Avoiding the Rut

The challenge I'm doing my best to face head-on is not allowing myself to get caught in a rut.

Today, I realized that it's very easy for me to get trapped in a loop of checking my email, Facebook, the Washington Post, and Huffington Post in a weird ad nauseam way.  Since I unsubscribed from a ton of retailer emails and deleted the bookmark links to them from my browser, I still have to get used to the absence of the crap from my life.  Weird.

My phone will notify me of anything important, whether emails or NPR news flashes.  Yet there I was, in some listless vicious cycle.

I went to the gym and grocery store this morning.  The gym was difficult due to a large Silver Sneakers contingent everywhere and stupid people blocking access to things.  The grocery store was mostly in case the weather goes to hell tomorrow.  I did job applications.  I had coffee.  I enjoyed a little bit of sunshine through the windows this afternoon.

But this day really felt like a loser in a lot of ways.

Oh well.  Only one thing to do and that's make tomorrow more fulfilling by hook or by crook.

As You Would Have Done Unto You

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land;

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles.  From her beacon-hand

Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command

The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she

With silent lips.  "Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, the tempest-tossed, to me:

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

Emma Lazarus, 1883

This poem, written to raise funds to build the pedestal beneath the Statue of Liberty has eight lines that are little known and five and a half that are iconic, enshrined as part of the immigrant narrative in the early 20th century.  

Not that those immigrants were all welcomed with open arms.  Equally as well-known are the signs hung in storefront windows saying that bore the following message:

America's history of racism and xenophobia isn't something we're taught in grade school.  The genocidal acts committed against Native Americans are covered over by brown paper bag teepees and talk of the first Thanksgiving.  Also ignored is the isolationist policy that let World War I rage for three years as we ignored it.  Add onto that the refusal to admit Jewish refugees as World War II was boiling to eruption two decades later.

The pattern is very evident.  It takes different forms.  Once, it was Catholics that were undesirable.  Now it's Muslims.  Once, there was a quota on how many Asians were allowed admission.  Now it's a total ban on people from majority-Islamic countries that the current President just co-incidentally doesn't have business ties to.

The Book of Luke, chapter six, verse thirty-one reminds us to "Do unto others as you would have done unto you."

But Mister Trump doesn't consider anyone above him.  People don't do unto Trump.  He does unto them.

I've spent a lot of time in the past twenty-four hours wondering who would stand up to his hatred.  It turns out that it was a federal judge, Ann Donnelly, who was able to place a temporary injunction against this blanket ban.  One woman was able to re-open the borders and reunite families.  One woman, walking the walk and talking the talk.  As she would have done unto her, she has done for others.

This is faith in action.  Perhaps not religious faith, but faith in the United States, its Constitution laws, and the moral imperative it seeks to uphold.  It seems to me that Judge Donnelly understands the simple lessons taught by the Beatitudes.  Obviously, they are ones lost on the man inhabiting the highest office in the land.

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are they who mourn, for they shall be comforted.
Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful, for they shall be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven.

We can only hope that these divine lessons carry some weight today.  It's obvious that there are good and righteous people judging by the photos of lawyers setting up shop in airports around the country to fight - pro bono, mind you - for the detained immigrants.  The tens of thousands who appeared at LAX, Kennedy, Dulles, O'Hare, Logan, and other major airports are living their truth.

Whether or not they're religious, they are undertaking the work of faith.  They are the beacon of welcome.  They are the home for these exiles.

They are America and what it should stand for in 2017.

Do One Thing With Love

Today has been a fairly lazy day.  I woke to make fresh blueberry scones, which was a nice touch for the morning, but which is further indulging my sense of self back in the kitchen.  The work of human hands and all that bit.

But the day has taken a terribly sad turn with the news coming from the nation's airports.  Muslim people - even those with legal green cards - are being banned from entering the country.  They're being detained and expelled.

If this was a movie, John Wayne would come riding over the hill and slay the evil bastard making these decrees, but it's 2017, Wayne's dead, and Elvis isn't cutting any more records.  We're pretty stuck.  Rock, meet hard place.

