Out With the Old

The last meal I cooked in 2003 was roast with butter and Cabernet Sauvignon sauce and a variation on the theme of ratatouille (spinach, eggplant, garlic, and stewed plum tomatoes). I created this delight in my new Le Creucet pot (cherry red) courtesy of Sarah. I listened to this girl’s diary while chopping, dicing, and stirring those plump, fragrant vegetables and spices. After dinner I sliced myself a piece of chocolate cake and poured myself a thick wine goblet of eggnog (with Christian Brothers Brandy and cinnamon).

Tonight I will ring in 2004 in the company of and old friend from High school. I’ve known this woman since we were both 14. We are going to the Kennedy Center for a jazz concert and after party.

All in all 2003 was good for me. I can’t imagine what will be true for me a year from today—I guess I’ll just close my eyes and hold on tight.

You are Ralphy! A complete dreamer and positive
thinker. You WILL get that Red Ryder bb gun!


Which A Christmas Story Character Are You?
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Elijah Wood
Please rate this quiz I worked hard on it thanks
and I hope that you had fun


What Celebirty are you going to MARRY?!(14 outcomes with pics for anyone)
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Tickle Me Elmo and Tension Tamer Tea

Last night when Alberta came up for a chat she brought me three bags of tension tamer, a wonderful tea she first introduced to me on a visit a couple of months ago. This stuff instantly relaxed me then. So I had some tonight to keep my headache at bay (I still feel it lurking) which I know is as emotional as it is physical.

My mom and I had another good talk tonight. I'm trying to be patient with her as she rehashes a lot of issues in her life because I know she needs me to listen to her. I also feel her being willing to listen to me, trying not to be so self-absorbed, and I feel myself responding to that effort. We talked more about the miniature diningroom set, and she told me that the way I received her gift on Christmas lit up her soul--that she could feel my joy so strongly it was as though she had been given something priceless.

We also discussed her star gift to me the Christmas that I was 22. Two months prior to the holiday that year I had wanted a "Tickle Me Elmo" (before the hype broke out), but I didn't buy it. As time wore on, I realized that I loved the idea of owning one, but it was nearly impossible to get one as Christmas drew closer. My mom called me one morning mid-month and casually asked me if I really wanted it--or if I had been just kidding. I told her that I did, but that I thought I'd just buy one a couple months later when things died down. I took her question at face value.

On Christmas morning my sisters and I opened up all our presents and I was pleased as usual--totally satisfied with my mother's generosity. And then she directed me to a present I had missed at the back of the tree. I was shocked that there could be more, so I began opening this last gift with no clue what it could be. I know I was 22, but my pleasure was unchecked and lacked guile when I saw what it was--much like it was this year when I got my little dining set back. And I heard God speak to me in that moment, in an instant, He said to my heart "how much more would I give you if you would ask?"

My mother has always been the conduit of God's generosity toward me. She has always been the source of the symbols of hope He gives me. I cannot tell you how many times my mother has gone to great lengths to bring me what I longed for, but didn't think of as being possible to receive.

So, she asked about good old Elmo when I told her about the experience I had with God upon opening it all those years ago. He was in a bag with other stuffed animals in my closet, and it suddenly seemed wrong to me that this should be his fate. She said "I think you should take him out since he's a symbol of what God promised you." I had been thinking the same thing at that very moment, so I liberated him.

He's sitting on the couch.

A gentle answer turns away wrath but a harsh word stirs up anger--Proverbs 15:1

I pondered my possible courses of action concerning Gordon's e-mail and I decided to answer his note in the spirit in which I perceived it to have been sent. After praying through the matter and weighing the merits of drawing a harsh line in the sand vs. the merits of a cumbersome, clunky "this is how you've hurt me" manifesto, I decided that there was potential damage to be done in either scenario. I realized that for as cut and dry as his lack of communication seems to me, there is a whole side of this story I don't know. His side. It is always better to lead with the benefit of the doubt when it comes to friends. It is always better to lead with a question than a presupposition.

In my life I have written terribly hurtful letters to people, and even when my anger was justified, I found scathing comments to brook no further discussion and to be alienating. Believe me, you cannot hold rage against your heart for warmth.

I think that wisdom entails knowing what is called for when. There is a time for drawing lines in the sand, but one must only do that when one has all the information there is to have. Depending upon Gordon's response to my e-mail (which does beg a reply), I will know if I should address his perceived negligence.

Also, even in a spirit of rebuke, to give too much up front wouldn't allow me the dignity of proffering a measured response. Even anger, in a way, should be earned. By giving full vent to my feelings all at once I would be saying to him that he does not have to work to know what I think. I get to decide what I will let him know and what I won't.

So I told him I'd been fine,that Christmas was good, but that I thought it odd not to have heard from him before now, and that I hoped he was okay. This was the one path I felt comfortable taking, that didn't feel false, or like a cop out.

I've spent the last two days at Sarah's. On Friday we went to visit with her parents and extended family in Carlisle, Pennyslvania. I was less than an exemplary traveling companion due to my lingering tension headache. To make matters worse, I got one of those terrible sores on the back of my gum on the left side that is usually the result of a compromised immune system and/or stress.

Anyway, last night after getting back we finally opened up our presents to each other. It was like a full blown celebration all over again. Because Sarah's moving out left me with almost no kitchen tools, she outfitted me with my own stuff, and I am excited to start playing with my fun new toys (including a blender!).

Tonight Catherine came over to eat dinner and we all had a good discussion about behavior patterns we'd like to work on changing, or contine to improve in 2004. My big thing for the next calendar year is being better adept at taking my emotional temperature.

Speaking of which, my mom and I had a lovely conversation this morning. She called my cell phone just as I was waking up, and we were able to clear the air even more from our confrontational discussion a few weeks ago (in which I told her I was furious at her for so many things her head would spin if she knew about them all).

