Composting woes

It shouldn't be so hard, and yet this whole composting thing is such a major headache.

Anyone that I ever knew that composted just had a big pile in their backyard and they threw everything on that, and not that I ever saw it, but I assumed they moved it around at some point. It seemed ever so easy.

But for some reason, for me, it is NOT easy. The first thing I did was purchase this compost bin that is NOT what I was looking for. But it was expensive and so I have been trying to make it work. But it is big, and I am not sure that it would really work for ANYONE. You are supposed to layer it, first with six inches of brown (like leaves) and then with six inches of green (grass clippings and food scraps.) Okay, I put in the first six inches of brown, and looked at my paltry pail of green and realized there was no way that was going to make six inches. Sure, I have grass clippings, but they were already in the brown category. So I left this bin, which is supposed to be turned daily, standing up while I worked to get it layered and filled properly.

On the days that I cook, I can probably create maybe a 1/4 of an inch of green! All the pulp from juicing does not really inches create! So I started cheating, and covering the small amount of green with more brown. Brown I got. Then one day I opened it up to throw in more green and almost passed out from the smell. I realized I had to get it turning, so I managed to overturn it and get it on its turny thing, and OHMYGAWD the smell that filled the air as the water inside started leaking out. It was hideous. I had to hold my hand in front of my nose and mouth. It was truly beyond words how awful this stuff smelled.

So. It is now laying down and I turn it, but I can't add to it, and believe me, it's not full. So I am also at odds as to what to do with the green stuff I am collecting in the kitchen. I have a small compost pail on my counter, but you can't leave it in there for long, or you start to think you have to move. I had a huge bag of stuff the other day that I forgot about on the counter, and again, the smell. I could hardly get it out to the garage and to the garbage bin, there was NO WAY IN HELL I was opening that bag and pouring it into something else. Right now, as we speak, I have a bag of scraps from dinner. What the hell do I do with it?

I of course went to the trusty internet and it told me to put it in a five-gallon bucket. Well, that's not going to buy me much time. I am afraid to just put it in a pile somewhere outdoors because we have the dogs, and I am not interested in attracting other varmint. The large and creepy hedgehog that visited the dog food bowls on the porch does not need a nice, smelly invitation, no thanks! And we have bears, I see them in the lower field. And the creep down the road who runs the restaurant does just that: throws his garbage in the field, and my dogs love to visit "the banquet" as do the vultures circling and all the other animals that trek down there for a good gnosh.

Does anyone have any helpful composting tips? I truly did not expect that this keeping of rotting food would be such a hassle! I guess I just have the wrong container ... but do the others really make it easier? And what are the others?

HELP!

This is mostly about my period ... in case that doesn't appeal to you!

So, if you are ever wondering what happens when you combine the summer solstice and a full moon ... well let me tell you.

A nut job!

I am very tied in to the moon -- always have been. When it is full I feel very much alive (and very much unable to sleep) and my period also has always followed its schedule. That was until my period decided that it wanted to space itself out much less, so bye bye moon schedule, hello twice a monthers. So now I don't always have my period when it is a full moon (and didn't always when I was regular either, but I was right in there somewhere, and if I was wondering where I fell in my cycle, a quick check in the sky always gave me a clue.)

This is called peri-menopause -- when your periods jump off the regular train and jumps on to the merry-go-round. I've had it for a while now, years. It shouldn't even be considered unusual, except that every time I get a period twice in one month, I am LIVID and enraged that I have been lied to once again (the first time was when I discovered that the gestation period of a human child was TEN months, instead of the nine they'd been feeding us our whole lives.) How am I being lied to now? I don't know, it just feels that way! Oh, did I mention that being unreasonable is also a symptom of the whole deal?

I have been documenting my "change of seasons" periods for a long time now, ever since I figured out that "these weird periods that attack me brutally" were actually four times a year. Seasonal Period Disorder? Whatever, I am not big on the disorders, but I am sure it has a lot to do with how tuned in you are to your body. My body and I, we are tuned quite well, thank you very much, and I have always been kind of an even-keel type person. I don't have crazy PMS, I am not especially moody and I am never, ever, never depressed.

So when I am, there is a huge red flag waving in front of me screaming ... IT'S COMING WATCH OUT MAN ALL THE HATCHES THIS IS GOING TO BE A DOOZY.

And so it is. Or was. I think, some five days out from the onset of the storm, I am free and clear until what, another few weeks? Oh, that DOES MAKE ME ANGRY. No one should have to have more than one period per month. It should be a law.

So. I was all excited about the summer solstice -- I could actually feel the earth rejoicing at reaching that pinnacle that is the longest day of the year. I felt so full of energy and joy the day before and I thought, oh we should have a party! We should celebrate, I feel like celebrating SO MUCH!

Then I woke up the next day and pretty much decided there was no particular reason to get up. At all. I didn't want to take my six mile walk, I didn't want to read. I didn't want to DO ANYTHING. (This is what I am referring to when I say RED FLAG!) I didn't want to be outside on the gorgeous day and all the things I had to do I put off, by saying I just didn't feel like it.

For the next three days I felt like this. But of course, did not put two and two together because I had seriously JUST HAD a period, so it wasn't on my radar. I didn't know what was wrong -- I just wasn't myself. At all.

Then, it came, and that night out on the boat, I saw the most amazing full moon (coming in two days time) and it all clicked. But that next day I was fine, but man oh man oh man, that full moon day was BRUTAL. I haven't had a period like that in eons. And then I pretty much felt as though I had been picked up, chewed and spit out and then someone had come along and kicked me for good measure.

Yesterday after my walk I could barely make it to a horizontal surface so I could lay down. It always freaks me out when I get tired in the middle of the day -- because it doesn't happen, I have never been a napper and I usually have loads of energy. I couldn't even conceive of making a green juice -- the thought of all that WORK just exhausted me. It's ridiculous.

But I woke up this morning feeling fine and took my six miler and felt great and now I am just trying to figure out what the hell Mother Nature with her seriously bad attitude is thinking serving up a 67 degree day just hours before the first of JULY. I woke up this morning, with the windows all wide open, absolutely freezing. I am currently wearing jeans because I have a chill. I was just outside in the garden and I was sweating. The breeze picks up, and it is cold. The breeze dies down, and it is hot in the sun. I don't think it is funny.

On a positive note, I stood in my garden and munched on raspberries and peas ... a lovely combo I must add ... and marveled at how everything else is growing like gangbusters. I have a tomato plant that has stalks that are the biggest I've ever seen. It's like Jack and the Tomato Stalk! It's crazy. What kind of freaky tomatoes is a plant like that going to grow?

I'll let you know! Unless of course the giant gets me!

Moon over the crybaby

So. Last post it was all a little up in the air -- you know, bitch, kvetch and all that. True, I amended at the bottom that things improved after a singing session in the open air Jeep. True therapy.

But it got even better then that. I headed over to the lake after all the stuff I was dreading with a cooler packed with drinks. (I alluded to the fact that the caffeine needed to be drowned out. And considering it is 11:30 and I am not the LEAST bit tired might mean that didn't work, but I did try.) I set up under the umbrella on the dock with a magazine and was ever so happy. Peter showed up soon after and I poured myself my first cocktail of the evening. Then more family members arrived and we sat there for several hours chatting. Then Peter and I took off in the boat for dinner.

And guess what? They were having KARAOKE at 8:30. I love to sing, I always have. And a few weeks ago a friend and I stood up and sang I am Woman, by Helen Reddy, and Peter said we were terrible. So for about an hour after the karaoke began, I did not participate. But ... I wanted to go up. I don't know why. It's like any of those things, either you want to, or you don't. A woman next to me was restless and I could tell that she SORT of wanted to, and I even convinced her to look through the book, but ultimately she didn't have it in her. Why not? These are not fears I carry. There were lots and lots of people up there who sounded terrible. But that's okay! It's not about sounding like a rock star -- it's about having the guts to get up there and try. I really believe that. The guts or the desire, whatever.

So I put in my slip, and was called up, and I sang, and it was awesome. I love to sing. I make no apologies for it! And when I returned to my seat, Peter even said I sounded good. And he was excited that we could leave!

OH ... we got outside and the moon is full (or close to it) and it was bright and balmy out. We took off in the boat and it was just sheer heaven. And I thought, I began this day, six miles after a walk with a huge blister and then a wicked period hitting me and all the other stuff and I let that bother me. But NOTHING bothers you when you are flying across a lake in the path of a full moon and the air is warm and not damp (as it tends to get as the summer wears on) and I just really got how lucky I am. I know I am. Sometimes I just need to be sort of kicked in the butt softly by a gentle bump on an otherwise dead calm lake.

Now, let us pray that the amount of alcohol I consumed will overtake the caffeine I never should have touched.

Are you with me?

:O

Change of seasons period hits with vengeance BEWARE

Well that was dumb.

Yesterday my sneakers were in the car that Maddie took to work, so I wore my hiking boots. They gave me a blister somewhere between my big toe and the next toe ... ouch. Today I figured I'd just tough it out, and hoped the blister would just pop itself and all would be good.

