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      Apricot Tart with a Mascarpone Cheesecake filling Glazed with a Raspberry Sauce.

      September 29, 2008 /

      That’s totally what I would make for my “Make-My-Head-Explode-With-Rage” pie, in the spirit of the utterly charming movie, “Waitress“. I don’t even know if it exists, but after the day I’ve had, I was about to lose my shit all over the Costco parking lot. And then? I decided to think about pies. And what I would make, if I were going to theme my day. It really does diffuse some of the stress! And makes ya hungry, to boot.

      Fortunately, I’d picked up a nice big bag of shrimp, and the Wo turned it into delicious scampi. We had that with some salad & a baked potato, all of which he fixed.   After we exchanged twenty minutes of sharp political banter, in which we both just decided to scream at each other the worst things about each other’s party we could.  All on the heels of declaring our unconditional love for one another, so, no worries, we couldn’t be happier. Well, we could be a little less maddened by each other’s beliefs. But it doesn’t touch our love, thankfully! Two minutes of balls-out yelling is cathartic: I’m a tax-loving liberal who wants to hand all the money to no-good deadbeats who’ve done nothing to deserve it; he’s a fascist capitalist who rewards businesses who don’t need more money with more tax breaks and leaves everyone who’s not rich out in the cold. Oh, and yeah, I’m a baby-killer.  But so is he. Now that’s a fuckin’ pie.

      Hi! (I get enthusiastic after long separations.)

      September 25, 2008 /

      Enthusiastic, that would be a good “E” word, were I keeping up with that Alphabet Soup project… :) In any event, I could feel it in me, bubbling out, when I met up with my co-workers at LaGuardia on Monday. I’d spent the day traveling, but by myself, with little chitty-chat and moving amongst a sea of strangers. I remember when I first had a self-selected roommate, after college, and I chirpingly greeted her in the morning. (She was not a morning person, and I was more of one then than I am now…) I figured out that I’d spent so much of my life alone, or with just my parents, that upon seeing someone else in my life sphere, I became quite gregarious and happy for the company.

      Now, I just hate people in general.

      (That’s not true.) I would, however, enjoy the use of a taser while traveling. Not for nefarious purposes, but more for that person who thinks it’s perfectly fine to come to a screeching halt in the middle of the main-traffic-drag of the busiest airport in the world. The problem is, the longer the day got, the less judicious I would be. I would have taken out two people alone flying back to KC for their insistence on slowly putting their three bags filled with Walt Disneyworld purchases into the overhead compartments, rearranging them, with no sense of urgency whatsoever. Actually, only one of them was doing the stowing, the other one? Standing in the aisle observing. I might have half-body-checked her as she finally realized she needed to step back into her seat.  Might.

      New York is a really kick-ass place, I love the energy and motion and the seventy-billion options you have, though it can get a bit overwhelming.  If I had the chance to go back in time and invest in two things? Parking and scaffolding. There’s a lot of scaffolding, and parking charges are crazy! We had drinks & snacks with one of our clients in Bryant Park, and it was just lovely, the atmosphere. On our walk there, I was bringing up the rear (that’s what we do, phat girls, we bring up the rear and take the pressure off everyone to slow their pace to ours.) I got waylaid a bit, waiting for a couple tourists to get their photos taken, and then I strolled by a Hispanic couple, her arms draped around his neck, as they stood in this little patch of green in the concrete jungle. They looked at me, I looked at them, she turned as I passed and said, “Your eyes are really pretty.”

      So much for all those New Yawkers being asshats, eh?

      I’d love to have a trip where I could stay an extra day or two, just to do things at my own pace, have the Wo by my side, to see some things for the first time together, to see his face as he drinks it all in.  We had dinner at a Belgian bar, and then on our walk back to the parking garage, ended up going through Times Square. It’s a lot cleaner now, I’ll give ’em that – it’s been 15+ years since I was there. I’ll get the photos off my phone, at some point!

      Well, I’ve gotten derailed numerous times trying to write this, so I’m giving up – my concentration is shot, I’m still “hung-over” from the very long days of travel & meetings, and I’m ready to have a good dinner with my sweetie. I made the choice to get Papa Murphy’s pizza last night, and while it’s a “10” on appearance and toppings, it was about a “1” on flavor – I couldn’t believe how much it tasted like.. nothing. Uber-disappointing. And I was disappointed today on another matter entirely, so I’ve had enough.  Tomorrow is Friday, I’m going to strive for stress-free right on into the weekend. Hope yours is as well!

