It was a weird Thanksgiving. The first time in over 20 years that I haven't cooked a thing. I thought ten years, at least, but my mother reminded me that even when I lived at home, I did a good share of the cooking. Even when we eat at her house, I do most of the cooking. This year, perhaps out of protest, I didn't cook a scrap. Not even the pies. I bought those from Lenora, she made them from scratch, so I feel ok about it.
We went out last night, and closed out the bar, having loads of fun at karaoke night. It's weird, because I hate karaoke night, under most situations, but everything went right, and the crowd was good, DJ Pete was feeding off of our good vibes, and we were feeding off of his, and it just about took a fire hose to get the crowd out of there, at closing. Everyone was hugging, kissing, laughing, dancing, drinking, singing. Bruna yelled "ok, no more hugging and kissing, get out!" So, I ran over there and gave her a hug and a kiss (then we got the hell out...).
Most Thanksgivings? I would have been cooking since Sunday, and really doing all the work on Wednesday. I would have fallen into bed at 10, to tumble out of bed early to pop the turkey in the oven (or the smoker) and continue on through the day. Without this totally free holiday, I wouldn't have really realized how completely exhausting it is. I usually recover for the next three days, we eat leftovers, and I don't get out of my pajamas till Sunday, at least. We also spend a load of money on food.
Leading up to the holiday, I felt weird and nervous, like...I'd get up on Tuesday and think "ok, I should go shopping, I have lots of stuff to...nope, no I don't." I felt fidgety and guilty.
Maybe it's the reason why I took a sabbatical.
I'm too old to kiss family's ass, and I never got into the idea that "we have to like them, just because they're family." maybe it's because I'm adopted, or maybe because I've inherited the "Brandshagen Curse" where we really suck at being close and keeping in touch. But, my mother wanted a nice big family dinner at her house for a chance, so after fighting with her for a month and a half, I gave up my cooking control, and agreed. Then she dropped the bomb.
We'd be spending it with my mom and Earl, and one of Earl's kids. Hate them. The stepsibling always treated me like shit, he's 10 years older than I am, and ever since I was a kid, he's always been a real jerk. Once, he locked me in his basement, when I was 14, and left me there, for 4 hours. It was December. No, it wasn't a nice basement, or heated. It was one of those really low ceilinged dirt floor basements. It's a long story. I hate him and his family. His asshole children, his fat son who follows in his obnoxious footsteps, his daughter who manages to be one of those mean-popular girls, yet she looks like Groucho Marx. His fake wife. Their many many issues. Cannot. Stand. Them. They were estranged from the family for years, many lovely years, because he got in trouble with drugs, and organized crime, and borrowed loads of money off my mother. They're back now, and they really weird up the holidays, bigtime. If dinner is at three, they show up at 11 am, rush the scene, force dinner to the table by 2, and take off by 3, claiming illness, or some shit. Every time. Then, because dinner is done, rushed, and everyone's feeling awkward, the "holiday" be it Christmas or Thanksgiving, or whatever, is over. I refused to get into it this year, offered to provide dessert, and washed my hands of the day. We began drinking and having fun over last weekend, and went to Thanksgiving with a resigned fate.
They canceled this morning. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't overjoyed. I actually ran around my house in a victory lap. The sun shone brighter, my headache disappeared, we got up early, bounced out of the house to breakfast, then showed up at mom's house a little early to help with prep. I did wind up cooking a few things, and it was so awesomely pleasant. She made all my favorites, and did them well. We took a long time at the table, eating, enjoying the company, chatting, laughing. Then we took a long time cleaning up, chatting, laughing, then we watched lots of bad TV in a half turkey coma. It was good times. Really comfortable, lots of love and good food, and great relaxing vibes.
I love when my dread is all for no reason. I've been bitching for the past few weeks to anyone who would listen, and all for nothing. Good. I'm glad when I'm wrong, sometimes.
Nov 10, 2010
I can;t even think of a title, so this will have to do.
I have 21 minutes to write this.