Well, six miles later it really, really, REALLY hurts. Like as can hardly walk. I have NEVER had a blister in this spot before, it is weird.

I didn't eat anything before I walked, so when I came home I had a banana muffin. That should have been enough, but last night I made the most delicious recipe -- it was spinach egg noodles with a sort of pesto dressing, made from asparagus, spinach, toasted pine nuts and parmesan cheese -- all whirred through the food processor. OH, so yummy. There was some left over, so I thought, ooooooh, I want me some of that.

Now I not only have a painful blister, I am so full I could explode. What I really needed was a green juice, not green food. Noodles and I, we have a love/hate relationship. I love to eat them but my body just takes them and blows them up like balloons in my stomach. It's killer! When someone offers me spaghetti I wonder why they want to try to kill me! Seriously.

So those are my woes. That and I have to drive to Concord to pick up a car. I hate Grappone with all the passion (this is a dealership where we seem to buy ALL of our cars!) one can muster for hating a business. I can go back to my very first car and tell you stories about this place. But when we bought the latest Toyota Peter also bought the *$#()_*&#(@)_(#)@_*($@ service package with it. Why? Why, when your wife is sitting there saying she will HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH IT ... I'll tell you why. He is seduced by the free tires. Somewhere in all that small print are the words FREE TIRES and he can't get beyond it. He can't hear the fact that I will DO ALL THE MAINTENANCE on the car if I can take it to the garage I want. OH NO. His brain takes those two words FREE TIRES, imprints them madly and he signs on the dotted line. Forget about the fact that we are PAYING them to treat us like doggy doo. It is not free maintenance, oil changes, etc. OH NO. We pay for that. What you DO GET if you do not stray and maintain your car there each and every time is a pair of free tires. WHICH YOU HAVE TO FIGHT FOR! Because our last Toyota we did this (some of us do NOT learn as easily as others) and they just keep saying no, you don't need new tires. The car wasn't going to pass inspection without new tires! Anyway.

The first oil change escapade Maddie and I did. We made an appointment, we went in and I gave them the coupon (this is basically a piece of paper that they take and then put you on the bottom of the list because they have actual paying customers there that they want to make happy. Coupon people have already paid, they could care less about you.) Then we went to the waiting room where we sat for two hours. As you can ascertain, that was the LAST time I did it, and I said I will NEVER GO THERE AGAIN. So ... the car was seriously past it's 15,000 oil change, but Peter doesn't have time. He works, you see, which I completely understand. But this is not some ooopsy mistake here. He willfully and soberly signed himself up for this, and when I said I wasn't going to sit there, he said he would DO IT HIMSELF. Shit. We haven't even gotten past 15,000 miles and it's already a headache for him. AND ME.

So he dropped it off this morning, hopped a ride back with his crew and came back here and picked up his truck and Maddie took the third vehicle to work. What about me, you ask? Why, I get to sit here, carless, and wait for Maddie to get home SO WE CAN DRIVE DOWN AND GET IT. (And let me tell you, the only time you need a car desperately is when you don't have one.) Thank heavens this is not affecting ME at all. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH. It is an absolutely perfect lake day. I haven't been to the lake in weeks. Yes, I realize I sound ridiculous, but I don't care. It is the principle. I take the Jeep to a wonderful place down the road. They give me a free loaner, and off I go about my business. It is convenient to drop off and pick up and they aren't mean to me.

My husband chooses a set of free tires over the ease of just having me deal with the car (and seriously, how free are they after listening to me bitch all the years he takes it there.) Once he gets the free tires, I am free to take it where I wish. This is a power struggle thing that resides in all marriages, and I am quite tired of signing up for this particular one over and over again!

My foot hurts.

I am never eating noodles again, I swear I am going to explode.

Oh wait, all is good, I get to drive to Concord in 80 degree weather to turn around and drive home again.

Oh, and PMS has struck me with a surefire vengeance. Thank GAWD I can blog. I just made garlic scape pesto and I am sure my breath would kill someone.

Peckerhead.

I just felt like saying that.

PECKER HEAD. Get it? BAHAHAHAHAHA

UPDATE: The antidote to above is a nice long sunny drive in the Jeep with a contraband iced coffee (I don't drink coffee and I absolutely CAN NOT take caffeine after noon) and Lady Gaga blaring so loudly people with their windows closed were glancing at me. Now the antidote to this will have to be massive quantities of alcohol to counteract the caffeine. Is that a problem? Some people take Midol, I medicate with liquids!

Bridge to here and there

Please note this is a work of fiction!

This is the writing prompt for today's day 15 of 21 challenge:

If I squint, and look really hard into the distance, I can see him. It is always his back, for that is how I last saw him. As he walked away. On the other side of the wooden walkway is his house. Or it was his house. I don't know who lives there now, because in all these years I have never had the courage to go any further than this. This is the spot where he left me, and this is the spot where I return.

Oh, not that often anymore, I do have a life after all. A good life, a full life. Just not the life I thought I was going to lead when I stood here summer after summer after summer.

Where I stand is the beach, or a part of the beach behind dunes. If you don't know where this walkway is, you can't find it. It is quite hidden between the marsh grass and the side facing the beach is hidden behind dunes and a slatted fence that has a faded out No Trespassing sign. The fence leans into the dunes in one spot so you can walk right over it. But unless you know what lays behind the dunes, there is nothing indicating that it would be worth your while to trespass.

It is hard to imagine that right now I am trespassing, because for all of my childhood I was a welcome visitor. The house in the distance is not a mirage, though the hazy day can play tricks on the mind. I have seen him more than once today. He is floating above those marsh grasses, he is in the trees, his sneakers are slapping against the wood as he rushes home to dinner. Or runs toward me. He is so heavy on my mind today because he is the same age that my son is, the last time I saw him.

I have an 18-year-old son now. I had an 18-year-old boyfriend. We thought that when we turned 18 our lives would begin. This makes me laugh now, and really, the trauma I experienced well over 20 years now is long healed. Corey and I found each other on the beach when we were both three. He had walked over to where I was building a sandcastle and grabbed the pail I was using right out of my hand. I jumped him and we rolled around in the sand until our mother's pulled us apart. That is, of course, family lore. I have no recollection of that particular event, but I can recall many, many other times throughout our childhood when he took something from me and I tackled him to get it back.

The only time I didn't was when he broke my heart and took it with him as he ran from me with great assurance. Up until then it had been a game -- we had enjoyed the physicality of our playful banter. That day I knew it was over, and after careful reconstruction of that last year, I realized there had been a lot of signs.

My family did not have a house on the beach. We had a smallish cottage several blocks from the beach, which we still all pack ourselves into, my two siblings and all of our families, summer after summer after summer. It's what we do. We pitch tents in the backyard for the kids and when it rains they sleep in sleeping bags on the living room floor. There are four small bedrooms in the cottage, and we each have the same one we had as kids. The fourth we use as the kids closet -- there are six teenagers now -- and the room is always in use, with someone changing into a new outfit. They all have summer jobs at the beach, just as we did when we were their age.

Corey lived in a mansion, alone with his sister and his parents. The house was always quiet, and he preferred to hang at our cottage, which was always bustling with activity and laughter. Of course, when we grew older we took advantage of his parent's long absences on business trips, and it is memories such as those that make me shudder every time I see my own son Bart go out the door. He is tall, blonde and handsome and has his share of dates, but he's never had a serious girlfriend. Not like Corey and I were.

We only saw each other during the summer. His family lived in Connecticut and we lived outside of Boston. Cape Cod was our mutual home town, where we spent our entire summers on or near the beach. During the rest of the year we wrote letters to each other and I was permitted to call him once a month. It is one of those hindsight things that brought forth the realization that he could have called me whenever he wanted to. His parents did not go over their phone bill with color coded highlighters like my father did, so he could rant and rave about how we all talked on the phone too much.

Corey's birthday was in June and mine was in September, so of course he lorded it over me that he was older. We always celebrated his birthday at my house, with a cake and ice cream and the usual things like pin the tail on the donkey and musical chairs. His family birthday was always on a Sunday afternoon following his actual birthday, on the front lawn, with his parents, his sister and his grandparents. I would wait on the beach until he would come down, usually quiet and sullen because he'd been talked to by his grandfather about shaping up. It would take a long time to get him back into his usual good mood. He didn't go into details about what had taken place, but I could tell that it bothered him. And the older he got, the harder it became to cajole him out of these moods. His 18th birthday he didn't even come down to the beach. I didn't see him for three whole days -- something that had never happened before.

For a moment I lifted my foot as though I was going to step upon the walkway and make my way towards the house. All those summers I had set up my towel right in the same spot that I had when he would always come to meet me, but he never did after that last summer. All that waiting. And wondering why he'd never written me back or taken my calls. All he had said to me was that he was breaking up with me and he was sorry. That is all he said. He had shrugged and then trotted off to his house. He hadn't looked me in the eye. I hated him eventually, after I realized he was never coming back.

