Writing Habit, Week 4

aluminum foil

Day 16: Write an ode to something ordinary. 

Ode to Heavy Duty Aluminum Foil

I didn’t realize your sublime utility
Until the first time I happened to tear a piece of you that fit over my baking sheet
And realized the thickness of your foil meant complete protection,
Saving me from having to clean one more pan and therefore
Offering me the oh-so precious gift
Of more time to spend with my family.

My dear aluminum foil, you are here to serve.
Whether I’m roasting vegetables, or making cookies, or submitting you to the greasy orgy of baking bacon,
You stay strong, and whole, and never complain.

Sometimes, like when I enlist you to cover a pan for pizza, your duty is extended
And after the kids have eaten half of the pie, you swaddle yourself around the leftovers
And keep them safe and contained for their school lunch the next day.

Usually, though, I crumple you up when the dish is done
And send you to your resting place in the recycling bin
So someday you can serve again.

Day 17: Something overheard.  I was supposed to eavesdrop on a conversation and use it as a writing prompt, but since I write first thing in the morning, usually around 5:30-6am, I passed on this one.

Day 18: Inspiration: Ernest Hemingway’s Hills like White Elephants
Write a scene in which two characters want different things, letting their desires come across through dialogue.

“It’s good to see you,” he said, placing his hands on the table, close enough where he could reach out and touch her, but not doing so.

“Yes,” she said. “It’s been a while. I like the color of that shirt on you.”

“Oh, thanks,” he said, looking down at the mauve pullover. He looked back up and smiled. “How are things with Kevin?”

“Good. I like him a lot. It’s funny to be with him; he talks a lot. He helps to get me out of my shell.”

The waiter placed two glasses of water in front of them and paused slightly in case they were ready to order, but they didn’t look at him.

“So does this thing with Kevin have legs?”

“It’s too soon to know. I’m not sure.”

She glanced at the menu. “Do you want to split something?”

“I’m really hungry. Let’s order a few different rolls. Anything you want?”

“Ah, I’m good with almost anything, just nothing too chewy. I had a filling put in today. So, how are you?”

“Great! I just closed on the house. It was a crazy hassle to finalize the loan but it pulled through at the last minute.”

“That’s wonderful. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. It’s so peaceful there. And so much space! Plenty of room for you and your kids. I have a dream of you living there with me one day.”

“It looks beautiful,” she said, glancing at the photo on his iPad of trees and open spaces and brick walkways. The waiter stopped and took their order of two Rainbow rolls, one salmon roll, one spicy tuna roll and two orders of unagi.

She picked up a pod of edamame and popped the end into her mouth, squeezed the soy bean out and gently chewed it then swallowed.

“And what about you? Are you dating anyone?”

“Yes. Three women.”


“I think it’s good for me to help me really know what I want.”

“I’m surprised to hear that. I thought that what you want was…me.”

Day 19: Write a story backwards.  Lead with the thing that happens. Use “Before that” to launch every paragraph as you write your way back to the story’s natural beginning.

Lainie scooped up the last mound of vanilla ice cream from the bowl her mother had given her. She let the sweet taste swirl around her mouth and down her throat as she swallowed. Feeling empowered, she asked, “Mommy, can I please have a little more?”

Before that, she rested the heavy white cast on top of the pillow next to her. It smelled sour and the top of it, under her arm, was digging into the soft flesh under her bicep.

Before that, the nice doctor laid the clammy, cold strips on her arm and told her she’d be feeling better soon.

Before that, she lay crumpled and crying on the sidewalk, her wrist tender and painful, and her legs bruised from her tricycle landing on top of her.

Before that, she paused, at the top of a short hill in the neighborhood, to take in the view. “This is what the world must look like to grown-ups,” she thought, as she felt the tricycle starting to move away underneath her.

Before that, her parents were fighting, and she couldn’t bear to hear them being so mean to each other, so she ran out of the house, jumped on her tricycle and pedaled hard, far away from that scary place where people who were supposed to love each other turned into monsters.

Before that, it was a bright morning, and Lainie lay in bed, hugging her teddy bear, wondering if Mommy and Daddy would take her to the park.

Day 20: Walnut, eyelash, curtain, bottle, scab: Write a piece that includes all five of these.

