Mac 'n' Cheese Days

It's gloomy around here today.  I won't complain though because it's probably warmer here than where you are. 58 degrees.

I want to be at home sitting on my couch, eating macaroni and cheese, and watching Days of our Lives. 

Preferably in pajamas and with a few blankets.

Do you ever have those days?

I have been watching Days since I was about five.

I should clarify.  I only watch it if I have a weekday off or am at home sick.  I don't like, follow the plot.

I used to.  Back in the days of summer vacation.

Now I just check in to see what kind of shenanigans Sami Brady is up to.  She's a trouble-maker that one.

What  do you like to watch on your mac 'n' cheese days?

This guy really likes his macaroni. 

Macaroni and Cheese Cheesecake:

December 17

Free association.  Today's blog-a-thon prompt is to share what the following words inspire in you.

River.  Canoeing down the St. Croix, falling into the Flambeau, tubing down the Apple and Cannon, fishing in the Yellowstone, Mississippi headwaters.  The smell of water.

Fresh.  A fresh and crunchy salad with fresh-baked bread.

Escape.  A Bobaloo and Jill misadventure.  Where to go?  Boston, New Orleans, Chicago, the Pacific Northwest, Yellowstone?

Moment.  Breathe in, breathe out.

Night.  Laying on a picnic table at the KOA listening to Kevin Kling and watching for meteors, the counting of satellites. 

Today, this picture inspires me.

December 12

Join the Fun!

Ten Things I Know For Sure.

Tomorrow is another day, things always look better after some sleep.

My mom can beat me every time at a game of Foosball.

Actions speak louder than words especially when it comes to that love stuff.

A good life is knowing people who can make you laugh even on your worst day.

Music can save your mortal soul (says Don McLean, anyways).

Don't give others the power to dictate your mood or happiness.

The mountains are to the West.

Clubs are awesome.  Just as my Mix-Tape Monday club fizzled out, Books 'n' Booze began.

It's not a big deal unless you make it one.

Kiss the cook.

A couple of years ago I went to a 3-piece class on Judaism at a local Reform temple.  I loved it.  So much so, that I began taking conversion classes for a couple of years.

I haven’t converted.  I still think about it though.

A rabbi once said to me,

“God doesn’t make trash.  So you shouldn’t treat yourself that way.”

Pretty thought, isn’t it?

July 16

I have never eaten a Twinkie.

What is one thing that you have never done that you think most people have?

 

July Challenge

July 9

I was hanging out at Coffee Lady's blog and found out about a July challenge going on (details here) and have decided to give it a whirl.  Shake things up a little around here.  There probably won't be posts everyday because if it's anything like the last challenge, I sort of peter out at the end.

So here we go.  Today's topic is...

What is your food philosophy?

I have a much more complicated relationship with food than I care to admit.  But like everything else, I am working on it.  As far as a philosophy goes?

In a nutshell,

smother it in cheese and slather on some ketchup.

 

July Challenge

Midweek Shuffle

I was over at Coffee Lady's blog this morning and her post got me thinking about the days of the week.

I have worked a lot of customer service jobs.  A lot.

My first full-time job was being a cashier in an office lunchroom (lunch lady!).  I got to see my friend Adam everyday because he was a security guard at the front desk.  After a while we noticed all of the workers would have the same responses to the dreaded yet expected question, "how are you?"

Here are the responses:

Monday  "Ugh.  It's Monday." or "Pretty good for a Monday, I guess."

Tuesday  ...

Wednesday  "It's hump day!" or "We're halfway through the week!"

Thursday  "Well, tomorrow's Friday!"

Friday  "It's Friday!  The weekend's almost here!"

Day after day.  Week after week.  Person after person.

The only day nothing was said was Tuesday.  So when we'd see each other on Tuesday mornings we'd look at each other and say "It's Tuesday" and crack up.

Adam, his wife, and I would go to Denny's every Tuesday as a celebration of sorts.

Now I am hungry for a Moons Over My Hammy.

Tommy K on Everything

I was once tasked with having to draw a picture for my dad in the first grade for father’s day.  We were supposed to draw something that we had in common or an activity we enjoyed doing with our dad.  My drawing was two stick figures sitting at a stick kitchen table that had on top of it, a giant bottle of ketchup.  We both really liked ketchup.  For a long time, that was the art he kept in his office.