The incognito/negligent Gordon sent me a pitiful excuse of an e-mail this morning. Not sure how to reply to this thing yet. I'm praying through my feelings to formulate an appropriate answer. I'm also disciplining myself by waiting to respond for a few days. I would normally write back immediately, but I can honestly say I did not feel inclined to dignify his e-mail-- which was so counterintuitive to anything even remotely resembling our level of friendship--with a prompt reply. Honestly, in some ways it was better when I'd not heard from him in a month, because this 2-sentence communique was just insulting. I debated never replying. It's still an option. I feel good about the fact that I didn't have my normal desire to send him a scathing letter so mean-spirited it could peel the outerlayer of his soul. I have, instead, a desire to be honest with him without alienating him. I guess that's progress.

Now, I am happily back in my apartment, getting ready to put my presents away, and reconnecting with my space. I'm listening to John Mayer's "City Love" and thinking about how far I've come since I first heard this song.

My family has been gone for an hour. I am left with thoughtful presents, including candles, candleholders, a pair of flattering personality glasses (coveted), bath beads, a bracelet with earthtone stones (from Crystal's boyfriend), a fridge full of my mother's lavish, generous culinary delights, a few bottles of liquor, two bottles of wine, a new set of tools (majorly desired!), and a recovered item from my childhood. Utterly forgotten before today.

When I was about five my mother bought me a handpainted diningroom set in miniature. It is black with yellow and red accents painted on the top and around the backs of the chairs and on the seats. Tiny. I remember that it delighted me as soon as I saw it the first time. I was staying with my grandmother a lot on weekends at this time in my life, and when my mother brought it to me, I remember my grandmother immediately taking it away from me. She said she didn't want me to break it or harm it. So it sat high up on a shelf of hers for years. I remember looking at it all the time, wanting it, but feeling that I was powerless to own it.

Eventually, I stopped thinking of it at all.

The first thing my mother handed me when she arrived today was this miniature set. It took about two seconds for me to really understand what I was looking at. Then, I just felt happy that at 30 I should have something that was taken away from me 25 years prior. My mother told me that she had tried to give it back to me when I was a teenager, but I said I didn't want it. I scorned it apparently. Funny, I can't think why I would have had such a harsh reaction. It would never occur to me to forfeit my rights to it now. As a matter of fact, today, when I thought of how it was taken from me, I felt violated and angry at my grandmother, who has been dead for nearly four years. But, I refused to let myself miss the point.

Something I lost came back to me today. Something I once despised out of pride when I was first given the opportunity to possess it again is now with me. I felt like a little girl again, free to take pleasure in my mother's gift and her presence.

I'll talk about this more later, but I will say for the time being that I felt the potential for a lot of healing in my relationship with my mother today. I had the best Christmas I've had in years--since I was very small.

And His Name Shall Be Called...

My alarm went off this morning at 8:15. My tension headache was still there, waiting for me. In spite of a hearty rum and coke and hours with a heating pad last night, vestiges of it lingered, and my neck contracted and expanded its "good morning" greeting as soon as I opened my eyes. Merry Christmas to you too, I thought.

I left Caryl sleeping beside me and hopped into a hotter-than-necessary shower hoping to beat this pain at its own game so I could enjoy the birth of my Saviour. I donned my favourite Eddie Bauer flannel (a present on Christmas '98) and jeans and made my way down to 7-11 for half & half and eggs. I promised Caryl french toast stuffed with apricot preserves and ricotta cheese for breakfast. It came out pretty well, and was happily accompanied by country link sausage and coffee with an accent of kaluha.

I love the amount of tradition with which we've been able to infuse our celebration this year. Last night we (Me, Caryl, and Sarah) attended a lovely Eucharist at a nearby Episcopal parish. To say that it was lovely to be singing "Silent Night" at midnight in the sanctuary lit only by candles would be an understatement.

My family should arrive at about 3 p.m. at which time I hope to have the house smelling of appetizers and holiday fragrances and to have everything looking cozy. George Winston's "December" is playing in the background as I type. Caryl and I have decided to read from the prophet Isaiah and from the book of Luke before we all break bread this evening.

And I don't want to speak too soon, but I think this headache is almost gone.

Every once in a great while (it used to be a more frequent occurrence) I get muscle tension headaches. It's not a persistent ache. More like a spasming, contracting muscle in some quadrant of my brain that twinges like the devil every five minutes or so. A muscle group in my neck or shoulder is usually responsible. Tension lives in my back for the most part--but this particular expression of it is especially evil.


My sister Caryl worked on my back and neck for quite a while last night, and after taking 3 different kinds of over the counter medicine, and an expired muscle relaxant to no avail, it was a kneading massage and kaluha and cream that did the trick. Back in the day I used to rely on a roommate's heating pad and some peppermint schnapps. Why don't I own either of these things now?

The terrible part of all this is that I can still feel it (the headache) there. It's duller, less persistent, but even after a full day of torture it's still "blinking" on and off like a spastic christmas tree light. The only thing that might really help is to get utterly toasted before the Midnight Christmas Eve service tonight.

Understated. Basic. Scholarly.

A few weeks ago my watch battery died. I usually only keep a watch for one battery life anyway. I know it's wasteful by a lot of people's estimations, but I am typically ready for a new timepiece by about the second or third year, which is the average battery cycle. My recently-laid-to-rest watch was silver with links. Big and clunky just like I liked my watches for a long time. A woman's watch but tough, almost masculine.

I bought that watch about 2 and a half years ago. The same day I bought all new underwear, CKB from Hecht's, and got salon nails for the first time. I was sad beyond meausure and had never shopped that way before. I don't even mean the amount of stuff, or the money spent. I was trying to lose myself. Other than the nails and the perfume, which were obviously luxuries, I needed the things I bought that day. I picked the watch because it made me feel strong. It appealed to a coldness in me that loathed whatever made my heart so vulnerable to the crushing shame I felt. Even the nails that day were about that. It had nothing to do with femininity. They were nails that, in the words of Cake, "shined like justice."