      Absolutely, Without a Doubt, the Funniest Visual of the Day.

      September 12, 2008 /

      Driving up I-29, in this horrid rain that won’t leave us, we pass a low-riding, beat-up-ass Caddy. First thing I notice? Windows are down.
      Then I see the enormous crack across the windshield.
      None of this is extraordinary.
      However.
      The driver?
      Cigarette dangling from his lip, right hand on the wheel. Torso in awkward position. You’ll see why in a moment.

      Left hand? Out the window, wrapped around, holding A SQUEEGEE as he frantically cleared the window.

      Oh if only I’d had a camera.

      Wiper: FAIL.

      I Believed Customer Service Had Died, Until the Last Leg.

      July 23, 2008 /

      I cannot believe it’s only Wednesday. I feel like I’ve been traveling for a week. I’m thoroughly exhausted, I’m out of sync with virtually everything, I still have birthday thank-yous to write, and I just want to sleep for an extended period of time, to wake up refreshed and discover it is Saturday. That would be sweet.

      We left Kansas City on the 6:11 am flight with a connection in Detroit. My memory of that plane ride is a bit hazy, it could have been in part because we were in the very back row and the engine noise was so incredibly loud, I was pretty sure it had rearranged some fillings in my teeth.  We landed somewhere in the 20’s of Concourse A. Our connecting flight to White Plains was on Concourse C, Gate 35, supposedly leaving around 10:30. So off we trek, and even with moving sidewalks, it was a bit of a haul. Only to discover the plane we’re supposed to take has been hit by lightning. And our flight has been canceled.  The gate agent offered no solution, no recourse. When my boss asked about the next flight, she snapped, “Nine pm.” He told her that wasn’t acceptable, and so she found four seats on a flight going into LaGuardia, departing at 11:30. Which was better than 9 pm, but still would make our new business meeting a near impossibility. But we got the car reservation changed and then went to our new gate. Which would be Concourse A, Gate 77. The very end of the concourse we’d left. Sweet cheeks mary and no pockets of cheese, were my dogs a-barkin’ by the time we got to that flight. Because we were all in our “outfits” for the pitch, because even when the original flight was scheduled, we would be pressed for time. That flight was full, and miraculously, the package we checked actually followed us to LaGuardia, and we didn’t have to get a courier to retrieve it from White Plains.

      So our plans went all to hell in a handbasket, and our prospective clients were so incredibly understanding, they rescheduled the meeting to the next day. I got to ride in a rental car through midtown Manhattan (I Plurk’d and Facebook updated throughout this journey, it was my entertainment), and my boss is a good driver & aggressive enough to handle the NYC traffic. To his credit, he even refrained from reading his Blackberry, something we all appreciated!  We had a different meeting in midtown, and I was reminded why I like NYC – the hustle and bustle, so much packed into tiny amounts of real estate. But my yarn stash and I could never, ever, call it home!

      We got lost in Yonkers, just like the movie title, and eventually found our hotel. I’ll skip over the middle of Tuesday, just because everything went so well, and was such a fantastic experience for me, personally and professionally, that I simply can’t take the risk I’d jinx it somehow. It truly was a notable moment in my life and I enjoyed it immensely. And I will say that my background and NPR-listenin’ and funny dad stories all were natural fits. So. More on that, I do hope, just at another point in time. Right now I have to complete the travel circle.

      I should point out that in KC, I got patted down. I don’t know if they thought my boobage or bellyage were secret weapons (of mass destruction?) or that my flowy clothing disguised some non-metallic item that they couldn’t wait to seize, but the TSA at MCI (KC) are nothin’ compared to the grouchy, over-the-top folks at the Westchester County Airport. The line was long, and one worker started yelling at all of us that there were TWO TABLES and to SHARE and KEEP THE LINE MOVING. Hi. Have to quibble with you, mate. When you STOP THE XRAY MACHINE to examine shit, shit piles up. When my jewelry sets off the sensor and I have to remove it, send it through the machine, and retrace my steps? It HOLDS UP THE LINE. It’s the way it works. Unless you’re going to open the other inspection post, we’re all sucking it up and lining up as best we can, so STFU with the angry, contradictory commands. And through all of this, I have a blinding headache, borderline migraine.  What else could happen? Well, newbie TSA boy scout has to inspect my luggage. Awesome. You know what it was?  A small bottle of talcum powder. I’d like to point out neither my jewelry, nor my powder tripped any alarms in Kansas City. And this airport is a darn sight smaller. You walk out to the tarmac and climb friggin’ ladder steps to get into the teensy plane.  In any event, I had purchased 4 Excederin and downed those as soon as my “inspection time” was completed. They finally kicked in and I was able to take off my sunglasses!

