kellementology

life according to me

  • On the importance of unwritten lists

    On the importance of unwritten lists

     

    Each day I promise myself I’ll sit down to write something — something that has nothing to do with food — and each day, I fail.  This dooms me to an endless procession of imagined writings that weave in and out of each day, sparked by the smallest things I may not realize have had an impact on me.  The words begin, constructing themselves into phrases, sentences, and whole passages that take on a life of their own.

    Sometimes, the writing catches my attention, somewhat like a voice finally loud enough to hear in a busy room, its owner choosing an insistent tone, annoyed to catch you not paying attention and absorbed in all sorts of unimportant things.

    It’s unfortunate because without the fingers currently pecking away on the screen of this iPad, none of it ever becomes anything.  It’s the perfect excuse to be distracted by the sun now just barely showing itself above the wall through the kitchen window.  Or a promise made to oneself that the most mundane tasks will be completed each day before anything creative might be done.  At least the brilliance of the sunrise allows thought to grow, and an inclination to write to develop.

    Of course, it also makes me want to get my camera to snap 10 or 15 shots of the reflection on the counter I did take the time to wipe this morning, as well as consider which setting might best capture the streams of light shooting from the sun.  After a few attempts, my curiosity begins to generate questions about how that’s actually done and quiet, thoughtfulness is pushed easily aside  for more practical things — like mental list making.

    Yes, a pattern is surfacing.  If everything goes on in my head, then I don’t actually have to commit to any of it — at least not commit to the particular order it’s in or on any particular day.  And why should I?  The sheer enormity of my “list” can be either a pleasure, or burden depending on when and how I approach it, so not having to look at it is important.

    Here’s a small dose as it comes to mind:

    Make fondant to try a new recipe
    Decide whether to experiment with a sheet cake which can be cut, or pour the shapes
    Call the association to paint fence ?
    Call nursery about 10-12 Iceberg Floribundas
    Call masonry store about flagstone wall caps ?
    Make curtains for the office and install rod
    Demo the boy’s bathroom
    Finish selecting photos of England for book ?
    Replace knobs on old dresser
    Reupholster two bedroom chairs
    Locate additional handle for back door
    Order bedside lamps
    Clean closet (again)
    Figure out how to put thumbnails in archived posts on blog
    Update 365 page
    Redo “about” page
    Keep reading about custom background CSS and experiment
    Exercise & ice knee ?
    Go through office boxes
    Replace closet doors
    Catch up with a year of Daring Baker challenges
    Think about getting back in the habit of planning meals by the week (right)
    Scan old photos
    Send old slides out for scanning/printing
    Order blinds for bedroom
    Refinish that ugly table
    Figure out what to do with that canvas
    Process a photo to go in the big black frame
    DIY garden lighting and irrigation for back of house
    Fireplace mantle for living room
    Organize separate libraries in Aperture
    Schedule one-on-one project appointments
    Plan monthly photo shoots out and about San Diego
    Start thinking about New England road trip for next Fall

    I could keep going.  And going.  And going.

    I made a list of home improvements to work on as a motivating factor after returning to work for a year, but after staring at the bedraggled salmon-colored sheet it was written on and only crossing one item off in that year’s time, I tossed it, annoyed far more than I’d ever been motivated.

    There’s no point in making a list, but I have noticed since I drafted this yesterday morning, I have checked off a few things.  On the other hand, I’ve completed far more tasks not on this list in the same time, and have detected others that have grown in the night.

    Each morning when I wake long before I’d like to, my list plays.  If it doesn’t put me to sleep with its endlessness, then it does eventually encourage me to get up to start my day thinking that because I’ve had some constructive think time, perhaps I can dupe myself into quiet writing time before the sun rises.

    I may no longer live my life in the organized, meticulously planned way as I once did, but I will alway have something to be interested in doing.

    And routine household chores will never be a deterrent for ignoring what sustains me.

  • In my past life…

    In my past life…

     

    When I look at various places in England, I can’t help but think that’s where I’m supposed to be.  It’s a strange feeling.  I drop the man on Google maps street view and have a look around knowing that it’s a place I want to be, no matter where it is.  I’ve been there before, and it’s the only place I didn’t want to leave.

    I could spend a lot of time talking about reincarnation, but I won’t, because I have a trip looming with last minute details nagging at me.

