just kids

i started reading it in a blizzard blackout, shivering under the covers with a flashlight under my chin.  i deliberately slowed the pace, taking in once chapter at a time, not wanting to let go of this love story. 
i finished it just as the colorburst of spring finished painting the landscape.

just kids.

it's patti smith's memoir of her and robert mappelthorpe's relationship.  if you have ever experssed your love to another with creativity you never knew you had inside, just

because the energy of your connection inspired it, you will feel yourself in patti and robert. 

saying goodbye to the book was perhaps as sad as saying goodbye to robert through patti's words.   

it is everything love:

tender;  thoughtful;  artistic;  raw;  bittersweet.

just read it

accidental tapioca

a friend of mine is as big on breakfast as i am.  she and i we realized we were sisters in the most important meal of the day when we found out that each of us, without the other one knowing, takes steel cut oats, stirs in a yogurt (or soy yogurt, or just tofu sometimes), adds some berries and lets it "marinate" overnight in the 'fridge for the next morning's "grab and go" breakfast.  well, i recently, and completely by accident, discovered something similar. 

do you like tapioca pudding?  i have to say it's not my favorite, but that could be because it's hard to find a "clean" tapioca out there.  and by clean, i also mean non-dairy.  milk does a body no good.  no body.  no good.  nobody.  ok ok this is a not an anti-dairy rant.  there's plenty of time for that later. 

so, part of this discovery came about when i was reading about foods that helped with muscle regerneration and recovery.  i had pulled a calf muscle while training for a half marathon, and needed to see what i could eat to aid in its repair.  my quest yielded the obvious results, like potassium-rich fruits and veggies and of course, water.  but i also found out that quinoa and buckwheat (soba) were two wonderful sources of anti-inflamatory and other healing properties for muscles. 

who knew?

off to the store i went for a bag of buckwheat.  i have had buckwheat pancakes and you know, buckwheat has that distinctive taste somwewhere between dirt and tree bark.  now, in soba noodles (which usually have some wonderful tamari mixed in), it is not so harsh, but in its grain form, well, it needs flavor accompaniment as far as i am concerned -- and i LOVE this sort of culinary challenge.  well, i got home and made the buckwheat and decided to eat it with soy vanilla yogurt stirred into it, and just a sprinkle of cinamon.  the almost-crunch  of the whoe buckwheat grain was an interesting, but not really great "feel" on my tongue with the yogurt,  but whatever, i had muscles to heal, so i  had a few bites and put the rest in a container and in the 'fridge.

now we get to the good part. 

the next day, i find that container in the 'fridge and i have no idea what it is.  i open it and see that it's my buck/yo/cin concoction and i can see that the buckwheat grains have expanded quite a bit and they actually look like they had softened.  then a sweet waft of vanilla tempered by the subtle blunt of the buckwheat hits my nose and i can't get a spoon in my hand fast enough to see what this forgotten muscle-healing potion now tastes like.  what a wonderful surprise -- the soft buckwheat and the yogurt had formed a gel that not only tasted but FELT like tapioca -- a clean, DAIRY FREE tapioca! 

and voi la -- there you have accidental tapioca.  make it for dessert!  bon apetit!

the best history teacher? just listen.

as a child, like most kids, i was often accused of not listening.  but i pretty sure it's a scientific fact that words like 'don't slam the door' and 'clean your room' are inaudible to humans under the age of 16.  so, those accusations feel on deaf ears. 

there were times that i was all ears, though, and these times brought me such joy that i just could not get enough of it.  these were the times when my grandparents would tell stories about their childhoods, or how they met, or stories of their struggle to "make it" through the Depression, WW2, etc.  i remember being awestruck by their stories, so foreign to anything in my spoiled sense of reality or any of my frames of reference.  their stories connected me not just via the family tree, but to their work ethic and their pride and their modesty.  their stories made me feel so important and so relevant. 

even as a little kid, i realized that i was proud of them for how they lived their lives, and how lucky i was to be loved by them.

my grandparents' stories are america's stories, and i retell their tales with pride to anyone who will listen :)  so, the other day, i ran across a newspaper article that reached inside of me and touched that sweet place where i keep those memories, and i want to share it with you.    

below the asterisks on this blog entry is the article. when i come across pieces like this i am reminded of how important it is that we sit down and TALK TO this generation of americans. their stories and their spirit are so humbling and inspiring at the same time. their hardships got us to our lives of creature comfort and endless opportunity. next time you find yourself bitching about your life, read this article and remind yourself how good you've got it.