There was always a curtain between us.
You peeked out from it from time to time but then hid again.
I’d reach out and feel the shape of your face through the fabric
But you couldn’t feel the warmth of my caress.

I remember the times I’d watch you sleep
And count the smile lines that frame your eyes
And the eyelashes that would flutter while you dreamed
Translating your beauty into a sum of numbers that in the end added up to nothing.

Our love was so simple at first.
Smooth like the shell of a walnut, hiding the knotty nut underneath that emerged with time
Complicated and fascinating upon closer inspection
Maddening to contemplate how we got to this place.

I can’t continue to bottle up my feelings for you.
You told me I was the love you had always hoped for but had given up on finding.
I wish I could let you go but the connection we had was so intense that it lingers on
But then I remember to consider what you’ve done rather than what you’ve said

The years you made me wait pierced my heart over and over, leaving it raw and skeptical
Friends, family, time, other lovers…they’ve helped me build a protective scab over the wound you made
So my heart could heal and love again
But you keep coming back, with your words, your long gazes
And gently pick the scab away.

Writing Habit, Week 3


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This was a tough week at work, so I only managed to write two pieces, neither of which I’m thrilled with, but it’s better than nothing.

Day Eleven: Write a defining moment from childhood. I used this prompt to write for my novel.

Something was up. Mr. Pellett was not his normal effervescent self as we walked into the classroom. I had seen his temper flare before, but had never seen him sad. Or, “off.” He was sitting at his desk, looking down at the Honolulu Advertiser, maybe working on the crossword puzzle? But he did not look up once or greet us as we entered.

Some girls were deep into the conversations that had started by the lockers about the latest drama from the weekend’s school dance, and didn’t immediately notice his subdued demeanor, but I did. Moving around had taught me to be a keen observer of human behavior. It enabled me to adapt the local norms and fit in faster.

As we took our seats, I noticed the A/V cart at the front of the room, and understood that today would not be one of Mr. Pellett’s fine performances. He had brought in a recorded understudy. I pulled out my notebook and a pen and listened to the transition in the room, as my fellow students started quieting down, noticing his unusually calm demeanor. The discussions tapered off and we all sat in silence, pens at the ready, wondering what the hell was wrong with Mr. Pellett.

“We’re going to do something a little different today,” he said softly, never looking up from the paper. “Katherine, please play the tape.”

I rose from my seat, wondering if there was some teaching trick behind this, but he continued to look down at his paper as I pressed the play button on the VHS player.  I noticed the tape case: “Hamlet.” Ugh, I thought. I wasn’t sure what we had done to piss off Mr. Pellett last week that he would still be mad enough at us today to make us watch Shakespeare, and I started replaying last Friday’s class in my mind as the actor on the television started talking. I took my seat.

The actor (I assumed it was the name on the case, Derek Jacobi. I had no idea who he was) walked slowly, clearly thinking about something. He began the famous, “To be, or not to be” soliloquy that I had read for class and had heard of, but had never seen performed. Why would I watch Shakespeare when it was much more entertaining to watch Magnum PI? Plus, there were real life lessons from Magnum.

This was different, though. This was acting like I had never seen acting. This wasn’t recitation, like the way I had read Shakespeare in my mind; Mr. Jacobi was Hamlet. I could feel his struggle as he considered the pros and cons of life. I recognized the lines from the soliloquy, yet had never imagined they could be delivered with such authenticity and passion. I was entranced. He made it real. I finally understood all the fuss about Shakespeare. And then it hit me…the school plays I had been in, how I always wanted to read the parts with the most lines in class (I would quickly skim and see which name was mentioned most in a script), the way I could quickly pick up accents and behaviors from moving around so much…I was meant to be an actress. I had found my calling.

Day Twelve and Thirteen: nope.

Day Fourteen:Edible Memories  Write about a memory inspired by something you ate or cooked, good or bad.


We fell in love over coffee.

I’d walk briskly from my car, through the cold, crisp morning air and open the double door to the coffeehouse, inhaling the wall of warm air that enveloped me in the heavy, sweet smells of roasting coffee. The deep red colors of the walls inspired passion, for both coffee and the handsome gentleman waiting for me at the counter, eyes smiling as soon as he caught sight of me through the window, emerging from my car.

