Yesterday late afternoon by the lake was beautiful. The orange light illuminated the boathouse and the ice on the water.
Nothing moved. Nothing made noise.
I stopped at the two mile mark simply to enjoy the quiet.Pausing allowed me to quiet my brain and just "be." I stood still for maybe five minutes before resuming my run back along the trail, to the car, to the noise.
I need to pause more often.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Saturday, January 9, 2010
I might become a vegetarian.
I'm not entirely sure what possessed me, but I today I decided that would make chicken soup, homemade- from- scratch chicken soup.
Let me just pause here and review my culinary achievements-- I can make a consistently fabulous quiche, excellent fried potatoes with sundried tomatoes, and salad (occasionally topped with skinless, boneless grilled chicken). Aside from that, I am limited to what can be boiled, sauced, and consumed. But I figure soup is boiled, right? How hard can it be? People the world over eat chicken soup in some manifestation, don't they?
So after our walk, I googled "easy chicken soup recipe." Got hundreds of hits-- sites from the Food Network (Hello, Alton) to "Mama's best for a cold." I chose one that looked simple-- boil a chicken, pull the meat off, add the vegetables, simmer, enjoy. Hah. I could do this.
I quickly walked to the local grocery store for the chicken and celery. Amid a few minor misgivings, I picked a chicken.
This might be a good time to explain that I have a few food-related quirks. I don't like to eat foods that look like what they were before they became dinner-- whole lobsters, crabs, or meat on the bone. I think it’s the legs. During Thanksgiving, I can't watch my brother in law carve the turkey but have no problem eating the results of his labor. The exceptions to this loosely defined rule are shrimp wearing only their tails and mussels because they don't resemble real animals anyway. When I'm making dinner if I encounter anything that suggests the ingredient before me had another life, I get queasy.
Back to the story at hand, I quickly reviewed with the helpful woman behind the deli counter that I had chosen the correct fowl for the job and verified that yes, it would have to be cleaned out. (I vaguely remember learning that the gizzards and such were stuffed inside turkeys so thought this might be the same.)
Back in the kitchen I encountered the first problem. I cut the plastic and dumped the bird unceremoniously on the counter. I didn’t want to touch it. It looked like a small, dead animal (which of course, it is). Its little legs and wings were tucked against its body. Gingerly, I flipped it over. Where's the hole to pull out the guts? After staring at it for five minutes, I knew there was no way I'd stick my hand into this thing. I call Alan. After expressing his disbelief that I couldn’t find the guts (I lied. I didn't tell him that I was so repulsed that I couldn’t touch it.) he flipped it around, jammed his whole hand into it, and pulled out who-knows-what. I stifled a gag. He rinsed it, dropped it in the pot, and left for Home Depot.
The chicken was now bathing in a gently boiling bath of hot water. The recipe said to do this for about 40 minutes. So here's the second problem-- I maneuvered the bird out of the pot using a salad tong and a big spoon. The skin split along its back. I shifted it in the bowl by pulling on its leg. It separated from the body. I really don't think I can do this. It still looked like a chicken to me, not like an innocuous piece of meat. I tossed a modesty towel over it while it cooled, telling myself it's to help it cool more slowly to preserve the flavor (not sure where I came up with that one) when really covering it allowed me to avoid looking at it. In the meantime, I chopped the veggies. No problem there. Carrots don't have beating hearts. Ever.
After the recommended cool down period, I tentatively peeked under the towel. I can do this. It's just a bird. People do this all the time. It's not like I'm a chicken (no pun intended). I am adventurous. I am daring.
I touched its skin. It was gray. I attempted to peel it back with a fork. It split. I turned the casserole bowl it's in-- maybe the other side would be better, easier. It isn't. I couldn’t do this. I just couldn’t. And suddenly not only did I not want to touch it, I didn’t even want it in the kitchen. Frantically I grabbed two plastic grocery bags. (I was afraid it might break through one and then I'd have to pick it up.)
Arranging the bags over the carcass, I flipped it, bowl and all, into the bags, looked away, retrieved the bowl, and quickly tied the handles closed. Then it was out the back door into a waiting trash can.
I just threw away dinner. The guilt. The waste. Now what? Alan was expecting homemade chicken soup. I feel like a failure.
There was boneless, skinless chicken breast in the refrigerator. I cooked some of that and then substituted it for the whole one figuring he’d never know the difference. I cooked it, chopped it up (no skin, bones or legs here), and tossed it into the broth with the veggies. I am saved from culinary embarrassment.
Alan came home, looked in the pots on the stove, mentioned the great smells then asked what I did with the bones. He dipped a spoon into the pot. His expression told me it wasn’t good. I know I looked guilty. I confessed almost instantly. His reaction confused me. He seemed puzzled that I couldn’t dismember a chicken. My squeamishness surprised him.
The moment passed.
