Words….Witticisms…Whimsy…Whatever!

For Lettie, my love

October 7, 2012

I have a handful of people who I claim to have stalked and forced into friendship. This might generally be a slight distortion of the facts, but I really don’t think it is when it comes to my friend Lettie, who does not get a fake blog name, because how awesome is her name and what could I possibly come up with that is half as delightful? (YAY, run-on sentences!)

Lettie and I have been working closely together on a project for a number of years (story for a different day), but in the beginning we were simply Facebook acquaintances. Until I emailed her and said, “I think we should have lunch.” She probably thought I was cuckoo, seeing as we didn’t actually know each other, but even from afar I could tell she was witty, AND she’s a librarian – swoon!

Lunch was a wee bit clumsy, seeing as we’re both kind of shy. But eventually we made it through the awkward phase into true sisterhood. We were both divorced, and although she was a single mom and I have no kids, there was lots of common ground, including the agony of dating, the loneliness of not dating, a love for community, dogs, volunteerism, charming older homes, wordplay, and general mischief.  Even though we run in different circles and have very disparate lives, she occupies a special corner in my heart.

So I was delighted when lo and behold…she met someone. And holy cats, she was on cloud nine. You could tell from the word “go” that this wasn’t just some guy; it was serious. Tony. You could almost hear the little hearts floating in the air around his name when she talked about him. I was so freakin’ happy for her.

Since my divorce I’ve maybe been a tad bit cynical about love and romance and relationships. But these two crazy kids seem like they were made for each other. Ok, so I barely know him, but I know ABOUT him, and I love him because he loves her, and because he totally acted like it was normal that when I saw them in the produce section at Fresh Market, I flung my arms around him even before introducing myself. And check this out….this weekend….they got MARRIED. Woot!

Lettie, Tony, and her (their) daughters, during the wedding. Love.

The wedding was lovely and unique and very Lettie (and, I assume, very Tony). It was a picnic at Fox Island, and they asked us to bring food and share recipes and good god, their friends can cook. Um, person who made that rice (was it rice?) & black bean & feta salad, if you’re reading this, can I have the recipe please? I brought my mom’s famous oatmeal cake. It’s fucking awesome. And while I already shared the recipe with Lettie & Tony, I’m going to share it with you also, in honor of them. I have no idea where my mom got this recipe. As far as I’m concerned, it originated with her. I know some people keep their kick ass recipes secret, but the world needs oatmeal cake, and I can’t possibly make it for all y’all.  Eat it in good health.

Oatmeal Cake
This is a delicious, moist, dense cake, maybe somewhat similar in nature to a carrot cake. (I don’t actually like carrot cake, so I don’t really know. But I feel like I’ve heard that comparison before.) Also, good news, it’s made with OATMEAL (hence, the name) so you can totally justify eating it for breakfast. It’s DELICIOUS and a crowd pleaser, so don’t be put off if you’re one of those people who thinks oatmeal cake sounds weird. I promise you’ll like it, and if you don’t, may I please have your piece? And it’s totally easy. I promise that, too.

Boil 1.5 cups of water, pour it over 1 cup of quick oats, and let it stand for 20 minutes. While it’s standing quietly off to the side, you can get everything else ready. Ooh, and maybe you should preheat the oven, too: 350 degrees.

Combine and add to the oats mixture ½ cup margarine or butter (softened), 1 cup packed brown sugar, 1 cup white sugar, and 2 eggs. Add 1-1/3 cups flour, ½ teaspoon salt, 1 teaspoon baking soda and 1 teaspoon cinnamon. That’s it! Ta da! I told you it was easy!

Pour the batter into a greased & floured 9” x 13” pan.
Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes. (Note: if you use a glass pan, bake at 325.)
Let the cake cool in the pan for maybe 10 or 15 minutes, then remove from pan and allow to finish cooling on wire rack. Side note, mine broke when it came out of the pan – grr. So maybe let it cool a little longer in the pan than I said above. Fortunately, the frosting functions like glue.  

