In spite of Matt being sick since Friday afternoon with cold-like symptoms, I managed to have a very good weekend, surrounded by people I love dearly.
I spent the entirety of Friday morning assembling a small tea-for-two. The woman who was a student-teacher during my senior year of high school, who has become a dear friend over the intervening seventeen years, was coming to Pittsburgh for a day of pampering: a massage and facial. I asked her to drop by our house while she was in town.
We drank lovely Oolong tea from Ten Ren in San Francisco in my mother's 1969 Noritake china. I baked cream scones, which were accompanied by Devonshire cream, blackcurrant preserves, Scottish lemon curd, and butter. I also served chocolates and fresh fruit. Just a small setting, which turned out to be a bit more celebratory when I found out that Saturday was actually her birthday. How fortuitous that we were able to get together and end up celebrating both her day and our friendship.
Matt slept in the guest room, so I let him have a lay-in on Saturday morning when I woke to begin my next task: a dinner for six on Saturday night. I've had a turkey in the basement freezer since November, which had been intended for my mother's and my Thanksgiving day meal. However, she wasn't feeling well at the time, so I remained in Pittsburgh and the two of us went to friends' that day and I went to visit my mother early the next week.
But the turkey was becoming a pressing matter and it seemed there was no time like the present to gather dear friends and feast. I prepared the turkey; a side of stuffing (so, technically, dressing) of French bread, mushrooms, onions, and celery; mashed potatoes, and cranberry sauce with apples and blueberries. Matt felt well enough to make roasted broccoli. One couple brought lovely green beans and the other, who happen to own a Dairy Queen, made two dear little ice cream cakes for dessert. One was cherry-chocolate flavored and the other was turtle. Both have leftovers in the freezer that I'm doing my level-best to ignore!
It always feels good to set the table and use all of the lovely things I own to make a pretty setting. I had an optic black and white floral tablecloth on and used kelly green Ikat napkins that I bought the day I interviewed with Sur La Table some four years ago. It's was all very vivid for midwinter, but it was toned down by candlelight and the cool light of our chandelier.
We served buffet-style from the island and tucked in. We drank beautiful 2007 Estate Cabernet Sauvignon from Sharp's Hill in Paso Robles and a 2012 Pinot Noir from Wente in Arroyo Seco, Monterey County, CA. As the night progressed, I pulled a 2009 Amarone della Valpolicella by Ca'Ferreri.
As we adjourned to the living room, I set out chocolates and cookies, which were accompanied by coffee and bourbon. Matt's spring had wound down and he bade adieu to our guests and retired upstairs to read and go to sleep. Everyone departed within a half-hour, leaving me time to get the cleaning up started. (I still have to hand-wash the stemware, but that'll get done. Sometime.)
Sunday was a cold, rainy day that just begged for hot tea and fresh scones. I never left the house at all, except to step outside and retrive a runaway lid to the recycling can as the winds ripped over Stanton Hill.
Matt's home sick, but is logged in from the office upstairs, trying to do what he can. Unfortunately (or fortunately, all depending), the company is still in storm mode from last night's powerful winds, so he's not able to get much done since all changes to the system are locked down.
I went to the Post Office to get stamps and send Valentine's Day cards and then to Whole Foods this morning. Gym this afternoon. Applying for at least one job. Etc., etc.
Keeping busy keeps me sane and this was a happily busy weekend filled with friends and food.
Monday, February 13, 2017
Wednesday, February 8, 2017
A Thought For the Day
Some are addicted. Some are impoverished. Some are proud. Some are depressed. Some because they can.
Some can't narrow it down to one reason.
I did what I did because I didn't consider the consequences.
I did what I did because it was there.
I did what I did because I lost sight of who I was and what I stood for.
But I'm lucky because I didn't lose my life or cause anyone to lose theirs.
I'm not sick, hospitalized, hurt, handicapped, scarred, or in any way physically injured.
I didn't lose my home or the man I love.
I didn't completely lose "me" to the greed.
It's going to take some time to figure out the way forward.
It's going to hurt. It already hurts.
I'm ashamed and am most hurt by what I think others will think of what I did. Someday I'll be able to admit it freely.
But I know I'm still in here somewhere. I will pay the price. And I'll live the rest of my life knowing what I did.
And that lesson will be enough to do better. To do more. To do for other people. To negate and defy my own avarice.
I will do better and be better. I will be the man I am expected to be by others. I can and I will.
Tuesday, February 7, 2017
A History of Holding On
I spent Monday with my mother. I hadn't seen her in a week and a half, so I was due to visit and accomplish her list of tasks.
