Dinner for Two

Maureen caught me cooking again. She generally wanders in around the dinner hour, looking for a meal. Tonight was no exception. The pretense for her visit was to drop off screws. I acted nonchalant but she could tell by the smell coming from my oven that something was up.

"Have you had dinner yet"? she asked.

"I'm just about to" I answer pregnant pause follows. "Want to join me"? What else could I do?

She scrambled to the cupboard to gather plates, knives and forks. She is not shy.

"What are we having"?

"Asparagus salad, Prime rib with Au jus' and french fried sweet potatoes"

She salivated her gratitude as we sat down to dinner at the new table. She expressed her appreciation of cloth napkins in rings, but choose the paper kind instead. We lit a candle between us and dined heartily. Finally, I was grateful for the company. I guess an exquisite meal is better shared. Talk was sparse and wine free flowing during our meal. Paw paws waited expectantly by my side for cherished scraps, generously delivered.

With satisfied palates and bellies, we settled in for a smoke and a late night chat.

The character that is Maureen oozed out with ramblings of men and work. She suddenly burst forth with her idea for my next book. She has apparently been thinking about this. She had the plot, the characters, the beginning, the twist and the end. It was actually a good idea, except for the plot, and the characters. A workable idea all in all. One I might just put in the works to see if anything is born. We argued about the proposed ending, exchanging ideas and scenarios. With wisdom I have not seen from her before, she looked into my eyes and said, "you know Hulia, in your real life it's up to you when it comes to the ending".

Quotable Maureen! Who knew.

The right pistaschio

(Photo credit - stole it from the internet)

With humor. Quick witted Mel pointed out to me while I was indulging in a big ole' bowl of pistaschios one night, that I dig around to find the "right one". I never considered that before. I guess most people grab for the next. I am searching for bigger than expected, and intend to find it.

Drive Time

My drive to work is some 45 minutes long one way encompassing four different freeways if you don't count the 143 which is practically unused.

It has become personal.

When I start out I merge on to the 101 and at rush hour, it requires attitude. Offering 5 lanes to choose from, all with their own personalities. There is something about this road that makes everyone fly free. Maybe because it it the newest freeway of all and commands respect. No one adheres to it. There is attitude from other drivers as I even intend to merge onto their asphalt territory. Once engulfed in the chaos of cars, I adopt my own attitude and drive with arrogance.

That is until I take the loop to the right some 5 miles later to enter I-17. This road is my nemesis.The oldest of them all in this city. Past Dunlap the entire feeling of my drive experience changes. It's the middle of Phoenix thoroughfare complete with wall to wall semi's, decrepit cars from the inner city and just has ghetto attitude. I get a bit antsy around about Indian School as driving is not a skill in this part of town but a matter of survival. From here to the stack I find myself gripping a bit harder playing a vehicular chess game. There comes a point in the road where you can see who drives it every day and those that just wander on occasionally. Past McDowell, you have to make a decision as to which way. This is brake light territory as the unaware just became so at 70 miles an hour and have to cross over 2 lanes to make the right decision. This is my Zen spot in the road, each and every day. There is a big green road sign that points to local destinations and then the one pointing right that says "Los Angeles"? And I wonder "what if"? What if I just fell out of life and kept going?

Get in my truck and drive. Go where I wanna go without explaination.

I make the decision to go left..... doing the right thing.

Writing Backwards

Funny how writing transpires. Every writer will tell you that they cannot tell you where inspiration comes from. It's often asked of me, "where do you get your ideas". I have no idea. But I do know that I see the conclusion first and then go forward with my thought, however backward that is.

Wish I had had this perception during this last decade. Had I seen the conclusion, I wouldn't have changed a thing. But I would have been prepared for the outcome.

There was a lunar eclipse last night. It was heavy on my brain to see it because when there is a monumental event that is a fleeting moment in time, I want to be witness. I planned my late night, set the alarm and wondered how tired I was going to be at work tomorrow. I fell asleep with a "fuck it" attitude around 10 PM because who needs that? I woke up anyhow and sleepiness argued with me when I crawled out of my bed @ 2 AM to see the hoopla and circumstance. It was more spectacular than I could have hoped for. The moon was bright and full with a hint from the shadow of the earth when I sat down. The night sky beckoned me to stay. I did. In chairs with laptop I wrote for 2 hours, glancing at intervals at the darkening moon. I knew I should get my camera and take time lapse shots of the thing. I was just to lazy to put any effort into it.

I was heavy into reflection.

For all my bravado, there are occassional tears. Every smile is hiding an ounce of despair that I am still trying to conquer. I exclaim my plans for the future while holding on to a bit of my past. I damn this limbo and swear I am climbing out, while falling two steps back, looking straight ahead. It's more than a beginning, this is the answer.

Life is defined by seconds

It is abnormally pleasant out tonight. I am in my usual parking spot, poolside. The moon is reflected in the water. If I was ambitious at all I would get the Nikon to capture it, but I am just weary and unenthused. So it will have to be memorialized by my words.