When cake has cooled thoroughly, frost the crap out of it with the following. People will fight for the corner pieces.

Cream Cheese Frosting
Let one stick of margarine or butter and one 8-ounce package of cream cheese soften. (Do NOT use reduced fat or fat free cream cheese wannabes, as they won’t work – the frosting will slide off the cake. I have tried.)

Cream together the softened butter & cream cheese. Add 2 teaspoons of vanilla, and approximately 1 box of powdered sugar, until the frosting is the right consistency. How do you know what is the right consistency? I mean, you’ve never made it. Right. Ok, thick, but still spreadable. Jesus, that sounds dirty. I’ll work on this section. How about….when the frosting tastes delicious and doesn’t slide off the spatula, it’s ready.

Gently cover the cooled cake with a liberal layer of the good stuff. If you’re so inclined, make pretty swirls on the top.

You will likely have a fair amount of extra frosting. I recommend saving it to eat later on graham crackers. Or a spoon.

I store it in the fridge because of the cream cheese. That is a partial-truth. I store it in the fridge because my mom stores it in the fridge. Presumably because of the cream cheese. It also freezes well. If you somehow have some leftover.

And now, please raise your forks to my friends.  Lettie & Tony, I wish you much love and happiness, with heaps and heaps of laughter. I love you guys!

Ready to eat!

p.s. They ate the entire cake at the reception. Success!

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Food, Friendship, Relationships

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Be daring!

October 6, 2012

I had the deodorant-breaking-into-a-million-pieces experience the other day, so I grabbed a new one from the closet.  And I just discovered that the scent of my deodorant is “daringly fresh”.

To which I say….WTF, Lady Speed Stick?

Daringly fresh????

Isn’t that the whole fucking point of deodorant? To smell fresh????

I would like to think it’s the status quo.

How about “appropriately fresh”?

Or “everlastingly fresh” – that might be a selling point for me.

I can even see “astonishingly fresh” – you won’t believe how long this shit keeps you smelling….um….FRESH.

But daringly? I double dog dare you to wear this deodorant?  Um. This makes no sense.

If your deodorant DOESN’T smell fresh, I’m not sure I’d call that a good idea, but it might be a daring marketing move: “Daringly damp”. Ew, yes, but more legit.

Clearly I am in the wrong line of work…..right?

 

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That 10K Was My Bitch*

October 1, 2012

*This might be a slight exaggeration.

I am not a runner. I am never going to be a runner. I have perhaps, from time to time, explored whether or not this might ever change. It will not. And I am totally cool with that. I have embraced my non-runner status. If, someday, a bear or a zombie were to start chasing us, I would put forth some good effort, but you would have nothing to worry about; you will be able to escape while said bear or zombie feeds on me. You’re welcome.

So I have ignored the runners geeking out over the Fort4Fitness event that has taken this community by storm the last few years.

Except the route travels half a block from my house, and last year some friends wanted my dog to come out and cheer them on (what? that totally makes sense!), so I got up at the ungodly hour of 7:30 or 8 on a freakin’ Saturday, and trudged to the corner with Ms. Ruby and we clapped and barked and encouraged runners and walkers, and saw all kinds of motivated friends and strangers pass by.

The event features a 4 mile run/walk, a 10K, and a half marathon. And while I was sitting on the curb cheering on those 4-mile walkers at the back of the pack, an older woman went by. With a walker. Not as in a fellow walker in the event. She was using a walker. I was already sitting on the curb (in my pajamas), but somehow I think I shriveled up a little more. How pathetic was I, sitting there watching? I decided then & there that I would participate the following year (aka this year).

The 10K sounded like a good challenge. (As a walk. Nothing has changed about the not being a runner, never being a runner, ok with not being a runner status.) 10K was not scary like the half marathon, but clearly more than a good jaunt with the dog. I promptly rounded up some friends to participate with me, registered, and had good intentions to, you know, train. Which didn’t so much come to fruition. The preparing part, that is.

