Why I am writing this blog? What is my intention? Whom is my audience? I have only given the url for this blog to a handful of people - a few family members, some close friends and some writing friends, as well as instructors for my graduate studies courses. So what do I want from you? Well, as much as I have balked at this in the past, what I really want is "to be heard." Now, people say this at my writing class all the time and I get it, I do, but I have always questioned the notion. Writing - and reading your work aloud, just to be heard? Don't you want feedback? Don't you want praise? Don't you want advice? I used to think that was all there was to sharing work - constructive criticism, a pat on the back, advice on where to go next. But it goes so far beyond that I feel ridiculous for even mentioning it.
Writing (and sharing work) to be heard is about telling your truth, raising your voice and having the courage to let others know who you are and how you feel - and not expecting judgment, criticism or even praise. Of course I LOVE IT when you all write back with supportive and positive comments - who doesn't want to hear that they are good at something? But that's not what this is all about. I want to "publish" my work here and share it with you so you can witness and be a part of my "process." In essence, I am saying, "Here I am, this is me - this is what I think about, what touches me, what inspires me, what moves me. This is what is in my heart and in my head. This is my art, my passion and my dream. This is me, as a writer."
So what is my intention? My purpose? Who is my audience? I guess I am still figuring that out. But that's the wonderful part of the writing process - it is a journey. And right now I just want to enjoy the ride.
Monday, October 27, 2008
You Might Not Return Here
Take everything you can
As you embark on this journey.
You might not return here.
Take the books, especially. They have informed your life.
Take the completed journals
And those blank books you will soon fill.
Take the unfinished manuscripts,
The collection of poems
And the writing practice notebooks.
They are a part of your process.
Take the candles you burn as ritual, the rocks collected from your travels,
The seashells that bring you home
And the carved wooden turtle that stands by your door.
Take the wine, the collection of teapots,
The stuffed-dog and your photographs.
Take the little things that hold space in your heart.
You will need them when you are far away.
Take the new clothes (six sizes smaller),
The scale that has marked your losses,
And the yoga mat for continued practice.
Take the new-found self-esteem,
The emerging voice,
And the pride in what you’ve accomplished.
You will not be that girl again.
Take the sound of your nieces’ laughter
And the Saturday morning coffee with mom.
Take Christmas Eve around the tree,
Memorial Day barbeques,
And summers at the beach.
Take the moments you won’t get back
You’ll miss them when you’re gone.
Take the view from your bedroom window,
The back roads you know by heart,
The stretch of sandy beach you love to walk
And the blinking lighthouse you can see in your sleep.
Take the old familiar places and the lifetime lived here.
Take those things you cannot forget.
You might not return here.
As you embark on this journey.
You might not return here.
Take the books, especially. They have informed your life.
Take the completed journals
And those blank books you will soon fill.
Take the unfinished manuscripts,
The collection of poems
And the writing practice notebooks.
They are a part of your process.
Take the candles you burn as ritual, the rocks collected from your travels,
The seashells that bring you home
And the carved wooden turtle that stands by your door.
Take the wine, the collection of teapots,
The stuffed-dog and your photographs.
Take the little things that hold space in your heart.
You will need them when you are far away.
Take the new clothes (six sizes smaller),
The scale that has marked your losses,
And the yoga mat for continued practice.
Take the new-found self-esteem,
The emerging voice,
And the pride in what you’ve accomplished.
You will not be that girl again.
Take the sound of your nieces’ laughter
And the Saturday morning coffee with mom.
Take Christmas Eve around the tree,
Memorial Day barbeques,
And summers at the beach.
Take the moments you won’t get back
You’ll miss them when you’re gone.
Take the view from your bedroom window,
The back roads you know by heart,
The stretch of sandy beach you love to walk
And the blinking lighthouse you can see in your sleep.
Take the old familiar places and the lifetime lived here.
Take those things you cannot forget.