I've been having a problem with identity lately. I feel as though I'm losing mine. Luiz put it very well, when he stated "Irv is so watery...and you're dissolving in it." Although to place the blame on Irv wouldn't be fair to him, and wouldn't allow any kind of progress or change.
Here's the fundamentals: I have no time for myself any more. Now, it's a common problem, probably. I'm sure everyone knows how it feels to some degree, but much of my spiritual development hinges on time to meditate, read, contemplate the tarot, and just have quiescent time, free of external static. It's gone. There is no more of that time, available for me.
I wake up, and Alden is awake. He and I leave for work and school at the same time. I get home from work, and now Luiz is awake, and Luiz and I spend time together, often running errands, going out to lunch, and definitely, all the time, talking to each other. 3 pm happens, and Alden and Irv both arrive home. Now it's their time, and the relatively quiet (though not at all the quiescent meditative quality spiritual growth stuff that I'm talking about) morning, turns into a circus. Now it's homework, pandering to Irv, cooking, cleaning, cleaning, homework, pandering, and so forth, till I declare that I am sitting and not doing one more fucking thing. At 11 pm. Sometimes I stay up till one, vegetatively staring into my computer screen, playing some mindless brain flushing game, just so I shut it all down enough to fall asleep, sometimes I drink so I can shut it all down enough to fall asleep, sometimes, when it's been especially trying, and it has been especially trying, I take a pill that allows me to shut it all down and fall asleep. Often washed down with said drink. Sure, post 11, I could read. Can you effectively read Faust or Regardie after running around maniacally for sixteen hours? Neither can I. If I do read, it's easy stuff.
That sounds like a somewhat typical day, for a mother, right? It's more than that, I think. Irv has serious, and I mean extremely serious codependency issues. When he is home from work, which has been more often lately than usual, he relies on me to do everything with him or for him. Everything. As in, I cannot even shower alone. He has to shower with me. It's not a sexual thing, no, it's a "but I need your company!" thing. When I was sick last week, he was on vacation from work, and he actually had a foot stomping (as in he shuffled and lightly stamped his foot, yes.) tantrum, because I absolutely put my foot down about going out of the house. He wanted to drive for an hour and a half, and check three stores, to find some nonessential tool, because it was "something to do". He would not go by himself, and he was very unhappy being "trapped at home", which led him to stomping around the house, making my already tiresome and mildly shitty day extremely shitty. So, when he's home from work, just to keep peace, it's The Irv Show! (cue zany talk show music) To a lesser degree, it's The Alden Show! I really try to focus on Alden and get involved with his schoolwork and life. Luiz, sometimes works during the day, and we don't see each other, so sometimes, he attempts to have a conversation with me in the afternoon...which sparks off a frenzy of attention getting behaviors, and essentially results in me being pulled in three equal directions. My own direction, whether it's doing research for work, or idly pursuing my own interests, or god forbid reading...doesn't even figure in. Even yesterday, when I was rushing out the door to go to a tarot event, Alden was literally throwing himself in my path, and waving papers in my face. Nonessential things.
Here's why I'd never tell Luiz to fuck off and leave me alone: For the most part, he does. When you're in a relationship with someone, whether it's a friendship or more, it's expected that you do spend some time together, talking, sharing ideas, being intimate. Around both of our work schedules, and The Irv and Alden Show! we try to eke out a little of that. It's been precious little of any of that, lately.
Here's why I have a problem telling Irv to fuck off and leave me alone: This one is more complex. During the lawn season, we honestly spend very little time together. He comes home around 8, eats dinner, we have a little time to talk while we're cleaning and doing nighttime things, then he showers around 10, and crashes. So, that's part of the year, and it makes time spent during those times, precious. So, I enjoy devoting a whole Sunday to doing Irv things. Secondly, the time we spend together, is pleasant. We seldom bicker, and he's very cool about doing nice things for me. Like, Sunday we wound up going on the non-essential tool odyssey, that he's been wanting to do for awhile, but on the way back, we hit a few of my favorite liquor stores, and he got me some really nice beer. It was overall, a pleasant whole day. Often, he's keyed into my mundane needs. Like, if I need to run to the store and get a few things for dinner, he's excited to do that (with me, not alone). He thinks he's being sensitive. Yesterday, I got home from work, and it was particularly tiring. He took me out for lunch (pleasant! It's never not pleasant) and we came home. I wanted, have been wanting, to read an excellent educational, spiritually fulfilling book. He said "I want to go out later and" because he was off yesterday from work, and not feeling well. But, by 11 am, he was already antsy and inventing shit for himself (and me) to do. He said "you have about a half hour of free time, that'll be great. See? I know you need time to yourself" He thinks he's really trying. His feelings get very hurt.
