What do I want from you?

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.

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.

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 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!)

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!

Found Along the Shore

My bare feet step upon the warm and grainy sand
Of the ocean beach, my home.
I’ve been away
And this is the first barefoot walk
On the beach this season.
Sharp seashells poke the soles of my feet.
Sand fleas jump at my presence.
A light breeze blows off the ocean
Leaving my skin sticky, salty.
The sun shines warm on my shoulders
Even though it is September and
Fall is approaching.
I lean over to handle a piece of driftwood
Left smooth by the wind, water and sand.

Found a clam shell – white, purple and brown.
A snail shell, broken and sharp on one end.
A scallop, a mussel, a razor clam and some seaweed.
Found a mermaid’s purse – a skate egg case
And those little shiny shells
that look like toe nails.
I once strung some together on fishing line
And hung them from a tree.
Their quiet tinkling sounds
always bringing me back to the ocean.
Found some stones – one grey, one white, one pink,
And pocketed them.
Found a sand dollar.
Found the holes in the sand from “pissers” (steamers) spewing water
As the tide seeps slowly away from the shore.
Found a jelly fish, its bubbly body still and lifeless upon the sand.
Found the shell of a baby horseshoe crab,
This creature, too no longer alive.
Found my stride along the shoreline
As I walked, feet half in water, half on land,
Smelling the sea,
Feeling the sun,
Working my calf muscles upon the sand,
Molding itself under my feet,
Taking me in, welcoming,
Inviting me home.

Characters

Back home again in Indiana, I keep thinking about the train - the Cardinal Route from Chicago to NYC and back again. It was a LONG ride. An accident (our train hit someone!), slow speeds, mountains, and odd hours piled up to create annoying delays. But we made it through. Tired, but full of interesting experiences. Specifically with the people I met along the way.

There was a 21-year-old college student - feminist and anti-war bumper stickers plastered all over her laptop, combat boots, too many bags, and an attitude - that boarded the train with me in Cincinnati. Somehow we became friends along the route and shared conversation and coffee in the cafe car. I learned about her life, her boyfriend, her religion, her family....it's amazing what strangers will share with you.

Then there were the two men who boarded the train in West Virginia, a case of Budweiser stashed in their bags. Josh sat next to me and persisted in flirting with me the whole ride, calling me sweetheart and telling me he'd be better for me than my boyfriend waiting back home. Joseph sat across the aisle and spewed nonstop nonsense about the military, hunting, pot, his wife, Bunny, and all sorts of other vomit. At times I escaped to the cafe car just to get away from his incessant verbal garbage.

There were also the characters camped out in the cafe car - sipping beer, coffee and Mountain Dew. There was the visual artist who tried to convince his seatmates of the magical powers of mushrooms. There was the woman who was convinced that our train was cursed - citing the early morning accident, the delays, the train number and other factors to create the spell she believed was cast upon our train. And the group of men at the end of the car who downed Bud Light and talked about relationships, work, family, religion and politics. Eavesdropping on their conversations filled me with fodder for many stories!

There was the woman who locked herself in the bathroom before we even left the terminal in NYC, her yelling and banging to get out echoing through the car. To assist her, I simply told her to unlock the door.

Then there was the young guy on his way home to Kentucky from Maine after working his fifth summer at an arts camp. He had been traveling, he said, when he wasn't working at the camp. After his brief stop at home, he was heading for California.

Oh and I cannot forget the retired couple sitting in front of me who boarded the train in Philadelphia. They were headed on a cross-country train ride (all the way to Seattle), just for fun. The man (I wish I could remember his name) was fascinated with the train and could not sit still. He jumped around from car to car searching for information about the technology of the train, our route, the reasons for our delays, our speed, and more. He asked the conductors and other staff continuous questions, and made a point to get to know everyone in his vicinity. His wife, constantly checking her GPS device to figure out where we were and how fast we were going, did laps up and down the aisles from one car to another. She needed her exercise, she said, and had to get it when she could. In Cincinnati, this pair exited the train with me to pick up "Mother," as the man called her, to travel with them the rest of the way across the country.

And then there were the random meetings, the conversations I overheard, the passengers who constantly walked past my seat on their way to the bathroom or the cafe car. There was the screaming child at the front of the car, the woman who walked in on a man in the bathroom because he hadn't locked the door, the man who kept staring at me from a few seats ahead, the smokers, aching for the next cigarette break, and the man and his daughter leaving the train in Philadelphia, arguing about who would carry the extra bag.