Not ever really being a “joiner,” I did the bare minimum of extracurricular activities in high school to get into college.  I participated in the literary magazine contributing a profound and moving ode to ketchup.  I read it recently and it is only matched in ridiculousness by absolute and affected teenage suffering.  I showed it to my parents and they asked if I was on drugs.

A girlfriend of mine used to joke that I didn’t like food.  I only used the food as a vehicle for ketchup.  It would look gross if I sat down with a bowl of ketchup and a spoon.

My husband loves to cook and is terrific at it.  Frustration would overpower the accomplishment he felt whenever I slathered oodles of ketchup on whatever he had just cooked up.  He doesn’t take it personally anymore.  I love ketchup.

Ketchup on eggs, ketchup on macaroni, ketchup on everything.

A while ago I bought a beautiful piece of art to add to the dining room that fully expresses my thoughts:

 

I am learning to work harder and smarter at mental health.  Four years after diagnosis, I think I am finally getting it figured out.  It can be arduous having to self monitor all the time.  Truthfully, when I have my setbacks it is because I get so tired of having to constantly scrutinize moods and what is normal (or habitual) for me. 

It is a lot of work to compare what my moods and actions are to those around me in a particular setting.  It hurts when everyone is in slow motion and I am turning like a pinwheel.  It’s devastating when I am sad and everyone else’s life goes on.  Comparing is necessary to keep me in check, but comparing is a reminder that I am not like them.

My husband and I made the choice a couple of years ago to be open and honest about my mental illness.  Keeping a secret on top of everything just seemed like too much.  Bipolar II and General Anxiety Disorder.  Sometimes getting that reality out of my mouth is easier than others.  It depends where I am at (mentally), where I am at (physically), and who I am speaking with.

People have been overwhelmingly nice and speak about their experiences with loved ones who struggle with mental illness.  They make me okay with things; it’s been an amazing experience.  I don’t know why this was so surprising to me.

Some people don’t understand.   I have lost friends and have been disappointed by relationships I thought were more genuine than they turned out to be.  Sometimes people look at struggle as a character flaw.  I don’t know if I want people in my life who don’t struggle.

The good ones know the certainty of my heart and the strength of my character. 

You learn who your friends are.  You learn who sticks it out.  They understand if you drop out of the world for months at a time and they forgive times when you are agitated and times when you just aren’t quite yourself.

It is a strange thing to have your mind turn against your body, to have your body rebel against its own nature.  And it is difficult to explain to people.  You feel foreign, like you don’t fit anywhere.  The world gets a bit lonely.

I have recently begun to notice the more honestly I chat with people, the more connected I feel to the kindness in the world.  Chance encounters now have more depth.

It’s brave to have heart.

To have had the possibility to understand myself better through others is a gift I am very thankful for.

Don't Let Me Down

When I was a teenager I used to form an opinion of how I felt about a person by what their favorite band was or which musician was their favorite. That was really shallow. I just thought it would sum up enough about the person for me to proceed however with the acquaintanceship, friendship, relationship, or whatever. I don’t know if that makes sense. Kind of snobby I suppose.

Some of my best friends listen to really crappy music. I still love them.

The night I met Bobaloo we had an exchange about Neil Young. If you like or love or appreciate Neil Young I will be devoted to you forever. If you don’t, that’s okay. Bobaloo and I had our conversation about the song Sugar Mountain almost nine years ago.

There’s a fun game I like to play (usually at happy hour). I love happy hour. It’s just so darn happy.

Sometime in my late teenage years I heard or read something (let me know if you know if you’ve heard this too.) about your favorite Beatles song and your personality. Basically, you can tell a lot about a person’s qualities by what their favorite Beatles song is.

Someone who loves Nowhere Man is going to have a totally different spirit than someone whose favorite is Blackbird or Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds or Help! or Strawberry Fields Forever and so on and so on. Well, hopefully you get the idea.

Now I know this isn’t an exact science to getting to know someone. It is fun though and even people who aren’t super into music have a favorite Beatles song (it’s usually Let it Be). The more booze, the better the analysis.

I have been playing this game for a decade now. My favorites get swapped as I get older and my life changes. When I was really little I loved Hey Jude, fifteen years ago my favorite was In My Life, ten years ago I would have said Blackbird, eight years ago Revolution 9. For a long time, I stuck with Here Comes the Sun.

