Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Charting the Journey

What would you erase, take back, eradicate?  That stupid comment at the last party, that failing grade junior year of high school, your college boyfriend?

I am driving my children to and from camps.  Without a working radio in the car, I reflect.  I see a man with a lilting gait crossing the street.  He reminds me of my high school boyfriend.  Its awkward now, when I see him.  He is married to the girl I always suspected he liked rather than me.  I am happy for them both and even happier for me that I married Tim.  What I am not happy about is that fact that the old flame has seen me naked.  Would I take that back?  Well.  Would I be here if it hadn't happened at all?  If we had only remained friends and not tortured each other through years of strained relations, would I have chosen Tim?

Then there are the little transgressions... the lie I told my mom my senior year of high school, the candy hearts I ate out of a classmates desk in third grade, that Prada dress that I may never be able to squeeze into again....these things I do wish I could change.

But am I the sum of all of these parts?  Do the minor roles added up make as much of an impact as the big deals?

I wish I had been diagnosed bipolar earlier.  I wish I had attended just one college.  I wish I had majored in Business.  I wish I was currently a stock broker... or an actress... or a writer.  But if any of those wishes had come to fruition, there would be no Teddy, no Annelise, no lovely 12 year marriage to Tim.  Does wishing for these things now, devalue what I already have?

I chose Miami of Ohio to be close to my high school boyfriend.  I left Miami for Washington & Lee because I was depressed.  I met Tim through friends I had made at W&L.

There you go.

Lying, thieving, eating to excess and being depressed got me to where I am today.

Where and how do I take myself now?

Friday, June 25, 2010

Feeding the love

I used Gran's china, the red and white toile.  I carefully selected the ecru lace placemats and the sterling.  Each time my parents visit, I feel compelled to make one special meal.  Spinach, avocado and pomegranate salad with dijon dressing.  Cold zucchini soup with pan seared scallops and fresh thyme.  Wild blueberry tarte.

Maybe it is because of the thousands of home cooked meals I received growing up.  Or the birthday cakes made from scratch.  The turkeys and dressings.  The blueberry pancakes and Lost Bread.  The red beans and rice, the cheese grits, sausage spaghetti.  How best to repay the generosity of food but with food?

Of course, it is more than food.  Each meal is a valentine, an expression that you care.

So I plan my menus in advance of their visits.  I scour Whole Foods and review cookbooks and Epicurious. This time I tried to emulate a dish from one of my favorite restaurants.

I know my strengths, entrees, and my weaknesses, desserts, and work accordingly to make the best meal possible.  I focused on the entree and salad and picked up the tarte at Trader Joe's (fantastic by the way).

A carefully selected wine, my good crystal, sometimes a floral arrangement... it takes so little to make an impression, to convey that I appreciate them.

Downstairs in the guest bedroom, I arranged the sunflowers in an old blue and white pitcher.  I put out a tray, stocked with waters and trail mix,  on the blanket chest.  I culled my newest magazines and put them bedside.

The funny thing is, as demonstrative and affectionate as I was with Gran, I am not with my mother.  I do not hold her hand or walk arm and arm with her.  Do not ask me why; I cannot fathom as I love her completely.

So I saute and sear, broil and finesse... I pour a lovely white burgundy and cut fresh flowers.

And with each bite, sip, I am sure she knows that I love her.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

New Orleans

The air was moist and the temperature soaring.  I leaned back in the back seat of the taxi an inhaled deeply.  I felt at home.

Growing up, I only ever expected to live in one city - New Orleans.  I never dreamed that I would live somewhere else.

It had been nine long years since I had visited the Crescent City.  Post Katrina I wasn't sure what to expect.

The taxi bumped along the elevated highways and pitted streets.  The steeple of St. Louis appeared and then the cab descended into the city, past the Super Dome, through the CBD and finally arriving at Canal.

The city looked clean, for New Orleans.  It was crowded.  The hotel was packed.  I took my bag and met Lori in the courtyard.

The heat was delicious, perfect for quaffing Mint Juleps, which I did.  The geckos scaled the walls behind us as Lori and I caught up on each other's lives.  It was Girls Weekend in New Orleans.

Of course, Girls Weekend is always fun but I was especially looking forward to this one.  A weekend in my favorite city without children.  The beignets, the cafe au lait, shrimp remoulade, Pimm's Cups and pralines.... I love the tattered elegance and grit of the city.  The graceful porches and Jefferson windows, the gutter spouts shaped like fish, the magnolias and live oaks.  I love the edgy rawness of the Warehouse District, populated with new condominiums and restaurants.  We took the street car out St. Charles and rode past Gran's childhood home in the Garden District.  We ate at Antoines and drank at Napoleon House.

Lori and Susan and I dined with my dad who has been living in New Orleans working for FEMA for a year now.  Then we had breakfast at Brennan's with my aunt and uncle.  It was a family affair for me and also time with my girls.

It was wonderful.

At 39, I wonder now if I will ever be able to call New Orleans home but perhaps it is enough to say that it feels like a homecoming whenever I visit.

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Life in Song

It was twilight.  The tall trees canopied the deck and the sun darted amongst their leaves.  The Connells came on... as if anything were different in here... such great lyrics, harkening back to such a long time ago.  Mary Washington.

I can smell the bourbon and tobacco... so thick you can practically taste both.  Tight bar, packed hallway, lines to the bathrooms.  College.  Beer and foozeball and coverage charges and $5 pitchers.

College.  I went so many places ....  Randolph Macon Women's College - traveling home every weekend.  The music... The Jam, The Connells, The English Beat.

Miami University of Ohio.  Clandestine romance and the FIJI house, heart wrenching distance from a hometown love, Billy Bragg, Thomas Dolby, Skinny Puppy.

Washington & Lee.  Frat parties and late night antics, Fancy Dress and Jim Beam, torrid love affair and guilt, U2, They Might be Giants, LL Cool J.

Music.  Time.  So much intertwined.  Love and loss and growth and the painful march of time, time, time.

Today, homework and soccer, playdates and date night, good wine and PJ Harvey, The National, The Yeah Yeah Yeahs, the White Stripes, and the Connells, the English Beat, Billy Bragg, and U2.

Love and music.

Song.  The lyrics are evocative.  I feel transported.

Music and Love.

A face, a touch, gentle words, ephemeral moments.

Love, Music,Life.  It is such.