You might not return here.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Carnivore
I was a vegetarian for 8 years – a strict, reading all the ingredients and looking for the tiniest bit of animal product, kind of vegetarian. But one day I’d had enough. Being a vegetarian was hard. And I wanted meat again.
My first bite of meat, after 8 years without, was Tyson Chicken Tenders – frozen, packaged, crispy-coated chicken that tasted to me like I had ripped off a piece of live chicken flesh and began gnawing. Needless to say, it made me sick.
But I persisted, the next time going for fast-food chicken on the long drive home to New Jersey from Cincinnati. Had I not learned my lesson just days before when my friend and I cooked up the Tyson Chicken Tenders in her kitchen in Cincinnati? But this time the fleshy white meat went down a little easier. It made me a little nauseous, but I kept it down.
My next brave attempt was Thanksgiving turkey. And here’s where I found that love of meat again. Though I still couldn’t eat meat off the bone, I didn’t know how to cook it yet, and my consumption consisted of only chicken and turkey so far; after tasting that juicy bird smothered in gravy at the Thanksgiving table, I knew I would not go back to being a vegetarian.
So I began experimenting. I ordered a chicken sandwich when out to dinner. I tasted small pieces of the chicken breast my mother cooked at home. I tried deli turkey again. And yes, I even went back to Tyson Chicken Tenders occasionally (though I still can’t really stomach them). It was all good. I was back to eating meat and my life was so much easier!
But, like a gateway drug, I knew I couldn’t stop at poultry. Soon I was craving juicy hamburgers, sausage sandwiches, those slices of kielbasa wrapped in dough my aunt makes, and every once in a while, a few slices of bacon. Going to parties or out to restaurants made these cravings easy for me. I had choices here, and could sample a number of savory treats created by others. But cooking the meat on my own was another story.
When I learned to cook, teaching myself through experimentation, I was a vegetarian. Ask me to whip up a meatless dish stocked with veggies, whole grains and cheeses and you have yourself a meal. But ask me to handle and cook meat and we have a problem. First of all, until recently, I couldn’t even look at, let alone touch raw meat. It made my skin crawl. It made my stomach stick. It made me remember why I was a vegetarian in the first place.
But learning to cook meat was, to me, a task to be conquered, a goal to reach. So I started learning. I asked for advice, I read cookbooks, I experimented, I tried. And I am learning. Still.
I can now cook a few meats – hamburgers, chicken breast, bacon, sausage, tacos with either ground beef or turkey, and a few others. But handling it still freaks me out. And I still need it fully cooked. I need my hamburgers to be brown – without a hint of pink. I need my bacon and sausage crispy. I need my chicken done. And I admit I am a little freaky about it.
Just last night I freaked out when Ron cooked chicken on the grill for us. I usually cook chicken longer than necessary, just to make sure it is done. When I do this, I am in control, and can poke and prod the poor little white meat until I am satisfied that I have cooked it thoroughly. But when someone else cooks it, you never know. So I made him keep my chicken on the grill at least 15 minutes longer than what he said was necessary. It couldn’t be “gooey” I told him. And he laughed at me, but kept the chicken on the grill until I was satisfied. When it finally reached my plate, I admit, the chicken breast was slightly charred. Taking my first bite, knowing that quite possibly it could be under-cooked, I was a bundle of nerves. The chicken was good, of course and my worrying was all in vain. But I can’t help it, it makes me nervous.
It’s not about getting salmonella or mad cow disease or any of the other plagues brought on by the consumption of meat, although those issues do make me wary. It is more about the “ick-factor” for me. Eating meat is just gross, sometimes! And as satisfying as it is to consume Thanksgiving turkey, a nice cheeseburger hot off the grill, a thick Italian sausage sub with peppers and onions, and crispy bacon dipped in maple syrup at breakfast, I cannot get it out of my head, sometimes, that I am eating animal flesh. Gross!
I am still going slowly, taking baby steps. I still cannot eat meat off the bone. I still can’t stomach more than a small bite of steak. And I still, for the most part, stick to chicken and turkey, with a few burgers or sausage links here and there. And I’m slowly learning to cook meat. Although touching it still gets to me. Gosh, what am I going to do when I have to cook my first Thanksgiving turkey? I’m not reaching in there!