I had a wine bar night last night with all of the usual suspects. Maureen and I have become as comfortable there as if it were our own living room. Matt and Al took care of delivering dinner. We don't even have to order anymore, they just know. James dominated my time lamenting his woes. I gave him my best advice.

It made me wonder, who am I to preach words of supposed wisdom. If I had any advice to give, I'd take it myself.

Ode to the Cherry on Top

It's dinner time at my cookie cutter home in Glendale. Paw Paws is showing enthusiasm for the smells that are coming from our kitchen. An uncommon occurrence as of late and one he has missed. The best part of dinner is the anticipation. It's the best part of everything, I surmise with a smile as I chop green peppers to add to the Le'creuset. The earthy aroma of the peppers makes my stomach long for nourishment. A job the onions started when they began their slow sweat and released a heavenly aroma minutes earlier. The sound of sizzle feels like home again as I pour my glass of wine. And so I settle in to the night.

Thoughts of the day start their playback in my recently disquieted brain and I am beginning to feel equanimity now. Because of one righteous act, I am able to wrangle a new source of composure and I can now move forward. Our divorce was agreed upon and it was done with dignity and accord. That was something........................

After 8PM I am considering a cigar with the stars. Phil Collins is singing "Easy Lover" to me and I can't help but laugh out loud. I saunter to the kitchen for an ice cream moment. It's a celebration after all so I search for the jar of years old maraschinos. Success finds me swirling my vanilla concoction into a soft mishmash. With pride, I drop a cherry on top. And to the pool I amble with Paw Paws in tow. He's opted for a fresh chewies as his own indulgence tonight.

Starting a new chapter always makes me apprehensive. Previous is over and I have to write the next. New ideas, bigger and better as it goes.

It's going splendidly.

The New Normal

Late evening, I am afforded a few minutes to write and hope I can pay the price tomorrow.

Phil was here tonight invoking mass confusion. I look at this stranger that used to be my best friend and can't grasp who he is now. Completely irrelevant to my world, but disturbing since they still collide.

I indulged in Ben and Jerry's upon his departure, calling it dinner. There was comfort in the cold.

Getting over a nasty breakup, one pint at a time.

Dewey Decimal Bound

If one more person asks how my book is coming along I am going to vociferate in utter protest of their ignorance. Let me tell you how it's going. It's long, it's hard and offers only occasional glimmers of hope and excitment when a few words gel into a thought that someone might think about. It's basically turning into years of self doubt and deep angst. If you can picture the process it is my brain in my pajamas every night churning out words and hoping for the feeble attemp at order.

But it keeps coming... night after anguishing night.

"Come on Irene"

Irene called tonight. We've only spoken sporadically since my return from Wyoming. Tonight was a long catching up conversation. Irene is the most cheerful person I have ever know, despite her difficult life. She always laughs and draws people into her wealth of optimism. When Charlie died, it was Irene that consoled me, though her heart was breaking. When Irene had to go back to work at the age of 76 she was delighted to have found a job. She is always asking for more hours. She loves people and loves to be at work amongst them.

She wanted my latest news and sympathized for both me and Phil for our current plight, as she loves us both.

I talked endlessly, regaled her with my legal battles, my heartbreak and my constant fear of the unknown.

I asked Irene if she was OK. To that she replied, "oh yes, I have $40 for the week, so I will be alright".

For the first time in my life, I was completely ashamed of myself. I spend my thoughts absorbed in my misery when I actually have no problems, simply details. It was a harsh moment of clarity. I am humbled.

It is my truth that people that come through out lives are there for a specific reason. They are all teachers in one way or another. Human connections are not to be taken lightly. I am guilty of not recognizing that lately in lieu of my own self absorbed grief. This was a big moment to stop and think.

My apologies to those I have hurt.

Court Ordered to clean my house

Lest you wonder, the previous post about resplendent cleanliness was a 'to do" list.

My house is anything but. It mirrors my current messy life.

My vision is a kitchen that commands chopping, with inspiration from a freshly sanded down bamboo cutting board sitting on the counter in between the sink and the stove placed there because according to feng shui principals, there should be wood between fire and water. The idea is that fire and water are destructive, in that water quenches fire however, balanced by placing wood between the two. But the unsuspecting cook does not know that. They just feel the chi and long to take knife in hand.

Smell of freshly made banana bread, spotless floors, a well stocked pantry and recently rotated refrigerator media are unrecognized rewards to most, but amongst my greatest pleasures.

When I watch movies or shows of family situations and family life, I do not focus on the characters, instead look at the backgrounds into the kitchens and notice every thing in them. Often I see cutting boards with foods on them ready to be prepared. Tonight I was watching American Beauty and there was a cutting board on the white counter with carrots on it. The carrots had their green leafy tops which is not their usual state in my modern supermarket. I am awestruck by the fact that someone took the time to go buy those carrots to place on that movie set that no one will ever notice. What lonely work!!