The songs changed when my life changed. The songs changed my life and my life changed the songs. What?

These days, Don’t Let Me Down is the one.

Some people find the song to be kind of sorrowful; I find it sweet and sentimental which is how I am feeling these days I guess.

Go ahead, find your favorite. What does it say about you?

Thin-Skinned

I like to be above the notion that women are mean and catty to one another over things insincere. When I am out and about, I try to treat people the way I would like to be treated. Some days and in some circumstances this is easier said than done.

When a woman looks awesome, I tell her how awesome she looks. There is no way and no need to try to measure how my this-and-that compares with her this-and-that.

It happens all the time.

For a number of years I was very sad, insecure, and extremely thin. When out, it was amazing how insensitive people could be to someone they did not know, about an issue that was none of their business. Their words damaged what little confidence I had.

Time has passed. I am physically healthy. I wish I could say past issues are gone for good, but every once in a while they creep back into my awareness of not being good enough and not measuring up.

Words hurt. Yesterday a woman told me that I was gorgeous, BUT, I should really drink more water for a better complexion, do stomach exercises, and suck in my tummy. She went on about my flaws for a fair amount of time. I said nothing. I drew in each mean word and said nothing.

She was a stranger that I had only met an hour before.

She crushed me.

I am ashamed I sat there and spoke with her any longer after her words; I am angry I didn’t tell her to shove it. I am irritated that at twenty-eight this shit still bothers me.

I am embarrassed that I went home and cried.

And now I am blogging about it, because I cannot let it go.

One person’s words wrecked me yesterday.

My skin has gradually gotten a lot thicker in the last few years. I can deal with the vicissitudes of life a lot better now.

I have always been easily hurt by mean words, a little vulnerable. Maybe that is something that shouldn’t change.

I am not sure I want to become unfeeling or desensitized to meanness. That would imply that it is okay to be unkind. And it’s not.

I used to have a treasure chest Got so heavy that I had to rest I let it slip away from me Didn't need it anyway So I let it slip away. -Neil Young, Silver and Gold

As God is my witness, I thought turkeys could fly.

Happy Thanksgiving all!

There are many things I am pretty darn thankful for this year. At the top of the list, I am thankful that my older brother made it home safe and sound to his wife and kids from Afghanistan earlier this week. It is also his birthday today and it makes me so happy that he came home just in time for his birthday and the holidays.

Bobaloo and I are still trying to create traditions for ourselves out here because it is just the two of us for the holidays. For a few years running now we have gone to a wonderful buffet on Thanksgiving at the Table Mountain Inn. We are going back again today, solidifying its place in our traditions. No cooking, no cleaning, no leftovers. That's my kind of Thanksgiving.

One of Bobaloo's favorite TV shows is WKRP in Cincinnati. I never watched it until a couple of years ago. Here's a clip of a WKRP Thanksgiving episode. Funniest thing ever. It's a little long, the best parts are at 2:oo and 5:30.

WKRP Turkey Drop - Watch more Videos at Vodpod.

I hope everyone's tables are bountiful with food, love, and laughter this year.

She

I have written a couple posts here about my pops, it occurred to me the other day I never told you about my mom.

She’s the kind of lady who will fly her daughter home for Christmas because of homesickness and faraway sickness.

She is the quiet strong.

The backbone of the family.

She will dance with you in the kitchen when your five.

She’ll sing along to wee sing silly songs on your way to daycare. She has a sweet quiet singing voice.

She comforts you when life deals it's cards.

She laughs loud and often.

She fed, dressed, did homework, and played with us kids while working full time.

She is the kind of mom who let her kids spend a couple hours at Toys’R’US and pick out one toy at the end of the trip.

She’s patient, never loosing her cool.

Her hugs are warm.

She can throw-down in foosball.

She has raised three teenagers with humor.

She is a great daughter, a fantastic grandmother.

She can cook anything, always prepared to entertain a houseful.

She has taught me independence and patience.

Some women worry about turning into their mothers as they get older. If I turn out to be half the woman my mom is I will be happy.

I wish my doorstep was closer to hers.

Gobble Gobble

Has everyone recovered from Thanksgiving? Good.