Here's why I can't tell Alden to fuck off and leave me alone: He's my boy. Of all the directions I'm pulled in, his is the one I'm most devoted to. When there's clamor, and he's trying to tell me about his school day, Luiz is like "babycakes, you gotta read this thing here.", and Irv's going "hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, is the bathroom clean? Should we clean it? Let's go to Home Depot and get a special thing to clean it. Could you look the price up online, and maybe compare it to the other cleaner, and while we're out, I need to stop at Barney's house and pick u-zzzzzzzzzzzzzomfgshutup....."anyway, when that's all happening, I make it very clear to everyone that ALDEN IS SPEAKING and I wanna hear it. I wanna hear about his good test grades and his bad ones, and if he got picked on at school, and did he take a shower this morning? I actually want to hear it. Why this is bad? Alden really takes advantage of his position on the attention totem pole, and will often monopolize my attention and run his platform down into minutia, till I'm listening raptly to him talking about the honey mustard dressing on his salad at school today, and how it was tangier than yesterday.
My identity is dissolving. Irv just walked in the door and said "hello mudder" I said hi, and he replied with "I see Alden left his breakfast on my desk." It took every bit of my willpower not to scream "I DONT FUCKING CARE". I'm cracking up.
I feel like, I can't keep up at this level. I don't ever want to feel like "I DON'T FUCKING CARE" to Alden, Luiz, Irv or anyone. It's damaging to our relationship. But, my "give a shit" meter is full, and it's full of minutia. Like, I do care when Luiz needs my help with the camera, so he can take pictures, because it's fundemental to his whole artist career. I do very much care, about Alden's day, and his success in school both academically and socially. I do totally care about Irv's peace of mind and happiness, because well, shit, it't extremely important to me and to all of us. I...
see...this is how it's happening. I was about to write about what about me is important to me, but the minute I get to that part...Alden walks in with a friend, and the friend's father in tow, having brought them both home from school. It was a very weird moment. Irv just walked in and started grilling me about the situation, and all the stuff I was gonna say just zonked out of my head. The whole situation is extremely depressing and overwhelming to me, and I'm now having a very hard time not to cry. As soon as I am done typing this sentence, I will compose myself, and go fill Irv in on why there's a strange child in the house, and why there was a strange man here 3 minutes ago.
I've been having a problem with identity lately. I feel as though I'm losing mine. Luiz put it very well, when he stated "Irv is so watery...and you're dissolving in it." Although to place the blame on Irv wouldn't be fair to him, and wouldn't allow any kind of progress or change.
Here's the fundamentals: I have no time for myself any more. Now, it's a common problem, probably. I'm sure everyone knows how it feels to some degree, but much of my spiritual development hinges on time to meditate, read, contemplate the tarot, and just have quiescent time, free of external static. It's gone. There is no more of that time, available for me.
I wake up, and Alden is awake. He and I leave for work and school at the same time. I get home from work, and now Luiz is awake, and Luiz and I spend time together, often running errands, going out to lunch, and definitely, all the time, talking to each other. 3 pm happens, and Alden and Irv both arrive home. Now it's their time, and the relatively quiet (though not at all the quiescent meditative quality spiritual growth stuff that I'm talking about) morning, turns into a circus. Now it's homework, pandering to Irv, cooking, cleaning, cleaning, homework, pandering, and so forth, till I declare that I am sitting and not doing one more fucking thing. At 11 pm. Sometimes I stay up till one, vegetatively staring into my computer screen, playing some mindless brain flushing game, just so I shut it all down enough to fall asleep, sometimes I drink so I can shut it all down enough to fall asleep, sometimes, when it's been especially trying, and it has been especially trying, I take a pill that allows me to shut it all down and fall asleep. Often washed down with said drink. Sure, post 11, I could read. Can you effectively read Faust or Regardie after running around maniacally for sixteen hours? Neither can I. If I do read, it's easy stuff.