These were characters, alright. And even though the train ride was LONG and exhausting and the delays were a hassle and an annoyance, I'd do it again for the experience, for the scenery and, most importantly, for the people you meet on the Cardinal train.

On the Road Again

I am leaving Wednesday for a visit back home to New Jersey. I am taking the train - 18 long hours - across Ohio, Pennsylvania and on into Penn Station in NYC. It has been a while since my last road trip. And though this one is on a train, rather than my preferred method of driving, I am still feeling all of the old excitement and anticipation of getting on the road again.

Songs like Willie Nelson's "On the Road Again", Janis Joplin's "Me & Bobby McGee", Fastball's "The Way" and The Indigo Girls' "Get Out the Map" keep playing in my head. These, and of course the classic Credence Clearwater Revival tunes are my familiar companions on the road. Back when we still listened to cassette tapes (yes, I'm old!) I used to make mix-tapes of my favorite road trip songs. Then when cds came along, I'd do the same thing. Now, traveling on the train cross-country (sort of) for the first time, I have uploaded my favorite cds onto my laptop and plan to kick back in my coach seat tapping my feet as I watch the country roll by.

I'll miss driving, I think. Given the choice I would drive anywhere. I've driven across the country quite a few times (often by myself) and have made numerous trips up and down the east coast. I've traveled through New England, the Midwest, all over Colorado, out to California, and many points in between and up and down. I love the freedom of it. I love taking rural highways and small country roads, stopping at roadside stands, exploring an unfamiliar town, and discovering unknown scenic beauties along the way. I love getting out my map to look for out of the way places, small towns and state parks & historic sites. I love being independent and going wherever I want to go - lingering a little longer at a site that interests me, taking a road I have never seen before, stopping when I want or driving on and on.

I won't be able to do that on the train. But it will be another kind of adventure. I'm excited. This is my first long train ride. I've never done it cross-country before. I really don't know what to expect. One great thing is that on the train, I can write.......so I'll let you know how it goes.

Appetites: A to Z (revised and still playing)

Appetites: A to Z

I have an Appetite for the rich and delicious blessings in life,
Feeding my Bountiful flesh healthy doses of Beauty and Burden.

The Creative hunger reveals the Core of who I Claim to be.
That Dreamy girl, with her head in the clouds,
But essentially, Earth-bound.

I wonder, will it ever be Fruitful? Writing
Those words on the page that keep me Grounded.

I am always Hungry for more.
Insisting I can have It all.
Wiping the Juice from my lips,
Like after a stolen Kiss, so delicious, you cannot tell
If it is Love or Lust or maybe just a Lie.

The Mass of emotions, a Mess
Leading me Neither here Nor there.
Like Ocean waves, bobbing and cresting, rolling and crashing.
Like Passion.

But then it is Quiet.
And I Rise to discover
That all is Still.

And though I Tell my Truth,
And share the Universal human experience,
And let the blood flow from my Veins,
I still Wander. I Wonder
Where to draw the X.

The desires of Youth keep me traveling.
And feed my Zestful appetite.

Appetites

So I just wrote a poem for my writing class tomorrow. To me it seems a little weird and I don't know if it makes sense or if it is really even a poem. But I'll share it anyway.....

Appetites: A to Z

I have an Appetite for the rich and delicious blessings in life,
That shape my Bountiful flesh into both beauty and burden.

The Creative one is the cornerstone of who I claim to be.
That Dreamy girl, with her head in the clouds.
But essentially, Earth-bound.

And I wonder, will it ever be Fruitful?
Those words on the page that keep me Grounded?

I am always Hungry for more.
Insisting I can have it all.
Wiping the Juice from my lips,
Like after a stolen Kiss, so delicious, you cannot tell
If it is Love or Lust or maybe just a Lie.

The Multitude of emotions,
Finding me Neither here nor there.
Like the Ocean waves, bobbing and cresting, rolling and crashing.
Like Passion.

But then it is Quiet.
And I Rise to discover
That all is Still.

And even though I have told my Truth,
And I have shared the Universal human experience,
And let the blood pour from my Veins,
I still Wander.

And I will never know where to place the X.
For my Youthful desire for adventure keeps me traveling.
And feeds my appetite for Zest.