    Have you ever felt you weren’t supposed to live in the time you’re living in?

    If it wasn’t nearly 7pm which means I’ll need to go downstairs to make dinner, I’d tell you what I’ve felt:  that I belong somewhere else.  That I’ve been there before.  When I see images of it, I’m reduced to tears and wondering why.

    It’s a bit unnerving.

    I’ll have some time to think about this when we’re in England over the next two weeks, and I’ll pay close attention to my reactions.

    It’s a bit strange, don’t you think?

  • Notebooks and silk undies

    One week to go before our trip to the UK, and I’m busy printing things for the MoH’s notebook.  Because he’s not involved in the planning, he’s often out of the loop outside of our discussions about a trip, when I can’t keep one more detail in my head and have to unload.  Bear in mind we have about eight books on travel marked, tagged, and dogeared I’ve been using for the past many months to get ready, but he likes his notebook.

    In the long run, he’s not as technology oriented as I am, unless it has something to do with fantasy leagues for sports he enjoys, so the links and maps I’ve created probably won’t be used all that much.  In this day and age, if you have a laptop, then all the reading can be done like that instead of on paper which can’t come close to providing the same amount of information.  Do you get to use the Internet on flights now?

    Hmmm…

    I need an iPad.

    Seriously.

    You agree, right?

    It just might be a last minute shopping item along with the silk underwear someone told me I’d need to pack because it’s so cold in the Cotswolds at this time of year.  Silk undies?  It would make sense to explain that I’m more of a flannel person, and that the thought of trying to keep warm in something like that is interesting.

    Really?

    I’ll think about it.

  • Billy Collins and stiff upper lips

    Billy Collins and stiff upper lips

    I love Billy Collins.  He makes me think differently about the things I think about.  His sometimes irreverent, and certainly candid perspective always stops me long enough to think:  Really?  Do I need to take myself that seriously?  It’s refreshing.

    What’s not refreshing is that in this month of heightening everyone’s awareness about breast cancer, and celebrating survivors and their warrior stories, I’ve just found out my aunt  has bone cancer.

    Stage 4.

    Meds to help her pain.

    My mother beside herself with it all, but sporting a stiff upper lip.

    All I can think of is how my aunt always has that knack of making things seem funny with little or no effort, a tough thing for some.  She’s one of those people everyone else wants to be near, soaking her up.  But I’ve always thought it was at some detriment to her.

    I could say more, but it makes me sad.

    I know I’m supposed to have a stiff upper lip and all that sort of thing, but I suck at that.  People just think I’m good at it.

    Pardon me if I don’t put up a yellow ribbon.

    But I’ll find a star and put her name on it tonight.

    I will.

  • All Summer in a Day

    It’s funny that when you’ve waited long for something and it finally arrives, time slows to a crawl.  It’s there, right on your doorstep but not quite ready to enter because it’s not quite time.  I’m not the only one affected by this because I can hear my son in his room next door not doing much of anything.  Yet again, checking the insistent tone in my voice, I’ve had to tell him that he needs to pick up his room.  That I do not want to be left after we’ve dropped him off at school to come back home and see what’s left of his teenaged boyness strewn around the floor and on every surface, forcing me to acknowledge for the thousandth time how fast time passes.  If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was suspicious that I had plans for his room in his absence.  Plans like, ridding our house of all evidence of his having inhabited the space for nearly a decade and putting up ruffled curtains, or painting it pink.

    I’m sitting here instead of forcing things to move along more quickly in the day, but it’s conditioned response.  My reasonably gentle prodding requires being within earshot of him to make sure he’s doing what he needs to do to get ready.  It takes more time in the long run, but it’s good for me on the patience practicing front, and it’s good for him because let’s face it:  he’ll be doing all of it on his own after tomorrow without the up close and personal variety of  insistent prodding or reminders.  They’ll be relegated to email and Skype instead.

    Have you washed your hair?  Done your laundry?  How are your classes?  Is your roommate a nice guy?  Are you brushing your teeth, flossing your teeth, staying on top of your organization?

    The contents of his day-to-day existence have steadily begun to fill my office —  stacks of jeans, shorts, and tee shirts lining up against the bookcases.  We stand looking at them as if they were something remarkable.

    Me:  Are three pair of jeans enough?

    Him:  I probably need a couple more.