Just as one is about to lose heart, though, newer updates arrive showing mass protests at JFK Airport.
The people - the majority of Americans who did not vote for this evil man - will not stand for this.  They are rising and marching.  And we will continue to do so as it becomes ever more evident that our only choice is to resist and overcome.

More women and people of color are going to run for office.
More people are going to vote.
And the Republicans will lose.

We must choose love.  Unity in a divided nation is pretty far-fetched at this point.  The line of "Us" verus "Them" grows clearer every day.  And it won't be going away.

Choose to do one thing with love.  For yourself or a loved-one.  For a stranger.  Just act with love, kindness, and affirm the dignity of someone in danger of being trampled by this sadistic regime that has taken over Washington, D.C.

Choose love.

Love will trump Hate and make Trump hate us.

Love will win.

Returning to the Kitchen

When I began working with W-S in June, I was forced to make compromises with my own life and passions.  The biggest of them?  The time I got to spend in my kitchen.

There's something tragicoming here... working for yet another company that sold batterie de cuisine and not getting to enjoy the rather exceptional collection I'd already amassed.  In the summer, of course, one is not usually as dedicated to intensive cooking, but sometime around August I generally am hit with a deep longing for fall cooking.  Even though the weather doesn't reflect it, I yearn for soups and roasts worthy of a cool Autumn Sunday party to watch football on TV.

Only, work had other plans for me.  As early November arrived, my boss announced his resignation, which left me, the erstwhile No. 2 in command, as something of a temporary No. 1.  What lay ahead - 55 hour weeks, intense exhaustion, anxiety, depression, and a month-and-a-half long countdown until it was all over - kept me even more out of the kitchen that I'd been previously.  Matt picked up much of the slack, making sure that we were fed, but allowing me to do what I could when I could.

I never understood how troubling this forced absence would be until I was in the midst of it.  During my time with SLT, I was allowed the time to cook, to enjoy my weekly farmer's market, to source my ingredients, and enjoy my craft.  During 2016, I believe I was able to go to the farmer's market twice.  To my knowledge, I never bought a single fresh strawberry in 2016.

As I just stood in my kitchen making pizza dough, it occurred to me that I can't possibly think of the last time I made bread.  That heady scent of flour as it commingles with yeast, salt, sugar, water, and olive oil (for this recipe, at least) is something secure and unmistakably pleasant to me.

This weekend, I plan to make chicken noodle soup, another long-absent friend.  I hope this period between jobs doesn't last too terribly long, but I'm damned determined to make the most of it while I've got the time so to do.

I remember reading Ruth Reichl's last book, My Kitchen Year: 136 Recipes That Saved My Life, a tome written as a reflection on the year after the demise of Gourmet magazine, of which Reichl was the editor.  It inevitably connected with me, both due to our shared love of the kitchen and Ms. Reichl's sumptuous, yet straightforward prose.

In mourning her career and the magazine she was so dedicated to shepherding, she found solace in the kitchen, surrounded by her lifetime's passion and work.  Reichl reconnected with the foods she loved and, in them, found meaning.

Having had the chance to speak with Reichl after her 2015 lecture at the Carnegie Music Hall in Oakland, I asked her who the next Ruth Reichl was going to be, m
eaning what was the next chapter for this woman whose life had so long been dedicated to food writing.  She replied that she didn't know, but was pretty happy with the Ruth she was right then.

I don't know what my next act will be, but I'm going to spend this brief intermission finding joy in the things I love, revisiting some fond favorites, and trying out some new recipes along the way.

Getting the Routine

I've stuck to my guns so far and not bought anything besides foodstuffs.

Really, it's been easier than I would have thought, though it's interesting to me how Pavlovian my reactions are.  I still click to my "Other Bookmarks" link, which is where I used to keep a lot of my retail links.  They've been gone for almost a week now and yet I still automatically track to their location.  Yet another habit to break.