I turned and walked away, towards the ocean. I am sure I sat down in the exact spot I always had, because your body stores those memories deep inside. I stared out at the water, my face cupped in my hands, and breathed in deeply. I don't know why I came here today. Once I met Bill, we'd created our own memories on this beach, though quite a bit further down, closer to our cottage. I guess it was seeing Bart, sitting at the picnic table and blowing out his 18 candles plus one for good luck, and remembering that Corey had done the same thing, in the same spot. And we had changed our relationship that summer into something far more intimate and intense. And then he'd dumped me.

I stood up and brushed the sand off my pants. It wasn't a beach day and there was no one else out here. It was cold and foggy and damp. For a short while the sun had tried to burn through, but it was now long gone and it was time to go home. Back to the crazy, cramped, loud cottage full of grumpy adults and bored teenagers. I started to walk when I heard it. That unmistakable sound I'd strained my ears to listen for all the time. Someone was pounding on the wooden walkway, and I could feel my heart racing. And then a form sprang from the dune and landed smartly on the beach and turned in the direction I was headed. My heart actually stopped, for it looked exactly like Corey. I leaned over to catch my breath, my hands on my knees, my hair trailing into the sand.

"Are you okay?"

It was a man's voice, and I looked over at the shoes. They were nice spiffy sneakers, and I took another deep breath and stood up. I don't think either of us expected to see the other, and yet, there I was in front of his house, who else could we be?

Our eyes locked and in that span of time I read everything I'd been hoping to know ever since that horrible day.

"Hi," I managed to say, and I looked away for a moment.

"Jesus, Jane," his voice was gruff. "You look amazing."

It was such a sweet thing to say, I felt myself flooding with gratitude. I examined him a bit then smiled, I was completely flirting with him. I was that teenager, I could feel myself blushing. "You look pretty good yourself."

He reached out and took both of my hands and smiled at me. "Wow."

He was wearing running shorts and a faded green t-shirt that had Dartmouth blazed across the front of it.

"You end up going there?" I asked, pointing to his shirt. He glanced down then shook his head. "No ..." he trailed off. "My son," he indicated with his head toward the disappearing form down the beach. "He went there." He squeezed my hands and I involuntarily squeezed back. We stood there for awhile, just staring at each other.

I had a million questions but not one that jumped into my mouth. How was it possible that this meeting hadn't taken place before this? I had certainly frequented this part of the beach well into my 20's. Where had he gone to school? Why had he left me? Had he ever loved me?

"Jane," he said, and gave me the most amazing smile. I felt myself melt and my cheeks burned hot. His eyes were the same. His eyes were the same eyes that had told me they loved me. They were not the eyes that had told me they never wanted to see me again. I wanted to kiss him, I wanted him to take me into his arms and hold me. I felt my eyes grow wet and I looked away. It was ridiculous for a grown woman to show this much emotion to someone she hadn't seen or heard from in close to 25 years. We both had children the same age that we had been.

"Everyone said the kindest thing was a clean break," he murmured, and dropped my hands. "Jane," his eyes implored mine.

I couldn't take the intensity of his gaze, so I swept my eyes down the beach. I could see that his son was now headed back towards us, and I looked back at Corey. "I don't know what that means," I hissed. I felt angry all of a sudden. How dare he look at me like that. He left me, brokenhearted, and he never looked back. I had written, I had called, and I had returned to this spot on the beach.

"I know you wrote and called, and I used to watch you out here on the beach," he said softly.

That took me by surprise and I glared at him. "So why didn't you respond to me? Or come out here and talk to me?"

His son came running up and stopped. "Dad?"

Corey turned and looked at his son, then he turned back to Jane. "This is my son, CJ. CJ, this is Jane, an old friend of mine."

I shook the hand of the mini-Corey and was happy to note that his eyes were a completely different color. It was unsettling to be confronted with both the old Corey, and the older Corey, and I wondered if he saw my daughter Beth if he would see me in her as acutely.

"Why don't you go on," Corey told his son. "I haven't seen Jane in a long time, I'd like to catch up."

CJ gave me the once-over and I felt myself squirm. Then he grinned and waved at me with a quick "nice to meet you," and off he went. I looked back at Corey.

"He looks just like you did."

"He's a good kid."

I had noticed that he was quite mature. "How old is he?"

Corey licked his lips and looked at me. "He's 24."

I quickly did the math in my head. We were both 42, my son was 18 and I had had him when I was 24, and there was a six year difference, which ... I gasped and covered my mouth with my hand. "I don't understand."

Corey sighed. "Do you want to go up to the house? We could talk?"

"Is there anyone there?"

He looked at me quizzically. "Oh. You mean, like a wife?"

"Yeah." My cheeks were burning again, I think more from anger now than flashback teenage angst.

"You've caught me on an off-wife year," he flashed that old deprecating grin of old and held out his hands. "Just hear me out. The house is empty, CJ won't be back for a little while ..."

"Oh, because he is accustomed to being your wing man?" Sometimes I didn't know where these things that popped out of my mouth came from.

Corey just laughed. "Yeah, something like that. You game?"

I followed him down the wooden walkway and noted that his step was much lighter all these years later. He was still in very good shape, had all of his hair and it suddenly occurred to me that perhaps this wasn't such a great idea. I stopped.

He turned and looked at me, then reached out and grabbed my hand. I followed obediently as he dragged me. Well, not really, because as he held my hand, I kept close so as not to be dragged. We reached the house and he led me to the adirondack chairs that looked down the expansive lawn into the manicured woods. He pushed me gently into the seat. "I am going to go get a bottle of wine. This calls for a bottle of wine."

I nodded and watched as he left. For a brief moment I wondered if I would be missed at the cottage. But no. It was too crowded to begin with -- Bill would assume that I was staying away on purpose; my sister would assume that I was out buying dinner, which is something I would do, and my brother wouldn't even think of me. Nor would my children. I chewed on a thumbnail and considered the circumstances I was now (I will admit) quite happily ensconced in. Corey returned with a bottle of red and two glasses, which I took from him. He opened the bottle of wine and poured it into the glasses. All the time the sexual tension, the haven't seen you in 25 years tension, the ohmygod we are alone at this house again after all these years tension, throbbed a steady beat in my head and I must admit, I gulped my wine. Corey settled in next to me and for a few minutes we inhaled our wine in silence. It was good. I am a wine snob, so my opinion has merit.

"I was 18," Corey began. "I know that is no excuse, but it really is the foundation of everything."

I looked at him and the earnest look upon his face made me want to reach for him. I took another sip of wine instead. "It's good wine."

"Jane."

"I'm sorry," I took another sip and felt a tear roll down my cheek. I actually wasn't really emotionally fit for this situation. I was somewhere between 18 and 42, and the scale kept tipping to the left. I'd carried this with me my whole life. I'd convinced myself somewhere along the line I was over it. As I took the last sip of a rather generous pouring of wine, I realized I'd been lying to myself all these years. I guess that is what we do.

Corey noted my empty glass and picked up the bottle and poured more in. This was all new. We had never shared a bottle of wine together. Sometimes we had gone to parties on the beach and had beer from plastic cups. But this was a new experience and it brought to mind that I was really sitting here with a stranger.

He studied me for a long moment, then he leaned over and wiped the tears from my cheeks with his thumb. "That year before that summer, in school, I was seeing a girl. That is the first part of the story that I couldn't tell you. I felt such guilt. I know that at the end of every summer we swore we would remain faithful to each other. And up until that year, it was exactly what I did. But..." he hung his head. "I figured you would never find out."

My mouth felt dry. I took yet another sip of wine, and then a very deep breath. "If you had told me this, it would have been much easier to take than the absolutely nothing you told me. You just broke up with me, Corey. You hurt me."

"I know." He took my hand in his and squeezed it.

I wanted to snatch my hand back. But my soul needed this. This was retribution -- right? This was the story that explained that none of this was my fault. That I was a good person and I was mistreated and left to rot. But I didn't rot. Eventually I flourished, I went to college as planned, the first semester was difficult, but I had a tenacious roommate who did not suffer fools lightly. And while summers sucked for a long time, eventually, after dating many, many men, I found Bill. And he lit up the same candle inside of me that Corey had.

Except all those other boys between Corey and Bill did not find me on the beach before his house, waiting for him to show up. I looked at him, hard. "Just tell me."

"That summer was the same as they had all been. I know it was a little more intense, because we were having sex, but ..."

I had grabbed his arm and he had stopped talking. I knew, like only a woman can know, the rest of the story. I took several deep breaths and then recalled it all in my head. Our first time had been in the rec. room over his garage. It had been wonderful and kind and sweet and ... when I had told him that I had always known we would be each other's firsts -- he had given me a look.

At the time I had thought it was a look that a man smitten by an amazing women would give her. Now, all so many years later, I knew exactly what that look meant. I took another deep breath and looked at him. "So, when did you find out she was pregnant?"