So, when that watch stopped ticking 14 days ago, I decided that I wanted a smaller, thinner watch--one with a leather/faux leather band--with a small face. A classy, but unpretentious "woman's watch."

Last night, as is the yearly custom, Sarah gave me a few presents to open early. One of them was just such a watch. She said she got it because it made her think of literature and grad school. It was exactly what I had envisioned.

Holiday Lunch

Bina, Catchka, Karenina, Rachael,and I ate in the conference room today (wholefoods smorgasbord) and exchanged presents. I got some lovely clove and tuscan herb-scented candles, ground coffee (cafe verona), and a dream dictionary. Not bad for the preliminary gifts. Not bad at all. I love that Rachael wrapped her offerings to us in Spongebob Squarepants paper.

I love that people are starting to file out early, and won't be back for the rest of the week. I love that things are coming together, and that even though I went all out again this year, and am temporarily broke, that I'm going to get to see the people I love open up presents I know they will love.

And I'm happy that a good friend and former roommate of mine has a man in her life who's flying home with her to meet her family. She's one of those women who is long overdue for someone; I hope this is it for her.

I'm so over being at work right now. I feel like I should be stringing up cranberries and popcorn or something. Standing around a piano with friends singing something campy like "The Twelve Days of Christmas."

Your sign of frustration is....Yelling!!! The best
way for you to let out all your frustration is
to yell. A good tamper tantrum, is your
solution to all your problems. The bigger the
tantrum, the better. You're a very expressive
person!


What sign of frustration are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

I ran out of tape last night, so I've had to stop the wrapping frenzy for the time being. I've never been this far ahead of the game (which I know is not terribly far) before. All of my preparations will be complete before Christmas eve this year. A sign of maturity, perhaps?

I asked my mom to ask her friend to contribute the spirits to our Christmas festivities. I left her a voicemail message yesterday. When she called me back just a while ago, she said she would ask Jim to do just that, and then puts him on the phone! What's that about? My mom has always made me her go between with the men in her life. As a little girl I had to ask my stepdad to do certain things, because she felt he would say yes if I asked. I just felt so resentful of that all over again.

I'm praying for the strength to hold my tongue and not air our family business in front of Crystal's boyfriend, but more than that, to be the one who can rise above my irritations and just be glad that I have people I love enough by whom to be irritated. I really just want to have a day of food flowing freely, spiked egg nog and punch, appetizers, movies with holiday themes/christmas music playing in the background, and cooking with my mother in the kitchen. I want everyone to have a good time. But I worry about this desire of mine maybe being unrealistic.

I want to believe that everything is going to work out, that everyone will really like the presents I got them, that it won't suck, again, on some level this year...

Joy to the World! The Lord Is Come...

"Joy to the World" is my favourite Christmas hymn and Mariah Carey's version (complete with Gospel Choir) from her 1994 Christmas album is the one that captures the spirit of the song best (for me). This is a big song with big proclamations (Joy to the world...Let men their songs employ... ). Let there be joy. Joy is now. In case you were wondering. The heart of this song beats audaciously, and it says "if you've been waiting for Christ, wait no more. Here he is. Let everything and everyone sing. Let the earth be glad."

for the record, Jesus, I repeat the sounding joy of you, my king, who WAS and IS and IS TO COME!

Want a plane that loops the loop (I still want a hula hoop); we can hardly stand the wait. Please, Christmas don't be late. (Alvin & the Chipmunks)

Last night after work, instead of going to the office holiday party (which I had been boycotting, but then wasn't, and then just decided not to go) I went to the mall. I actually dread the mall more and more as I advance in years, but this time of year has got to be my least favourite time to go. With that being said, I got some really lovely things for my sisters, and felt tons better about the arrival of Christmas day (before 7:00 p.m. last night I'd had yet to purchase anything for the girls).

This morning at 7:30 (I spent the night at Sarah's place) I got up, showered, and we headed to Target (the promised land for many shoppers). I actually love that store more and more as I get older. They managed to do what Wal-Mart never could (and never will). They've managed to establish themselves as a credible place for people of all socio-economic classes to shop. It's all marketing, and they've done a bang up job.

Speaking of bang up jobs, I did one today at the bull's eye by finding several cool things to delight friends and family alike. Now I just need to get to a wholesale food club (tomorrow morning) to get hors d'oeuvres (mini quiche, etc.) and liquor for the holiday family dinner I'm hosting.

About a month ago I requested a 6-month performance evaluation discussion with my immediate supervisor. Even though I have been here for about 7 months, it's essentially still the halfway mark, and I wanted to be proactive, especially in light of some discussions I had with her about a month ago. I don’t like feeling powerless, and I don't like my work ethic to ever appear less than exemplary. We had that discussion this morning and it went very well. It helped me to feel better about work than I have in weeks.

Okay, so at about 11:50 Sarah, Michael, and I ordered Chinese carryout for lunch that didn't come till almost an hour and a half later. Needless to say, we were ravenous when it finally showed. After such a long wait, though, it was more tepid than hot, and I didn't feel that there were enough shrimp in my entree.

It was slushy and snowy not an hour ago, and now it's dry as a bone out, and a glinting glare from the evening sun has illuminated the side of the Courtyard Marriott hotel.

Care Package

Catherine and I have been bantering via e-mail for weeks about how to create "Sanctuary Now!" in my apartment which I both love and loathe. Even though I am looking to move sooner rather than later, I know I need to stop waiting for my real life to start. So, I have been trying to intentionally enjoy living there by making it comfortable and cozy--like a treehouse or a fort or something.