The other big chunk, which after working for years in retail isn't so hard, is staying away from shopping centers.  The three and a half years I spent with Sur La Table were made more tolerable by the copious natural light that came into the space from the enormous walls of windows.  Williams-Sonoma, which was on the ground level of its mall, was a dark pit by comparison.  You had to step outside the front door and crane your neck upwards to even see light from the skylights far above.  Not exactly ideal.

Speaking of Sonoma, one of my former co-workers was messaging me this morning that it's in chaos.  The new general manager is apparently in way over her head and, well, that's not my problem.  I think a big part of the issue is that she'd been a District Manager for ages and ages with her former employer, Abercrombie & Fitch.  She doesn't know the product, doesn't know the area (she moved here from Oakland, CA), and doesn't have me (who knew everything and had been running the business since early November).  And what she does have is the overbearing D.M. who was a huge reason I wanted to depart the company.

But enough of that.  Back to happier pastures.

I treated Matt and myself to ice cream last night at Millie's on Highland and went to get a little sweet this morning at Oakmont, but I consider those to be sanity-stabilizing indulgences.  A little taste of life, I guess.

Matt went yesterday after work while I was up visitng my mom to renew our membership with the Kingsley Association so that we can get back to the gym.  I went today, doing about half of the Cybex circuit, twenty-five minutes on the elliptical, and rowing a quick 500 meters on the rowing machine.

I've gotten one job application sent in today and my goal is to get another one - one for a job that sounds absolutely incredible and a great fit.  I've been struggling with the content they want because I want it to be perfect.  Silly, I know.  The object is to get the damned thing done and out of my hands.

Back to business.  And back to a life I recognize.

The Ritual of Tea

I think yesterday's wicked headache may have had - in part - something to do with not having any caffeine intake.  More often, I'll end up with one due to dehydration, but I know I was drinking water yesterday, so all bets are off.

I'm beginning this day with tea and baking before going to visit my mother.

To me, coffee and cigarettes have a lot in common.  As do tea and cigars.  While coffee is so often that quick jolt, a needed drug to begin or muddle through the day, tea is slower.  It takes time.  At least in our house, where we're lucky enough to own a superautomatic coffee maker, tea-making takes a glacial age at four minutes.

Similarly, a cigarette is meant to be quick.  That addicted calm of nicotine.  A cigar, conversely, is a lengthy, slow process of flavor, watching the smoke curl upwards into the sky.

My work life for four years has been so surrounded by coffee that any time I can take to reconnect with tea feels special.  I'll often seek out both when I'm away on holiday, but I more often bring tea home to experience over again.

Like most everyone, I grew up on Lipton Black Pekoe tea bags for both hot or iced teas.  Growing up in Western Pennsylvania in the 1980s, it wasn't like I had a lot of options.  But between travel and local resources here in Pittsburgh, I've found some wonderful tea varietals.

Part of what I want out of this period between jobs is to find the slowness and ritual in life that I can look to when I'm busy again as an anchor, a point of calm.

Baking and cooking are always those moorings.  But tea, I think, makes a beautiful way to start off a day.

Day the Third

I went out in public today and spent money.  On groceries, so we're okay there.

But otherwise I didn't accomplish a damned thing.  That's to my detriment, I'm sure, but I didn't have the energy and then ended up with a ripping headache that put me in bed late afternoon.

I need to get a schedule put to my days.  Some format by which I can make things happen: read, apply for jobs, cook, relax, and hopefully get to the gym.  I think that's how one both survives and thrives in these interrim periods between jobs.

Tomorrow is a visit with my mom.  But then Thursday and Friday have to be back on task.  I want to walk into the weekend with a positive look back on these days that, yes, I could have done better, but that I did well for a start.

I admit defeat today.  It was my fault.  And I'm going to make the rest of the week better.

Retail "Therapy"

The Oxford Dictionary defines the word “Therapy” as meaning: Treatment intended to heal or relieve a disorder.

Chemotherapy attempts to kill cancer.

Physical therapy helps people after surgery or an accident.

Speech therapy aids those with speaking issues.  

Retail therapy serves to empty our wallets and fill our lives with crap.  

By spending money, what salve is being applied to what unspeakable ailment?  A sacred Balm of Gilead to heal what wounds?  