That sounds like a somewhat typical day, for a mother, right? It's more than that, I think. Irv has serious, and I mean extremely serious codependency issues. When he is home from work, which has been more often lately than usual, he relies on me to do everything with him or for him. Everything. As in, I cannot even shower alone. He has to shower with me. It's not a sexual thing, no, it's a "but I need your company!" thing. When I was sick last week, he was on vacation from work, and he actually had a foot stomping (as in he shuffled and lightly stamped his foot, yes.) tantrum, because I absolutely put my foot down about going out of the house. He wanted to drive for an hour and a half, and check three stores, to find some nonessential tool, because it was "something to do". He would not go by himself, and he was very unhappy being "trapped at home", which led him to stomping around the house, making my already tiresome and mildly shitty day extremely shitty. So, when he's home from work, just to keep peace, it's The Irv Show! (cue zany talk show music) To a lesser degree, it's The Alden Show! I really try to focus on Alden and get involved with his schoolwork and life. Luiz, sometimes works during the day, and we don't see each other, so sometimes, he attempts to have a conversation with me in the afternoon...which sparks off a frenzy of attention getting behaviors, and essentially results in me being pulled in three equal directions. My own direction, whether it's doing research for work, or idly pursuing my own interests, or god forbid reading...doesn't even figure in. Even yesterday, when I was rushing out the door to go to a tarot event, Alden was literally throwing himself in my path, and waving papers in my face. Nonessential things.
Here's why I'd never tell Luiz to fuck off and leave me alone: For the most part, he does. When you're in a relationship with someone, whether it's a friendship or more, it's expected that you do spend some time together, talking, sharing ideas, being intimate. Around both of our work schedules, and The Irv and Alden Show! we try to eke out a little of that. It's been precious little of any of that, lately.
Here's why I have a problem telling Irv to fuck off and leave me alone: This one is more complex. During the lawn season, we honestly spend very little time together. He comes home around 8, eats dinner, we have a little time to talk while we're cleaning and doing nighttime things, then he showers around 10, and crashes. So, that's part of the year, and it makes time spent during those times, precious. So, I enjoy devoting a whole Sunday to doing Irv things. Secondly, the time we spend together, is pleasant. We seldom bicker, and he's very cool about doing nice things for me. Like, Sunday we wound up going on the non-essential tool odyssey, that he's been wanting to do for awhile, but on the way back, we hit a few of my favorite liquor stores, and he got me some really nice beer. It was overall, a pleasant whole day. Often, he's keyed into my mundane needs. Like, if I need to run to the store and get a few things for dinner, he's excited to do that (with me, not alone). He thinks he's being sensitive. Yesterday, I got home from work, and it was particularly tiring. He took me out for lunch (pleasant! It's never not pleasant) and we came home. I wanted, have been wanting, to read an excellent educational, spiritually fulfilling book. He said "I want to go out later and
Here's why I can't tell Alden to fuck off and leave me alone: He's my boy. Of all the directions I'm pulled in, his is the one I'm most devoted to. When there's clamor, and he's trying to tell me about his school day, Luiz is like "babycakes, you gotta read this thing here.", and Irv's going "hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, is the bathroom clean? Should we clean it? Let's go to Home Depot and get a special thing to clean it. Could you look the price up online, and maybe compare it to the other cleaner, and while we're out, I need to stop at Barney's house and pick u-zzzzzzzzzzzzzomfgshutup....."anyway, when that's all happening, I make it very clear to everyone that ALDEN IS SPEAKING and I wanna hear it. I wanna hear about his good test grades and his bad ones, and if he got picked on at school, and did he take a shower this morning? I actually want to hear it. Why this is bad? Alden really takes advantage of his position on the attention totem pole, and will often monopolize my attention and run his platform down into minutia, till I'm listening raptly to him talking about the honey mustard dressing on his salad at school today, and how it was tangier than yesterday.