********************************************************** from The Houston Chronicle April 5 2010 And now to blow out that 110th candle … Ahead of party, Harris County’s oldest ward ever reflects By PAIGE HEWITT HOUSTON CHRONICLE April 5, 2010, 6:10AM Like any bright-eyed birthday girl, Louvenia Posey welcomes the attention. She's certainly experienced in such celebration — the soft-spoken country girl who grew up picking cotton in Central Texas turns 110 today. As the oldest ward ever of Harris County's guardianship program, Posey will celebrate today with a party, attended by her caseworker, friends and staff at the Windsong Village Convalescent Center in Pearland. She's outlived virtually everyone else in her long life — siblings, cousins and three husbands, one of whom fought in World War 1. “I was born April 5, in the year 1900,” Posey said, emphasizing the year. “I'm not bragging, but I have lived a clean life.” Posey, the granddaughter of a Louisiana slave — “who cooked the best corn bread you ever saw” — was born in the Central Texas town of Fayetteville, where more than a century ago she learned how to cut, chop and pick cotton on the family farm. She also learned to cook, wash and iron as a child, and she taught herself how to sew. Her father was murdered in a rowdy card game before she was born; her mother died giving birth to twin boys when Posey was 12. She and six siblings went to live with her nearby “auntie,” and she left school after seventh grade to cook and clean for families. “We had to make a living,” Posey said Saturday. “You have to learn to do a job, and do it well, or don't do it at all.” For fun, the youngsters played checkers and rode mules. When she was 17, Posey, whose maiden name is Womley, set off for Houston looking for work. “After I got grown, I cooked for white people,” she said. “I washed and ironed and took care of their children. I loved the children, white and black. It didn't make a difference to me. I loved the children, and they loved me.” Posey lived in Acres Homes and over the years worked primarily for two families. She also earned money as a seamstress, making women's dresses and coats for $2 or $3. Posey said the world is a changed place. She recalled the years when she had to yield to white people and go to the back of lines, and eat at separate tables. Today, the world is fairer. She looked up at a photograph on her bulletin board of President Barack Obama. “I didn't think I'd ever see it,” she said. “God is working in there. They've changed it up for the better. Now we've got black teachers, lawyers, doctors and all.”

UPDATE to defining soul (see happy birthday, soul sister 2.26.10)

UPDATE!  mark morford, writer extraordinaire whose work graces The San Francisco Chronicle and sfgate.com (plus his new book...) says he recently read someone's claim that:


 "soul is to be found in the vicinity of taboo".  


well at least i am in the vicinity.  HA 

happy birthday, soul sister

ah, i met her my first day of work at at a natural foods grocery store in texas...nearly 20 years ago.  she knew all about wine.  i knew a lot about food, and wanted to know more about wine. and there you have it: the recipe to feed a friendship that has lasted half my lifetime.  we spent 16 years together in the same city, several of those as upstairs/downstairs neighbors and at the same workplace.  whether we see each other 3 times a day, or 3 times a year, each new time picks up right where the old one leaves off.  a seamless continuum of human connection -- the connection for whom you always pick up the phone,for whom you always have a shoulder for tears or an ear for laughs, for whom you are a ready rescuer from a bad date, for whom your futon and extra pillows are always available.  THAT person.  

i was able to visit THAT person's neck of the woods for a few months recently.  i had not seen her in 3 years, maybe more.  we poured wine.  we broke bread.  we relived our memories of each other, our lives, our loves, our laughs, our foibles, our sorrows.   we confessed to one another how "that little thing you did, that simple gesture back in 19_ _ or 20_ _ it saved me", each of us having no idea how the actions of our friendship sustained each other in challenging times.  

we toasted and smiled.   we were warm and wonderful. 

as i watched my friend cook (as she insisted while i sit at the table and sip my wine), our conversation veered into the most magically stimulating discussion.  i cannot recall what preceded or triggered the topic, but we found ourselves wrangling with the meaning of the word soul.   

soul.  the human soul.  

that oh so ponderable never-never-place that is touched but not with hands, that is felt but not by nerves, that is seared but not with heat, that is rocked but not by music, that is pierced but not with arrows, that is soothed but not with medicine.  

from soul, we meandered to afterlife, heaven, religion, politics, art, literature, humor, food, wine and friendship and back full circle to soul.  and, no closer to a tangible understanding, we decided, or maybe we let the wine decide, that we are not here to define soul, but rather to live it, and let it live, and that eventually, we would understand soul better, but also respect it as undefinable, not finite, not absolute.  we toasted to our wine-laden revelation and thanked our lucky souls for these things:

  happy birthday my dear friend.  i can't wait to see you in a few weeks and pick up where we left off.  