My first bite of meat, after 8 years without, was Tyson Chicken Tenders – frozen, packaged, crispy-coated chicken that tasted to me like I had ripped off a piece of live chicken flesh and began gnawing. Needless to say, it made me sick.
But I persisted, the next time going for fast-food chicken on the long drive home to New Jersey from Cincinnati. Had I not learned my lesson just days before when my friend and I cooked up the Tyson Chicken Tenders in her kitchen in Cincinnati? But this time the fleshy white meat went down a little easier. It made me a little nauseous, but I kept it down.
My next brave attempt was Thanksgiving turkey. And here’s where I found that love of meat again. Though I still couldn’t eat meat off the bone, I didn’t know how to cook it yet, and my consumption consisted of only chicken and turkey so far; after tasting that juicy bird smothered in gravy at the Thanksgiving table, I knew I would not go back to being a vegetarian.
So I began experimenting. I ordered a chicken sandwich when out to dinner. I tasted small pieces of the chicken breast my mother cooked at home. I tried deli turkey again. And yes, I even went back to Tyson Chicken Tenders occasionally (though I still can’t really stomach them). It was all good. I was back to eating meat and my life was so much easier!
But, like a gateway drug, I knew I couldn’t stop at poultry. Soon I was craving juicy hamburgers, sausage sandwiches, those slices of kielbasa wrapped in dough my aunt makes, and every once in a while, a few slices of bacon. Going to parties or out to restaurants made these cravings easy for me. I had choices here, and could sample a number of savory treats created by others. But cooking the meat on my own was another story.
When I learned to cook, teaching myself through experimentation, I was a vegetarian. Ask me to whip up a meatless dish stocked with veggies, whole grains and cheeses and you have yourself a meal. But ask me to handle and cook meat and we have a problem. First of all, until recently, I couldn’t even look at, let alone touch raw meat. It made my skin crawl. It made my stomach stick. It made me remember why I was a vegetarian in the first place.
But learning to cook meat was, to me, a task to be conquered, a goal to reach. So I started learning. I asked for advice, I read cookbooks, I experimented, I tried. And I am learning. Still.
I can now cook a few meats – hamburgers, chicken breast, bacon, sausage, tacos with either ground beef or turkey, and a few others. But handling it still freaks me out. And I still need it fully cooked. I need my hamburgers to be brown – without a hint of pink. I need my bacon and sausage crispy. I need my chicken done. And I admit I am a little freaky about it.
Just last night I freaked out when Ron cooked chicken on the grill for us. I usually cook chicken longer than necessary, just to make sure it is done. When I do this, I am in control, and can poke and prod the poor little white meat until I am satisfied that I have cooked it thoroughly. But when someone else cooks it, you never know. So I made him keep my chicken on the grill at least 15 minutes longer than what he said was necessary. It couldn’t be “gooey” I told him. And he laughed at me, but kept the chicken on the grill until I was satisfied. When it finally reached my plate, I admit, the chicken breast was slightly charred. Taking my first bite, knowing that quite possibly it could be under-cooked, I was a bundle of nerves. The chicken was good, of course and my worrying was all in vain. But I can’t help it, it makes me nervous.
It’s not about getting salmonella or mad cow disease or any of the other plagues brought on by the consumption of meat, although those issues do make me wary. It is more about the “ick-factor” for me. Eating meat is just gross, sometimes! And as satisfying as it is to consume Thanksgiving turkey, a nice cheeseburger hot off the grill, a thick Italian sausage sub with peppers and onions, and crispy bacon dipped in maple syrup at breakfast, I cannot get it out of my head, sometimes, that I am eating animal flesh. Gross!