We’d order our drinks together… a latté for me, a cappuccino for him (that he’d always pronounce “Cup”ooccino) and wait, standing next to each other, unable to separate ourselves from each other, always some part of our bodies touching as I’d lean in to him, breathing in his scent mixed with the rich coffee scent of espresso.

We’d sit so close I was almost in his lap, touching legs under the table, rubbing our feet together. When my hands weren’t surrounded by his, they’d gently warm themselves on the sides of my hot latté as the bitter, chocolaty aroma floated up to my nostrils and I closed my eyes and savored the scent and the warmth of his foot, caressing my calf. I’d take a sip of the bittersweet elixir, topped with chocolate sprinkles (his magic touch) and smile as the warm rich liquid flowed over my tongue and down my throat, intensifying the heat that my lover had ignited within. I’d yearn to taste the coffee on his lips, and we’d allow our magnetism to draw our heads together and touch our lips together, gently exploring the taste of coffee on each other’s tongue.

Sadly, the passion of our coffee encounters wasn’t enough to sustain our love outside the walls of the coffeehouse and we drifted apart, but that doesn’t prevent me from enjoying a daily cup of joe and thinking back every now and then to those mornings of soft kisses and deep conversations. One inhale of those rich, spicy beans from our favorite coffeehouse, and I am transported back to that time of anticipation, pleasure and love.

Day Fifteen: What if no.

Hope to re-motivate next week.

Writing Habit, Week 2


Day Six: Using a tabloid headline for a prompt. This was a fun exercise, as we were encouraged to try poetry.

Alien Bible Found, They Worship Oprah

Here on planet KNBC we wondered if we were alone.
We sent multiple probes into outer space, searching for extraterrestrial life.
We need search no more,
For we have found proof of intelligent life, in the form of a lone bible, floating in space.
Our scientists and linguists examined the tome and here is what we know:
The inhabitants of planet Earth worship a being named Oprah.
Who can shape-shift from thin to fat.
She gives cars to the poor and wealthy, important people seek an audience with her.
Millions listen to her every day and make pilgrimages to Chicago to see her in person.
They shriek and cry when she touches them. One man jumped up and down on a couch.
If you would like to hear more about this incredible discovery,
Make sure to tune in at 3pm today to The Jesus Show.

Day Seven: More poetry, this time inspired by an amazing poem, “Bringing My Son To The Police Station To Be Fingerprinted,” by Shoshauna Shy. The goal is to write a poem where the title says everything, and the content of the poem seems to be totally unrelated except for one line pointing back to the title.

Being Bulimic

The chewy caramel mixed with crispy rice
And covered in fudge delights my tongue.
I switch to an oatmeal creme pie,
Soft, chewy cookies surrounding
A smooth, sweet layer of pleasure.
I crave more crunch so I begin eating
Wafer bars layered with peanut butter
And smothered with more fudge, of course.
I dislike the dark color
When it comes back up as amorphous sludge
But for now, it’s the icing on my heaven.

Day Eight: “Playing against expectations”: We watched this video and then were asked to write a character based on it.

Smash and stroll

Everyone in Rockport knew of Sylvia James.
The tall, lithesome beauty with cornsilk hair and
Lagoon eyes that would seize young men, who would do
Anything. To. Have. Her.
But she wouldn’t have them. Not for long, anyway.
She’d dote on one, stroke his arm, spend a few weeks at his side,
And right when everyone was thinking how lucky he was
To have attracted such beauty,
She’d drop out of sight, and reappear on the arm of another,
Leaving a trail of broken hearts, lined up at the local watering hole,
Wondering how they’d fallen short. Spilling their souls to the grizzled woman tending bar
Who’d pour another drink for them and think,
“Eat it up, Sylvia. While you can.”

Day Nine: no writing

Day Ten: Animals as inspirations, specifically, “Animals,” by Miller Williams. Think back to when things were different. There was an animal then. Use that animal, perhaps a pet, perhaps not, guide you back in time and shape your free write.

You were always so good with dogs,
because you liked control.
We had two labrador retrievers then.
Labs were your favorite.
You appreciated their devotion and willingness to endlessly
chase after the balls you threw for them.

I began to depend on their unconditional love,
their big brown eyes fixed on mine,
stroking their velvet ears as they listened so intently to what I had to say
when you wouldn’t.