To that end, I received a wonderful package from Catherine, containing an "everything included" cross stitch project, crayons, a coloring book (w/stickers!), two red taper candles, and my copies of the photos taken with Catherine's camera when I was in Boston at the end of the summer. Even though yesterday was a beautiful day for mail (Christmas cards from friends I haven't heard from in a while), Catherine's package made me cry. I felt so loved and cherished.

Oh, and I colored for the first time in years! Perhaps, dearest Catchka, I will send you some of my masterpieces. It was an amazing way to transition from work to my after dinner plans.

Later, I went out with a friend from whom I have been somewhat estranged. Sara (no "h") and I went Christmas shopping, and then had cocoa at Barnes & Noble. I had a very pleasant time. Now that I have an "honesty, regardless" policy with her things are much less stressful for me.

Here's what I'm happy about today:

Croissants
Spearmint Altoids
Christmas cards
Coffee (did you really think it wouldn't be on this list?)
Catherine (almost everything on this list starts with a "c")
Carly Simon's song "Coming Around Again" ("I know nothing stays the same, but if you're willing to play the game, it will be comin' around again....")

I don't have much to say today, but here's a little something:




Which 1990's Subculture Do You Belong To?

[Another Quiz by Kris
@ couplandesque.net]

I bought a few Christmas presents yesterday. Sarah and I hung out in the suburbs, hitting Barnes & Noble, Pier One, Starbucks (gift card purchase), and Seattle's Best for a sitdown coffee break. It was pretty uneventful, save for the fact that Gordon's friend Greg checked me out at B&N.

I didn't know he worked for that company at all, let alone at the one in Sarah's neighborhood. He asked if I'd seen Gordon lately, and of course all of us here know the answer to that. I noticed that even seeing a friend of Gordon's made me nervous and kind of giddy--such is the minimal contact I've had with him lately, so poignant is my missing him, that even seeing someone I am usually disappointed to see, reminded me of him.

I really have to be my own first priority right now. This time away from the one my soul loves is a gift (though a hard one to bear sometimes). It's the gift of time to get my affairs in order before I add another soul to my life the way I want to add him to my life. It did provide a bit of comfort to me knowing that Greg will undoubtedly mention this to Gordon, and in so doing, will convey a sliver of my heart to him.

Selma Blair and Ahmet Zappa moved out (the movie wrapped, no doubt) the better part of three weeks ago. I find that some truly crusty looking people have replaced them, and so far all they do is smoke cigarettes and drink milk.

A kind soul brought in hostess doughnuts this morning so I can have a little sustenance. As I get older I am much more inclined to want to eat breakfast, but I am so lazy in the morning that I can never make myself do anything about it.

I am working on a letter to my precious Devika; I feel that it will be an especially good one!

I had a dream last night that I was walking along a highway median with my boss and some other men, who do not exist in actuality. My boss and I were holding hands. At one point we walked past Gordon's parked car, and he jumped out immediately, jealous of the intimacy between me and my boss. As soon as I saw his reaction, I let go of my boss's hand, and Gordon and I started walking with our arms around each other's waist. He told me I looked heavier and the men who do not exist in reality laughed heartily. I think it was a joke, but it took me aback, so I hit him good-naturedly in the chest for saying it.

Kosher "Christmas" Chocolate

I have a little spruce green stocking hanging at the entrance of my cubicle. It's tiny. Next to it, I placed a shocking pink post-it note that reads "for Cash$ and miniature chocolate!" One of my collegues, an orthodox Jewish woman, placed a small bar of "Nutty Chews" (kosher chocolate treat!) inside. One of my other colleagues put in two pennies as a good-natured joke.

Speaking of work, I'm feeling pretty negative about it these days. It seems that all I do is fire people, or let them go due to budget cuts. Applying to grad school has never seemed so imperative. I've watched a trend evolve in my life. I typically work at place for about 7 months before I start hoping that the company folds. I think life is trying to tell me something.

City Sidewalks, Busy Sidewalks

So I read earlier this month that some lady got trampled at Wal-Mart when the 6 a.m. shopping bell went off. DVD players were going for 29.99, and people, as usual, lost their minds. It’s not quite the same, but a man who may or may not have been visually impaired nearly walked right into me at 7-11 the other day, and when I moved out of his way, and apologized, he cursed me out with an anger so deep-seated, it could only be described as demonic. I wasn’t angry, just dumbfounded by his rage.

And Above All This Bustle You Hear

Gray, slow moving, cotton ball clouds herald the coming of nightfall. I said yes to Sarah’s spontaneous invitation to stay over at her place to night. She’s going to make tetrazzini and wanted to share. Besides, It’s nice to know I don’t have to ride the bus tonight with the riff-raff (or pay to ride with riff-raff).

Hear the Snow Crunch, See the Kids Bunch

Pathways are less icy today, but I think more white stuff is imminent. I’m not dreaming of a white Christmas, okay? This morning, while watching snippets of religious programming, I began to think about Gordon, and my longing for him bloomed torturously in my chest. I miss his face, his hands, the lines of him… but I also know he’s off doing what he needs to do. I can’t explain it, but I know this time of almost no activity in our friendship is crucial in order for us to become more.

