'm not making many resolutions. In fact, I've really only come up with one so far — to do the dishes whenever I use them. I consider it a small portion of a larger effort to gain control of the chaos that too-often envelopes the house. Forget the pressure of bigger resolutions; I'm sure I will come across other goals to pursue along the way.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Mornings, pt. 7,384
I blew up at the kid this morning, but what was notable about the explosion, however, was the realization that I wasn't really yelling at her. I wasn't really mad at her. I was blowing up at myself. I've had so much on my mind and have so many things swirling around in life — from the ups and downs of relationships to the holidays to worries about our brewing plans to money concerns to an endemic lack of sleep to every other little thing you can imagine — that I seem perpetually on edge right now. This morning it boiled over when a cup of water spilled. Granted the kid has a bad habit of leaning on tables, or the breakfast bar in this case, but doing so and knocking over a cup of water really shouldn't be a trigger for me to yell.
Honestly, I have to say that one of the most difficult parts of parenting is balancing all of these demands. And when you have your own emotional issues to navigate, the smallest irritations of life with a kid can be magnified by all the other pressure. This isn't the first time I've felt this, but what is different now is that I caught myself. In the past, I might have carried over the irritation and frustration to everything else. What I chose to do this time was admit to the kid that I was hurting and that I was sorry for making her feel bad. Very sorry.
Honestly, I have to say that one of the most difficult parts of parenting is balancing all of these demands. And when you have your own emotional issues to navigate, the smallest irritations of life with a kid can be magnified by all the other pressure. This isn't the first time I've felt this, but what is different now is that I caught myself. In the past, I might have carried over the irritation and frustration to everything else. What I chose to do this time was admit to the kid that I was hurting and that I was sorry for making her feel bad. Very sorry.
Thursday, June 04, 2009
two hours
It takes two hours for us to get up and out of the door in the morning. Whether Buttercup takes a shower or whether I end up having to tackle the tail end of some leftover chore, we will leave the house in two hours. Whether we wake up on time between 6:00 and 6:10 or somewhere closer to 6:30, it will take us almost exactly two hours to get out the door. If I think we're beating the clock, somehow we still end up leaving almost exactly two hours after we get up and moving. Strangely, we still usually make it out the door at the two hour mark even on the mornings when Buttercup sleeps in until almost 7:00. The comic and sad part is that I still get frustrated when we're running late.
Like many other things in life, I suspect things would be easier if I just accepted this as a truism and built my routine and schedule around it. Logically, this would make far more sense than trying to fight it.
Monday, April 06, 2009
object lessons
When I left my university job a year ago, I explained to Banana that I was going to be making more money but that would mean I would have less time off. I wanted her to understand that we would lose a certain amount of freedom in the short-term. Over the past year, the realization of what this means has come home in fits and starts — less flexibility for me to come to school, more scheduling demands, that sort of thing. But it didn't really hit home for her, I think, until this week.
Spring Break.
Anyone who's been around us in recent years knows that this means a trip back to New York. This year, a variety of competing financial demands have reduced the slush fund I'd ordinarily use for the trip. And when I realized that taking a big chunk of time off would cut into trips to Maine this summer and other time-off needs, I decided to cancel our plans. Since Banana was already less thrilled about the trip this year, the decision was an easy one to explain.
Until last night.
That's when she realized that a good chunk of her Spring Break — the week when some of her friends are headed to the Grand Canyon, California, Paris, and the British Virgin Islands — would be spent at the YMCA without some of her better friends. This was not a happy realization, particularly after a long, tiring day. I tried to explain it from the standpoint that we'd be able to do other fun stuff, but she wasn't having it at that point. In the end, I patiently listened to what bothered her about the YMCA and talked to her about what we could do to make the best of the time anyway. I also promised a fun Spring Break next year.
I hope I can make good on that promise. Doing so may require some compromise with Banana Mère. Either way, it's an object lesson for both of us in what making choices means: for each gain there may also be a trade-off.
Spring Break.
Anyone who's been around us in recent years knows that this means a trip back to New York. This year, a variety of competing financial demands have reduced the slush fund I'd ordinarily use for the trip. And when I realized that taking a big chunk of time off would cut into trips to Maine this summer and other time-off needs, I decided to cancel our plans. Since Banana was already less thrilled about the trip this year, the decision was an easy one to explain.
Until last night.
That's when she realized that a good chunk of her Spring Break — the week when some of her friends are headed to the Grand Canyon, California, Paris, and the British Virgin Islands — would be spent at the YMCA without some of her better friends. This was not a happy realization, particularly after a long, tiring day. I tried to explain it from the standpoint that we'd be able to do other fun stuff, but she wasn't having it at that point. In the end, I patiently listened to what bothered her about the YMCA and talked to her about what we could do to make the best of the time anyway. I also promised a fun Spring Break next year.