I am still going slowly, taking baby steps. I still cannot eat meat off the bone. I still can’t stomach more than a small bite of steak. And I still, for the most part, stick to chicken and turkey, with a few burgers or sausage links here and there. And I’m slowly learning to cook meat. Although touching it still gets to me. Gosh, what am I going to do when I have to cook my first Thanksgiving turkey? I’m not reaching in there!
Saturday, October 11, 2008
My Blogging Personality
Here's what "Blogthings" said about my blogging personality. I tend to agree . . .
Your Blogging Type Is Thoughtful and Considerate
You're a well liked, though underrated, blogger.You have a heart of gold and are likely to blog for a cause.You're a peaceful blogger - no drama for you!A good listener and friend, you tend to leave thoughtful comments for others.
http://blogthings.com/whatsyourbloggingpersonalityquiz/
(Thanks Christy!)
Your Blogging Type Is Thoughtful and Considerate
You're a well liked, though underrated, blogger.You have a heart of gold and are likely to blog for a cause.You're a peaceful blogger - no drama for you!A good listener and friend, you tend to leave thoughtful comments for others.
http://blogthings.com/whatsyourbloggingpersonalityquiz/
(Thanks Christy!)
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Cooking in the Country
Oh I am deep in the joy of cooking! Having moved in with Ron, and no longer living alone - making those solitary meals - I take pleasure in cooking dinner for us every night. I am almost embarrassed to say that the thought, 'what am I making for dinner tonight?' is with me all throughout the day. I cannot wait to begin preparing the meal every evening. I cannot wait to smell the yummy aromas filling the kitchen. And I cannot wait to hear Ron say, 'this is good, babe.' Maybe it's the country setting in which I am now living that makes me want to cook and bake and create. Maybe it is being in a relationship. Maybe it is my settling in to my own house and beginning to take on the "wifey" role (though I am not a wife yet). Maybe it is just another creative outlet. I don't know, but cooking, right now, seems to spark all of my senses, and it makes me happy.
When I cook, I try new things, I experiment, I cook to please, I cook for health, I cook for creativity. I browse the grocery store for new ideas, I look online and in my meager supply of cookbooks for recipes I can try. I email my mother, sister, and friends for recipes they have made that I’ve enjoyed. I want to stock the kitchen with all the best pots and pans, bowls and gadgets, fresh herbs and spices, and the satisfying smell of something cooking.
And I want to hear stories about cooking. I want to hear about family cooking traditions, old pots and pans and cooking utensils left over from great-grandmother, how to bake bread, the smells that fill the kitchen on Sunday afternoons and so much more. I want to share recipes, stories and tips with family and friends over coffee at the kitchen table. And I want one of those great kitchen tables, with history and stories of its own to share.
I am in the country. I look around and see corn fields and farm houses. I can hear cows mooing from my bedroom window. I smell fried-chicken and fresh biscuits throughout town. And fall is here with its crisp air and falling leaves. All of this makes me think of hot apple pie, pumpkin bread, big bowls of steaming soup, fresh veggies from the farmer's market....cooking, baking, creating!
When I cook, I try new things, I experiment, I cook to please, I cook for health, I cook for creativity. I browse the grocery store for new ideas, I look online and in my meager supply of cookbooks for recipes I can try. I email my mother, sister, and friends for recipes they have made that I’ve enjoyed. I want to stock the kitchen with all the best pots and pans, bowls and gadgets, fresh herbs and spices, and the satisfying smell of something cooking.
And I want to hear stories about cooking. I want to hear about family cooking traditions, old pots and pans and cooking utensils left over from great-grandmother, how to bake bread, the smells that fill the kitchen on Sunday afternoons and so much more. I want to share recipes, stories and tips with family and friends over coffee at the kitchen table. And I want one of those great kitchen tables, with history and stories of its own to share.
I am in the country. I look around and see corn fields and farm houses. I can hear cows mooing from my bedroom window. I smell fried-chicken and fresh biscuits throughout town. And fall is here with its crisp air and falling leaves. All of this makes me think of hot apple pie, pumpkin bread, big bowls of steaming soup, fresh veggies from the farmer's market....cooking, baking, creating!
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