Sitting in the dark tonight in the "slow" corner of my yard I light a chocolate flavored cigar. I know it's a deal breaker, but a sweet indulgence I refuse to give up because it feels like a luxurious rebellion. My yards, once a source of pride and are now a source of contention due to neglect and mishandling. When it was all left up to me, I dug in with enthusiasm. My incompetence reared glaringly before long when I mowed over all the sprinkler heads, leaving my yards in shambles. I burned up the weed eater and forget to empty the baskets that pool debris empties into. I have to set a reminder to add chlorine and turning on the water to fill the pool up is akin to leaving my curling iron on. I forget to turn it off, providing another disaster. Everything is dying, including me.

I have until October to pull this thing together, when the "for sale" sign is to be planted. A day I dread. Selling my home will be like offering my soul to the highest bidder.

I feel like this ole' world has left me behind.

I am getting my house in order.

Star Struck

I don't have talent behind the lens but am grateful for this photo. I took 657 tonight throughtout the night with extreme exposure that kept stressing my battery. The outcome was one photo worthy of the memory of this year's Perseids shower. It was short of spectacular. I spent the night alone in the desert, just north of the lake in some dark spot off the road.

My shutter speed was the most complex of factors to be considered. You want a long enough exposure so that you capture a good number of meteor streaks, yet not so long that the stars themselves start to streak. But, now you see the quandary. Even with a 25 second exposure using a 24mm lens, how many meteor trails do you think you can capture? Not many, unless we really have a "storm". So, is the solution to simply take longer exposures and live with the star streaks? Yes, I did it.

Morning

Just another day

I am happiest when my home isn't just clean – it's resplendent. Glowing white bathrooms full of sterile tile. Neat cupboards full of canned vegetables and that ubiquitous round of canned tuna that was on sale. Dishwashers that are empty and ready for another load. Beds made with taunt and crisp sheets, and the expensive down pillows that I indulged in few weeks ago are plump and inviting upon them. The smell of lemon furniture polish and the aroma of fresh paint fills every room.

I am watching "Big Love" for the second time. I missed the plot the first time in lieu of my own "big love".

Vickie has faded into her life again after our carefree summer. She is back to work now. I will miss our travels and hours on the phone. So will Cingular.

Michel is home from Europe.

Heading toward alone

At 10:34 I am on the 101 at some 80 MPH on my way back. From what and to what becomes a question as I drive carefree with windows down because I need to feel it. It feels good, even though I am headed to alone. I know I am walking into severe melancholy, but give in.

Was it to hard to try?

Doesn't really matter much, now it's gone. Where was your soul when your heart let me go? What am I supposed to do with what we had?

Does it even matter, now I'm down this road.........

We all end up walking alone. Tonight, it was on the 101, alone with my fears and this asphalt diversion. What a shame. I think my broken heart is on the mend....

I can't be sure.

Park your cart!

My truck was hit by a shopping cart in the grocery store parking lot the other day. Some stranger was kind enough to point it out, otherwise, the latest ding would have been a mystery. Supermarkets are like mythical holy places here in my Arizona neighborhood. Each one more magnificent than the next, vying for our grocery dollars. But still, going to the supermarket is deeply time consuming and repetitive. Therefore, I have decided to rethink the whole boring job and turn this chore into a place of zen. I do it by returning my own shopping cart to it's rightful place when I am done with it. It sounds minor, but it has become a ritual of righteousness. Now that I have begun my career of cart returning I find myself mentally tsk-tsking when I see carts others have left behind.

My cart is my responsibility and I like to do what's right. It makes me feel as if I am not just a consumer, but a useful, productive volunteer.

If everyone just returned his or her metaphorical cart, the world would be a better place, I think. It becomes a matter of one such small gesture, thought or kind act that saves you from creating a "ding" in another. How many small opportunities in life present themselves without ever being noticed?

Let it Rain!!

It's been a wonderful monsoon season so far. I would like to request a little more thunder however. Thank you.

Sitting here on my patio on the rare occasion that is is nice enough to be outside. The thermometer reads 80 degrees with humidity that is less than comfortable, but it's a far cry from the 118 we usually have. The gentle breeze rocking my wind chimes makes it all tolerable. I look around my meager existence and feel content that I have this. The plants are tattered derelicts of their recent beauty. They are coming back though, with daily love and tending to. I notice the honeysuckle that struggles near the pool is holding it's own. It has reached the top of the wall and is intermingled with Roxanne's own honeysuckle planted in the exact same spot on the other side of our common brick wall. I lean back and light a mocha vanilla flavored cigar that I bought at the wine bar several nights ago and survey the bedraggled scene of my backyard. We are both tattered remnants of ourselves, but showing promise for a strong comeback.

Sometimes the best deals are the ones you don't make.