It looks like we'll be having salad for dinner tonight.
Let me just pause here and review my culinary achievements-- I can make a consistently fabulous quiche, excellent fried potatoes with sundried tomatoes, and salad (occasionally topped with skinless, boneless grilled chicken). Aside from that, I am limited to what can be boiled, sauced, and consumed. But I figure soup is boiled, right? How hard can it be? People the world over eat chicken soup in some manifestation, don't they?
So after our walk, I googled "easy chicken soup recipe." Got hundreds of hits-- sites from the Food Network (Hello, Alton) to "Mama's best for a cold." I chose one that looked simple-- boil a chicken, pull the meat off, add the vegetables, simmer, enjoy. Hah. I could do this.
I quickly walked to the local grocery store for the chicken and celery. Amid a few minor misgivings, I picked a chicken.
This might be a good time to explain that I have a few food-related quirks. I don't like to eat foods that look like what they were before they became dinner-- whole lobsters, crabs, or meat on the bone. I think it’s the legs. During Thanksgiving, I can't watch my brother in law carve the turkey but have no problem eating the results of his labor. The exceptions to this loosely defined rule are shrimp wearing only their tails and mussels because they don't resemble real animals anyway. When I'm making dinner if I encounter anything that suggests the ingredient before me had another life, I get queasy.
Back to the story at hand, I quickly reviewed with the helpful woman behind the deli counter that I had chosen the correct fowl for the job and verified that yes, it would have to be cleaned out. (I vaguely remember learning that the gizzards and such were stuffed inside turkeys so thought this might be the same.)
Back in the kitchen I encountered the first problem. I cut the plastic and dumped the bird unceremoniously on the counter. I didn’t want to touch it. It looked like a small, dead animal (which of course, it is). Its little legs and wings were tucked against its body. Gingerly, I flipped it over. Where's the hole to pull out the guts? After staring at it for five minutes, I knew there was no way I'd stick my hand into this thing. I call Alan. After expressing his disbelief that I couldn’t find the guts (I lied. I didn't tell him that I was so repulsed that I couldn’t touch it.) he flipped it around, jammed his whole hand into it, and pulled out who-knows-what. I stifled a gag. He rinsed it, dropped it in the pot, and left for Home Depot.
The chicken was now bathing in a gently boiling bath of hot water. The recipe said to do this for about 40 minutes. So here's the second problem-- I maneuvered the bird out of the pot using a salad tong and a big spoon. The skin split along its back. I shifted it in the bowl by pulling on its leg. It separated from the body. I really don't think I can do this. It still looked like a chicken to me, not like an innocuous piece of meat. I tossed a modesty towel over it while it cooled, telling myself it's to help it cool more slowly to preserve the flavor (not sure where I came up with that one) when really covering it allowed me to avoid looking at it. In the meantime, I chopped the veggies. No problem there. Carrots don't have beating hearts. Ever.
After the recommended cool down period, I tentatively peeked under the towel. I can do this. It's just a bird. People do this all the time. It's not like I'm a chicken (no pun intended). I am adventurous. I am daring.
I touched its skin. It was gray. I attempted to peel it back with a fork. It split. I turned the casserole bowl it's in-- maybe the other side would be better, easier. It isn't. I couldn’t do this. I just couldn’t. And suddenly not only did I not want to touch it, I didn’t even want it in the kitchen. Frantically I grabbed two plastic grocery bags. (I was afraid it might break through one and then I'd have to pick it up.)
Arranging the bags over the carcass, I flipped it, bowl and all, into the bags, looked away, retrieved the bowl, and quickly tied the handles closed. Then it was out the back door into a waiting trash can.
I just threw away dinner. The guilt. The waste. Now what? Alan was expecting homemade chicken soup. I feel like a failure.
There was boneless, skinless chicken breast in the refrigerator. I cooked some of that and then substituted it for the whole one figuring he’d never know the difference. I cooked it, chopped it up (no skin, bones or legs here), and tossed it into the broth with the veggies. I am saved from culinary embarrassment.
Alan came home, looked in the pots on the stove, mentioned the great smells then asked what I did with the bones. He dipped a spoon into the pot. His expression told me it wasn’t good. I know I looked guilty. I confessed almost instantly. His reaction confused me. He seemed puzzled that I couldn’t dismember a chicken. My squeamishness surprised him.
The moment passed.
It looks like we'll be having salad for dinner tonight.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Just say, "Thank you."
Actually, I'm struggling with feelings of discontent at the moment. I'm restless and anxious and looking for change.
All the more reason (I suppose) to pause and say "thank you."
I need to practice gratitude for the good things in my life. Today I am grateful for a job that challenges me and keeps me thinking. That's about the most positive spin I can put on a situation that is so frequently frustrating. If I can indeed create my own reality (as the Book says) then I will focus on the good and the fact that I am helping at least some of the students through my teaching. I am helping myself by having to think and consider and learn. Therefore, my new "reality" will reflect that work is a place of positive engagement and overcoming difficulities.