I have been living 928 miles from my family for the last four years now. It is hard to be away from the pandemonium that is the holidays with them. Amidst a little homesickness, Bobaloo and I have been starting our own traditions. I am usually not a huge fan of the holidays, but now that I get to do them my own way I look forward to them more and more.

When we first moved out to Colorado we would do traditional Thanksgiving feasts. This year we had our second annual buffet at the Table Mountain Inn. No cooking, no dishes, no drama. I ate my weight in vegetables, Bobaloo ate his fair share of turkey and we were happy and full. I napped, he watched football. All in all, Thanksgiving was a success!

Orange Push-up Dreams

I was born during a blizzard in April. My grandfather gave me an American flag and told my parents that I had nice ears. I was olive-colored with black hair. My mother couldn’t believe that I was hers.

I remember living in the old house. I remember bathing in the sink and how tall my older brother was. I remember the green front steps with a wrought iron rail. I remember the hail storm and crying when my dad went out to take a picture. I remember the cartoons on the television set.

When we moved, my brother and I ran up and down and back and forth on the ramp of the moving truck. It was August and hot. The new blue house. The neighbors came over and one of the girls was pretending to be a monkey. She would turn out to be my best friend. We would sit in lawn chairs under the sprinkler and hold up umbrellas and eat orange push-ups.

Early memories are a blur, but they are there. I try to recall my first memories when I have trouble sleeping. Sometimes I dream about those days.

Fall Stuff

October is hands-down my favorite month of the year. Lately, my days have been full.

Filled with three carved pumpkins, three more waiting for faces. iTunes playlists to blast at home and cds to groove to while on the road. My days have been filled with medicine or supplements, rather. Good food like hot-dish, soup, and frozen pizza. Dinosaurs. T-Rex and the like. Slot machines and dirty money. Warm blankets and snow. Cold beer. Hot Honey bush tea. Mountains. Mountain tunnels. Anxiety. Love. Phone calls home. New friends. Lou Reed. Birthday cards I have forgotten to send out. Failed yoga. Flo’s diner dash. My days have been filled with visits to Hobby Lobby. Therapy. Funky, colorful dreams I could take a bite out of. Long hair. Halloween costumes. Novels. A bicycle in the living room. A new couch and an old coffee table. Berlin. The broken Taurus that has gotten me so far. Good sleep. Fall-scented candles. Slice and bake cookies.

I cannot wait to see what November brings!

Old Souls and Free Spirits

It takes me 45 minutes to get to and from work these days. I don’t mind most of the time because I like to sing with the car radio and the views are pretty. It’s nice to have that time to myself to think about everything or nothing, however the canyon road moves me.

When I was growing up my dad cleaned on Sunday mornings. To make the task go by faster he would play his far out records. Records my mom came to refer to as his “boing-boing” music because of the wild melodies and the raucous resonance. The record player console was in the dining room where the sun caught the glass from the patio.

Once in a while, the old man would bestow upon me the great responsibility of choosing the cleaning music. Picking out a record is the first recollection music I have. When it was my turn to choosethe music, without fail, I would carefully slide the enthralling LP out of a box. I always found the record with children like me on the cover and was delighted. It was the first piece of art I thought was truly beautiful, even then. I was haunted by the sea-children climbing on rocks for many years. Much later, I realized the album was Led Zeppelin’s Houses of the Holy.

My job was to dust with Windex, and I carefully sprayed every surface more than liberally and loved the smell always taking great care to get every spot on the coffee table. It was a special treat when my mother would have me dust all of her fragile pieces in the china cabinet. The sun would gleam on the clean glass and it made me happy. My dad loved the album. As he cleaned, he probably thought about everything or nothing, however the record moved him.

About three years later, I tagged along with my dad to the car wash to help him wash the Ford Econoline before we headed East for Christmas vacation. I was probably eight when we took this small voyage. I was always his little tag-along kid on these small errands. “Crimson and Clover” by Tommy James and Shondells started to play on the oldies station. We sang along and after the song was over, my dad told me about how innovative that song was in it’s time. I didn’t really know what he was talking about, but I felt important because he always spoke to me like I was a grown-up.

As we drove home from the car wash, we listened to more oldies and were happy. I was eight and my young mind was thinking about everything of nothing. When Christmas season comes around, I always throw “Crimson and Clover” into the music mix with all of the Christmas carols.