That's the odd thing about visitng my mom: we don't spend quality time together. I arrive; I go grocery shopping with her; I try not to resent the fact that (in yesterday's case) it was a perfectly lovely day, but we weren't out enjoying it in any way; I cook a meal; I depart for home. In so many ways, I'm a helpful companion, not a son.
On the drive there, I used to listen to the Diane Rehm Show on NPR, which has since been replaced by a show called "A1," hosted by Joshua Johnson. Thus far, I've been very pleased with his shows. The second hour of the program, while I was driving, focused on "This American Moment"- how people are trying to make sense of the new administration, events around the world, etc.
Mr. Johnson, at some point, spoke the line, "People don't care how much you know until they know how much you care," a reference point to opening dialogue between people on opposing sides of the political spectrum. More specifically, he was speaking about people on either side of the debate about the Affordable Care Act, and how it's all too easy for disagreements to go nowhere if neither side is willing to listen to the other.
Think of it like this: It's easier to say, "You're wrong" than "I hear what you're saying. You don't like that aspect of the policy." The former is a stone wall. It shuts things down rather immediately. The latter, on the contrary, allows the person you're speaking with to know they've been heard. Their point has been taken and considered, which at least allows the opening for further discussion and the possibility of sharing your perspective.
This goes to the heart of what I wrote about last time: Forgiveness. Without openness and consideration, there cannot be forgiveness.
My mother holds onto so many wrongs in her heart, a pattern I've fallen into. She resents her mother, my grandmother, taking charge of my parents' wedding in 1969. That's almost 48 years ago. Even longer ago than that, there are episodes about a brown winter coat she didn't want as a child, when her father burned her paper dolls (long after she was past the age of playing with them), and other slights that a woman who has reached 70 years old shouldn't dwell upon.
I'm only 34, but I could list a similar catalogue of issues I've had with my mom.
And what good would they do me?
In many ways, I'm lucky to have her. It's been 21 years since my dad died, so I am grateful to have her. I simply wish that she would find something to live for in the now and to look to in the future. She dwells so much in the past - in what has happened to her - that I don't think she sees much room for a future. And I believe that many of her health issues can be linked to this concentration on negativity.
Sadness multiplies sadness. It hurts our mental health and can slam the door behind us, locking out the people who want us to be happy.
I'm trying, as I've said, to find happiness. One of the pieces I was reading mentioned taking three breaths - deep ones - and removing your mind from the spiral it's in by imagining yourself in a place that makes you happy.
That method can't make the world go away.
You still have to face the demons.
You still have to own your failings.
But find that happy place and let your mind be there, in the calm, when you need it.
That's the odd thing about visitng my mom: we don't spend quality time together. I arrive; I go grocery shopping with her; I try not to resent the fact that (in yesterday's case) it was a perfectly lovely day, but we weren't out enjoying it in any way; I cook a meal; I depart for home. In so many ways, I'm a helpful companion, not a son.
On the drive there, I used to listen to the Diane Rehm Show on NPR, which has since been replaced by a show called "A1," hosted by Joshua Johnson. Thus far, I've been very pleased with his shows. The second hour of the program, while I was driving, focused on "This American Moment"- how people are trying to make sense of the new administration, events around the world, etc.
Mr. Johnson, at some point, spoke the line, "People don't care how much you know until they know how much you care," a reference point to opening dialogue between people on opposing sides of the political spectrum. More specifically, he was speaking about people on either side of the debate about the Affordable Care Act, and how it's all too easy for disagreements to go nowhere if neither side is willing to listen to the other.
Think of it like this: It's easier to say, "You're wrong" than "I hear what you're saying. You don't like that aspect of the policy." The former is a stone wall. It shuts things down rather immediately. The latter, on the contrary, allows the person you're speaking with to know they've been heard. Their point has been taken and considered, which at least allows the opening for further discussion and the possibility of sharing your perspective.
This goes to the heart of what I wrote about last time: Forgiveness. Without openness and consideration, there cannot be forgiveness.
My mother holds onto so many wrongs in her heart, a pattern I've fallen into. She resents her mother, my grandmother, taking charge of my parents' wedding in 1969. That's almost 48 years ago. Even longer ago than that, there are episodes about a brown winter coat she didn't want as a child, when her father burned her paper dolls (long after she was past the age of playing with them), and other slights that a woman who has reached 70 years old shouldn't dwell upon.
I'm only 34, but I could list a similar catalogue of issues I've had with my mom.
And what good would they do me?
In many ways, I'm lucky to have her. It's been 21 years since my dad died, so I am grateful to have her. I simply wish that she would find something to live for in the now and to look to in the future. She dwells so much in the past - in what has happened to her - that I don't think she sees much room for a future. And I believe that many of her health issues can be linked to this concentration on negativity.