    Me:  (holding up a dingy yellow tee) This one’s seen better days.  If it’s a favorite, leave it here, otherwise, throw it in the discard pile.

    Him:  What’s wrong with it?

    And then another laundry lesson begins about light colors being separated from dark when the weekly wash is completed.  He’s been doing his laundry for a couple of years now, but I have to make sure, telling him something he knows already.

    Economy sized bottle of detergent.  Check. Even larger economy sized toilet paper package.  Check. Body wash, shaving cream, toothpaste, dental floss…check.  I wandered through the book section at Target last week after sending him off to get his personal supplies, the image a doting mother leading her 18-year-old son around to choose his deodorant not appealing to me even though I know he wouldn’t mind.

    The sounds of hustle bustle next door have stopped again and a quick look around me reveals a few more items lying in wait– guitar, art supplies, a few of his favorite books — but I can tell he’s once again parked in front of his computer.  The computer that’s staying here.  The new laptop arrives today, just in time to be experimented with and the Wacom tablet hooked up to make sure everything works.  Are 24 hours really enough for a day like this?

    It’s 10am and things are finally going into the soft duffle bag with rollers we purchased a few years ago with this very moment in mind.  Thankfully, there’s a second for the bits of this and that he’ll need — things that feel semi-familiar.

    Will you have your own desk?  Is there a lamp?  Are there hangers in the closet? I’ve asked all these questions before and have been patiently told, yes.  Yes, they’re all there.  But what about something for your desk?  Something to keep pencils in, or folders for important papers? He and the MoH were there on a dorm tour recently, so I’ve been assured that everything is just fine.  But no mini fridges, no microwaves, and no used furniture is allowed.  And definitely no pets, which is sad for Lizzie who clearly loves him more than anyone else here.  He’s had to push her aside more than once as he filled the large duffle bag, trying to keep her out of it.  For now, she’s content to make a nest on the clothes he’s put aside to wear tomorrow,  her paws kneading the worn fleece before settling down to bathe, confirming that he’ll have cat hair on his clothes when he leaves just like any other day.

    By this time tomorrow, we will have dropped him off at his dorm and helped him carry everything to his room.  If we’re lucky, we’ll get to meet his roommate, but I’ve been told he thinks he can handle making his bed himself.  Of course this is something I’ve always known, but he’s yet to make his bed once in his life, so the experience should be interesting.  Bear in mind I’ve not made his bed many times, either, but I can think of many things I’d rather do than to make up a bunk bed.  I wonder if he’ll have the top bunk or the bottom?

    He’s semi-packed now and in the shower.  We’re off to get his bi-annual haircut, pick up some new earphones and maybe assemble a junkfood stash for his dorm.  It would be perfect to be able to put him in my car so he could take care of these last minute things himself, leaving me to fuss over the details, but after all the hassle of getting his driving permit, lessons, practice, and a last second driver’s test, he doesn’t like driving.   Go figure.  At least he’ll have some ID, right?

    I wonder how he’ll feel about being in a big city away from just about everything he’s always known and depended upon?

    Oh, my.

  • Empty Nest Syndrome

    Empty Nest Syndrome

     

    It’s been just more than a month since I finished my year’s obligation  and I’ve busied myself with all sorts of things I wouldn’t exactly describe as constructive.  The weather here has been far less than summery, with the only warm day arriving today when within sight of the Pacific we’ve actually mustered up an admirable 82 degrees.  With an almost non-existent summer, I can only say that constructiveness must be connected to the things I expect at any given time during the year.  A matter of rote.  Habit.

    Better said, I’ve been spending my time processing the fact that I not longer work doing something I’ve done for more than 20 years, but this time for good.  I’ve also been processing that after mothering three boys, my youngest is headed off to school, leaving the MoH and I with a seriously empty nest.  I think that, more than anything, with all of its unknowns, has caught us completely by surprise.

    It’s a bit of a choking sensation for me, felt when I least expect it.  It overwhelms me with its intensity, and I unrealistically imagine bears and woods, sinking boats, and other disasters I can’t help my son from.  How ridiculous is that?  Seriously.

    But we still need to find our corners occasionally to weep silently in the middle of an unrelated conversation until one of us notices that the other has stopped his or her side of the conversation.  And then one of us knows.  We know that the empty nest syndrome has enveloped one of us and so the other quietly excuses him or herself to allow the sorrow to pass.