He wasn't even surprised. We'd always had something between us that didn't require a lot of excess words. It was that kind of telepathy or whatever you wanted to call it that had made our relationship so easy. And so real.

"Her parents drove up here that last weekend, and had a powwow with my parents. My grandparents also happened to be here." He turned to me. "They were a proper Catholic family and there was no question what was going to happen." He shook his head. "I wish I could have talked to you about it, but no one wanted it to get out." He turned to me. "She was a proper Catholic girl from a family that could not withstand such a scandal. We were married that same week."

I gasped. I had figured out that I hadn't been his first to have sex with. I had even done the math and knew that he had been 18 when he had his son. But I hadn't really thought that he had broken up with me -- his girlfriend for 15 years -- one day and married someone else the next.

I thought of Bart, and how I would feel if a couple showed up at my door and told me that he had gotten their daughter pregnant.

"I didn't know how to stop it," Corey told me. "As soon as my grandfather heard the news, it was as though I had proven to him what he had already known: That I was a failure. He took over, and my parents didn't really do anything to stop him. Her name was Angie. Her parents and my grandfather figured it all out."

I looked at him. "Did you ever go to college?"

He shook his head. "No. I was headed to Dartmouth, as you know. But my grandfather had found the perfect way to get me into the family business." He laughed wryly. "Listen, Jane. I've gone over this a million times in my head. I've had a bajillion conversations with you, other than the one we had. I didn't know what to do, and everyone, my parents, my sister, my grandfather, they all said just said to give you the facts straight and make a clean break." He got on his knees and looked up at her. "I did the clean break part, I just forgot all the facts."

He was so young looking, kneeling before me, his eyes earnest, open and true. For a brief moment I wondered if he had told me then, if I would have patted him on the head, as I felt like doing now, and telling him that it was alright. But no. I had been 18 too, and I would have freaked out. I should be freaking out now, but time, experience and maturity does have its benefits.

I ached. Don't get me wrong. I wondered in a millisecond of time if we could go on from here -- and pick up where we had left off. I wanted to get on my knees beside him and go back and love him as purely as only one can do their first time.

But then I remembered Bill. My husband of 19 years, who I had met somewhere after getting over Corey and not getting over Corey. I had told him about him, and he had become sufficiently upset about him and said that if he ever saw him he would punch his lights out. Which had made me laugh, because Bill is really the most docile human being you will ever meet. He watches sports, but he doesn't play them. And the one thing he does with complete precision is love me.

"I know," Corey said humbly. "I have seen you, you know. When I grew up a little and realized everything I had done was wrong, I went to find you at the cottage. CJ was five and Angie and I had put our divorce into effect. It was one of the few times I came to the house -- all the years leading up to that I was working, and I was working hard. No one works harder than the grandson of the owner of a company." He laughed bitterly. "I would have enjoyed college."

"You know what?" I asked with a lot of malice.

"I know you found a guy who loves you, and you love him. I stood behind the bushes and I watched you. And I knew that if I had walked into that, it wouldn't have been good. Jane."

I looked at him, his tone was almost commanding.

"I loved you."

I swallowed, hard. "I loved you."

We stared at each other for a long time, and then I held out my glass. He filled it and grinned at me. "You are quite the lush."

"Seriously, don't you think the situation calls for massive quantities of alchohol?"

He poured the rest of the bottle into his own glass and we sipped in silence.

"So you divorced after five years?"

He nodded. "I'm not really sure how we lasted that long. I worked all the time and eventually she ended up meeting someone that she actually loved."

"You never loved each other?"

"No," he shook his head.

I couldn't breathe. He was not the person I'd known, because that person would not have been so complacent and let things happen to him. And yet, that is exactly what had happened. I stood up. He looked at me, surprised. For a long moment I thought I would sit back down, but I knew I was done here.

He stood up and followed me as I walked toward the wooden walkway and he put his hand on mine when I placed it on the railing. "Don't go," he pleaded.

"We could talk for hours," I began, "and I could tell you all about my life and you could tell me all about yours. I could explain that I have a son that reminds me of you; I could tell you that deep in my heart there is a hole that you made and it will never be filled. We could talk all night, and maybe we could repair a few of the wrongs ... but ultimately I will walk down this bridge and I will return to my husband, whom I love with all of my being, and to my children, who have given me more joy than I could have ever anticipated."

I turned to him and ran my fingers lightly down his cheek. "I am sorry what happened to you back then, and I am sorry for what happened to me. But you could have answered my letters, my phone calls, or come down to this beach and spoken to me. You made your choices, for whatever reason, a long time ago."

I started walking away from him, my head held high, and I could hear him following. I broke out into a run and the marsh grasses fanned away from me. I broke out onto the beach by running up the dune and jumping. It felt good. It felt right. As I ran with all I had, toward my cottage, towards my life, my husband, my children, all that mattered to me, I didn't look back. When his son and I passed each other, I only gave him a passing glance.

I entered the cottage and sat down, exhausted on the couch. My sister asked me if I had any plans for dinner. My brother glanced at me and told me I looked drunk. My husband came and sat down next to me and kissed me on the cheek and told me I looked beautiful. A few minutes later my son came in with a girl trailing behind him. He looked shy and anxious and I took a deep breath. The best I could tell him was that it all works out the way it is supposed to.

Right?

Kindle vs. Nook

This is the Kindle that I have. Note the buttons on either side. No matter what you do, place the book down, switch hands, whatever, you hit one of those buttons and lose your place. It is obnoxious.

Note on the latest generation the buttons are MUCH smaller, and there is plenty of room above to hold the book and put it down, etc. without advancing the pages. That is really ALL that bothers me with my Kindle -- and yet, when you hit that 20 times a reading session, it is quite aggravating. This one is also not as heavy.

In between baking the most magnificent espresso banana muffins, cleaning the kitchen, figuring out what recipe I am going to make for tomorrow night's book club and laying out the ingredients for two more things I am going to make today, I started Kindle housecleaning.

I have a lot of books on there. And it can certainly hold them. But the difference between a Kindle and a bookshelf is that when you see a book on a bookshelf, take it in your hand and look at the cover, you can instantly ascertain whether or not you have already read that book. On the Kindle, not so easy. Maybe there is some little trick I don't know about, but there are over 50 titles on there, and I am just not sure on ALL of them. The ones I have read recently, that is easy, but I download books when I hear about them, and then they sit on there waiting for me to discover them. This is becoming quite a little job!

I downloaded four new books today. I had an ongoing list and decided it was time to load up the Kindle for summer. But then I realized I already had a lot of books on there I am pretty sure I haven't read ... and so decided I better figure this out. The first thing I did was double check that Amazon has a library of all the books I have downloaded. Because at some point I might want to read them again. You never know! I just don't want to delete them and never see them again. When you are a book lover, such an idea is inconceivable! Not right!

I have another dilemma going on. I have really wanted the second generation Kindle since I received the one I have and the new and improved model came out months later. The things that drive me nuts about this one have not abated ... and I have debated from time to time to just get one ... and once I was really sure I wasn't going to replace it with an iPad, well, it seemed that the money I was saving more than compensated for the outrageousness of replacing a perfectly good tool.

But then I would talk myself into just appreciating what I have and stop bitching about stupid things that aren't really THAT big of a deal. It still works for its primary purpose, it's just being frivolous to upgrade.

Then Amazon lowered the price to $189 and I swear, it took all I had not to push the button! Then I thought, wait! Maybe if they are in a price war with Barnes and Noble's the Nook, maybe I should wait this out! So I took my finger off the button, took deep breaths, and stepped away from the computer.

But naturally that is all I can think about. The CHEAP (relative to the fact that I spent way too much for the one I don't even love!) Kindle ... it would make my life so much better and the world's crisis' would surely be solved. If only I had the new Kindle. If only ...

Then something was wrong with my Amazon account and it said that I didn't even have a Kindle registered, and I thought, well this is ridiculous, what is going on, and then WHAMMO, it hit me. I could register my new Kindle and my old Kindle on the same account, then I could SHARE the extra Kindle with family members who I want to read the books that I've downloaded that are so good! Great idea, right?

I don't know. The fact that I haven't pushed the button is meaningful, because you are talking to someone who has no fear of button pushing! I do not belabor over purchasing decisions -- it's pretty simple, if you want it, you need it, then get it. Move on. The problem with this is that I am crazy afraid that they will come out with a new one THE MOMENT I buy the latest model, and if this e-reader thing is actually going to heat up, maybe there will be even a new introduction to the market. Bright and shiny. I can't resist!

So I don't know. Maybe I should check out the Nook. It is smooth and sleek looking -- and I'd still have the Kindle in the event ... I don't know what event! What would YOU DO?!!!

The Nook buttons also don't take up the entire side of the device. I guess I'll check out the cost of that one as well.

One thing I noted from reading about the Nook is that it has color integrated into the whole deal on the screen. The Kindle is black and white and the images are quite elementary. (Like when you compare it to an iPad it is like an Etch-a-Sketch versus a classical painting, or, in other words, NO COMPARISON!) They also let you share with friends. Which is awesome.