      Our plane was delayed out of Westchester (after we’d boarded) and our area of the plane kept doing timetable calculations. We were going to KC, my seatmate was going to St. Louis, and the guy behind us was going to Milwaukee.  All of our connecting flights in Cleveland? Last flights out. And with the delays in NY, we would have (respectively) No minutes, 10 minutes, and 15 minutes to make our connections. Sweetness. I was pretty sure we were going to be spending the night in Ohio. Fortunately, though, our flight to KC was delayed by two hours! And finally, I got some decent customer service – the gate agent moved my seat to guarantee I wouldn’t have a seatmate, even gave me a choice, and her co-worker chimed in to tell me which row was better. Bless them both, it was perfect.  I finished my book on the flight home, had a Bombay Sapphire and tonic, and walked in the house after midnight. The dogs and the Wo missed me, they all waited up for me, and James had made me a plate of fresh tomatoes and a couple pieces of cheese, since my dinner had been two tiny bags of mini pretzels, granola bars and a couple Ghiarardeli squares.

      The meetings were fabulous, the travel could be improved. But some of my fears were unfounded – the small planes were just fine, and I fit in the seats, and my spinner suitcase is awesome. Except when you’re trying to climb up stairs!

      4 Years, Babuh!

      July 15, 2008 /

      I was thinking about blogging, and how it’s changed so much for me over the years…. at first, JWo didn’t even know I was blogging. At first, only three people read my blog. And, at first, I had no idea what the future held.

      Well, I still don’t know what the future holds, but it is interesting to go back and read blog posts from different time periods. I catch myself reading the ones before my father’s death with a certain wistfulness and longing, like how you might look at a photo of yourself as a child. I had no idea what was coming. Wasn’t even on the radar.

      But we’ve soldiered on, and now I have new digs, and MOO cards, and a job I really like, and small knitty-business-ey things taking off, and right at the moment, nobody is gravely ill. So I count my blessings, and thank everyone for their time – witnessing the roller coaster from hell wasn’t part of the Fun Jen package, and I am always wide-eyed with a touch of naiveté when people really – honestly and truly – just pull themselves right up to the same precipice and lock arms with me and say, “I’m with ya.” Having been on the outside-looking-in my whole life, I forget I’m not alone out here. And that’s really the message of life, isn’t it? To recognize what is at your feet, your front door, a click or a call away – not focusing on the things you don’t have anymore or wishing life were different. I can’t say I wouldn’t undo some of the past, would I were that powerful, but I know regretting it or looking at it too long can turn me to stone.

      So, the fun thing – and yes, I realize I start 8 bajillion sentences with the word “So” – came to me last night as I was driving home after Sock Stars (the sock club I facilitate at The Studio). I love words. I love writing. I want to list, each week, words that I think describe me – both good and bad and in-between, and do this exercise alphabetically. It seemed like a fun anniversary kick-off, and I was enjoying the words in my head so much I drove right past Red Snapper and nearly forgot to pick up our dinner. (But I did remember before I’d gotten too far past it…. whew! What with gas hitting $4.09 today, I can’t afford daydreaming and getting lost like I used to!)

      I might do one word a post, or five in one, but my goal is to have at least five words a week. It actually gets challenging! You try, too! (ala Pooh.) (Oh yeah, we all get to cheat on “X”, too.)

      Week One: A is for….

      Animated.

      Acerbic.

      Aggravating.

      Argumentative.

      Amusing.

      Artistic.

      helpful hint – a thesaurus is your friend!

      Oh, Time.

      June 10, 2008 /

      I remember being about 7 or 8, and my father, who never quite grasped the concept of treating me like a child, informed me that one day, indeed, he would die. And in his atheist belief, that upon death, there was nothing more. He would be gone. I felt terror, and it must have been evident on my face, as I cried, and told him I didn’t want him to die, ever, that I didn’t want him to leave me. He was the one who was always there for me, no matter what.

      He told me, in a mixture of reassurance and dogged adherence to reality and a promise to never lie to me, that we were all going to die, and he couldn’t change that, but that he would do his best to be around for a long, long time.

