Archive for March, 2010

Hidden Sugars and …

Sunday, March 28th, 2010

I am currently reading Michael Pollan’s book, In Defense of Food. I am not sure what my collected thoughts are about the information I have read so far, but I can say it is riveting and I keep going back for more.

In addition to this I saved Jamie Oliver’s new show Food Revolution.  I have been watching Jamie since he was The Naked Chef.  Although I have an impressive collection of cookbooks lining a shelf in my kitchen bookshelf, I have to say that I use his cookbooks most often while the others collect dust.  His recipes are always simple, down-to-earth and yummy.  The fact that he is a hottie is something else indeed.

The message Jamie is trying to send,  is similiar to the message Pollan is stating in his book.  Most of the food we eat isn’t healthy, and the reason it’s unhealthy is we really don’t really understand what it is made up of.  Even food that we consider healthy, turns out not to be. I thought if I was drinking Vitamin water and granola bars I was being healthier, perhaps not.

tired

Thursday, March 25th, 2010

The weekend is approaching faster than I realized.  I have one more big paper to complete by tomorrow morning and some reading to do.  The past eight weeks, the first half of spring semester has passed by me with the speed of a running animal chasing prey.  I have written so much and learned even more.  The fatigue that college casts on my body is deafening.  I am tired inside and out from the constant expectation.  My sore feet groan, loud and angry.  The muscle right between my shoulder and spine is tight like a random string that finds its way around a towel in the dryer.  One can pull for a long time, but it will loosen when it is unraveled slowly.  My legs feel cramped and sleepiness resides in my bones waiting patiently for the time to rest.  My breasts hate my bra.  My eyes beg to spit these contacts out.  My neck stiffens and is bent like a used slinky toy.  It is my mind that is most tired, so tired there is no metaphor, there is no word, there is only the desire to sleep.  Sleep in my sleep.  I will dream during this sleepy sleep.  My mind cries out to stop all the information it has swallowed.  I say, “Just one more bite, then it will be done.”

Frazzled week

Tuesday, March 23rd, 2010

                      It is approaching 1am on a Monday night.  I am finished with my assignments for today, many others loom before me.  So much reading, I wonder how I will plow through it.  Then the writing, not the kind I enjoy doing, but the other.  I love going to college, I love writing papers, I love reading. 

                Sometimes it is difficult to juggle my life with kids, school, boyfriend, work, etc.  Sometimes I have no time to write, really who am I kidding?  I never have time to write.  I want to go see my favorite local band, Catalyst for over a year now.  Have I made it there?  No.  There is always something else to do first.  I want to roam around a museum, quiet and serene.  I wish I could travel someplace exotic, hell I wish I could ride the Chinese bus to Boston for the weekend for $30.  I want to get a really good haircut.  I want to see my friends more often.  

                  What to do with the four days a month that I have free?  I have school on two days, Saturday mornings.  Assignments are due by Friday night.  Oh, man parent-teacher meetings on Friday afternoon.  Do I miss my daughter’s basketball playoffs?  Guilt slinks up inside me, I wonder if she will be upset if I don’t show up. 

                This is my world, week after week.  Sometimes I get a weekday night as well, usually Thursday.  Then I spend the time with my boyfriend, because when else can I?  So I count the days left, the days to, the days from and the days during.  I fantasize about buses and palm trees.  I wish for carefree summer mornings, with nothing to do but just be. 

                Poof.  It’s over, I am back to being Mommy all the time. I’m there in the middle of the night when she wakes from a nightmare.  The whining, the sibling bickering, the activities and running around.  I run after a schedule full of homework for three, breakfasts, lunches, dinners and more.  I am back to hanging out laughing with them, baking cupcakes and sharing our lives.  I love them, but I need balance between both.  A yearning never fulfilled.  So I run from place to place, chore to chore and swim until I can float a bit, a moment, a weekend.

Time Flies

Monday, March 22nd, 2010

Time. We wish we all had more of it. We spend money on things that might help us get more time. We spend more time trying to get the money for things that will save us time. We run from place to place trying to catch up with the time we need to have more of. We schedule ourselves and our kids around this concept, day after day, week after week.

We wake up in the morning, slamming the snooze button. Our body is aching for just three more minutes, tired and bleary eyed we say, “ I can afford fifteen minutes more, I’ll spend less time doing something else, except I am not giving up my trip to Starbucks, that isn’t negotiable.”