My identity is dissolving. Irv just walked in the door and said "hello mudder" I said hi, and he replied with "I see Alden left his breakfast on my desk." It took every bit of my willpower not to scream "I DONT FUCKING CARE". I'm cracking up.
I feel like, I can't keep up at this level. I don't ever want to feel like "I DON'T FUCKING CARE" to Alden, Luiz, Irv or anyone. It's damaging to our relationship. But, my "give a shit" meter is full, and it's full of minutia. Like, I do care when Luiz needs my help with the camera, so he can take pictures, because it's fundemental to his whole artist career. I do very much care, about Alden's day, and his success in school both academically and socially. I do totally care about Irv's peace of mind and happiness, because well, shit, it't extremely important to me and to all of us. I...
see...this is how it's happening. I was about to write about what about me is important to me, but the minute I get to that part...Alden walks in with a friend, and the friend's father in tow, having brought them both home from school. It was a very weird moment. Irv just walked in and started grilling me about the situation, and all the stuff I was gonna say just zonked out of my head. The whole situation is extremely depressing and overwhelming to me, and I'm now having a very hard time not to cry. As soon as I am done typing this sentence, I will compose myself, and go fill Irv in on why there's a strange child in the house, and why there was a strange man here 3 minutes ago.
Nov 6, 2010
Bowling, Journaling, Cooking, and How They're All Connected
So, we've entered into a quiet phase, after a long complicated few months. I've never been so happy about routine. Or, at least what passes for routine in this house.
Alden had a particular shiteous pair of games, at bowling, today, and I've encouraged him to begin a bowling journal. I told him, any time you seriously dedicate yourself to something, it's important to document your learning and growing process, that way, when I ask, or when he asks himself, "what the fuck went wrong today?" He has a language for it. Then, I realized...how totally hypocritical. I haven't exactly been diligent, myself.
After bowling, I made us some pastina, for a late breakfast. Pastina is something my dad's mother made for him, then he made for me, then I taught myself how to make it, and now I make it for Alden, and he's learning how to make it. It seems fairly unique to our family, and it's strictly comfort food. It has no measurements, and only by cooking it for probably 25 years, have I developed a fool proof method. It's pretty simple, a small amount of boiling water, salt, butter, then shake in a few tablespoons of pastina (microscopic star shaped noodles), and let it cook till the pastina is getting soft, and the water is disappearing, then we stir in shredded, or small cubes, or grated, or slices of cheese. The secret here is to always have some sort of processed cheese, otherwise the whole mess will be stringy. The shit cheese makes it all cohesive. Today I used about 2 ounces of colby, and a krap single. Season vigorously with salt and even more vigorously with pepper, sometimes garlic, sometimes hot sauce, and serve. Best with some type of crispy meat product crumbled on top, or within. Today, I finely diced a bit of ham, and fried that till it was brown and frizzled, and stirred it in at the end. What it amounts to, if done well, is microscopic star shaped noodles suspended in a melty cheese sauce, roughly the texture of...well, it's hard to explain. Something like risotto, but not quite as fancy. No milk. No fancy shit. No heavy cream, no broth (although I have been kicking around the idea of a dinner pastina, cooked on chicken broth, with some sage or thyme, and asiago...same concept, same method, fancy shmancy ingredients.) It's comforting to eat, comforting to walk Alden through the steps, and pass on what I've learned through years of refinement.