    What the hell.

    This should be a time of celebration.  It should be a time for looking forward to all that lies ahead.  The future.  Opportunity.  Yadda yadda yadda.

    I try.  Honestly, I do.  And it works most of the time on most days.

    I busy myself with planning a trip to the UK in the fall.  As someone who lived her professional life married to a school calendar, trust me.  I want to travel in the fall when everyone else is at work or in school.   It’s just that one moment on that one day on that one afternoon.  All it takes is a look, and then I’m toast.

    We’ve purchased bedding for his dorm room.  We’ve paid for the housing and food.  We’ve reviewed books and supply lists and have made plans to purchase them here then drive them up.  But time is dwindling.  More than 30 years raising boys.  More than 20 years teaching other people’s children.

    It will take a bit of time to adjust.

  • Almost a Year

    I’ve been awake for hours trying quietly to relax the pace of my heart, breathing slowing, drawing huge breaths in and then letting them go.  It works most of the time and I can close my eyes and find a cool spot on my pillow to lull myself back to sleep, but it didn’t work today.

    No, today is important.  Today is the day that I can, after a bit more than a year, actually see the light at the end of the tunnel, and although I’m not quite there, know it will come.  All the students are finished and have gone home, but the finishing touches of yet another school year are left to be completed, so I’ll busy myself with those in much the same way one fits the remnants of a 5,000-piece jigsaw puzzle together, glad to be done with it.

    I’ve missed quite a few things in the last year if you consider that the several before it I was able to write down my reactions to events in the world, to note the often quiet passing of time, or not so quiet family milestones.  My writing stopped here, and although I tried to jot a few things down on a calendar kept next to my bed, with the exception of a few desperate bursts of anxiety, that stopped as well.  I funneled what little energy I had into my food writing, but even that has slowed to a trickle.  Not so surprisingly, the 365 project has saved me, allowing me to “say” something — anything — each day since the first of the year with a photograph.

    Salvation.

    365 project

    When I scan through the shots in my iPhoto library taken in the past year, much of what I’ve taken has been of food, and if you know me, that isn’t a surprise.  What you may not realize is that each of those photographs tells me so much more than what I was learning about a particular recipe I’d tried, or a meal we might have enjoyed.  They help me remember where our lives were at a particular moment that no one else would understand when looking at them, like the bagels I made last June when our old doggo Jones could barely move.  That was when we took her to the vet for some pain-killers and bought the non-skid treads for the stairs so she could follow me around like she always has.  Or the Bittman salads I made through the summer and into the fall thinking, surely I can keep this going and stay healthy, keep my food writing going, and divert my attention from what I was doing all day to something sustaining in the evenings.  There was the bakewell tart around the time of my son’s first shave, and the amazing peanut butter banana mallow mars I made about the time we got Lizzie to brighten up our lives, making us laugh when we most needed it.

    In a year’s time we’ve had a family wedding, succumbed to a brief, but nasty run in with H1N1, watched another niece enter college, wished my mother and her Romeo bon voyage as they set out to travel around the country, and sadly, mourned the loss of our dear, sweet Jones who passed on to doggy heaven the day after Thanksgiving.

    This year has also been my son’s last year of high school, and one marked with the added surprise of his having to ride a bike to and from school each day — a ride that is downhill all the way, and of course uphill all the way back.  If you know the hill we live on, then you might understand his feeling of accomplishment the first time he made it all the way to the top without having to get off and push his bike the remainder of the trip.  You’ve missed what could have been my raging at the injustice of having that bike stolen the very first day of school, and then my response of simple acceptance and the purchase of yet another bike.

    I traveled to participate in my first food conference in San Francisco, we made our annual trek to Las Vegas, and then pathetically, I dragged myself into the holidays and right up to January 1st when I decided to join so many others in taking a photo a day.  I can look at each one now and say that pictures do paint a thousand words — words that I’ll most likely never write.  My husband has heard them all and it has been far less than easy.  Poor man.

    Going back to work for a year has added 25 pounds to my already padded body, has challenged me to keep up with any kind of routine diet or exercise, and has caused me to think critically about my health and life in general more differently than I ever have.  However, I can be thankful for construction bills now paid off, and tuition for my son’s first year of college.  I am happy for new friends and interesting people I’ve met and worked with.  But I’m especially grateful for the opportunity to know that when I left my profession the first time, it was the best decision I ever made.