Nevertheless, this past Saturday I was up before sunrise (what the what??), bouncy and enthusiastic. That is not my m.o., in case that isn’t clear. Much like I’m not a runner, I also am not, nor will I ever be, a morning person. Especially on Saturdays. Klondike and I geared up and headed downtown to meet up with our walking pals.

The weather was perfect, the mood was strong, and despite my utter lack of preparation, I prevailed. I wasn’t able to maintain Sunshine’s exuberant pace, but I finished, and I wasn’t last, and that was pretty much my only objective. 🙂 And it was a total blast. I saw lots of friends, both participating in the various events and in the throngs of people along the way cheering and staffing water stations and being generally awesome. It was fun to be part of such a positive community event, and I especially love that it goes through my beloved neighborhood. And holy crap, they give you JEWELRY just for finishing!

I’m wearing this bad boy EVERYWHERE from now on!

Was I more tired and sore than I was expecting? Yes. Did I get a blister on the pad of my foot? Yes. Did that piss me off royally because I know better how to manage for blisters? Yes. Am I doing it again next year? Hell yes. Will I do a better job being prepared? I certainly intend to.  Which, I believe, is what those pesky event planners are hoping for – a general increase in our activity levels and, you know, making positive changes. Bastards.

It’s kind of hard to argue with the merits of that, right? And I’m always interested in walking buddies; give me a shout if you want some company.

So….see you out there next year?

Approaching the finish.
(Thanks, Amy H., for the picture!)

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Friendship, Just W

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Sadly, I get it now.

September 11, 2012

I didn’t get it.

The way my grandmother spoke of Pearl Harbor Day, or my dad about JFK being assassinated. That was history. And it was sad history, and important history, but it didn’t have a profound, moving impact on me like it did on them. (I actually think it kind of annoyed my grandmother that kids didn’t understand what a big deal Pearl Harbor Day was.) I didn’t get it. How lucky I was, and I didn’t realize it.

For a while, it seemed as though the “where were you when _____?” moment for my generation was going to be the Challenger explosion. Not quite the same thing. Sad and scary and impactful on the space program, but it was an accident, not an attack on democracy.

And then everything changed.

September 11, 2001.

I get it now.

How you can remember with such clarity and detail exactly where you were, what you were doing, what happened next, even someone like me who is memory-challenged.  How eleven years later you can see pictures of a beautiful blue sky, filled with confusing images of towering, smoking buildings, and start to cry. How we feel compelled to share our stories of watching it unfold.  I get it now.

We grieve, each of us in our own ways, but we remember together.

And we dream of a day when there once again is a generation who doesn’t get it, doesn’t know what it’s like to have a life-altering moment when THE WORLD is turned upside down – not your own personal world, but the entire world. And we never forget.

Peace.

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Family, Just W

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Ew, squishy!

August 30, 2012

I lean on my elbows a lot. I know this about myself. I have been aware for the last couple of weeks that my left elbow has been more….sensitive, or something. Like, bruised feeling. But apparently I haven’t actually LOOKED at my bruised-feeling elbow until last night, or I would have noticed that it was 2-3 times larger than normal. And not really elbow shaped. Much more bulbous than usual.

Gingerly, I touched it.

Not only did it not look like an elbow, it did not feel like an elbow.

It felt….squishy.

Ew.

I am extremely squeamish about such things. I touched it again. Why, I don’t know. Because I’m like that. But the fact that it did NOT feel hard and bony and elbow-pointy made me freak the fuck out. (It made me think of that scene in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets when Gilderoy Lockhart removes all the bones from Harry’s’ arm. Ew.)

Clearly I had elbow cancer. I knew this because many months, or maybe a year ago, Sunshine (my non-biological twin) had wrist cancer, which ended up being a ganglion cyst, but when all she knew was that she had a bump on her wrist, she was convinced it was wrist cancer. Hence, squishy, bulbous elbow = elbow cancer.

We might have a tendency to overreact to things in my non-biological family. Maybe.