To do ... what to do....

Gardening on the summer solstice

Had my first salad from the garden tonight! Yummy, yummy yum! I combined spinach, baby romaine, mesclun and beet greens together with sliced strawberries from my CSA. Then, I sprinkled on top of that the most amazing, incredible, sweet and delicious balsamic vinegar. It was heaven.

There is something so incredibly gratifying about eating from your own garden. First I went out to collect the bounty and it was so pretty out there that I stayed for a while. I checked out the status of the raspberry bushes, and popped an almost ripe one in my mouth. And actually giggled because I do so love raspberries. Then I checked out the asparagus, which is growing like mad, and noted that I lost a cantaloupe plant and one cucumber. It looks as though the cuke was trampled by someone. Or A DOG. I also had some leftover peas and decided what the heck, I would just plant them, so I did that a week or so ago and they are growing like mad. I love to experiment with things like that. Especially when people insist that it won't work! Yeah, I will show them.

When Charlie bit into a piece of beet green he announced that he was lucky that he didn't throw up all over the table. Seriously. I know, it is hard to compete with all the junk food he prefers, which is ever so yummy, but in my book a fresh green is worth singing about!

Tomorrow morning I am picking fresh kale for my green juice. I can't believe how big the kale got over the weekend. It is beautiful.

I LOVE THIS TIME OF YEAR. And today is the longest day of the year. Which is so right. All days should be long, and beautiful and full of green!

Happy Summer Solstice!

Life is a beach

I am a beach girl. I always have been. I can sit on a beach for hours and days and be perfectly content. I find the crashing waves soothing, I find the calm ocean soothing, I find the gulls screeching about soothing. I have a lot of beach stories.

Today, after sitting and watching Maddie play softball under the blistering sun, we went to the beach. A friend had told us about this place called Higgins Beach, and said we had to check it out. Peter heard that everyone else was going to go to Old Orchard Beach. I've been there/done that. More than once. It is like Hampton Beach, really, you just drive through. No, I wanted to go to the beach where there were no people and there was no parking.

We hauled the cooler like a quarter of a mile, with our beach chairs, from the small parking lot where we paid $5 for the privilege of leaving our car. It was after 5:00 and really, what I consider prime beach time. Now, we had been sweating all day long, and traipsing down to the beach we were still not cool. As we walked upon the small strip (high tide) Peter kept saying, what's wrong with this spot? What's wrong with this spot? He will sit next to anyone! I had my eye on a prime piece of beach quite a bit further down where no one was nearby. Obviously the lazy people sit on the beach by the stairs. I want the primo beach site. He didn't get it. At last we found the perfect spot and he kept teasing me, are you sure this grain of sand is to your liking? Perhaps THOSE grains of sand over yonder are better?

Listen. When you are sitting on the beach, all set up and enjoying life, when some schmuck from wherever comes along and plunks themselves right on top of you, when there is plenty of room elsewhere, it's aggravating and not nice. I don't do it to other people so they won't do it to me.

So we sat down and within about 30 seconds we were all freezing. That is Maine for you. Of course, I had a backpack with a sweatshirt in it, but did anyone else come prepared? Of course not. I gave the sweatshirt to Maddie and wrapped myself in a towel, and proceeded to make the most delicious beach snacks. We found the most FABULOUS health food store this afternoon -- oh my. I was in heaven. Complete and total. I skipped around in glee and chose all sorts of wonderful beach snacks. I took a piece of flat bread, spread goat cheese brie, sliced thin pieces of organic pear and put that on top of the cheese, then sprinkled some sunflower sprouts on top. OHMYOHMYOHMY. Yummy. I had some wine and all was good in the world.

The other two were freezing. COME ON! We are at the beach. There has to be a little give and take, you know? I spent ALL DAY sitting in a field in the blazing sun watching softball games. I adapted, I figured it out.

Peter went back to the car for coats (that is his solution to everything, just go DO something besides what we are doing) and that placated everyone for a little bit. But not long. About 20 minutes later Peter said he was bored. COME ON! We had packed a cooler full of fun and scrumptious food, we had wine, beer, water, etc. Sure, it was a bit chilly, but now we had coats!

I don't know why I can sit on a beach forever and ever. I was telling Maddie that cold is just a part of it. I told her about one time a friend and I had been at Ogunquit beach in Maine, all day long. There had been not one single wave the entire day. We had sat through sunset, enjoying a bottle of wine and bread and cheese, and I had walked back to get the car. My friend was waiting in the parking lot at the edge of the beach, and I pulled up and she said to me I had to look. The tide was coming in and there, before us, were the most amazing waves. We looked at each other, and without a further thought we locked up the car and ran down, plunging into the freezing cold water with a mission.

We body surfed until we were exhausted. There were people on the beach watching us and shaking their heads. It was not only cold water, it was cold out! But they didn't understand that we had started that day with the intent to body surf. The fact that the waves hadn't shown up until much, much, MUCH later ... well, we went with it!

But oh we were cold. Freezing really. I remember I was shivering and shaking so badly I couldn't get the key into the ignition. We wrapped ourselves in towels and sat in the car for a long time with the heat blaring on high, trying to stave off hypothermia. We peeled off the wet suits once we stopped shaking, and put on warm, dry clothes. I don't think you really appreciate what it is like to be warm and cozy until you freeze first! I really don't.

So when you are sitting on the beach, dry, with a coat on, and someone is complaining they are cold, you can certainly understand that I don't get it. I really don't. We are AT THE BEACH! There is nothing unhappy about it. Not ever. I have sat on the beach in the fog, unable to even see the water in front of me. I have sat on the beach with a million people surrounding me. I have sat on the beach alone. I love the beach. Any kind of beach day is a good beach day to me.

And really, there is one other caveat to a perfect beach day. You must (and you know who you are!) be with those of the same mindset as you! Because there is nothing better, once you are AT the beach, than to be with someone who gets it. Who wants to be there just as much as you do and is willing to overlook a few pesky thing like baby sharks that bite and pounding waves that nearly rip your bathing suits off.

Maddie said she hates the way her hands feel when they get sand on them. Peter said he hates the way his whole body feels as though it is covered with salt -- even though he didn't go swimming.

I love anything about the beach.

I really do.

Much ado about nothing

Not sure what we're going to be writing about today. We, meaning me! I have no thoughts whipping about my head, I thought I might have an opinion about that 16-year-old girl who attempted to sail around the world and then needed to be rescued -- but then decided I really didn't. She and her family claim that she has grown up on boats and it was her dream to break the record (whatever the record was, youngest?) and so she tried. The various comments I have come across are that the parents are irresponsible and that taxpayers shouldn't have to foot the bill for rescuing such people.

I took horseback riding lessons with this woman who had a very young child, probably two. That little kid would literally swing from the rafters and land on a horse's back. I was somewhat appalled, believing the child would get trampled to death or bucked or ... something awful. But the mother's parenting style was, umm, somewhat laid back, and this child (it took me several lessons to figure out that the little waif-like creature in the dirty clothes and messed up blonde hair was actually a girl) had managed to make it to the ripe old age of two in this situation, so who was I to judge?

While her mother taught the lesson, she wandered about, sometimes in the field with the horses and she would pull their tails and throw things at them, but they paid her no mind. I, at the tender age of like 10 was sure the kid was going to die all the time. But when I attempted to hold her she would squirm away and go off and do her own thing. She was more or less raised by horses, I guess. When she was a little older, like five, she could ride a horse like nobody's business. She was positively fearless (which I admired because I was always fearful that my horse was going to throw me or I would be hurled to my death when we went galloping through the woods at full bore) and everything she did was completely intuitive. We would be riding on trail and she would turn her entire body around and address whomever she wanted, then whip back and urge her horse on, then lean forward and lay her entire body upon the horse's neck and snuggle then sit back up and throw her head back and laugh with complete abandon.

It was really something to watch.

So I believe that a 16-year-old would have the confidence and the ability to do something that came to them second nature. I don't necessarily get WHY you'd want to do it alone! I mean, I don't even like to take a two-hour walk in the woods alone. Not because I am afraid, but because I just prefer to have company! If she had made it, she would have been heralded as a hero. Because she didn't -- she is a pain in the neck kid who should have stayed home.

Geesh.

And that's all I have to say! I have an empty mind.

I kind of like it!

That damn HFCS

I am so tired of high fructose corn syrup. I really am. I have several family members who just don't get how bad for you it is -- and they seem intent on bringing it into this house at every chance they get.

Should I just let them all ingest the crap year after year and when they eventually die from some strange illness that no one understands WHERE it came from, just shrug and say, well I told them so? Because that's what I'd like to do at times, believe me.

Obviously eating 10 cookies with HFCS in them will not kill you. Smoking one cigarette won't either. In fact smoking pack after pack after pack of cigarettes a day will not kill you. Right away. The problem with something that doesn't actually kill you immediately is that you believe it is fine. Just fine!