When he was wee, I was really excited about teaching him how to cook. I planned on getting all these children's cookbooks, and his own set of stuff, all that artifice. I learned through the years, that he learns best, and I love teaching him, when he's hungry and looming around the kitchen. Like "mom, mom, mom, can I stir that? What's in that?" He started out as a pain in the ass, underfoot boy, but as he got older, the rule of "if you're not helping, you don't belong in the kitchen" came into effect. Now, when he's hovering and excited about dinner, I hand him onions to chop, and make him my fetch boy. When he's tasked to get a list of ingredients from the pantry or the fridge next door, he always asks really involved questions, and he learns loads. He's grown into a better cook than most adults I know. Not recipes, although we're getting more into them, but the "why" of cooking. I feel like it's more important for him to know formulas, and the science of things. Like, why it's important to brown the onions before adding other stuff. Yesterday, he helped me make a French leek pie, and hung around for every step, and he learned a lot about the science of custards, how proteins coagulate, and emulsifiers blend oils and water. God help me, he might be a shitty bowler, but I think he's going to be a damn amazing cook, when he gets older.
If only I could get him as curious about the science of bowling, the hows and whys of trajectory, and whatnot, as he is about cooking. Writing about it might help him become more curious. It certainly works for me. On that note, I think I'll head over to my tarot blog.
Alden had a particular shiteous pair of games, at bowling, today, and I've encouraged him to begin a bowling journal. I told him, any time you seriously dedicate yourself to something, it's important to document your learning and growing process, that way, when I ask, or when he asks himself, "what the fuck went wrong today?" He has a language for it. Then, I realized...how totally hypocritical. I haven't exactly been diligent, myself.
After bowling, I made us some pastina, for a late breakfast. Pastina is something my dad's mother made for him, then he made for me, then I taught myself how to make it, and now I make it for Alden, and he's learning how to make it. It seems fairly unique to our family, and it's strictly comfort food. It has no measurements, and only by cooking it for probably 25 years, have I developed a fool proof method. It's pretty simple, a small amount of boiling water, salt, butter, then shake in a few tablespoons of pastina (microscopic star shaped noodles), and let it cook till the pastina is getting soft, and the water is disappearing, then we stir in shredded, or small cubes, or grated, or slices of cheese. The secret here is to always have some sort of processed cheese, otherwise the whole mess will be stringy. The shit cheese makes it all cohesive. Today I used about 2 ounces of colby, and a krap single. Season vigorously with salt and even more vigorously with pepper, sometimes garlic, sometimes hot sauce, and serve. Best with some type of crispy meat product crumbled on top, or within. Today, I finely diced a bit of ham, and fried that till it was brown and frizzled, and stirred it in at the end. What it amounts to, if done well, is microscopic star shaped noodles suspended in a melty cheese sauce, roughly the texture of...well, it's hard to explain. Something like risotto, but not quite as fancy. No milk. No fancy shit. No heavy cream, no broth (although I have been kicking around the idea of a dinner pastina, cooked on chicken broth, with some sage or thyme, and asiago...same concept, same method, fancy shmancy ingredients.) It's comforting to eat, comforting to walk Alden through the steps, and pass on what I've learned through years of refinement.
When he was wee, I was really excited about teaching him how to cook. I planned on getting all these children's cookbooks, and his own set of stuff, all that artifice. I learned through the years, that he learns best, and I love teaching him, when he's hungry and looming around the kitchen. Like "mom, mom, mom, can I stir that? What's in that?" He started out as a pain in the ass, underfoot boy, but as he got older, the rule of "if you're not helping, you don't belong in the kitchen" came into effect. Now, when he's hovering and excited about dinner, I hand him onions to chop, and make him my fetch boy. When he's tasked to get a list of ingredients from the pantry or the fridge next door, he always asks really involved questions, and he learns loads. He's grown into a better cook than most adults I know. Not recipes, although we're getting more into them, but the "why" of cooking. I feel like it's more important for him to know formulas, and the science of things. Like, why it's important to brown the onions before adding other stuff. Yesterday, he helped me make a French leek pie, and hung around for every step, and he learned a lot about the science of custards, how proteins coagulate, and emulsifiers blend oils and water. God help me, he might be a shitty bowler, but I think he's going to be a damn amazing cook, when he gets older.
If only I could get him as curious about the science of bowling, the hows and whys of trajectory, and whatnot, as he is about cooking. Writing about it might help him become more curious. It certainly works for me. On that note, I think I'll head over to my tarot blog.
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