And apparently my elbow has been deformed for quite some time, because when I texted Sunshine to tell her about said elbow cancer, she responded with, “You know, I thought your elbow looked weird in yoga [on Saturday] and I forgot to ask about it!!”

But this is typical for me. I am accident-prone and a klutz and I frequently have bumps and bruises and scrapes that I don’t know where they came from. Yesterday I ran over my foot with my own chair. Today my foot will be sore and I won’t remember why. That is standard operating procedure for me. So I have no idea what I might have done to my elbow, if anything. Perhaps it just happened, got inflamed.

Once I stopped hyperventilating over my squishy, bulbous elbow, I took pictures of both the normal and the abnormal elbows and sent them to Klondike. Perhaps so he could prepare himself for my demise. Or so he could talk me off the ledge.

Normal elbow

 

Scary elbow

I knew it was serious when instead of texting me back, he CALLED ME. (Have I mentioned that we pretty much never talk on the phone? Maybe three times in eight months.) Obviously the situation was dire.

“It’s not cancer. Stop freaking out.”

Klondike’s assessment was that something was going on with the bursa in (around? who cares.) my elbow joint. After he talked me down from my panic, he suggested that I send the picture to Pandi, my nurse friend, for a more professional second opinion. Her response was similar to his, and she assured me I could wait till normal office hours to seek medical attention.  She also asked that I not sue her, should her long-distance diagnosis via iPhone pictures be inaccurate.

My biggest concern/reason for going to the doctor is that I am getting on a plane soonish for a quick trip for a wedding and I want to make sure it’s ok to get into a flying pressurized capsule and that it won’t make my elbow explode. Cuz that would just be gross. And fluid doesn’t really go with what I was planning on wearing to the wedding. Unless it’s in a wineglass. And we’re going to call THAT wine or liquid instead of fluid, because now I’m just thoroughly grossed out.

Fortunately, my doctor was able to squeeze my bulbous elbow and me onto his schedule this morning. Bert, the nurse, took my blood pressure. Typically she uses my left arm, but today she used my right. I’m pretty sure this was so my elbow wouldn’t burst, although she did start laughing when I asked if that was why.

Bursitis.

I have bursitis. That just sounds like something an old person would have, right?

My doctor insisted that young people get it, and that old people get things like osteoarthritis.

He and the nurse did wonder how it happened, though. Did I whack it on something? Who knows. As I said, that’s just how I am – I bump into things. In college, I duct-taped a rag around the sharp corner of my bed frame because I got tired of the bruises and gashes on my leg where I walked into it on a regular basis.

Back to the bursitis….

In case the yoga has been exacerbating it, the Y kindly scheduled a two-week break (boo!), so the elbow happens to get some time off. And the doc prescribed some Prednisone. My elbow should be normal sized and bony again before you know it.

In the meantime, I’m going to use it as an excuse for everything. “I’m sorry, I’m late, but I have bursitis.”  “I can’t serve on that committee because of my bursitis.”  I may even need a support group. 😉

Note: a quick web search reveals there actually are bursitis support groups. Apparently it can be much more severe and painful than my mildly uncomfortable lumpy elbow, and I mean no disrespect to anyone experiencing pain. ♥

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Humor, Just W

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How my day is going so far

August 21, 2012

I may have a screw loose, but at least I haven’t lost my marbles…

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Humor, Work

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Thank you, Mother Nature and Samuel & Colonel David N. Foster

August 20, 2012

I’m not someone you would call outdoorsy, not by a long shot, but I do like to play outside. I like to walk my dog and ride my bike and roller blade (with protective gear covering most of my accident-prone self) and sit on my porch swing and daydream in my hammock, and all of those activities generally happen outside. But the weather really dictates whether it’s a fun time. I don’t like heat and I really, really hate humidity. Humidity is my kryptonite. (Spellcheck doesn’t know “kryptonite”. WTAF?)  And we have had an oppressively hot summer, and it has totally ruined my outdoor playtime. Until last week, when Mother Nature took pity on me.