I believe that eating clean is the only way to live a long, healthy life. When I say eating clean, I mean eating fresh fruits and vegetables, and primarily organic. I have been dancing with the quality of food for years and years now -- sometimes just digging into a big platter of fried food with abandon, because really, sometimes, who cares. And I think that is fine -- what is NOT fine is eating it all the time. So I get it, when you eat something bad and nothing really happens, that it seems that why not, eat what you want and life goes on.

I love to cook, and for a long time as I went off on crazy food tangents (raw food for example) I would genuinely feel sad at the thought of never cooking again. It just didn't feel right. What did feel good was me! When you eat just raw foods you feel truly amazing -- and even when I don't eat just raw foods, at this point I feel pretty good. But there is a difference, and yet I can't follow it. So I've determined that it's not right for me. And I have found it interesting that a lot of the various blogs I follow of raw foodists -- who have let themselves become emaciated through eating raw food and their colonics and all the stuff they get involved in -- until one day their bodies actually do revolt. And they discover that they need to add certain foods to their diet -- like fat. Animal fat!

The way my personality works is that I jump on a bandwagon and I am the biggest cheerleader and I am dragging others onto it with me, and we are dancing and partying and having a grand old time.

And then I am done. Bye bye bandwagon. But I think ultimately what I am learning is that each of the bandwagon movements has something to offer -- and when put together support a healthy diet in which to sustain the healthy and wonderful life I prefer to lead.

I am still navigating; but I will be doing so for the rest of my life. And that is fine, because there will always be different movements and theories and scientific facts that will need to be taken into consideration. (For example, wine is good for your heart. Hell, who isn't going to love that one?) But in truth, I don't listen to ANY of that, because a glass of wine is not good for your heart if you drink it with a Big Mac.

We are into summer mode and that means snacks. We are sitting at ballgames, or we are going to the lake or out on the boat or lunches needed to be packed. My mind seems to shift and I find myself in middle aisles, reading labels. And it just hits me like a ton of bricks that this HFCS crap is in EVERYTHING. I was trying to assemble a quick lunch for a group of people on the cheap (this translates into people who don't give a shit what they eat so why should I pay top dollar to feed them what **I** eat if they don't care?) and the pickles were full of the crap, the salad dressing and the bread. Are you kidding me? I mean, I know this, but it's been so long since I've bought such stuff that it just kind of reiterated the fact that this nasty stuff is getting more prevalent -- not less -- in the standard american diet. (They call that SAD in the raw food world, by the way, and they are right in that!)

HFCS causes diabetes, obesity and metabolic syndrome. The corn used in the concoction from hell is also genetically modified -- and there ain't no one out there admitting that that does anything to your body. But it will come out eventually. If there is anyone alive to hear the results, that is.

Yes, this seems a ridiculous statement. But is it? You do the research -- it has been stated that your children will not live as long as you will. Because of the food.

I fight this battle daily. My husband insists that he can't drink water so he is constantly on the search for some drink out there that tastes good but won't essentially mess around with your body chemistry. He drinks stuff that has those chemicals in it -- but he will hold the bottle up proudly and say there are NO CALORIES! Aren't we over calories yet? Aren't we over carbs and trans fats? If a food has to tout that it doesn't contain something bad, that's just a red flag. HUGE RED FLAG!

I had dinner at my in-laws last night. I try not to do this too often because our food philosophies don't mesh. But they just arrived and my brother-in-law was there so I said yes. I am also trying to be less psycho about food in general -- and not let it have as much importance in my life. I feel that if I do my best to eat properly on a regular basis, if I find myself in a situation where the food isn't pristine, it will be fine to eat a little poison now and then.

First off, my brother-in-law drinks soda like it's his job. It is so disturbing to me that I actually get a stomach ache. He has been diagnosed with type 2 diabetes, I believe he has heart issues, and he is absolutely obese. I presume he also has the metabolic syndrome thing as well, since all three go hand in hand. As he drinks one can after another, filling his body with the very substance that is killing him, I know he is a very intelligent man and that he must know he shouldn't be drinking it. But he is clearly addicted and can't stop. He will live for many, many years I am sure, after many heart procedures and medications to control his various ailments.

It is very hard for me to watch.

Then at the dinner table, it was a bit of a limited meal because they had just arrived. It was spaghetti and meatballs, bread and a salad comprised of iceberg lettuce, white onion and green grapes. There was the shaker cheese in the container and two choices for salad dressing. I read both labels and HFCS was the second ingredient. I panicked a little, because I was actually hungry and I usually eat a lot of salad. But iceberg lettuce is devoid of taste and nutrients, the grapes weren't organic and I don't eat non-organic grapes (they are on the dirty dozen) and I couldn't put salad dressing on it. Oh my.

There was a loaf of bread and the butter that I had left in the fridge. It was my sweet, organic butter, and I grabbed a piece of bread and the butter and lathered it on. Oh so yummy. The sauce was from the jar, and while I do that myself in a pinch, I pay a small fortune for tasteful and organic sauce. I could only taste salt and I also had to pick through the meat, since I don't eat red meat. I thought I was being very adult in not adamantly refusing to eat something that I don't eat -- instead, I just put all the meat on Peter's plate and ate my spaghetti and lettuce. It was, for me, very hard.

My mother-in-law is a fine cook -- she has been cooking her entire life and once upon a time her dinners were delicious. But I am too far beyond eating what is put in front of me -- and way too aware of what I am eating. She cooks on a budget and purchases all supermarket brand foods and the cheapest meats. I cook with no budget because I don't believe you can put a price on your health, and I buy mostly fresh foods, the most expensive meats with none of the hormones, etc. and if I do happen to buy something packaged I read the labels. If there are more than five, I won't buy it.

This afternoon I picked up my "bounty" from the CSA I belong to, and had to drop off a share at a friend's house. She prepared the most amazing lunch just by looking into her fridge and throwing things together. She put some turkey on a plate and then some mozzarella cheese balls with sundried tomatoes, a cut up tomato, some fresh greens from her garden and then she sprinkled the lot with crazy yummy balsamic vinegar. After the white meal I'd choked down the night before, it was a crazy array of beautiful colors. And the flavor! Oh, to eat good food that tastes delicious is such an amazing experience.

And it made me realize, it's just not worth it. Eating food for the sake of sitting at someone else's dinner table, and then feeling bad that you did, is wrong. And these are all my family members sitting there, inhaling massive amounts of HFCS. It breaks my heart, it really does. It makes me feel so helpless, and it shouldn't! If they were sitting there eating poison berries, I would absolutely not let them. But these are slow-acting poison berries, so I eat in silence.

I don't like it.

Just spill it

When you try to block something out, it seems that it bothers you even more. Well, I actually even know this, as it is the "what you resist persists" philosophy. But sometimes you see things you don't really want to and then it just stays with you ... it's like having a stalker.

It was this one that hit me particularly hard. Especially since the other morning I sat on my toilet and watched two large crows at the tippity top of a tree try to dry their wings in the rain. I was struck by the way they kept lifting a wing, waiting, then squawking a few times, then lifting the other wing, and putting the first one down. How could they balance on that tiny branch with all that movement?

But this bird. How can it possibly live? Is it even humane to clean it off and attempt it? Every part of that small bird's body has been infected by the crap it is covered with. Do we want to keep these birds alive only for them to breed and end up with who know's what. Will evolution provide these animals with the means to clean oil off themselves with what appears to be an inevitable oil spill?

I am really not doing this for shock purposes. If you feel completely useless and unable to fathom why they can't stop it -- then you feel like I have felt most of my life. Unable to comprehend why people don't DO something about something. Why people prefer to complain and bitch and moan but never oh never ever take steps to stop something. I've long since made peace with the fact that one person can not change a bad institution, but they can change their own circumstances.

With that said, there is nothing I can do with this problem. I haven't invented something that can suck up oil and I do not have massive amounts of cash that I can give to the people who have lost their jobs. I have no desire to wash oil off of marine life -- and to be honest, I don't want to get cancer ten years from now because I did so. Yes, that sounds crazy selfish but it is also brutally honest. I, in truth, want to stay as far away as I possibly can from this mess and pretend it's not happening.

And you probably want to do the same thing -- because talking about it doesn't change anything. The pictures of the oil gushing out into the ocean, millions of gallons worth, is like aliens landing in the middle of Times Square. You shoot them and their supertough bulletproof skin deflects them. They look at you and you melt. What the hell are you going to do? RUN!

There ARE people who have the capability of stopping this. I have no doubt about it. What is getting in the way is the usual red tape and government agency nonsense and I can only hope that there are people with pure hearts and the technology who are sneaking out and doing something behind the backs of the enforcers of rules. I don't want to read about anything bad, and I don't want to see pictures of dead animals, because it makes me sick. But we are a society that puts no value on human life when it comes to the bottom line, so a couple cazillion dead fish and birds is not worth discussing, I am sure.