Sadness multiplies sadness. It hurts our mental health and can slam the door behind us, locking out the people who want us to be happy.
I'm trying, as I've said, to find happiness. One of the pieces I was reading mentioned taking three breaths - deep ones - and removing your mind from the spiral it's in by imagining yourself in a place that makes you happy.
That method can't make the world go away.
You still have to face the demons.
You still have to own your failings.
But find that happy place and let your mind be there, in the calm, when you need it.
Saturday, February 4, 2017
Finding Beauty. Finding Joy.
Last night, I accompanied Matt to the game shop in Pittsburgh's Oakland neighborhood to watch him play Magic: The Gathering. He hadn't been to Fridat Night Magic in years and I, not really having much else going on, nor wanting to spend the night alone, went along.
It wasn't like I stood there the entire time. We're longtime friends with the shop's owner and know another guy who works there. After chatting a while and watching Matt play, I took a seat in the corner just to do some reading. My chosen topic: Forgiveness.
I have an issue. It's one I've battled for years. I jokingly call it the Sophia Petrillo problem, named after The Golden Girls character. Sometime during the run of the series, the grizzled old woman spouts a line to the effect of "I may forget, but I never forgive!"
While I may jokingly call it the Sophia problem, it's an all too real one. I hold onto things, internalize them, and let them make me miserable for far too long. It's far from a new problem and one that I wish had a better excuse for existing. If I had to trace the roots of this choking weed, I believe that I'd find the origins in my being an only child and, at least in part, on my mother doing the same thing.
I never had siblings with whom I had to learn the art of negotiation. On the flip-side, I never had siblings to serve as a buffer between my mother's negativity and my own life.
The unflattering joke that people turn into their mothers is less a joke to me than a point of blood-chilling worry. Becoming my mother is one of my worst nightmares. The woman she's let herself become is embittered by every wrong she's ever actually felt and even a few that she's created in her mind. And, at seventy years old, she's managed to amass quite a catalogue.
Strangely, I forced myself to learn a hard lesson in high school: You can't save everyone, so you might as well save yourself.
How is it then that I find it so easy to leave myself foundering, capsizing beneath the weight of perceived wrongs, of real hurts, and unable to forgive, forget, and move on?
I just found myself grumbling quietly under my breath about a former co-worker whose biggest challenge was showing up for work. When I became the interim manager in November, I called this woman and said that I was going to need some hours from her for the holiday season ahead. You see, my former boss disliked this woman and never scheduled her. Yet, she was able to keep her discount and benefit from it without actually doing any work.
She capitulated when I called and said she'd be able to work on Satuday nights. Fine. That was something. Due to Christmas falling on a Sunday and the store being closed on Christmas Eve, the last time she worked was on the 17th of December. I scheduled her in January, but she didn't come. Twice. I was told after the second occasion that she told one of the keyholders that she was "only holiday help" and wouldn't be coming in.
It's been two weeks since I've been affiliated with my former employer and over a month and a half since last seeing this employee. Why on earth, on a Saturday night, while I'm baking a cake for a Super Bowl party tomorrow night am I even letting this woman enter my mind. And beyond that, why am I complaining to myself about her work ethic? She's not my problem anymore.
That's the sort of silly thing I'm dealing with here. It's pointless, has no impact on me personally or professionally, but the fact that it's a Satuday night that she should be at work and isn't proved enough to throw me down the rabbit hole.
Forgiveness isn't even something that should be associated with this woman. It should be letting go and forgetting. She didn't wrong me in any way. She doesn't need to be absolved. I just need to let her go from my mind and heart.
When I drove to Oakmont this morning to get doughnuts, I found myself in the middle of a scrum of people. I pulled number 280 from the reel of tags. The staff was helping someone in the mid-260s. Instead of getting frustrated or huffing and puffing about stupid people (though there was one woman...), I reflected on what I had read and looked for beauty in the moment.
The workmanship of the baked goods, the fabulous designs executed in buttercream, and the sheer volume of goodness they produce were thoughts I paused on. I thought a moment about thankfulness for the abundance and silly ability to enjoy these sweets while so many have less than they need. But, overall, I paused and found gladness.
Driving home, I looked forward to fresh, hot coffee with Matt and a lazy morning with WQED playing classical music in the background. In the afternoon, I worked on a job application and we went to the gym.
I found joy because I looked. I stopped and noticed the beauty of the bakers' art. I was thankful for a man I've loved now for nearly ten years, our life together, and a slow Saturday morning getting to do as much or as little as we wanted.