[Side note: I know some people love hot weather. There’s no need for you to argue with me about it. It’s just like being a morning versus a night person; neither is wrong. Although I could argue that when it’s cold you can always put on another blanket, but when it’s too hot you can’t take anything else off. I break into a sweat when the snow melts. I blame my dad. He is nodding along as he’s reading this, whereas my mother is putting on a sweater.]

Anyway, as I was saying, Mother Nature finally gave us a break. The last week or so has been freakin’ beautiful. Cooler. Comfortable. Some days, we’ve even had low humidity. I’ve had my air conditioning off for over a week now. In AUGUST. It’s fabulous.

Who can be expected to work on such a beautiful morning?

Friday I played a little hooky and went to revel in the glorious morning by taking a walk around Foster Park. I’ve been hiding out for months in climate-controlled comfort and had almost forgotten how much I love it there; it might be my favorite place in Fort Wayne.

It could be a country club, with its manicured golf course and impeccable, gorgeous flowerbeds, but instead it’s a public park, smack dab in the middle of the city. It’s vast. The golf course is surrounded by a 2.2-mile loop. There are playgrounds. Baseball diamonds. Tennis courts. Trails along the river. The bridal glen, where my aunt and uncle (and lots of other people, I presume) got married.  It connects to (and is part of) the River Greenway. There are pavilions for rent. There’s Pawster Park, for our canine companions. And it’s all thanks to the Fosters.


My dad comments from time to time about the foresight the Foster families had to preserve this kind of green space in a growing urban environment. A hundred years ago they donated over one hundred acres. (It’s even bigger thanks to additional purchases by the City.) That’s pretty badass, to make a gift of that magnitude. Imagine if someone did something like that today (ahem, Omnisource property, cough cough).

The park is one of the most ethnically diverse places in the community. It’s also one of the friendliest. During my loop last week almost every person I passed waved, smiled, nodded, said “hi” or “good morning” or “how’s it going”, despite my sunglasses and headphones. (Those are universal shields, right?)  I love it. Love. It.  On a nice weekend in the summer, it’s teeming with people. In the winter there are far fewer, but the camaraderie might be even stronger; it’s like a small band of winter weather warriors, united in our quest to circle the park even when it’s frigid.

Off-roading by the river

My affection for Foster Park goes way back. My family cross-country skied there when I was a kid. The circuit is convenient for walking (or running, I assume, but with no bears to chase me there is no need). The wide path with no motor vehicles makes me feel safe on my skates. And as previously mentioned, it’s beautiful. With my last dog, I tried hitting all the parks in the city for our excursions, but Foster was always the best for a good trek (although she loved Franke Park, too). When I was looking for my house a few years ago, I limited my search to the south side because I’ve always wanted to live near the park.  So it was a joy to rediscover my joy when the heat finally broke, and a reminder to take advantage of it more often.

Good news: the forecast this week is for mostly sunny, mild temps, with a high probability of walks in the park.

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Warrior II

August 13, 2012

One hand in the past.

One hand in the future.

Most of us (the heart, the mind) in the present.

Libby, my yoga teacher said this not too long ago while we were in Warrior II pose. For those of you not familiar with the pose, your arms are extended with one hand ahead of you and one behind. (Don’t worry, I’ll illustrate it for you in a minute.) And even though I’d done Warrior II a jillion times before, I’d never heard Libby interpret it quite like that before, and that night it really resonated with me.

I have spent large chunks of my life not so much in the present. I live in my head a lot: I’m a daydreamer, and a processor. I love anticipation. If something fun were coming up, I would wait impatiently for it to get here already. I also can be a fretter, and sometimes dwell on what just happened, both negatively and positively. I’ve been known to mull over a past conversation for way too long, analyzing what I said, what you said, what I should have said, how I wished I’d said it. I also might replay a particularly special time over and over again, trying to be in that moment.