Taking My Inspiration from Devika Keral

THREE THINGS THAT SCARE ME
1 – painful or excessively gruesome death
2 - lack of control (in general)
3 – violent, angry people
THREE THINGS I DON'T UNDERSTAND
1 – people (myself included) who repeat the same behavior and expect a different result
2 - atheism
3 – the inherent contradictions in some political paradigms
THREE THINGS I'D LIKE TO LEARN
1 – How to drive
2 – How to sew
3 – How to make a roux without it going wrong
THREE THINGS I AM WEARING RIGHT NOW
1 –Grey sweater
2 – White turtleneck
3 – LL Bean Goretex Boots
THREE THINGS ON MY DESK
1 – Boylan Black Cherry Bottles
2 – Stack of editing (music lessons)
3 – My Utmost for His Highest, Oswald Chambers
THREE THINGS I WANT TO DO BEFORE I DIE
1 – Get Married
2 – Publish at least one excellent volume of poetry
3 – Live in a brownstone
THREE WAYS TO DESCRIBE MY PERSONALITY
1 - generous
2 - intentional
3 - industrious
THREE BAD THINGS ABOUT MY PERSONALITY
1 - avoidant
2 – logical at the expense of others’ feelings
3 - suspicious
THREE PARTS OF YOUR HERITAGE
1 - Black
2 - Chinese
3 – Native American
THREE THINGS I LIKE ABOUT MY BODY
1 – It’s soft
2 - my lips
3 – It’s curvy
THREE THINGS I DON'T LIKE ABOUT MY BODY
1 – I am overweight
2 – It’s not lithe
3 – My skin gets very dry very easily/my feet
THREE THINGS MOST PEOPLE DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOU
1 – I can be very cruel
2 – I hold grudges
3 – Part of me still really thinks cigarettes are sexy
THREE THINGS I SAY THE MOST
1 – Good Lord!
2 – “Is there any coffee?”
3 – Idiot!
THREE PLACES YOU WANT TO GO
1 - Paris
2 - London
3 - Seattle
THREE NAMES THAT YOU GO BY
1 -Puppa
2 – Muffin-face
3 - Kate
SCREEN NAMES YOU HAVE OR HAD
1 – Kate Krupnik

This too, is dead on...


You are an impulsive and fun loving person. You
buy gifts for the shear joy of giving. People
often remark to you how very perfect your gifts
are for their recipiants. You take much pride
in pleasing people.


What Kind of Christmas Shopper Are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

I can get behind this result...


Massachusetts is your state. It's crowded in some
places but quiet in others. So you can
actually live in peace and still be close to a
big city.


What State Is Perfect For You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Sundried Tomatoes

I made my mother and Jim a birthday supper (My mother's birthday was last week; Jim's is tomorrow) of Sundried Tomato Chicken and Pesto Linguini with Tomato Basil and Parmesan bread. We had ice cream and coffee for dessert. It was a pleasant time actually. I never know how these things are going to go.

I'm psyched because we nailed down plans for Christmas day, which will be happening at my place. My mom and I need to hammer out a lot of the menu, but I did get her to agree to Crown Roast and Cornish Game Hens as the meat centerpieces, which she will contribute to the supper. I will take care of sides, liquor, and appetizers, which I think is fair. We'll cook everything here together.

So, it will be me, my two sisters, my mom, Jim, and my sister's boyfriend. I envision a long, leisurely day of movies, drinks, anecdotes, and having the warmth of the holiday in my space. So I won't have to wake up on Christmas morning alone, my youngest sister will stay over with me on Christmas eve (if she wants to--I haven't asked her yet).

One more week till I apply to grad school and for a new apartment, but the next step is navigating treacherous ice paths to get to work tomorrow. One day at a time.

Snow Caked

Digging out Bina's car today, I realized something. You've got to clear a path if you want to get out of a rut.

I've asked my family to consider doing Christmas at my apartment in Baltimore this year. I would love to host it at my place to create a lasting memory of my time in that apartment, to commemorate it being just mine, before I leave it behind. Also, practically speaking, I'm the one without transportation, so it makes sense that the folks with the cars should come to me. My mother is the hold out. She is basing whether or not this is workable on Jim, and what he feels like doing.

I know for a fact that one recommendation letter is on its way to me in the post. Soon, I'll be sending in applications to a university and to a leasing company. It strikes me now that this is all (getting into school/moving) a very delicate operation, the success of which is predicated upon immaculate timing.

But I don't believe in chance. I believe in faith-based choices, and a sovereign God who holds all my days in His hands.

Today's happy news: Math lessons for every grade have been edited and finalized. I'm on my way with this deadline business. Oh, and the vacation day I requested (Dec. 19th) is being given to me as a comp day.

Advent 1

(“I always prayed that Santa would pack love on his sleigh and send it my way.” From NSYNC’s “In Love on Christmas”)

So, I’m in the process of psyching myself up for a fun December with Sarah. We got out the legal pads this morning (shooting the crap over stacks of editing to be done) and wrote down plans to watch all our favourite movies, the date we’re going shopping, to r.s.v.p. to the office holiday party (which I was boycotting at first—long story), etc.

So I’m debating whether or not to get my hair done for the holidays. If I do it will cut into the already limited shopping fund, but then again, I’ve been able to do so little for myself lately—unless you count paying down my debt, which is not a treat, per se, but is definitely for my benefit.

I filled out the application for the apartments I want to move to in the spring. I can’t mail it to them for a couple of weeks (need application fee money), but it feels good to be placing these little irons in the fire.

I am giving my youngest sister Caryl a composite gift of helpful things for college. It’s the first semester survival kit. So exciting.

An unexpected gem came my way today. My former boss called me just because I had been on her mind.

Cake Toppers

On a brief mission with Sarah yesterday that had nothing to do with weddings, we found ourselves in a wedding paraphenalia and cake store (she was looking for a specific kind of cake pan). I saw that interracial cake toppers are now manufactured as a matter of course. Not every possible combination of interracial coupling, which would be difficult to do, since any number of possibilities exist. But, the gesture of having black man/white woman and white man/black woman cake toppers heartened me.

For all I know this has been the case for years, but when I was a child, I can tell you that they did not make them at all. The assumption was "like with like," and something in my little girl's heart always broke a little over that. I didn't see what I knew my wedding was going to look like in those cheap, kitschy, plastic, same-raced figures. I also felt that it was negating the validity of love, in general, outside the boundary of race. I didn't know why I was upset (not totally) at the time, but when I saw that a correction had been made, it made something a little more right for me, as far as the world is concerned.

I probably wouldn't even do a cake topper in the fashion of the plastic people figurines, but still, now I know I could.