Your dog died first.
Six months later, we had to put mine to sleep, and we chose to do so in our living room.
You held his head in your lap, stroking his soft, grey muzzle as I sheepishly pet his back, dumbfounded in grief and not realizing
you had stolen my last chance to comfort him as we sent him on his final chase.

That was the beginning of our end.

Back in the Saddle. Week 1.

I’m taking an online writing course to help me create a daily writing habit. Each day, we read a short poem or piece of writing that is used as an inspirational writing prompt.

Here’s Week One’s output.

Day One: Ten questions, biographical or in character. I chose the main character from a novel I am writing about a girl whose family relocated to Hawaii in the mid-80’s.

1. When I was ten years old, I thought that I’d grow up to be a veterinarian. I loved animals and always wanted a pet, but we move around a lot because my dad is in the Marine Corps, so my parents won’t let me have a dog or cat or any pet, although I usually adopt some local creature as my own whenever I can. During second grade, I went on a camping trip with my scout group and found a huge snail, so I smuggled it home and kept it on my windowsill. I’d steal pieces of lettuce from my dinner plate and feed it. I didn’t think it would move mooch but the next day when I cam home from school, the snail was gone. I like to think it crawled down the wall of our apartment building and I rationalized its absence as that rather than it being plucked from the windowsill by a bird.

2. Instead I grew up to be …well, I’m not quite grown up yet in the sense of graduating college, getting a job and all that grown up kind of stuff. I am working at our local pizza parlor, if that counts, but I’d like to think I will advance beyond food prep work.

3. The worst thing I ever did was in 5th grade when I told one of the girls in my neighborhood about where babies come from. She was only 8 years old at the time but I had just had “the talk” at school and she asked, so I gave it to her straight. I liked feeling like I knew something special and I didn’t want to seem like a snob with my newfound knowledge, so I described the mechanics of the act. The next day, when I cam home from school, I saw The Look on my mother’s face. Apparently my description of sex had completely freaked out the girl and she hadn’t slept most of the night. I had to go over to her house and apologize to her and her mother. I was mortified.

4. I used to think the Bible was true, but every since my experience at my Catholic high school now I believe it’s just an epic novel.

5. The accomplishment that I am the most proud of is beating Claudia Elden in the 1981 spelling bee. Echinacea. What the hell?

6. If I could have a superpower, it would be the ability to know if someone is lying.

7. In my purse/bag, I always carry a brush. Damn irish genes.

8. One thing I’ve never told anyone about is that last summer, I went on one of those amusement park rides with a dark tunnel and I kissed my cousin. With tongue.

9. I typically express my creativity by decorating my room and drawing. I also really enjoy acting. I get a lot of practice every time my family moves and I have to show up at a new school and make friends.

10. If I were to run away, I would take my Sony walkman and stow away in an airplane and go back to the mainland. But I would never do that.

Day Two: Bullet to the Brain, inspiration from “Bullet In The Brain,” by Tobias Wolff

She didn’t remember the slamming of metal onto metal and how her body was thrown violently against the harness straps of her ejection seat when the jet she flew stopped cold in 60 feet on the aircraft carrier. She didn’t remember the deep feelings of loss when friends were plucked from existence, seen one morning before a mission but never to return. The birthdays, Christmases, Easter baskets, summer BBQs…none came to mind as the bullet pierced her skull. She didn’t recall graduations, First Communion, confirmation, her wedding, the final signing of her divorce papers…no rites of passage in her life which at the time had felt heavy and electric.

She remembered sweat and pressure and pain and the overwhelming desire to push a baby out of her body. She remembered her first: stuck in the canal, hesitant to emerge. She thought he would never come out, and when he finally was suctioned free, she saw his gray pallor and held him for a second before he was whisked away by nurses to be resuscitated. She remembered her second, a girl, who gave her a damnned difficult pregnancy but popped out with three pushes. Her daughter was pink, warm, soft and sweet. She remembered holding her for the first time, and as the bullet completed its path and introduced her to her mortality, she remembered that she had brought life into this world and would never truly leave it.