It's sometimes a matter of stopping ourselves. It's hitting the pause button on negativity. It's being glad to be alive and in the world.
It wasn't like I stood there the entire time. We're longtime friends with the shop's owner and know another guy who works there. After chatting a while and watching Matt play, I took a seat in the corner just to do some reading. My chosen topic: Forgiveness.
I have an issue. It's one I've battled for years. I jokingly call it the Sophia Petrillo problem, named after The Golden Girls character. Sometime during the run of the series, the grizzled old woman spouts a line to the effect of "I may forget, but I never forgive!"
While I may jokingly call it the Sophia problem, it's an all too real one. I hold onto things, internalize them, and let them make me miserable for far too long. It's far from a new problem and one that I wish had a better excuse for existing. If I had to trace the roots of this choking weed, I believe that I'd find the origins in my being an only child and, at least in part, on my mother doing the same thing.
I never had siblings with whom I had to learn the art of negotiation. On the flip-side, I never had siblings to serve as a buffer between my mother's negativity and my own life.
The unflattering joke that people turn into their mothers is less a joke to me than a point of blood-chilling worry. Becoming my mother is one of my worst nightmares. The woman she's let herself become is embittered by every wrong she's ever actually felt and even a few that she's created in her mind. And, at seventy years old, she's managed to amass quite a catalogue.
Strangely, I forced myself to learn a hard lesson in high school: You can't save everyone, so you might as well save yourself.
How is it then that I find it so easy to leave myself foundering, capsizing beneath the weight of perceived wrongs, of real hurts, and unable to forgive, forget, and move on?
I just found myself grumbling quietly under my breath about a former co-worker whose biggest challenge was showing up for work. When I became the interim manager in November, I called this woman and said that I was going to need some hours from her for the holiday season ahead. You see, my former boss disliked this woman and never scheduled her. Yet, she was able to keep her discount and benefit from it without actually doing any work.
She capitulated when I called and said she'd be able to work on Satuday nights. Fine. That was something. Due to Christmas falling on a Sunday and the store being closed on Christmas Eve, the last time she worked was on the 17th of December. I scheduled her in January, but she didn't come. Twice. I was told after the second occasion that she told one of the keyholders that she was "only holiday help" and wouldn't be coming in.
It's been two weeks since I've been affiliated with my former employer and over a month and a half since last seeing this employee. Why on earth, on a Saturday night, while I'm baking a cake for a Super Bowl party tomorrow night am I even letting this woman enter my mind. And beyond that, why am I complaining to myself about her work ethic? She's not my problem anymore.
That's the sort of silly thing I'm dealing with here. It's pointless, has no impact on me personally or professionally, but the fact that it's a Satuday night that she should be at work and isn't proved enough to throw me down the rabbit hole.
Forgiveness isn't even something that should be associated with this woman. It should be letting go and forgetting. She didn't wrong me in any way. She doesn't need to be absolved. I just need to let her go from my mind and heart.
When I drove to Oakmont this morning to get doughnuts, I found myself in the middle of a scrum of people. I pulled number 280 from the reel of tags. The staff was helping someone in the mid-260s. Instead of getting frustrated or huffing and puffing about stupid people (though there was one woman...), I reflected on what I had read and looked for beauty in the moment.
The workmanship of the baked goods, the fabulous designs executed in buttercream, and the sheer volume of goodness they produce were thoughts I paused on. I thought a moment about thankfulness for the abundance and silly ability to enjoy these sweets while so many have less than they need. But, overall, I paused and found gladness.
Driving home, I looked forward to fresh, hot coffee with Matt and a lazy morning with WQED playing classical music in the background. In the afternoon, I worked on a job application and we went to the gym.
I found joy because I looked. I stopped and noticed the beauty of the bakers' art. I was thankful for a man I've loved now for nearly ten years, our life together, and a slow Saturday morning getting to do as much or as little as we wanted.
It's sometimes a matter of stopping ourselves. It's hitting the pause button on negativity. It's being glad to be alive and in the world.
Thursday, February 2, 2017
Somethin' WRONG with Strippin'?
I knew that, with a busy weekend ahead, I wanted to rise and head into the Strip District this morning to get coffee and other provisions. Instead of the tourist nightmare that it can so often become, one is reminded on a cold weekday morning of the reason we go to these old destinations: They feel like how living in the city is supposed to be.
Beginning at La Prima Espresso, I ordered a large latte before walking through the portal wall into the bakeshop next door, Colangelo's. Standing at the window counter, I enjoyed my coffee and cherry-filled pastry and watched as a fine snow began to gently land out of a bright blue sky.