I hope I can make good on that promise. Doing so may require some compromise with Banana Mère. Either way, it's an object lesson for both of us in what making choices means: for each gain there may also be a trade-off.
ponderings...
On NPR this morning, there was an interesting set of back-to-back pieces. The first was on willpower and what effect the loss of willpower has on people's ability to find motivation in their lives. The piece that immediately followed dealt with a marathoner who could no longer run. What struck me about the pieces was the way both issues dealt with identity crises.
I'll ponder more on that later when I have time...
*******************
Another (quasi-related) thought that occurred to me last week: Improvisation offers the chance for haphazard excellence while perfection offers the opportunity of disciplined completion. In the case of failure, then, improvisation offers a built-in excuse if something isn't perfect, while perfection offers no such wiggle room.
*******************
So, there you have it... A couple of disjointed thoughts for a rainy Monday morning. If I make the time and find the discipline, I may even write through a more cogent connection.
I'll ponder more on that later when I have time...
*******************
Another (quasi-related) thought that occurred to me last week: Improvisation offers the chance for haphazard excellence while perfection offers the opportunity of disciplined completion. In the case of failure, then, improvisation offers a built-in excuse if something isn't perfect, while perfection offers no such wiggle room.
*******************
So, there you have it... A couple of disjointed thoughts for a rainy Monday morning. If I make the time and find the discipline, I may even write through a more cogent connection.
Monday, March 30, 2009
spring is here
And with spring comes champagne in the neighbors garden and a chance to rejuvenate the back yard and turn it into a positive entertaining space. This means the following weeks will include:
- Raking the yard and applying a fresh layer of cedar mulch in the backyard, planting flowers and ground cover on the recently uncovered patch of front yard.
- Planting the container garden. On tap for this year: herbs, tomatoes, cucumbers, lettuce, berries of some sort, peppers, and maybe a few wild cards for experimentation purposes
- Grilling
- Clearing out the old plastic furniture and picking out something a little more entertainment-worthy. Recommendations for how to do this without spending a ton of money are welcome.
- Involving Banana in all of this to every extent possible
- Spring Break without the annual NY trip — rising costs in daily life and uncertainty about the cost of summer camp and travel are putting a damper on the tradition... this year.
- Final development and launching of the Lewis Ginter Recreation Association web site
- Unmitigated excitement about the arrival of farmers market and pool season
- Spring beers and the first summer beers
- Rabbit. If I'm not getting to NY, we'll at least fill my rabbit jones with something like a Spanish rabbit stew. Suggestions are welcome!
- A likely trip to Busch Gardens. Banana had such a good time down there with Mère that I might just have to give in and make the trip too.
- Continuing the ever-present sorting and organizing inside the house too.
- The annual spring/summer Banana clothing purchase
- and grilling...
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
snotty noses and all
I've had occasion recently to consider the trade-offs I make as a parent. The shape of my life requires me to be ready to drop what I'm doing at a moment's notice. My ability to truck off to New York or Norway is essentially nil. Whole weeks can be thrown off by a PTA meeting and an extra project at work, and whole plans can be scuttled when I realize that Banana and I need a little more fun or down time. My dining decisions are defined by a six-year old's quirky tastes — though when it comes to that, Banana is better than most; and while I could feed her and eat something different later, I value family time at the table. My social world has mostly collapsed into groups of parents, and I'm so accustomed to having a slew of kids racing around that I feel like something's missing when there aren't kids playing in our friends' yards; in fact, my hope for this summer is to have more kids playing in our yard. My work life is punctuated by regular conversations about irregular schedules — a ballet pick-up gone awry, a day when school is closed, spring break, summer camp, and so on. I've even reached a point where I'd rather talk about kids and kid-related issues than most other topics — music, design, and politics aside.
Do I miss the days when I played pool all the time (and when I was on top of my game)? Occasionally. Do I miss the days when I didn't have to put dinners out in the context of saving for summer camp and travel? Sometimes. Do I miss having complete control over my time? Not really. Do I value my "adult" time when I don't have to be Daddy? Of course. Do I wish there were more of it? Not really.
The truth is I love the shape my life has taken. Even on the worst mornings when Banana is moving slowly and we get out the door twenty minutes late. Even in the roughest evenings when she's over-tired and tries to push my buttons rather than go to bed. Even when I have to skip a concert because tickets aren't in the budget and the logistics of rearranging schedules or hiring a babysitter just won't work. Even when I buy food that isn't finished or books that I know she won't read more than once. Even when I have to sit through another round of High School Musical. Even as I negotiate paying back the grad school loans I took so we could provide the best care and time for the first two years of her life. Even through all of these bittersweet moments, I never look back to the life I led as anything more than a spectator on the past.