Day Three: Obsessions/Complusions. Inspiration from A Plague of Tics, by David Sedaris

I can’t buy it anymore. I think that I’ll be able to moderate my consumption, but if there is a jar of Nutella in my house, it will not last more than a day. Despite earnest attempts at willpower, I simply cannot resist. Maybe it’s because it tastes so damn good on just about everything. You can spread it on bland delivery devices like bread or crackers. Dipping something salty like a pretzel yields nirvana. A spoonful on a scoop of vanilla ice cream elevates the dessert to divine. Jamming a spoon into the jar and pulling away a glob works fine, too, until you find yourself with the very last traces, wondering how the creators of this magical creme could design a jar that does not enable you to scrape out the remnants and you are forced to test whether or not your tongue is long enough to lick the sides. I have learned my lesson and accepted that I must refrain from purchasing the jars I see at the grocery store and deny myself the pleasures of Nutella, lest my jeans start straining from the rapid consumption of 2,000 calories. And don’t get me started about those assholes at CostCo, with their 2-pack of 33.5 oz jars of my Kryptonite. They mock my pain.

Day Four: Pillow Book. Inspiration from the The Pillow Book of Lady Sei Shonagon, an observational notebook written over 1,000 years ago.

Annoying things

Being awakened from a deep, comfortable warm sleep by the jagged, blaring bleats of one’s alarm clock.
The reckless driver who speeds through a parking lot of stationary cars and exposed people.
The distracted driver who plods along in the left lane of the highway, drifting sporadically towards the slower lane but never pulling into it.

Wonderful things
Sliding the USB cable into a port with the correct side up so it easily engages and you don’t have to flip it over and try again.
The first bite of a warm, sugary malasada…slightly crispy on the outside but doughy and soft on the inside.
The moment when your daughter spots you in the crowd of parantparazzi at the school band concert and knows you made the effort to be there to support her.
When your young children wrap their chubby little arms around your neck and hold on to you like they’ll never let you go.

Day Five: was a long week at work and I punted this assignment.

The Recital


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First Guitar Recital

My daughter had her first recital this weekend. What started as a total disaster ended up being a moving experience. I had no idea what to expect of a two-hour recital of children playing guitar, but it turned out to be one of the most enjoyable live music experiences I’ve ever had.

First, the recital (near) disaster of 2013.

A couple of weeks ago I received an email from her music school with information about the recital, such as time, location….and dress code. Suggested dress code was semi-formal/formal, so last week I took her shopping for a black blouse and pants. She did not want to wear a dress or skirt and was not happy about being forced to dress up in anything.

Fast forward to the recital. She was with her dad last weekend, so he arrived early with her and I showed up about 15 minutes prior to the start time. As soon as she saw me enter the building, she stormed up to me and announced with exasperation that she was the ONLY one dressed up. I peeked inside the concert hall and indeed, every single other kid holding a guitar was dressed in jeans and t-shirts. Wtf?

I showed Julia the email but that didn’t help. She was starting to panic..a combination of embarassment of looking different and fear of getting up on stage. Her dad tried talking with her while I sat down with my son and started watching the performances.

I got a text message from her dad: “We are behind the stage. Not looking good for her performing today.”

I sighed. Part of me wanted my daughter to learn a valuable lesson about not caring what others think and facing one’s fears. The other part of me really wanted to see her perform.

I texted back: “I can run home and get another outfilt”

“Jeans and boots, please.”

I literally ran the three blocks home and grabbed a suitably casual outfit, then ran back. When she saw me enter the side hallway with the bag of clothes, she lit up and ran to me, grabbed the bag, and ran to the restroom to change.

Having avoided a nuclear meltdown, I settled in for the long haul of listening to other parents’ children perform. I looked at the program…19 songs. Ugh. I prepared myself to daydream, but then the funniest thing happened.

I absolutely loved listening to these kids. And watching them. I would see the same progression for each kid almost every time. First, they would make the loooong journey to the stage and walk up the stairs – sometimes glancing timidly towards the audience, other times completely focused on getting to the chair. Once on stage, most of them would sit, almost frozen, as Teacher Vincent ensured the guitar was in tune. Most wouldn’t look at the audience, they were laser-focused on Vincent. He’d hand the guitar back, and then go stand on the side of the stage. All the young profiles followed him as he’d walk off, and then he’d nod and they’d turn toward their sheet music and start playing.

The program mostly went in order of skill, so the first few performers played very short, basic pieces. It was *awesome* watching them focus so hard. Some bent over their guitars, clutching them like a life ring buoy. Others stared at their hands as they played. You could just see the gears turning and the mind whirring. It was beautiful.