Hello Stranger (It Seems Like a Mighty Long Time)

Gordon finally made it over to Sarah's apartment to talk art, but came without any of his drawings or watercolours--the perusal of which had been Sarah's point in scheduling this appointment with him. Unbeknownst to him I was here (and would have been anyway), so the three of us had a visit in which he and Sarah talked around scheduling another time for her to actually look at real pieces of his (for her place). We were treated to an anecdote about his frustrations with his dad (I found it entertaining); Sarah was bored stiff (she told me this after he was gone).

I felt a little bit unsure of myself around him tonight. I haven't seen him in awhile and because of anxiety I've had about that I reverted back to the old formality that kept me from really feeling close to him before. I tried not to be too prim, but I felt the way I used to feel, like I was in danger of begging, and to compensate, I reigned in some of my warmth.

Nearly finished with She's Come Undone. I feel as though I'm at the same old cross roads I always eventually come to. I need to go the other way this time.

The intimate Dinner Party is by far my favourite social venue. Catchka's sister and her roommates share a vintage Baltimore row home about 11 blocks north of my apartment. This place has 3 wonderfully spacious bedrooms (bay windows and a spacious window seat in one of them), complete with a sunroom, and explosed brick walls in the livingroom. Since Lady C is in town for the autumn holiday, and her lovely sister was hosting a small supper gathering, I was invited over to partake and to visit.

Sarah dropped me back off at my place at about 4:30. I changed clothes and braved the torrential rain and windy gales. I was finally able to hail a cab after about 10 minutes (unusually long for my part of the city), and made it there in plenty of time for wine and appetizers. I was soaked through.

I've been in such a foul funky mood lately that I didn't think I'd be up for staying more than an hour, but the atmosphere was lovely, complete with gooshy couch, candles, and a fat grey cat (Annabelle Lee), who was winsome and liked to have attention paid to her. I was convinced to stay for dinner, the central piece of which was the tenderest, plumpest sea bass I've ever tasted. Karen drizzled extra virgin, basil, and diced tomatoes on top.

It felt good to be in a new place, feeling capable of negotiating a room of people much younger than me, seeing a friend I don't get to see too much, not feeling the weight of my own insular, boring existence.

Now I'm just sleepy. But before I go to bed I want to try to read some more of Wally Lamb's debut She's Come Undone.

I had a quiet day with Sarah and her parents. I chatted with her dad while she and her mom made a miracle of a meal in the kitchen. I guess I was an honorary male for the day. It wasn't too keen a thing, but I found myself missing Gordon. I imagined him--bored with his family--drinking coffee, smoking, playing indulgently with his nieces and nephews. And I wished, on some level, that I could be there with him, even though he feels like a stranger to me at the moment.

An unsettled stomach kept me home today. I already feel a lot better and am happy to report that my Thanksgiving with Sarah and her parents won't be affected. I woked up and got ready for work as usual, but made the decision to use one of those hard-earned sick days of mine. I went back to bed (in my turtleneck, slimming black slacks, and chocolate brown trouser socks) and slept till noon.

I woke up in the mood to eat leftover chicken and to watch "When Harry Met Sally." I also tried to work on my vanity project (an unapologetically autobiographical short story), but felt no inspiration. After 10 minutes of staring at the last thing I wrote a week ago, I got up to empty the dishwasher.

I talked to Victoria last night. It seems that she's having a birthday gathering on Saturday and mentioned the possibility of me hitching a ride down to dc (with Gordon or someone) for the festivities. I feel hesitant about that for several reasons and at this point I am on the mindset that I won't attend.

Funny, I've been going on and on about not having plans. It seems that my exile is at least somewhat self-imposed.

Vidalia Fig Sauce

My tears this week have been torrential, and come from such a deep place in me, that they seem incapable of doing anything but pouring. Like Vermeer's Milkmaid's milk, they seem to be in a permanent state of streaming.

Applying to this graduate program is my heart on a plate. I have let my writing languish on simmer on the back burner because I don't want anyone to reject it. I haven't applied before now because I've been afraid of not getting in. And if I didn't get in, I wouldn't know how to not take that as a statement about my artistic validity and talent.

I know what actors and actresses mean when they say "it's an honour just to be nominated." I am pleased with myself for simply taking this personal step of bravery, but I want what I'm seeking. I don't just want the experience. I've been crying because everything I yearn for is lingering in the world between already and not yet.

There was not one thing in my life today that the mere thought of did not absolutely terrify me. It wasn't helpful terror (the catalyst kind). It had me frozen to my desk chair, and I almost forgot how to function.

Some distance and time later, I am eating chicken smothered in vidalia fig sauce with potatoes and spinach--feeling that I nearly didn't escape the screaming of my own doubt.

You are Spearmint.
You are quick-witted and sharp. You pay close
attention to details and you can tell what your
friends are feeling. You are always the first
to understand a joke and you are valued for
your insight and advice. However, you
sometimes isolate yourself from other people,
afraid to share your own feelings.
Most Compatible With: Cinnamon


Which Tic-Tac Flavor Are You?
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You are naturally born with a gift, whether it be
poetry, writing or song. You love beauty and
creativity, and usually are highly intelligent.
Others view you as mysterious and dreamy, yet
also bold since you hold firm in your beliefs.


What Type of Soul Do You Have ?
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Redeeming the Time

These days I don’t really have plans (other than the one night a week I tend to spend at Sarah’s place), and while that is a bummer on many levels, it has forced me back into a lifestyle of contemplation and writing. An evening out would be rare indeed, now. I’d be much more likely to see it as a special treat these days than I did this summer and early fall. I guess I could have tons of plans, if I weren’t at all particular. I have one friend who just recently asked me to do something, but I want to keep my dealings with her limited. This person will try to take a mile if you give an inch—and I am not interested in being entrenched in her society again.