I've crossed the point where I remember what my world was like before Banana came along. I've actually crossed into the territory where I barely understand the feelings of kid-phobes — those people who are delaying the leap to adulthood and parenthood, or worse still, those who simply don't like kids. I've crossed into a world where I not only like being a parent, I've accepted that it is a defining role.
It comes down to this: you listen to your kid reading a book and realize this is the same baby you tossed in the air six years ago, and you realize that nothing else in the world is as important as that moment.
Do I miss the days when I played pool all the time (and when I was on top of my game)? Occasionally. Do I miss the days when I didn't have to put dinners out in the context of saving for summer camp and travel? Sometimes. Do I miss having complete control over my time? Not really. Do I value my "adult" time when I don't have to be Daddy? Of course. Do I wish there were more of it? Not really.
The truth is I love the shape my life has taken. Even on the worst mornings when Banana is moving slowly and we get out the door twenty minutes late. Even in the roughest evenings when she's over-tired and tries to push my buttons rather than go to bed. Even when I have to skip a concert because tickets aren't in the budget and the logistics of rearranging schedules or hiring a babysitter just won't work. Even when I buy food that isn't finished or books that I know she won't read more than once. Even when I have to sit through another round of High School Musical. Even as I negotiate paying back the grad school loans I took so we could provide the best care and time for the first two years of her life. Even through all of these bittersweet moments, I never look back to the life I led as anything more than a spectator on the past.
I've crossed the point where I remember what my world was like before Banana came along. I've actually crossed into the territory where I barely understand the feelings of kid-phobes — those people who are delaying the leap to adulthood and parenthood, or worse still, those who simply don't like kids. I've crossed into a world where I not only like being a parent, I've accepted that it is a defining role.
It comes down to this: you listen to your kid reading a book and realize this is the same baby you tossed in the air six years ago, and you realize that nothing else in the world is as important as that moment.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
busy, busy, but not too busy for St. Pat's Day
Between life, laundry, work projects, pro-bono work, PTA meetings, and who-knows-what-the-hell-else, there just hasn't been much time for relaxing or slowing down. Thankfully, Banana has been remarkably helpful and good through it all. I will admit a bit of a shock for this morning when she wrapped her hair up with a rubber band to get it to be wavy before school. Better that little burgeoning bit of vanity and getting out of the house on time, I suppose, than wondering why the bed's not made, the dog's not fed, and wondering why we're twenty minutes late.
At least in honor of the day, I can put up a bit of Dervish. Saw these guys in Galway in 2001 and then in Richmond in 2006. Good stuff...
Thursday, March 12, 2009
A morning in the life
2:36 — Wake up. Think the clock is lying. Try to retrieve paper. Go back to bed.
6:00 — First alarm goes off. Snooze.
6:08 — Look at clock and think of the things that need to happen. Roll over for two more minutes.
6:10 — Second alarm. Realize that I am exhausted from sleeping poorly and feel congested. Hit snooze.
6:15 — Roll out of bed and check in Banana's room. Her light is on, but she's still in bed.
6:20 — Ready to walk dog. Banana says she wants to sleep a little more and turns light off.
6:21 — Remember that ballet clothes are dirty and need to be washed for ballet today.
6:22 — Fill bathroom sink with Woolite and water. Soak leotard and tights. Head out with dog.
6:43 — Return with dog. Give him biscuit. Check on Banana, still asleep.
6:44 — Decide to let kid sleep while making coffee and taking shower.
6:47 — Perform a quick clean of the kitchen and work on soaking ballet clothes.
6:55 — Shower. Skip shaving for the sake of time.
7:02 — Water in shower goes very hot. Thank the stars that Banana is up.
7:05 — Out of shower.
7:06 — Kitchen. Banana. Yogurt. Granola. Bowl and spoons. Coffee.
7:10 — Dressed and rinsed ballet clothes.
7:11 — Pull laundry out of dryer. Toss ballet clothes in. Run on Fluff setting to pull water out.
7:15 — Chat with Banana. Make smoothie. Start pulling her lunch together. Kill ants.
7:20 — Go through piles on counter. Talk to Banana about weekend plans. Lose focus on counter stuff.
7:28 — Vitamins.
7:34 — Send Banana off to get dressed. Decide not to push her on putting her bowl in the sink. Best to avoid wrinkles.
7:36 — Check ballet stuff. Still very wet. Switch to low heat cycle.
7:39 — Change lunch routine and add TJ's Cheese Crunch snacks.
7:42 — Quick check of email and revised weather forecast.
7:48 — Banana still in robe. Advise her that clothes need to happen ASAP.
7:51 — Ask Banana which candy she wants for a treat in lunch.
7:53 — Negotiate with her briefly as she asks why the Christmas candy sunflower seeds are no longer in the candy-cane-shaped tube.
7:55 — Check ballet gear and realize I'll have to come back for it at lunchtime.