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with what I just described, in moderation. But there have been times in my life when the dwelling in the past or twitching about waiting for what was yet to be were overshadowing what was actually happening right here, right now. (Cue Jesus Jones.) What struck me during my yoga class was that I don’t really do a whole lot of any of either anymore. I’m much more in the present than I ever have been; it’s very strange, but good. I’m not used to getting into bed at night and not fretting over something or wishing for something to come, or daydreaming into a different place. I get in bed, and I go to sleep; what’s up with that? I can only assume that it’s because I really like where I am right now. For the last 8 or 10 months, I’ve been pretty content. It’s not as though I never worry about things anymore, or eagerly look forward to fun with friends, but everything is more balanced.

I am more balanced.

I am Warrior II.

And for those of you not familiar with the yoga pose, I tried and tried and tried to find a picture to show you, but I feel very strongly about not misusing someone else’s images, and I couldn’t find anything. So I drew you a picture. For those of you who don’t know me well, this is kind of astonishing. Let’s begin with my complete lack of artistic talent, then add in the fact that I’m left-handed but mouse with my right hand, and I think you’ll agree that this is a mind-blowing accomplishment. And is cracking my shit up.  Really, the entire reason for the post is so I can show you my awesome stick figure yoga illustration. 🙂

She looks just like me, don’t you think?

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Sneaky Little Bastard Spider

August 3, 2012

A very persistent spider is attempting to take up residence on my front storm door.  I ignored it at first. Mostly because I couldn’t deal. Then I had my Cleaning Fairies (best money spent ever) wipe down the door and remove all the webs. Voila! Problem solved.

The next morning I got up and much to my dismay, a small web had been spun in exactly the same spot, right next to the handle to open the freaking door. (Please note, if I used my front door more often, this would have been addressed much sooner.) I could not let the large web conglomeration build up again. I grabbed 82 damp paper towels, and with my arm extended to maximum Stretch Armstrong distance in case the little bastard made an appearance, I removed the strands of web from MY door. Voila! Problem solved.

The next morning I got up, and much to my dismay…..wait, I already said that. Ok. Read the paragraph above about seven times.

Finally, after several days I got up, and TADA!!!! No web by the door handle! I’d done it!

Except.

The sneaky little bastard had given up on that location, but not the entire door. He had relocated his web to the exact same spot on the hinge-side of the door. Sigh……I got another wad of paper towels and wiped the webs away (still standing as far from the door as possible, even though I’ve never actually seen a spider during any of this).

Lather, rinse, repeat. It’s been almost another week and he still hasn’t given up. Although this morning he made an appearance (he’s much larger than I’d expected, he should be ashamed of his tiny little web-spinning abilities) and I almost got him. But by then I’d used up most of my 97 paper towels and I wasn’t in full on Spider Attack Mode and he got away, even though I punched him into a ball multiple times. As I said, he’s a persistent little bastard. We will see what happens tomorrow. Hopefully he’s so traumatized by the smackdown that he’s going to take up residence elsewhere. Oh please oh please oh please!!!

Any suggestions on how to crush his spirit, since I failed at crushing him?

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Clip this!

July 29, 2012

 

Soooooooooo some of you may have heard me whine over the last four years that my ex-husband kept all the good chip clips when we got divorced. I fully recognize that this is a completely silly thing to be bent out of shape over.  But if you’ve ever been through your own, you know that divorce brings out the stupid. And ps, he could have let me have a few of them! Every time I dig out one of my shitty plastic clips, I get a little pissed off.

Guess what? I bought my own today. Woot!

 

 

I’m not sure what took me so long – probably just never wandered through the right spot in Meijer before. But I finally decided to buy a cheese grater, since I am  surprised every time I go looking for one and realize I don’t have one of those, either.  You should totally be allowed to register when you get divorced and lose half your crap. I wish I had thought this up four years ago, but for anyone getting divorced now or in the future, please try it – I will back you up! 🙂

 
Now….I have to go find something in the kitchen to open, so I can clip it back shut again. 🙂

 

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