So where did the concept of Retail Therapy come from and who convinced us of its necessity?

According to Wikipedia (Yes, a professor of English citing Wikipedia in a piece... ye gods!), the term "Retail Therapy" first appeared in 1986 in the Chicago Tribune newspaper.  "We've become a nation measuring out our lives in shopping bags and nursing our psychic ills through retail therapy."

The era of conspicuous consumption.  Of big shoulder pads and bigger egos.  

Though fashions and times may have changed, I daresay our desire to acquire has only grown more voracious and desperate.  

We have been thoroughly bamboozled by retailers who have convinced us that what we own is not enough.  Not new enough.  Not good enough.  We should not be satisfied until we have replaced or added-on to the point that we are the point of envy.

For me, accumulation has been a long-standing issue.  This issue has not been helped by four years spent working for retailers who sell things I love and can easily fall prey to.  I love cooking and baking and have for a long time.  

Granted, some things were necessary.  Matt would agree on that point.  We needed new dishes.  We have them now, able to serve 16 people, which is about the largest group we can seat at table for a big, big dinner.  Add-on stemware and barware to match.  And flatware.  And linens.  Suddenly, you can see how this spirals out of control.

I'm sure that I'd be absolutely appalled if I could see the amount of money I've spent in the four years I worked for SLT and W-S.  Money that could have been saved or paid onto student loans.  Money that could have been put towards a car or a vacation.  Real, tangible greenbacks that are made somehow less impactful due to the fact that they are invisble and whisked away by a plastic credit or debit card.

Our world-view of what is needed versus what is wanted has been so poisoned by advertisers, planned obsolescence, and our own fickle desires that I don't know if there's a way back.

For me and my part, I'm attempting a retail detox this month.  Today is day two.  Whenever a retailer is contacting me via email, I'm either completely unsubscribing or reducing their emails dramatically.  Same goes for the companies I've liked on Facebook.  

I've even gone into my browser bookmarks and removed those quick-clicks that led to so much wasted time and which planted the seeds of desire for so much of the useless stuff that wants to be brought into our lives.  

It's not so much the classic image of monkeys covering eyes, ears, and mouth.  This is a more active, positive quest to free myself of these poisons and those who feed them into our lives.  

No malls, no browsing, no such activity.  

Today is day two.  

Four Years On...

It's been nearly four years since I've updated this blog and, while some things have not changed, many huge, important milestones have come and gone in my life together with Matt.

For one, we own a home now.  We live in the Stanton Heights neighborhood of Pittsburgh.  I worked for three and a half years with Sur La Table before moving on to Williams-Sonoma.  We've seen lots of good and bad moments come and go, but we're still pretty much the same semi-boring people we've always been.

Friends have come and gone.  My mom is still kicking.  And, dammit, I'm still here.

My time with W-S has come to an end and I am looking towards the next step.

What will it be?  Your guess is as good as mine.

I've already begun applying for jobs and will be continuing to do so in earnest.  I stopped to talk with my good friend Maria on Friday and will likely be helping her out at the shop a few days to learn a bit of that business, give me something to do, and keep my sanity intact while the job search gets underway.

However, the thing I'm here to write, reflect upon, and hopefully chart the progress of is a Month Without Shopping.

Beginning today - the 22nd of January - and lasting until the 23rd of February (I'm going to try for the long month of 31 days), I want to keep myself from spending unnecessarily.

I'm allowed to buy groceries and toiletries.  If a lightbulb blows out, we're not going to live by candle.  Bills will be paid.  But otherwise I'd like to keep my spending at an absolute minimum as a challenge to myself.

Since college - and likely before that - I've been a shopper.  It's not that I've needed most of the things I've bought.  It's that shopping acted as a cork for some unknowable hole in my life.  Depression?  Very probably.  A temporary thrill to salve over a larger problem sounds like why some people drink or take drugs.

I generally operate without cash, so it should be fairly easy for me to keep track of my spending, not losing the odd $5 bill to this or that.

I'm going to be very boring this month, but for a very good reason.  I need to do this for me.

Here's to day one.