As soon as they finished, it was almost a shock…like, oh…I’m done. I’m DONE! You could see the realization and relief wash over their faces and what had previously been a study in palpable focus suddenly became joy and pride.  The applause of the audience helped to snap them out of their concentration and their shoulders would relax and then they’d stand up and take their bow with a huge smile. Every single one of them exited the stage much more quickly then they entered.

While I enjoyed watching the younger kids perform, the teenagers were the ones who really moved me. They were so talented and calm and actually looked at the audience, so there was much more of a connection.

I teared up listening to the heartfelt singing of a young man who played “Volcano” by Damien Rice.

A blonde teenage girl brought to mind what my daughter might look like in 6 years or so, and I giggled when she sang Fun’s “Some Nights” and instead of singing “what the fuck” sang “What the f?” to keep it family-friendly.

An Indian teenager sang the beautiful and sweet song, “Begin Again” by Taylor Swift and she performed it with such heart that you would think she had written the song herself.

This is Silicon Valley, so of course there was the kid who played a duet with a track on his iPhone, which was his pre-recorded melodic death metal version of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons.

My daughter enjoyed the recital but wants to take a break from lessons for a month or two. I’m seriously considering taking her lesson time!

Just keep paddling…



Yesterday was one of those days that makes me appreciate the wonderful, happy days even more.

Because yesterday sucked.

I should back up and preface the suckage by talking about a couple of things that happened earlier this week.

Three days ago, right before I was about to leave for my first of 3 networking meetings of the day, my nanny stopped by….and gave me her letter of resignation. Fuck. She was distraught….literally on her knees begging me to forgive her (I’m not sure if that’s a Filipino thing or a Catholic thing). I was shocked by the resignation, as we have a great relationship, but my kids are getting older and we could only give her afternoons since the kids are in school for the first half of the day. I completely understood why she took another offer that was full-time.

The thought of telling my kids that she was leaving was almost too much for me to bear. Two years ago, it was “your dad and I are getting a divorce” last year it was “we’re selling the house (the only one you’ve ever lived in)” and now we’re kicking off 2013 with “your beloved nanny of 6 years needs to go to another family because they can offer her full-time work which she needs because her rent is being raised by her landlords (who, btw, are Google millionaires living in a 6-bedroom house next door).” The kids’ dad and I told them, along with our nanny, who sobbed just as hard as my daughter did. But that night, my daughter called me to let me know she was ok. Such a sensitive heart, that one. My kids’ resilience continues to amaze me.

Part of me is elated…maybe now I can be the one always picking up my kids and helping them with homework and doing fun projects, etc. etc. It’s what I’ve wanted to do since my kids were younger – stay home part-time and take care of them (one of the contributing factors to the breakup of my marriage: he didn’t want to give up the salary I could command). Then the brain steps back in and reminds me that I am divorced and no one is going to pay my rent for me while I’m busy being super Stay-at-Home Mom.

In a strange way, I guess I finally did get what I always wanted…I suppose I could pick up the kids everyday and be with them in the afternoons if I could find a job that only went until 2:30pm every day. So, maybe the universe is delivering…but asking me to meet it halfway.

The other thing that sent my heart to the dumps is that I had to end a relationship with someone I cared about deeply. This person was someone I’d consider a soulmate, except for the constant promises and failure to keep them. I can’t deal with dishonesty in my life. I’m a very open and honest person and when someone continuously tells me they’re going to do something but then finds excuses for not delivering on their promises…it just wore my heart down and I realized I could no longer trust this person. It was (and is) extremely painful to think of the emotional investment I had in this relationship and what the end result was. I feel like I was taken advantage of.

So, back to yesterday. After 5-months of a sabbatical, I still don’t know what I want to do with my life. My brain is telling me to find a job in a big company so I can have some financial stability but my heart is telling me no no no but I don’t know what I should do to start generating income. The proceeds from a house sale (even in overly-priced Silicon Valley) can only last so long. I’m afraid of settling for something I don’t really want just for the sake of stability. I made the mistake of doing that in my marriage and in going to business school, and I’ve been trying to evolve from both of those over the past two years. It’s scary to be in this position and yesterday was one of those rare days when I take a step backwards and start beating myself up. Lots of tears and teeth gnashing, wondering how I could have screwed things up so badly. Fortunately, night eventually falls and I can go to sleep and start another day.