I am in a place of waiting again. The ball is not in my court right now. So, how will I redeem the time? I will keep laying the foundation of what I’m building one square at a time. I have a vision. Now I pray for myself the visionary’s oblivion to whatever is not her concept.

I have been known to suffer from tunnel vision for less worthy causes than the one I’m championing now. Myself.

Leftovers

These days I buy food and plan meals with one question in mind. Am I going to be able to eat this at least three times? Belt-tightening has its own degree of chic. It gives me a sense of adventure. Just me and Hamburger Helper against the world. For the gourmets out there, I know that was shudder-inducing. You want to pretend like you didn't just read that.

I love elegant, exquisite food--and I also know it doesn't have to be that expensive. And believe me, I'm not surviving off of boxed fare alone, but sometimes it just needs to be quick, simple, and abundant. Enter Hamburger Helper stage left.

My sister and I just feasted on leftover deep dish pizza and knock-off spaghettios. We've had a slow, leisurely morning of coffee, donuts, and Ella Fitzgerald (John Coletrane was a bit too discordant and spontaneous for her tastes at that hour). I feel happy.

The server for the financing page on the website from which I was going to try and order furniture is missing in action. I have decided to wait on getting new pieces till I move anyway. Something about trying to put new wine in old wineskins, etc.

Let Them Eat Cake

Courtesy of Cathcka’s sister, I have quite a nice Cake Collection, and I am presently eating a Krimpet. I see a theme.

Progress Report

I have sent packets of information to each of my recommenders to help them write informed, balanced letters. The deadline for application is January 15th. I feel so fulfilled just participating in this process. It has given my hours a shape, and meaning beyond the seemingly endless list of things I usually worry about.

Won’t you sit down?

I’m going to try to score some furniture, via financing. We’ll see if it works.

In Other News

My youngest sister is visiting me this weekend. We will feast on deep-dish pizza and other fun meals I manage to rustle up for us, watch a lot of tv and movies, and talk about her future. She is going to start at my undergrad alma mater during the Spring ’04 semester.

Irony

Is prevalent. Most people are missing it, especially in their own lives.

Last night for supper I enjoyed breaded whiting, garlic and olive oil-tossed eggplant, and butter sauteed spinach. I pored over my collection of poems dating as far back as 1994. I am preparing a representative sample of my work to send to the professors who've (both) agreed to write letters for me. This weekend I will work on my personal statement, and start putting together the packets I want to send to them to help them craft the most informed letters possible. I also need to update my resume to reflect my current job's efforts and responsibilities.

Oh, and I've solved my living situation/moving quandry.

I am going to wait till the Spring, and move into some quaint, vintage apartments (Sarah lived in them years ago) that are very close to the campus I hope to be attending. Vintage inside a secure building, with onsite management and maintenance. I actually looked at them a year and a few months ago when I was moving back to Baltimore, but it wasn't practical to live there then.

Everything at the right time, Kate.

I once said my life reminded me of a Jane Austen Novel...


I believe you belong in Pride and Prejudice; a
world of satire and true love. A world where
everything is crystal clear to the reader, and
yet where new things seem to be happening all
the time. You belong in a world where your
free-thought puts you above the silly masses,
and where bright eyes and intelligence are
enough to attract the arrogant
millionaire/prejudiced young woman of your
choice.


Which Classic Novel do You Belong In?
brought to you by Quizilla

Nancy With The Laughing Face

Sunrise on a foggy morning looks just the same as twilight, which is my favourite time of day. I'm sipping coffee to the backdrop of a sonorous horn--not a melancholy horn--a sonorous one that is in awe of Nancy, whomever she was.

I received a reply from one of my former professors. He would be delighted to help me. Now I need to send him several pieces of my work (a representative sample), a CV, and any other pertinent information. The ball is squarely back in my court.

On Thursday evening I am attending a Poetry reading on the campus I hope will be like a second home to me by this time next year.

In the words of Christina Aguilera "I've waited a long time for this; it feels right now."

Mood: Accomplished
Soundtrack: G. Love and Special Sauce

Okay, so I threw out the microwave. Then, I e-mailed two of my undergrad professors who had a substantive impact on my writing, and asked them each to consider writing me a letter of recommendation for the grad program I would like to enter next year. Now, I'm about to have my requisite cup of evening tea.

When my microwave died, it was all I needed to know it’s definitely time for me to move out. I’ve been praying through the big issues in my life for the last couple of days, and I’d started to wonder if I shouldn’t try to stick it out in my apartment. I wondered if I shouldn’t spare myself the inconvenience of moving, even at cheaper rent, when I’d just have to start paying utilities instead, and deal with the inconveniences of a vintage style apartment. Older buildings don’t have round the clock maintenance, they are more likely to have mice, they can be drafty (or too hot), they have all the character and all of the primitive elements that are throwbacks to a simpler, better time.

Maybe this was as good as it was going to get for me. A couple of friends had been remarking to me that it was too soon to move, that I needed to wait, intimating that my present apartment was fine (and why do I hate it so much?). Then I thought about my awful furniture. I cannot, in the foreseeable future, buy new furniture. I hate the idea of taking the furniture I have now with me to a new place, especially one with character and charm. I can’t bear to do it, and yet if I throw out my sofas and dining set upon taking up residence in a new place, isn’t that the least bit prideful? Who am I to be too good for this black, plastic furniture my sister slaved to buy?

Anyway, Sarah came over for an autumnal brunch on Sunday morning. I made pumpkin spice muffins (with melted butter and a pumpkin & pecan puree), fried potatoes, onions, and garlic, bacon, and eggs (Sarah made herself eggs. I didn’t care to have any). I stuck half of a cup of butter in the microwave to melt it (for the muffin batter). It handled this one last task, then unceremoniously shut off its digital display, and died quietly. It didn’t seem to suffer.