I grew fast, as kids do. I lived with my parents when I was nineteen and unfortunately, did not have many friends with the same music taste. When the Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young tour came to St. Paul, Minnesota, I had no friends volunteering to check out the show with me. My dad bought us tickets and it was the first time the two of us went to a concert together.

The show was stunning. I was so happy. That night we spoke about everything and nothing, however Neil Young moved us. I still have the ticket stub in a box of mementos.

My dad and I have always had music in common. There were teenage years when it was hard to relate to one another and it seemed the space between what we thought and knew was a million miles. More years have passed and now I am in my twenties, and he is in his fifties. The miles are now space and distance between our doorsteps. He came to visit this last week and it is not too hard to catch up these days. All we need to do is throw a CD into the boom box and visit at the house, put a quarter into the jukebox while sitting on a barstool, or listen to the radio on a car trip and the time and distance doesn’t seem to matter anymore. We still talk about everything and nothing and in these conversations we are happy.

Egg Salad

My "weekend" now falls on Tuesday and Wednesday so there's not always a whole lot going on. I have turned to Netflix and have been enjoying a bunch of Audrey Tatau movies. Somehow I don't feel like I am being lazy if I am watching a movie in a different language.

Also, I have been watching the first season of "Man v. Food." I want this dude's job. Today, while wolfing down a Jimmy John's sub I got to thinking...

If you entered a food-eating contest where you won by out-eating a competitor in an hour, what kind of food would you make you a champion?

I'd probably go with egg salad. Not necessarily because I like it, I just think I could eat a ton of it without getting sick.

Weird. Somehow writing this post has led me to Wiki Brain Salad Surgery. Interesting stuff.

Happy Day, Earth

I am generally a fan of holidays where it is expected of me to have cocktails. Christmas? Celebrate the birth with some egg nog. Easter? Celebrate the rising with some wine. Fourth of July? Have a few cold ones and watch the fireworks. St. Patrick’s Day? Self-explanatory. Earth Day? Why not?

It is great that we have a day dedicated to pondering where we need to make changes for a better world. This past year has found me eating more locally, using reusable shopping bags, and cutting back on consumption with limited trips to Target.

Where I could use more green in my life in my intake of beverages. Wine, beer, rum, and Coca-Cola all come in glass or aluminum and make for much to be recycled in our household. When we lived in Boulder, on occasion we would get mead from Redstone Meadery and drink like Vikings. They sell their mead in reusable and fashionable blue bottles. When you returned with your bottle they would refill it at a discount price. What an idea! I love it!

I think I am going to look for some other useful ideas when it comes to cans and bottles. I am already planning a Heineken Christmas tree this year out of bottles. Also, the internet is amazing. Look what else you can make. I think I am going to try the beer chandelier and the radio for the lounge.

Here is an interesting article on the topic of beer bottle vs. can. Which is better for the environment?

Can you think of more eco-friendly ways of getting your drink on?

Looking for Answers

I am full of questions. I cannot help it; there is just so much strange information out in the world pleading for me to get my informative hands on it. My inquiries know no confines.

I tackle global issues. How far would we have to go in the ocean to reach international waters? I ponder diversity. Why are there never white people working at sushi restaurants? I delve into holy contemplation. Why do we celebrate Easter, again, and where do the eggs come in? Even cuisine is not safe from my inquest. Who came up with the idea of frozen yogurt? Did they have a beef with ice cream or something? Why has no one invented beer flavored frozen yogurt? I’d eat that.

More often than not, my husband shoulders the brunt of my queries in the car on the way to somewhere. After attempting an answer the following conversation usually takes place:

Him: I guess I don’t know, wait, how am I supposed to know?

Me: I don’t know. You know lots of stuff. I thought maybe you’d have read it somewhere.

Him: Where would I have read about the creation of frozen yogurt?

Me: I don’t know. I was just wondering. Maybe you’ll read about it somewhere in the future and remember that I was wondering.

At this point he usually just shakes his head and we move on.

The strange part is that I don’t necessarily need an answer and it is not likely that I will not wiki it when we get home. In my opinion though, they are valid questions to throw out there. Someday I am going to win a big screen TV in a bar trivia competition or something. We’ll see who’s laughing then.

The stranger part is I have a picture in my head of my husband reading in a waiting room and learning the answers to all of my questions in some magazine. I wonder what magazine it is.