This morning as I made my daily walk to my local coffee shop, I passed by middle school students riding their bikes to school and I wanted to stop them and scream, “DON’T SETTLE! Do what you love! The rest will figure itself out. STOP SUCCUMBING TO FEAR or what your parents think you should do!”

As much as I want to impart this wisdom to these young adults, they would probably start calling me the crazy lady of Starbucks, and I’m pretty sure that position already has a waiting list.

8 things I noticed this morning before 8am


1. Upon waking, the amazing way the morning light in the corners of my bedroom casts itself in different shades of beige and gold and begs to be painted.

2. How quiet my house is in contrast to the school mornings when my kids are with me.

3. On my walk to get my morning coffee, how the sky and clouds look like they were painted in watercolors.

4. The sparse berries left on the trees by the train station signal that we are definitely in the middle of winter, even though the few berries that are left are bright pink.

5. I don’t notice the train noise anymore.

6. I wanted to pick up a penny I spotted in a crosswalk, but there was a big truck coming and  even though he had the stop sign, I didn’t think tempting fate for a penny was worth it.

7. I had a 3-minute internal debate while in line about what coffee I should order this morning. The Vanilla Spice sounds really good but I need to lose the five pounds I gained over the holidays (thanks, Mom!). I should probably get a tall nonfat latté but I feel like kicking off my year with a little something extra. What to get, what to get…

8. I am excited for 2013. I am looking forward to the adventures that await me this year. I know they will make me stronger, just as last year’s did.

I love that this morning I felt the urge to write and I have the time to do so.

I ended up ordering a grandé peppermint latté. And I am savoring it.

My first movie review blog post: Les Miserables


You should know, I’ve seen the stage production of Les Miserables 4 times and listened to the soundtrack about 537 times, so I consider myself qualified to write this review.

This must not have been an easy production to adapt to the screen, and I thought Tom Hooper, the director, did an amazing job. Much ado has been made of the fact that he had the actors sing live on camera, rather than the traditional method of lip-synching to a pre-recorded soundtrack. His approach paid off in the acting performances – the emotions are fully expressed and the performances feel much more intimate than those experienced by an audience watching the musical on stage.

Unfortunately, the singing takes a small hit.  I would imagine it’s more difficult to deliver a technically strong *singing* performance while hauling in a naval vessel with a rope as a slave (hello, Jean Valjean) or running through the streets of Paris, chasing after aforementioned slave (bon jour, Inspector Javert).

Speaking of Javert, I take issue with with the casting of Russell Crowe in that part. While Mr. Crowe looks great in a uniform and possesses a surprisingly lovely singing voice, it is not the powerful baritone one has come to expect from a Javert. It’s like getting a chocolate easter bunny then biting into it and realizing it’s hollow – wtf? and what’s with all that air?

I loved the actor who played Marius, although in his early numbers his head would start shaking like it was about to explode a là Scanners and his freckles were a bit distracting (when I think of French revolutionaries, I don’t think of them as having freckles). However, he more than made up for that with his performance of Empty Chairs, which broke my heart.

Amanda Seyfried as Cossette? She has the largest pupils, ever. She also has a pretty voice, but it felt too closed and fluttery during her high notes.

Les Miz fanatics will recognize the Bishop as Colm Wilkinson, who originated the role of Jean Valjean on Broadway and in the London stage production. He was excellent, although he constantly had a bemused expression that seemed to say, “I can’t believe my part is being played by Wolverine!”

Sacha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonham Carter were well-cast as Monsieur and Madame  Thenardier, but a lot of the slapstick humor that plays well on stage for those characters is lost on screen, and the quick editing makes it tough to follow all their shenanigans.

I’ve never heard of the actress, Samantha Barks, who played Eponine but I loved her, even though it looked like her waist had been carved out by CGI.


Anne Hathaway. O.m.g. (which stands for Oscar, My God.) She was amazing. I heard people in the theater sobbing during her scenes. I managed to suppress the ugly cry, but it was tough.

And finally, Hugh Jackman. He really was excellent, even though I thought his voice was a little nasally. But when he tore up his parole paper and nailed the high notes on “2…4…6…oh…ONE!” and the two veins on his forehead popped into 3-D, I knew he had that Oscar nomination locked.