7:56 — Banana reminds me she has an extra leotard and tights. Feel silly for scrambling.
7:58 — Ask Banana to stop trying to brush down a cowlick and get socks and shoes on.
8:01 — Resist urge to yell when Banana goes on a search for a bag for the journal she is taking to school.
8:02 — Take bags to car and start it instead.
8:04 — Breathe. Take quick mental inventory of what I have and/or need.
8:07 — Twelve minutes past optimal leaving time.
8:08 — Lock door and follow Banana to car.
8:12 — Sign in at before-school care. Hug.
8:14 — On road to office. Breathe. Start listening — actually listening — to Morning Edition.
8:34 — Arrive at work.
6:00 — First alarm goes off. Snooze.
6:08 — Look at clock and think of the things that need to happen. Roll over for two more minutes.
6:10 — Second alarm. Realize that I am exhausted from sleeping poorly and feel congested. Hit snooze.
6:15 — Roll out of bed and check in Banana's room. Her light is on, but she's still in bed.
6:20 — Ready to walk dog. Banana says she wants to sleep a little more and turns light off.
6:21 — Remember that ballet clothes are dirty and need to be washed for ballet today.
6:22 — Fill bathroom sink with Woolite and water. Soak leotard and tights. Head out with dog.
6:43 — Return with dog. Give him biscuit. Check on Banana, still asleep.
6:44 — Decide to let kid sleep while making coffee and taking shower.
6:47 — Perform a quick clean of the kitchen and work on soaking ballet clothes.
6:55 — Shower. Skip shaving for the sake of time.
7:02 — Water in shower goes very hot. Thank the stars that Banana is up.
7:05 — Out of shower.
7:06 — Kitchen. Banana. Yogurt. Granola. Bowl and spoons. Coffee.
7:10 — Dressed and rinsed ballet clothes.
7:11 — Pull laundry out of dryer. Toss ballet clothes in. Run on Fluff setting to pull water out.
7:15 — Chat with Banana. Make smoothie. Start pulling her lunch together. Kill ants.
7:20 — Go through piles on counter. Talk to Banana about weekend plans. Lose focus on counter stuff.
7:28 — Vitamins.
7:34 — Send Banana off to get dressed. Decide not to push her on putting her bowl in the sink. Best to avoid wrinkles.
7:36 — Check ballet stuff. Still very wet. Switch to low heat cycle.
7:39 — Change lunch routine and add TJ's Cheese Crunch snacks.
7:42 — Quick check of email and revised weather forecast.
7:48 — Banana still in robe. Advise her that clothes need to happen ASAP.
7:51 — Ask Banana which candy she wants for a treat in lunch.
7:53 — Negotiate with her briefly as she asks why the Christmas candy sunflower seeds are no longer in the candy-cane-shaped tube.
7:55 — Check ballet gear and realize I'll have to come back for it at lunchtime.
7:56 — Banana reminds me she has an extra leotard and tights. Feel silly for scrambling.
7:58 — Ask Banana to stop trying to brush down a cowlick and get socks and shoes on.
8:01 — Resist urge to yell when Banana goes on a search for a bag for the journal she is taking to school.
8:02 — Take bags to car and start it instead.
8:04 — Breathe. Take quick mental inventory of what I have and/or need.
8:07 — Twelve minutes past optimal leaving time.
8:08 — Lock door and follow Banana to car.
8:12 — Sign in at before-school care. Hug.
8:14 — On road to office. Breathe. Start listening — actually listening — to Morning Edition.
8:34 — Arrive at work.
Thursday, March 05, 2009
lost things, pt. 1
I went in search of my scarf again this morning. Yesterday, on returning to work I looked for it to hold back the cold, but without luck. This might be uneventful but for the fact that I no longer know where the other scarves I had are either. This would also seem uneventful if not for the fact that I feel like my life has turned into an inventory of lost things. I wish I had the eloquence of Elizabeth Bishop. to pull it into a villanelle that rattles the emotional cages as well. Failing that, a simple list of items I've recently thought of will have to suffice.
Three scarves
Spare car key and LED flashlight
McDermott pool cue (though I have a vague suspicion of its location)
Light brown merino v-neck sweater
Small cast iron skillet
Having titled this Part One, I intend to keep up a running list as I think of these things.
Three scarves
Spare car key and LED flashlight
McDermott pool cue (though I have a vague suspicion of its location)
Light brown merino v-neck sweater
Small cast iron skillet
Having titled this Part One, I intend to keep up a running list as I think of these things.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Lifehacking Tip #7,381
Stick to schedules, especially where kids and mundane matters of life are concerned. Using your morning appointment as an excuse to stay in bed a few minutes longer and get your child to school slightly later than usual will almost always mean that you end up making up for lost time anyway.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