Remember. There was a time when time meant nothing. It was 1983 (insert your time here), I was about eight years old, there was so much time I was bored. I was actually bored, with nothing to do. Remember being bored? Sometimes I found something to do, like read or play with my siblings. Sometimes I just sat still and stared at the wall. When was the last time you watched a bug fly around a room? Without wanting to get up and smack it with a rolled up newspaper. Remember when the newspaper ink rubbed off unto your fingertips. This faint dark gray ink and you would notice how intricate your fingerprint really was?

I remember being so hot in the summer time, and we would eat popsicles from the ice-cream truck. After we ate the ice pop, the stick became a toy. We would play for hours; my favorite game here in Brooklyn was placing the stick in the middle of two concrete squares on the sidewalk. Each kid stood at the edge of a square and we would throw a bouncy blue hand ball aimed directly for the stick. Whoever hit the sticks past the other person’s line won. We were entertained for a long time, leisurely eating our pops and playing with that stick. Do kids have time to do things like that anymore?
I think that is what old people think, that they had time. Young people think it too. We middle of the road folk, we don’t think that. Is it our present circumstance or are we like all the others that came before us? Do we feel that we have so much to do and no time to do it, that we are different? Is it that life is different in these modern times? I think they are, but what do I know?

Remember, when adults used to get together in huge ambiguous groups, us children never really cared to pay too much attention. The reason is because those semi-familiar adults brought children over as well. They came for a “visit.”

 It was always visiting, along came their children. They couldn’t just leave them home by themselves. “Oh look, see here, there are others like you, small and whiney, go play with them, leave Mommy and Daddy alone, go outside and play.”
Our problem is this. It is our memories. We remember this time we had in abundance. We remember a time that was without play dates, appointments and obligations. We yearn for the simple spontaneous and glorious freedom of days gone by. I leave you with one more image, one more nugget.
Little over ten years ago, we could say this when the phone rang. “I’m sorry, I missed your call, and I was out all day.” The person on the other line understood completely. It’s not like they expected you to answer the phone every time they called…

My First Blog!

Monday, March 8th, 2010

This is my first blog.

Creating and writing a blog has been on my to-do list for quite some time, yet I decided that everything else was more important right now. A friend of mine encouraged me to write a blog, even going so far as setting up this site for me. It lay there bored and collecting dust, like your prized (insert your collection here) cherished but never used.

Then the perfectionist inside me waited and waited and waited. Never satisfied with the topic I had anguished over, domain name I have chosen or the writing I did. I mean no one wants to really read about me whine about my unbalanced, over stressed chaotic life, do they?

So here I am, publishing my first blog about what I don’t know.
Above all, I love to write. I love to read other people’s writing. I love all of the lovely things associated with writing, like black moleskin notebooks that make me feel like I should be sipping a martini on a boat alongside a coastal town and/or sitting in a cabin in front of those old fashioned typewriters with that onion thin paper. I see myself clicking away as I write the next New York Times bestseller list.

Using an extra fine black ink pen, that glides along the paper like an ice skate after the sun has ever so slightly melted the ice beneath those awful used ice skate rentals. I have always wanted to write, even as a little girl writing stories about a family of bears.  Then I was a whimsical teenager writing poetry and writing about the homeless epidemic in our country.

Perhaps it sounds as if I should be a writer indeed. I seem motivated and passionate right? I am, but I had a bump in my road, or rather I had one in my belly almost seventeen years ago.

That very boy has now interrupted me from writing this very page roughly twenty odd times. Why? It is an easy answer; he doesn’t want me to miss one second of Family Guy. He is incessantly talking, as teenagers do. Family Guy is extremely funny; I would never deny it. Seth McFarlane brings out every single piece of pop culture I have ever hidden in the recesses of my brain, I looked it up we are born in the same year. So Klondike commercial jokes resonate with me.

I just need some downtime. No talking. No pointing. No running from errand to errand. The stress of the day is still harassing my mind and soul.

I attempt to use my yoga DVD today for the first time. Is it just me or is that pretzel twisting hard? Even more so, am I the only one that feels like a failure as soon as I can’t stretch quite as far as the fantastically flexible and thin girl on the screen? My eight year old folding herself into poses like a master reincarnated, “It’s like, so easy Mommy!”

Yet, I feel relaxed now that I have accomplished my writing goals. What have I written about? Who knows? Will you feel like you wasted your time reading this? Perhaps you will, but no more so than after you have completed another level on face book Farmville.