      I wish it could have been more than 32 years, but I did have those years. The memories of this time, two years ago, flooded me last night, and I felt every last nuance of sadness and pain. I used to relive those moments every night; now I think I’ve learned that I’m not going to actually forget them. They can feel as real and present as if they just happened – the film is etched onto my soul.

      But so are the good moments. I’ll never stop loving you, Dad. I miss you from the bottom of my heart and I ache from the pain of missing you, sometimes. But there is balance as time moves on and puts more minutes on the other side of that day, June 10, 2006. And so, I add a new label to all this that I put out there: Moving Forward.

      Dad Grins

      Safecracker

      May 21, 2008 /

      I have been having a pretty good week. Moments that border on ebullient, actually. The weather is bright and sunshiney, and the trees are green, there’s good breezes blowing, and nothing earth-shattering or negative is forcing my universe to center around it.

      Driving home last night, listening to the news, I had a new experience in the coping department. I explained it later to my husband like this.

      In the beginning of grief, it’s as though you have a thousand sheets of paper dumped all around you, and there is chaos. Everything is laid out and unorganized. Slowly, you start to shuffle and order and find a folder or three, maybe a box, and you put some of the papers away. A gust of wind can scatter them again, but you are moving ahead. More time passes, and you realize you’re never going to get rid of all these pieces of paper, but you do have a system and method and some of the more unmanageable papers are tightly tucked away inside a nice heavy safe. By this I mean, “songs on the radio don’t make me burst into tears every day.” In other words, progress.

      So as I’m listening, a report comes on about Ted Kennedy’s brain cancer/tumor. I was shocked, but didn’t really feel anything, initially. Until the doctor they interviewed started explaining his type of cancer, and that it wasn’t metastatic. Click. My father’s cancer had metastasized throughout his body, including his brain.
      The approach to treatment was described. Click. I heard my father’s voice, so small, trying to control himself and be strong, telling me the cancer had, indeed, gone to his brain.
      I heard the doctor from the Mayo clinic say, “You do realize there’s nothing I can do for your father, right?” and remembered the utter confusion in my mind, because no, I did not understand that. Spin, Spin, Click.
      And I looked around and saw a bright blue sky, sharp, fresh green leaves bursting from the trees, smelled fresh cut grass and remembered that day, when I found out the cancer was in his brain, how I screamed at a co-worker and drove myself home, to sit outside in the blinding sunshine and sob, confused and afraid. Seeing my husband’s face unexpectedly appear, for of course he would come home to be with me, even though it never occurred to me he would.

      And the safe door swung open to pour those tucked-away papers all over my lap. All of this, that’s taken several minutes to write, happened in the span of 60 seconds or less. I found myself with tears streaming down my face, struggling to regain my previous optimistic demeanor, and to maintain control, because I was driving. I wasn’t crying for the Kennedys, though I keenly know how hard it must be for them. I cried for myself. My loss. My pain. It was brief, and I went home to get a big hug and to putter with my husband in his garden, to pull some weeds and admire the drip irrigation system he’s worked so hard on. Life goes on. My desire – almost two years ago – was to get THROUGH all of this. What I didn’t know, and couldn’t fathom, is that there is no end point. This will stay with me until I die. In ebbs and flows, my love and sadness will visit me, sometimes expectedly, sometimes out of the bright blue spring sky.

      Nobody lied when they said time was the answer. So hard to see in those early months, but it truly truly does heal. Heal, not cure. Sigh. I’m learning so so much.

      Happy Five Years!

      May 15, 2008 /

      Five years ago today, the Wo & I got married. Nine years ago today, we met for the first time.

      We’ve had a lot happen in our lives, especially in the last few years. I can’t imagine the journey without him. He’s my rock, my rudder, my fellow clown, the one person I’ll allow to know me inside and out most fully.

      I love you, JWo!

      The Door Between

      May 7, 2008 /

      I’ve had occasion, a couple of times in the past month, to hear someone talking about a parent’s death, or a grave illness & their actions as they cope and brace themselves and prepare for the unknown. I hear my voice and my words and feel my …. whatever it is we all radiate that is intangible to see or often describe, but we feel it, and it couches what we say. “Vibe” is just too… trendy. “Aura” is just too….hippy-dippy.