    This time, it’s for good, and for all the right reasons.

  • Writing

    I read a piece by Ann Lamott yesterday telling me something I already knew.  If I’d just commit to writing for 30 minutes a day, in a year I’d have something. Of course, “something” is going to depend on the person who has to read it, but at least it would be something to work with.

    I rarely write anything any more.  I write about food, and to be honest, I’ve begun to take more time with that, but I believe it’s because it’s the only writing I do.  It’s writing, so it has to count for something.  I mull over it in the same way I would any kind of writing I do, because mulling over it is what I do best.  It’s ridiculous on most days, but it is what it is.

    To some extent, photographs have taken the place of my writing.  They seem to capture my thoughts and express what I would say, or write, if given time.  Sure, I have time, but I’m not very good at using it if it’s at the end of a day instead of the beginning.

    I love how mornings begin slowly.  The light creeps into the day and the air is fresh, begging me to step out to walk and stretch my bones and mind; encouraging me to exercise my thinking — priming my ideas and memories.

    Writing at night is not something I enjoy.  It often mirrors my energy, or the lack thereof.  I sit in front of my Mac and a different kind of quiet than I’m familiar with, the shush of the dishwasher pulsing in the room, and not much else.  It doesn’t exactly add up to anything I can be thoughtful about.

    But that’s another excuse, isn’t it.

    Yes.

    But I’ve written, haven’t I?

    Not quite 30 minutes.  In fact, not a respectable 10.

    But still.

  • It’s me. I’m still here.

    It’s amazing how quickly time passes.  Although I’d like to say that’s a good thing in some cases, for the most part, I’d rather it didn’t.  There has to be a balance between wanting a phase in one’s life to come to a conclusion and simply embracing it.

    In the last many months, I think perhaps that I’ve managed to do that.  I’ve found things to do that matter to me, have forgiven myself for others I don’t spend quite as much time on, and have given myself time each day to look around and appreciate a few things.  If you twisted my arm, I’d say that I’ve appreciated more than just a few things.

    It does get more and more challenging, however, to recognize whether my life has taken yet another direction, or that I’m caught up in all the things one does when one’s trying to avoid doing what is supposed to be done.  It’s convoluted, but it makes sense to me, and that’s enough for now.

    Someone today said to embrace the here and now.  It’s not new information, and I’ve cringed when I’ve heard others say it before.  But today, the message was being delivered to those much younger than myself by someone not much older than they.  Ironically, I guess that’s what I’ve been trying to do for nearly a year now.  It’s hard if you’re like me and life is about planning.

    I know I’m supposed to have learned something in this experience, and I’m sure I have, but it’s late and my alarm wakes me earlier than I’d like so I won’t wander down the path of that explanation right now.

    What I miss most about this detour is my barely new found self:  the one that laughed and had seemingly endless energy and curiousity.  I’d like to find her again because I was just getting to know her.  She was a bit odd, but I think I liked her.

    If you see her, will you let me know?

    I may have seen her this evening when it was pouring outside and she grabbed a huge umbrella and camera to run out in the rain and take a photo.

    She’s still in there somewhere.

  • Wednesdays and Looking Forward

    It’s Wednesday and I’m nearly wordless.  Nearly wordless for someone like me is about as quiet as I get.  I’m tired.  It’s odd that with acceptance, energy is devoted nearly 100 % to doing what one has to do.  Evenings are when I look forward to sinking into my couch and watching inane shows on the television with people I love.

    At some point, whatever book that lies open on the floor next to my bed begins to call my name and often reluctantly, I give in to the fact that my day is over.  As much as I look forward to bedtime after a busy day, I know that sleep just brings the next day more quickly, and so I give in to that as well.

    I don’t like looking forward to the weekends.  Time passes too quickly when that happens, and so I’ve begun to pay attention to what I appreciate about each of my days in a much different way than what I have in the past few years.  It takes some practice considering that the effort admiring a drop of condensation on the leaf of a honeysuckle vine is much different than appreciating that the red message light on my phone isn’t lit when I arrive at 7 am.

    But I have much to look forward to, and I don’t plan on missing any of it.

    Happy Wednesday — even if it’s not quite wordless.

    What are you looking forward to?