This is now a part of our history. The lives directly affected by this toxic poison will be lost from this day forward, and maybe, or maybe not, rightly tied to it. It may or may not be mentioned ten years from now how the number of women with breast cancer spiked in 2020 in the gulf region. The animals lost will never be counted. The jobs will be lumped into the pile of unemployment figures and will eventually bottom out as new jobs are created -- whatever they will be.

And the group of people who comprised policy and made the decisions that created this disaster will be long gone -- living in the cleanest, most pristine sections of the world, sipping mai tai's and lamenting the millions they lost those years their BP stock went down.

I am not really sure where I was going with this when I started and I am not sure I was successful in meeting the goal I intended! I remember feeling such great empathy for the oil battered bird, and I know I tried really hard not to go off against big business and "those people" who do these things to us! I think I was trying to find something good within something so bad, but is there any?

So why all the pictures? Because BP doesn't want these pictures "out there." The more people immerse themselves in the awfulness of this tragedy, the louder the cries of "GET 'EM" will ring across the land. BP keeps press off the beaches. Did you know this? They don't want their shareholders to get scared, so there is definitely an air of downplay to this whole thing. That whole Facebook thing about where are the concerts, the telethons, the celebrities flooding to the region to help? Yeah, so, why is it that no one wants to do those things? Seems to be that when it happens in foreign lands there is some push from somewhere to get the American name on the marquee of "being helpful." But here, none of that seems to happen. It's all so. Wrong.

Except it is the way it is. "They," my ever favorite friend and foe, is doing everything they can to suppress the reality of what is going on -- and they sure as hell don't want any big old concert with dead animals being discussed and the fact that an entire coast could potentially be ruined for decades to come.

So in the end, as much as you don't want to, talk about it, look at the pictures and ask yourself WHAT THE HELL IS BEING DONE, and then ask someone else that question and hopefully someone out there will give us an answer.

Because if we are quiet, we are not only ignoring a huge disaster, we are also losing an opportunity to make sure this never happens again.

I am afraid we need to talk

I had an interesting response to my post on fear; people I didn't think ever read my blog admitted that they did -- and then commented on their interpretation of what I wrote.

So I have a new fear -- and that is that those who read my words take them at face value. Which is probably an excellent lesson for me to learn. I have always been loose with words -- I have always bandied them about, used up great sentences of them without putting any thought or reason behind them.

But when you do this vocally, people don't remember, for the most part, what the hell you said! When you log it and set it in ether stone, they become not just words strung together into sentences that come from my mind and are just as quickly forgotten by me as my fingers fly over the keyboard and create more, more, more words. No, they become an entity. A thing that can be misunderstood or way more is read into them than was ever intended.

Have I told the mute story? I know I have, and if I'd actually paid attention back in high school instead of being quite sure that I was smarter than anyone there, I would have heeded the lesson that I molded into something else altogether.

I wrote a story about a mute that I literally whipped out in ten minutes -- a mute that walked about the beach and portrayed a story through touch, sound and smell. The assignment had something or other to do with that and naturally I'd waited until the last minute to complete it. Several days later the papers were handed out with the names removed, and they were critiqued. Mine was heralded as the most amazing and wondrous piece of writing since Steinbeck, Hemingway and God. For crying out loud. I'd never even gone over to check for spelling errors.

But I didn't learn it then and I obviously haven't learned it up until now -- that my words have a force of their own and it might behoove me from time to time to go back through them and see what they are saying and how they might be perceived by others.

But then again, doesn't that kind of suck? Isn't the purpose of something like a blog sort of release you from such etiquette -- as in, don't read it if you don't like it and don't take it personally either!

After the whole middle school brouhaha where I was basically threatened, I backed off for a bit, but again, no lesson learned there! That just pissed me off royally and in truth, I did bite my tongue for months, which I thought was a great example of maturity and pent up disrespect! And it still would thrill me to no end to call out a few of the worst teachers on the planet and really get down and dirty. But alas. I won't. Just because. Just because I don't need that kind of karma in the universe. And really, peace, love, smile, breathe. Let it go. Aaaaaaaaagh, what I wouldn't do for a stand-up, knock down, hell even a little blood letting ....

But you see, I say those things in the moment. I get a bit riled up at the thoughts of those times and I write it as it is happening, but seriously, just because you get why people go postal, columbine and all that, doesn't mean it's an idea you'd emulate. (And if I was speaking this, my tongue would be heavy with dripping sarcasm, which is certainly possible to write, but not as perfectly as the vocal equivalent. Not by a long shot.) I know all of this. I know that when I start writing (or thinking) about the Middle School from Hell I get nuts. I know that when I say things like my life is not perfect, someone reads that as their fault. (Well, at least I know now!) But thoughts are not what is happening in the moment.

Which is why the whole living in the moment thing doesn't really work if you are going to write about moments that have passed! Because then the written word gives that moment far more meaning than it should, because once it is over, it is over. I don't know, I am confusing myself and not even coming close to saying what I mean because I don't know what I mean. But I don't like having to defend my words -- especially ones I said from a place of truth. Where I looked inside and asked myself, what am I afraid of?

I think one thing I have realized is that the discussion of fear leads to anger. Anger that someone doesn't understand that a fear isn't a large cloak that completely covers me. It is a small mosquito that lands on my arm and hopefully I get it before it gets me. But then again, fear can lead to love and acceptance -- of oneself at least. Every day I go out to the garden and the jungle of grass beyond and swallow my fear whole. I tell myself that it is ridiculous to be afraid of snakes. I walked into the greenhouse three times the other day and forced myself to stop thinking of it as a snake pit -- to stop telling myself that I can't breathe in there. To see it as a haven for plants and all things garden.

That is a fear that sits on a plate as true as a big, meaty steak. I can put a fork in it, I can slice through it with a sharp knife ... it is a fear that is that tangible.

Everything else I had to conjure up -- like popcorn kernels waiting to be popped. I would think and POP! out would come a fear. POP! POP! POP! But popcorn is light and airy and easily swallowed.

I could try to change and go through each thing I write (because now I don't go back at all -- no typo checking, no did I offend anyone checking, no did I write something that might be misunderstood checking -- this is raw footage and I prefer it that way.)

What about things I'm not afraid of?

Dying.

Now, now now. Before that gets picked up as a "weird thing to write first" let me just say that I have the most amazing peace and stillness about my life. I truly believe that I will die of old age, in a most peaceful manner. I don't know anyone personally, but I have read about people who were sure they were going to die young, or die in a car accident, or whatever. I have been in several car accidents and one day avoided a doozie, and this feeling came over me, strong and sure, that I would NOT die in a car accident. So, that's cool. Good to know, and let me tell you, it has come in very handy, this surefire knowledge, especially in London and Scotland driving on the wrong side of the road! Even today, while driving to a softball game, the GPS led us seriously astray and told us to do a legal U-turn, which in fact had us driving in the wrong lane, going against traffic. We didn't see any cars, thank heavens, and we didn't even know we were doing it until we saw a truck coming out of another exit with WRONG WAY all over it. But I had the same feeling today, when Peter said "we were lucky." And I thought, yeah, but no. Just not going to go that way!

Anyway, I think I will have to pop my non-fears tomorrow, because it is getting late and I am afraid if I don't go now, I will miss my window of sleep. Fears, fears everywhere!

Loooong day

I woke up this morning with the intention of walking at 9:00. But it was raining and I'd been out late the night before drinking cosmos, singing karaoke, riding in a boat on a smooth lake, hanging at a friends house who was trying to keep her son and his girlfriend from ... from .... you know, from stuff. Drinking wine and getting to bed late. When we connected about our walk I want it on the record she was the first to bag, but if she hadn't -- I would have!

So. I tried to sleep more, but today was the day Peter's parents were coming in ... and there were a few things left to do at the cottage. I had put a load of laundry into the dryer last night that needed to be folded; I needed to make a few beds, I wanted to pick some flowers to put in a vase on the porch and I needed to vacuum. I had also said I would cook them dinner, so I needed to plan a menu.

I managed to haul myself out of bed, shower and I picked up the cookbook I was going to figure out dinner from and off we went. I made the beds, I put the dishes away, Charlie started a fire because it was chilly and damp as it was raining and after doing a bunch of miscellaneous cleaning ventures, I decided to vacuum. Now, we know the vacuum there is worthless, and when we opened the cottage I carried my own over. But I figured that it would be able to spiff up a little. No, it was just pushing the dirt around. So Peter and I decided we needed to get a new vacuum -- so off we went to Ocean State Job Lots, and in addition to a vacuum we picked up a few little rugs to replace gnarly ones that had been there forever. We got back and started putting the vacuum together when they drove up. Then we helped them unpack their car (they live in New Mexico in the winter) and then around 1:00 I sat down to make my shopping list.

But I was hungry. And figured that they must be as well. Peter's brother drove them, and he said he was definitely hungry. Since I was going to the grocery store I asked them to give me a list ... and off I went and it was crowded and I was like, OHMYGOD, what a day, I've been shopping and cleaning ... and now shopping again!