of running and religion

so, when you have found the thing that brings you peace and balance, getting addicted to it is easy. and so it goes for me and running. or perhaps some my call my gait jogging. anyway, a good 5-6 mile trek before/at dawn is my peace. it's a time for a new day's first thoughts, reflections, plans, musings, meditation, or just a sunrise solitude with whatever comes to my mind*body*soul.

running.

it's my choice of workout, too -- it's free, i don't ever have to wait for a machine, i do it on MY time, and all i really have to do is put one foot in front of the other. usually, i go to a local high school track. the surface is so easy on my middle aged knees. i can really lose myself in my steps, too, b/c there no traffic to dodge, no surprise potholes, no traffic lights, etc etc. it's nice, but can be monotonous. so sometimes, for a change, i hit the local streets, which in these parts, are quite hilly. the hills are not my favorite, but they add a periodic challenge to the aforementioned joys of running. either way, it's great to have choices of where to run.

until this winter.

unless you have been living under a rock, you've heard about some snow. 2 feet, then 3 feet then another 2 feet. usually, a DC-area snowfall is plowed and cleared within a day or two, so it's not long before you see your fellow runners out and about. but not this winter. plow crews are just not quipped with manpower nor machines to handle the recent dumpings. those addicted to that runner's high endorphin, like me, sought out gyms or treadmills i guess. i have neither option. even though i got some great upper body workouts of shoveling in, i haven't not gotten in a good long run in several weeks. it's just not safe: there are ice patches in the roads; roads still not plowed; the high school track is a huge white tundra. i have found an alternative "workout", though...i don my snow boots and go for a long long snow hike. it gets me moving, yes, but it's not running. it's just not. but i resigned myself that it will have to suffice until things thaw out.

then one day in my car travels, i noticed a HUGE church parking lot. it had been plowed clean, no ice remaining, and it was FLAT! what a great place to ruuuuuuuuuuuuun! this flat, big, dry, church parking lot can be my morning sanctuary for now. AWESOME! addicts find ways to get their fixes and i found mine.

so this morning, so thrilled, yet oh so jonesing, that is where i went. what a great feeling to find my stride, circling the quarter mile perimeter (which of course i had measured w/my car odometer)! and JUST when i was breaking sweat, just when i had transcended into my own little endorphin-secreting meditative state, i saw him.

he was about 6 feet tall, well coifed salt and pepper hair, friendly eyes. he was all dressed in black, save the collar. you know, that pastor/priest/clergy ring of white. he smiled at me, and asked me if i knew i was on private property. this was so disturbing on so many levels (mainly because it had interrupted my run) so i came to a stop but stood there, jogging in place (refusing to let go of the beautiful endorphins). a few seconds went by and i tried to come up with something, ANYTHING to keep going, when the following words came out of my mouth:

"yes sir, i do. but here i feel so much closer to god"

and with that, he gave me an authoritative but relenting ecumenical nod, and walked back into the church. as i picked up my pace and got back to the rhythm of the sweet solitude of my meditation, i looked at the cloud-wisped morning sky and thought:

our god is an awesome god.

she really is.

today i was remembering

laugher-filled and kiss-dotted scrabble games. turkey sandwiches and pinot grigo. loading my grandparents' picnic basket with cheese and fruit, putting the top down and getting LOST.

i was remembering

those balmy sunsets
the angelica
cafe japon
unhinged productions
margaret cho
roundtop
austin
kurt & courtney
and chai tea.

i was remembering you today.

i'll take light rock for a hundred, alex

i'll take light rock for a hundred, alex

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 Today at 11:54pm | Edit Note | Delete

so i was thinking about the tv game show jeopardy! and i thought up a category group of my own. it's called "light rock". in this category, i will give you contemporary or classic rock lyrics and you are to come up with the title of the song, which includes the word "light". (artists are not required, but are listed here)

here are the answers and the questions:


$100

Answer:

Mamma always told me not to look into
the eyes of the sun
But Mamma, that's where
the FUN is!

Question:

What is "Blinded By The Light" (Bruce Springsteen)

************

$200

Answer:

All the world's indeed a stage
And we are merely players
Performers and portrayers
Each anothers audience
Outside the gilded cage

Question:

What is "Limelight" (Rush)

**************

$300

Answer:

Time to hesitate is through
No time to wallow in the mire
Try now we can only lose
And our love become a funeral pyre

Question:

What is "Light My Fire" (Doors)

**************

$400

Answer:

Sun turnin' 'round with graceful motion
We're setting off with soft explosion
Bound for a star with fiery oceans

Question:

What is "2000 Light Years From Home" (Rolling Stones)

**************

$500

Answer:

It was late last night
I was feeling something wasn't right
There was not another soul in sight
Only you, only you

Question:


What is: I Saw The Light (Todd Rundgren)