      But I’ve heard my words and the sounds surrounding them, and I know. I know that I know it now. I know what it is to go through it. To live it, to feel it like a fire raging through your conscious, to wish it would leave your bloodstream in a reverse-junkie rage, to know there are a thousand pitfalls, days on end lost, the emptiness, the pain, the mind fucks, the everything that goes with death. I had a salesperson who came in, her father in the hospital, things don’t look good, and I heard myself as I expressed my sympathies – no – my empathies. But not in an overwhelming way. (I still can crack myself, and am learning this language, no matter how much I didn’t want to.)

      I remember how those who know/knew used their wisdom and experience with me. I remember reading Becky’s post, the post that came when I stood on the other side of the door, where I believed I KNEW, that I was wise in the ways of death, because we can only comprehend that what we have lived, and nobody wants to believe they suck at being there for someone else, for simply the sole reason of not having gone through the experience. And in the end, it’s not that you suck? It’s that you just don’t know. You can’t have that quiet acceptance inside that says, “Yeah,” and doesn’t need to say anything else, because it all does come down to time. Time, and love, and patience, and understanding, and lots more time. In re-reading her post, this jumped out at me: “understand that the person may not be the greatest friend for a while afterward” for indeed, I have lost friends in this process. I’ve even been accused of being a horrible friend, and it felt like being stabbed with a machete. But everything does heal. And I’m struck by how much I didn’t know, the first time I read her words. The passage through the door certainly changes you – for better, for worse, for a lifetime.

      I miss him terribly still. It’s more private, it’s quieter. I think of him every day when I get in my car, the car I bought with the trade-in from his truck. I think of him when I look at the grass garden we planted in his memory, freshly mulched and looking lovely as the spikes of grasses rise up through their clumps for another season. I am always comforted when he appears in my dreams, and I see the ways we overlap and I can hear his voice if I listen. For everyone who stuck it out, who listened & nodded & tried to understand – thank you.

      RaoK, P Nuggy Style

      April 10, 2008 /

      Well, it’s a gloomy day here in Kansas City, spitting rain and overcast. After meeting a couple of pals down at LuLu’s for lunch, I really wanted some comfort coffee. I came to this realization partway back to the office, so I pulled into -yes- the megalopolis Starbucks. As I did this, another vehicle entered towards the drive-thru, but stopped to let me go. The guy could’ve been a real jackass and cut me off, but he didn’t, and I was struck, a bit, by the notion of doing one of those Random Acts Of Kindness all the bloggers like to write about, and challenge others to do, but I never do them because I don’t want to do something because I’ve been challenged to do it, but rather I want to do it because it really feels like the right thing to do. Sometimes my heart is a tiny lump of coal, ya know? And maybe my shoes are too tight. ;) And drivers sometimes just bite. Or life is so busy and filled up it’s easy to forget to do something extra when you’re worried about forgetting the next six things you need to do today. (To her credit, the first place I really started reading about this regularly, Sheri at the Loopy Ewe has to be the kindest person alive, I swear. She does RaoKs all the time and makes the world a better place. Me? I am usually screaming at people from the safe bubble inside Mimi Murano about their horrid driving.)

      So I put in my order – nonfat Venti Cafe Mocha, and cave for the whip, because hell, I just made the dang thing nonfat, why not have a sweet li’l whip on top? And pull around to pay. A very nice, hippie-sorta dude leans out the window as I explain that I want to pay for my drink, as well as the guy-behind-me’s drink, because he was so nice to not cut me off and I’m blathering about being random, and I’m a little worried he thinks I’m not only crazy but I’m stalking the guy behind me (how hard would that be?) and instead, he nods and takes my card, and says something about how the guy behind me got the same drink I did. (Crazy! And super ESP for a stalker, I’d say!) The windows close, and I see him talking to the barista making our drinks, and then he swipes my card & comes back, and hands me my receipt. And says, “You paid for his drink, but I paid for yours, because you were being nice.” And I kinda open-mouth fish gaped and then had the where-with-all to remember to tip him.

      Now, I love the independent coffee shops. I met my husband in one, we got engaged there four years later, and I always feel a twinge guilty when I give my money to the 800-pound gorilla. But – but – geeze. What a nice thing to do, and the guy behind me followed me out to the stop sign & honked & waved, and we all went on with our days, a little happier and reminded of the fact that a little kindness and generosity go a long way, no matter what’s going on in the world.

      And, I guess it shows that even big mega-corporations can have a soul if they hire the right people, hm?

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