I returned to the cottage and we ate lunch, then I realized I had to get home and clean that house because all of a sudden our cozy little dinner party had expanded to 12. Peter's sister, boyfriend, two children and one of their girlfriends were enroute. I dispatched Peter and his brother to the supermarket to bolster the larder, so to speak, and Maddie and I headed home to clean and cook. I rushed upstairs and made my bed and cleaned my room because I knew everyone wanted to see the new bathroom. Yikes.

Then I rushed downstairs and cleaned the downstairs bathroom, picked up the living room and Maddie started vacuuming. Then I had to hit the kitchen, where lo and behold I discovered at 4:30 that the meatloaf I was making needed an hour and a half to cook and I'd told everyone to be there eat 6! Yikes again.

I made an enormous meatloaf the size of Montana, these crazy delicious mashed potatoes that had everything sinful under the sun in them (cream, butter, parmesan cheese) and roasted carrots that said they served 12 but everyone, including the kids, inhaled them. That meatloaf, the size of Montana? Is now the size of Delaware. It was delicious.

I had asked Peter to pick up dessert at the grocery store because the coconut cupcakes I intended to make seemed impossible to deal with at the late hour, and it was a good call, because there wasn't a moment the oven was available.

Everyone arrived around 6:oo-ish, which was kind of early in regards to the fact that we didn't actually sit down for dinner until 8:00 -- but the kids were off doing their thing and the adults were chatting and catching up. It was good. I had a few glasses of wine and was quite relaxed, and everyone was gone by 9:30.

And then I was told I needed to be up and out of here by 7:00 tomorrow morning to see Maddie's softball tournament.

Seriously? I guess sitting around in a chair watching softball will be a cakewalk after today!

And so summer begins.

Meatloaf sandwich anyone?!!!

Fear

So today for day 4 of 21.5.800 lets write 800 words about fear.

What are you afraid of?

What are your fear responses?

How can you engage fear in a more genuine way?

In what ways do you act out toward others or yourself when you are afraid?

Today for the challenge, we are encouraged to write about fear. My first reaction is that I am not afraid of anything, but then I remember the snake thing. Which I believe is more irrational than anything else. I don't "do" fear. It is a part of who I am to believe that I am strong and capable and fearless.

And of course I'm not. I have loads of fears -- about not being a good enough mother for starters. I remember when Hallie was little at the end of each day I would feel as though I hadn't given her enough of my time. I would lay in bed, unable to sleep, trying to figure out how I could be a better mother. I instinctively knew that this particular challenge could be met with more time. As a full time working mother, I felt guilty having her in daycare, and yet, she loved it. So I shortened the hours, and made sure that she was always the last kid to get there; and the first to leave. That gave us time in both the mornings and evenings to connect a little without that feeling of constant rushing.

And yet, I always remained fearful that I wasn't doing and/or being enough. And when Maddie and Charlie came along, I all but threw the towel in! It was such a constant dance of trying to balance everything and failing miserably on all fronts. When you are deeply mired in it -- you can only see so far ahead. As I look back, I realize that sometimes instead of fixing it; I made the problem worse by writing. I can recall many hours lost in another world. A luxury I had no business taking, but I think it probably saved me.

As a professional person I had great fears that I wasn't good enough to be doing what I was doing. If I could do one thing over it would be to NOT work in a family business! It's just such a drag that no matter how hard you work there is always someone who assumes that you are where you are because of nepotism. I carried that with me through it all -- which was dumb because who really cares. But when you are young you care about stupid stuff like that. I was lucky in that I loved my job -- I was of course privvy to a lot of freedoms due to the fact it was a family business. I made my own hours, and even though I would stay until midnight to complete a deadline, I would still feel bad that others would think that I was taking advantage the following morning by not coming in right away. SO STUPID! And every time I went on an interview, I was always a wreck. Would I be asking the right questions? Would I come off as an incompetent wannabe reporter? Was I a reporter? What was I exactly? A fraud! I was a fraud. I didn't know what I was doing and who the hell was I to interview these well-dressed over-educated CEO's on their companies?

Every interview.

I drove to each one, my stomach always an absolute mess. I dreaded every mile of that drive, I dreaded walking into the company, I dreaded it right up until the moment I set the stage and was able to sit back and get the story. And all that fear evaporated right into the ether as I became completely engaged with whom I was speaking with -- I always hit the flow and always had the story written in my head before I even walked out the door.

Every interview.

And yet, right until the last one, I was afraid, completely saddled with all the old fears that THIS would be the interview that I would fail at.

Now that I have opened up the fear box, they are all pouring out.

I am afraid that I am wasting my life not doing what I am supposed to do.

I am afraid that I could walk a thousand miles and never lose a pound.

I am afraid that I won't have the time to visit all the places I need to go to.

I am afraid that all the bad things in the world that are supposed to happen, actually will.

And yet ... I am not afraid. Only when I am made to think about it!

Not 800 words, but I wrote something!

I admit that I am too independent at time; but it's from a lifetime of taking care of myself and believing that I was the only one who could do so. Maybe that was wrong, maybe that is right, who knows, but I never see any reason why someone should help me out with my cart at the grocery store because I feel moronic walking beside the person to my car.

That is just one example, and not a very good one, but today I was killing time at the mall while Charlie was at school giving tours, and so I tried on a bunch of clothes. At one store I was left alone -- I could walk into the dressing room and try on what I wished, then I just put the clothes I didn't want on a rack outside the door. No fuss no muss.

The next store I was looking around and "Barbara" came up to me and told me that her name was Barbara and she would be more than happy to help me. Well, help me look? Because that was what I was doing, and I felt that this looking thing was sort of personal. I smiled nicely and said thanks. Then she asked me if there was something in particular I was looking for, and I said no, just looking. GET IT, JUST LOOKING. Geesh.

So then she asked me if I realized that there were several racks (that I hadn't reached yet) that if you bought one shirt you got the second one half off. Okay, I smiled again, good to know. And then she continued to stand there. I sighed, and seriously considered leaving. I hate to be followed in a store. I ignored her and she went away, and I proceeded to continue to look and gather a pile of things to try on. So of course when I went to the dressing rooms I found them locked, so I had to search around for dear Barbara, who was actually on top of a ladder doing something. She nearly killed herself in her haste to get down and open the door (just leave the damn door open ... I hate that) and I went in. She didn't count the number of clothes I took in there with me either, so the whole locked door thing was moot. I also had a big bag. No, I didn't steal anything, because I am not a thief, but I certainly could have. A locked dressing room door just pisses me off. It doesn't stop stealing.

So when I came out of the dressing room, I had all the clothes I didn't want in one hand and I was searching for a rack. I found one that clearly wasn't meant to be that, and hung them up. Barbara saw me do it and gave me a bit of a dirty look. Sorry, just trying to help. I also left the door ajar for the next person, like me, who came along and wanted to try something on and didn't feel like begging for it.

I had a few shirts I was buying and I was looking at these necklaces when Barbara came over and asked me if I had found everything I was looking for. Which, I guess I did, though I wasn't really looking for anything in particular, I was JUST LOOKING. I smiled and said yes, and she pointed out that one of the shirts I was purchasing had the buy one get the second one half off deal. I just nodded. And she explained that they came in lots of different colors, and I sighed and said yes, thank you. So then she brings over the other colors! I said, I thought quite nicely, despite the fact I was super bugged, that yes, I had seen all the other colors and quite liked the one I had chosen. But, she insisted, half off was an excellent deal.

Was it free? I inquired, I thought quite nicely, despite the fact I was super bugged, and she laughed and said oh no, now that would be a good deal. I said exactly. That sort of threw her, but she was not to be undone, no sirree, she rushed behind the counter and promptly asked me if I wanted to save ten percent that day and open up an account. NO I DO NOT. I DO NOT EVER WANT TO OPEN AN ACCOUNT ANYWHERE. I DO NOT WANT TO SAVE THREE DOLLARS IN ORDER TO PAY EXORBITANT SURCHARGES ON THEIR STUPID CARDS.

Oh, she said, well okay then, also, do you know about our something or other plan, and at this point if I hadn't wanted what I was buying, I would have left. She almost got punched when she asked me if I cared to spend a further $25 so I could get a free tote.

And I wonder why I shop online? Well, no longer do I wonder! Then I thought, okay, you're being a bitch, show her some love. So I put on my happy face and smiled and thanked her very much for her help, and she beamed and followed me out and said, "you know, it really is a good deal, getting that second shirt for half off, and then you would also be close to the $25 for the free tote bag!" I stopped and looked at her.

That shirt was so cute on you.

HA! She never saw me in it, I never came out of the dressing room. I smiled sweetly and asked her if they were paid on commission. Oh no! she exclaimed, that would be nice. So what was the deal? Why was she being so damn helpful when I was obviously not the loved to be helped kind?

Was she torturing me?

Yeah, I think so too. I think I'll go back tomorrow and return everything and ask for a free tote bag so I can tote everything I buy at another store!