Finally, I’d like to know if there’s a makeup category for dental special effects because the teeth on those actors were gnarly. You could even see the bloody stump from Fantine’s missing tooth. Every actor looked like espresso grains had been painstakingly applied to their gums. If there is a category for Best Tooth Grime, Anne Hathaway won’t be the only one from Les Miz walking away with gold on Oscar night.

With the minor dings for some of the singing, I would give Les Miz an 8 out of 10….stars? I don’t know what my rating system is. If I were you, I’d go see it.

And bring kleenex.

Rain = soup

During my trip to Mexico, I read a great book called The Kitchen Counter Cooking School. The author (a food writer and graduate of the famous Le Cordon Bleu school in Paris) was inspired to teach people the basics of cooking to empower them to ditch boxed, processed foods in favor of fresh, healthier choices.

I am completely onboard with that program. I think that processed foods are the bane of modern health and I have been anxious to prepare more homemade meals for my kids, in fact, it was one of my NY resolutions (stand by for a future post on the progress made – or not – on those resolutions).

With all the cold rainy weather we’ve been experiencing lately, the first choice unequivocally was soup. I used the Creamed Tomato soup recipe from the outstanding How to Cook Everything by Mark Bittman. Here it is simmering before I pureed it and added half-and-half:

Tomato Soup

The little bits of sauteed carrots and onions added a nice flavor, along with some thyme and kosher salt.

But le pièce de résistance was a loaf of freshly-baked bread…that I BAKED MYSELF. Yes, you read that correctly. I used the No-knead Artisan Bread recipe from the Kitchen Counter book and cranked out this lovely loaf:

For realz...I baked this.


Today when I met a couple of gal pals for lunch, I was so enthusiastic about my cooking adventure that I forced them to look at photos of this loaf of bread on my iPhone. I was super proud when one of them said it looked like it could be from Mayfield Bakery (our local hi-end, artisan bakery). And even better, my kids *loved* the taste of it.

I was pleasantly surprised that cooking the soup and making the bread was not all that time-consuming… it just took a little planning to ensure I had enough time prior to baking for the dough to rise. The soup took less than 30 minutes! I am really excited about branching out more and trying some new recipes. Plus, I want to start comparing my grocery bills to see if cooking meals from scratch lowers my monthly expenditure. For example, I roasted some chicken thighs the other night, with goat cheese and prosciutto, and I calculated the total cost was about $9 and it provided me with 3 meals.

Cooking from scratch is also forcing me to buy less food but more often, so the ingredients are fresh. I hate thinking about how much food I’ve thrown out because it wasted away in my refrigerator. By planning only a day or two ahead, I hope I can maximize the usage of the food I buy.




A Day in the Life

I love music.

I listen to it throughout the day, sing it in the shower, dance to it while cooking in the kitchen. I love when a favorite song comes on the radio that I haven’t heard in a while and I get to relish whatever it is about that particular song that pleases me…the bass line, the rhythm, the harmonies, cowbell, etc.

Tonight, I arrived home after my Zumba class (dancing somehow doesn’t feel like a workout to me, but my drenched shirt tells otherwise) and just as I pulled into the driveway of my home, “A Day in the Life” by the Beatles began on the radio. I put the car in park, turned off the engine and sat in the dark, listening to it. It brings back memories of when I was in grade school, listening to the Beatles and the Moody Blues and the Rolling Stones because my mom liked those bands. I loved the album covers of the Beatles Red 1962-1966 and Blue 1967-1970 albums. It was so cool to me how they had changed in their photos in that short time span (probably why I am enamored with Dear Photograph and Shawn Clover’s 1906 Mashup Photos).

I put aside nostalgia and really listened to the music…the insistent piano, the mounting, chaotic strings, the simple lyrics that convey the violence and ordinariness of our daily lives, and of course, when John Lennon went into his dream, I sang along with him on the best part: ahhhhhhhh, ah, ah, ahhhhh… ahhh ah ahhhhh….ahhh ah ahhhhhhh….

Right before I had pulled into the driveway, I was thinking about what I’d make for dinner, and which bath bomb from Lush I was going to plop into my bath tonight, but when that song came on, I completely surrendered myself to that moment of singing in the car, in the dark, by myself… a lovely moment of serendipity.