Okay, so I need another, real "blessing" to focus on. I am grateful for clear weather that lets me get back outside. :)
All the more reason (I suppose) to pause and say "thank you."
I need to practice gratitude for the good things in my life. Today I am grateful for a job that challenges me and keeps me thinking. That's about the most positive spin I can put on a situation that is so frequently frustrating. If I can indeed create my own reality (as the Book says) then I will focus on the good and the fact that I am helping at least some of the students through my teaching. I am helping myself by having to think and consider and learn. Therefore, my new "reality" will reflect that work is a place of positive engagement and overcoming difficulities.
Okay, so I need another, real "blessing" to focus on. I am grateful for clear weather that lets me get back outside. :)
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Looking back; moving forward.
I realize that making resolutions is often an exercise in futility. Usually within a week I've forgotten my original plan or it's so general (ie. be a better person) that it is essentially meaningless.
This year I'm going to try something different. I have a 3-parter. The first deals with the ongoing desire to simplify and my need to become more financially responsible.
I'm not entirely sure how it happened (or when) but I have become a shopper. Used to be that I'd buy new clothes when the old ones were worn out/ didn't fit or for a special occasion. Somehow that morphed into, "Oh, that's cute. It fits me well. I like it. I work hard. It should be mine" thinking. As a result (by my standards, not in comparison to many other people), I have a lot of clothes. I spend too much time worrying/ thinking/ considering buying clothes. So that's new year's resolution #1-- a moratorium on shopping for clothes--including shoes-- for 2010. I tried to do this earlier this year and was doing well until running provided all sorts of excuses for needing clothes. Once the initial permission was granted, I just kind of kept going.
There will, of course, have to be a few exceptions. "Foundation garments" (hah-- that's such a funny term) may need to be replaced. One other addendum is if I knit it, I can wear it. I have a sweater on the needles and another that I'm planning to make. I think it's reasonable that if it constitutes a creative endeavor, it should be allowed. (Not to mention the fact that I'm such a slow knitter it will likely take all year to produce one wearable item!)
The only other exception would be a "special event" purchase-- new running shoes would fall under that category but not any more shorts/ shirts/ etc. I suppose they could be considered a "foundation" garment in some circles since they are essential.
I'll have to keep updates on how this one is progressing. It doesn't seem like it should be an unreasonable goal, but I'm embarrassed to say it will be difficult.
The next goal is to have more communication with friends. So, I'm aiming for a once weekly "live" connection to a non-work-related friend. Doesn't seem like much, but I've been really reclusive lately.
Finally, I want to spend this year reconnecting with my thinking self. I want less "fluff" and more substance in my reading so it's off the computer and into the books.
This is enough for now. If I can do these three things, I will be on my way to fulfilling that nebulous catch-all resolution of becoming a better person.
This year I'm going to try something different. I have a 3-parter. The first deals with the ongoing desire to simplify and my need to become more financially responsible.
I'm not entirely sure how it happened (or when) but I have become a shopper. Used to be that I'd buy new clothes when the old ones were worn out/ didn't fit or for a special occasion. Somehow that morphed into, "Oh, that's cute. It fits me well. I like it. I work hard. It should be mine" thinking. As a result (by my standards, not in comparison to many other people), I have a lot of clothes. I spend too much time worrying/ thinking/ considering buying clothes. So that's new year's resolution #1-- a moratorium on shopping for clothes--including shoes-- for 2010. I tried to do this earlier this year and was doing well until running provided all sorts of excuses for needing clothes. Once the initial permission was granted, I just kind of kept going.
There will, of course, have to be a few exceptions. "Foundation garments" (hah-- that's such a funny term) may need to be replaced. One other addendum is if I knit it, I can wear it. I have a sweater on the needles and another that I'm planning to make. I think it's reasonable that if it constitutes a creative endeavor, it should be allowed. (Not to mention the fact that I'm such a slow knitter it will likely take all year to produce one wearable item!)
The only other exception would be a "special event" purchase-- new running shoes would fall under that category but not any more shorts/ shirts/ etc. I suppose they could be considered a "foundation" garment in some circles since they are essential.
I'll have to keep updates on how this one is progressing. It doesn't seem like it should be an unreasonable goal, but I'm embarrassed to say it will be difficult.
The next goal is to have more communication with friends. So, I'm aiming for a once weekly "live" connection to a non-work-related friend. Doesn't seem like much, but I've been really reclusive lately.
Finally, I want to spend this year reconnecting with my thinking self. I want less "fluff" and more substance in my reading so it's off the computer and into the books.
This is enough for now. If I can do these three things, I will be on my way to fulfilling that nebulous catch-all resolution of becoming a better person.
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