I proceeded down Penn Avenue to the Pennsylvania Macaroni Company for figs, lemon curd, rosemary crackers, and blackcurrant jam. At Stamoolis' next door, I bought their perfect muhammara. After meditating on how much I liked the coffee I was drinking, I went back to La Prima to ask which blend I was drinking so that I could buy a pound to bring home and use in the Jura. I welcomed a pound of their Ogni Giorno blend into our lives with great happiness.
From there, I stopped by Penzey's spices to buy a fresh bottle of Vietnamese Cinnamon, which is perhaps the only cinnamon worth buying if you're a baker. At Prestogeorge, I bought two pounds of our favorite AA-grade Kenyan coffee and honey sticks for the tea I'm hosting next Friday.
I considered the possibilities at Wholey's of making their beautiful Alaskan Halibut for dinner, but decided to hold off. I similarly left Lotus Foods, an Asian grocer, empty-handed. A final stop at Leaf & Bean for cigars and I was back in the car, headed for home, via La Gourmandine, the wonderful French bakery on Butler Street.
This is what I've missed. This taste of life - of what it's like to live in a city and surround oneself with it. To be among people who are not overprivileged, pretentious, nouveau riche white North Hills assholes.
It's coming home with food that you will use to enrich your life and enliven your soul.
It's the sense of wonder as the snow falls.
It's life.
And I've really missed it these past months.
Beginning at La Prima Espresso, I ordered a large latte before walking through the portal wall into the bakeshop next door, Colangelo's. Standing at the window counter, I enjoyed my coffee and cherry-filled pastry and watched as a fine snow began to gently land out of a bright blue sky.
I proceeded down Penn Avenue to the Pennsylvania Macaroni Company for figs, lemon curd, rosemary crackers, and blackcurrant jam. At Stamoolis' next door, I bought their perfect muhammara. After meditating on how much I liked the coffee I was drinking, I went back to La Prima to ask which blend I was drinking so that I could buy a pound to bring home and use in the Jura. I welcomed a pound of their Ogni Giorno blend into our lives with great happiness.
From there, I stopped by Penzey's spices to buy a fresh bottle of Vietnamese Cinnamon, which is perhaps the only cinnamon worth buying if you're a baker. At Prestogeorge, I bought two pounds of our favorite AA-grade Kenyan coffee and honey sticks for the tea I'm hosting next Friday.
I considered the possibilities at Wholey's of making their beautiful Alaskan Halibut for dinner, but decided to hold off. I similarly left Lotus Foods, an Asian grocer, empty-handed. A final stop at Leaf & Bean for cigars and I was back in the car, headed for home, via La Gourmandine, the wonderful French bakery on Butler Street.
This is what I've missed. This taste of life - of what it's like to live in a city and surround oneself with it. To be among people who are not overprivileged, pretentious, nouveau riche white North Hills assholes.
It's coming home with food that you will use to enrich your life and enliven your soul.
It's the sense of wonder as the snow falls.
It's life.
And I've really missed it these past months.
Wednesday, February 1, 2017
What to write?
I could blog about the weather, but I'd really rather not.
One could hold forth on the vagaries of the winter in Pittsburgh, encapsulating snow, sleet, ice pellets, rain, and sunshine in the span of about six hours.
Then there's the situation with the water supply for the entirety of Pittsburgh within the boundary of the rivers possibly being contaminated with Giardia. That's fun. We're drinking bottled water and drank fine Belgian beers out of plastic cups at Sharp Edge.
Or there's Beyonce being pregnant with twins, though I fear I'd run out of steam rather quickly there.
I skipped the gym today and, instead, went on a 2+ mile walk in Highland Park with Matt after he came home from work. Sometimes the chill and rush of winter air beats the hell out of the warm, dry sterility of the gym.
I guess I'd forego writing on anything of substance and just go bake banana nut muffins for Matt to take into work tomorrow.
One could hold forth on the vagaries of the winter in Pittsburgh, encapsulating snow, sleet, ice pellets, rain, and sunshine in the span of about six hours.
Then there's the situation with the water supply for the entirety of Pittsburgh within the boundary of the rivers possibly being contaminated with Giardia. That's fun. We're drinking bottled water and drank fine Belgian beers out of plastic cups at Sharp Edge.
Or there's Beyonce being pregnant with twins, though I fear I'd run out of steam rather quickly there.
I skipped the gym today and, instead, went on a 2+ mile walk in Highland Park with Matt after he came home from work. Sometimes the chill and rush of winter air beats the hell out of the warm, dry sterility of the gym.
I guess I'd forego writing on anything of substance and just go bake banana nut muffins for Matt to take into work tomorrow.