This wasn’t fireworks or histrionics, just the last year and two months of my life winding down in yet another tangible way. I wasn’t particularly close to the microwave. I was glad it was there. I got it for free from the friend of a friend. It was crucial to the base of operations at Chez Krupnik, but I didn’t love it as though I, myself, had worked to buy it, and had chosen it. Still, I needed it to keep working. It was among the last of surprisingly few helpful items that I own.

Its passing has given me permission to hope for something different.

Devika, thank you for your letter! I e-mailed you about getting together on the Friday after Thanksgiving... sometime in the late morning or in the early afternoon in DC? are you available?

I've just had the best shower of my life. I used the honey and brown sugar exfoliant Sarah gave me for my birthday. My skin feels like silk. I need to pamper myself like this all the time.

After writing checks for the mid-month bills I am left with just enough for bus fare for two weeks, grocery money, and about three loads of laundry. But it feels good to have life on my own terms.

One thing I've discovered about living alone. It'd be a lot more interesting if I went out more, had more of a busy schedule... then I'd know just how nice it is to come home.

I'm tempted to feel that I need to wait to move to create a feeling of sanctuary for myself in my home, but I'm tired of my "real life" always being just around the bend. The time for sanctuary is now.

Sidebar: I requested transcripts from my alma mater. I'm applying to a writing program for the Fall of 2004.

An aggressive wind rattled my windows all night long. I became conscious of it at about 2:47 a.m. I slept through most of it, but there were moments when I wondered if the glass was going to shatter.

I noticed while I stood on the corner waiting for the bus this morning that my life is like the movie “Groundhog Day.” My alarm clock wakens me every morning by sounding the same opening notes of a Chet Baker song; I shower from 6:15 to 6:23; I leave the house at 6:57; I wait on the corner for the bus, and the same people (many of them from my building) come out, in the same order, every day, to walk to their cars, to the train, or to other bus stops. The man with the pug on too long a leash comes shuffling by for his morning trip to 7-11. If I look just over my shoulder, I know I will see the balding gentleman with the pony tail and bookish glasses, all clad in leather walking westward. My bus, just having missed the light, waits a block and a half north of where I’m waiting. I have the fare in my hand. I board, and see the exact same people I saw the day before—that I will also see tomorrow.

I wonder what happens to everyone in between these brief places of overlap (their lives with mine).

By and By

The sun’s final brightness is reflected in the hotel room windows across the way. Selma Blair’s blinds are drawn (in truth, I’ve only seen her silhouette on cloudy mornings of late). It’s been more than a week so I can acknowledge this: there is a peculiar loneliness that is the result of absolute freedom.

Still More Small Pleasures To Enjoy

Tomorrow will be the first Saturday morning that I wake up in the apartment alone—the first Saturday morning where I know my puttering, coffee grinding, and Classic Jazz music won’t be disturbing another person. Sometimes the small implications of freedom are the most staggering. I did have last Sunday morning to myself, but it’s not quite the same. Saturday equals peace of mind to me.

It is finally chilly again here! Tropical temperatures late last week and all this week were messing with my Autumnal expectations. It was also just hot, especially at night, which made it difficult to fall asleep a few times.

Here’s a happy thought: When I look back over the course of the last year, I see that my dreams have materialized, or are materializing, one by one.

In Search of Vintage

Now I have started combing the City Paper's ads for antiquated apartments in Baltimore city--something to the tune of high ceilings, hardwood floors, arched entry ways, etc. Believe it or not, these beauties open up every day for about a hundred dollars less than what I pay now.

My shroud is hanging nicely from my stucco ceiling courtesy of Gordon. He came over on Monday night with some handy hole-punching tool (not a drill), and did the job quite nicely. He said to me "all of my masculinity is wrapped up in this tool... did I ever tell you about that, Kate? How every man should have a tool that he carries with him at all times?"

We did have to borrow a hammer from my neighbor though, to add force. It was charming. At one point he said to me, "So stucco is like stone..."

In atypical male fashion, he didn't just punch the hole and leave. We talked for a couple of hours about our lives--I asked him what he thought working for his dad this year has "been about," I shared more anecdotes from my childhood, made us coffee, and showed him my pictures of Walden Pond (he asked about the size of Thoreau's hovel, and since I have no mind for spatial things, I had to bring out photos).

Last night I ate barbecue and bacon beans on toast for supper, and was up late enough to watch some cartoon showcase called "Adult Swim," which features animated adult content... Not pornography, but "kicked up a notch." And of course adult content always refers to sexual content. Is this the best tv has to offer after a certain hour?

I went to bed at about midnight, safely tucked inside my muslin curtain, enjoying what small breeze there was coming in through the open window.

From a Former Clock Watcher:

My current job is the single most effective teaching tool in my life. Through it I have learned (am learning, more like) what it takes to manage the work of others while carrying a full workload of my own. I have had to make decisions about the best course of action when we face crises, and much to my chagrin, I have had to make a handful of judgment calls about the contribution of people in my charge—whether or not they are consistently more of an asset than a liability—and depending on the answer, whether or not they will be let go.

I don’t single-handedly save the day at my company, or arrive at conclusions without the guidance, help, and support of superiors and peers alike, but I am responsible for more here than I’ve ever had to be at any other point, at any other place, in my professional experience. It brings much to bear on my private life.

I see very clearly now that an increase in responsibility necessitates an increase in compassion for those who help me meet deadlines and goals, and to whom I entrust precious pieces of the work puzzle on a daily basis.

Like everyone, regardless of career, I ultimately work with human hearts, spirits, and souls. Try thinking of everyone who crosses your path on the job as someone who wants dignity and respect—someone, who at some point, has had someone else try to take that away from them—just as you probably have, and it will change your perspective.

No matter who we are, we are still fighting some old battle for credibility or love. But mostly love.

“…I’m not the kind to use a pencil or rule; I’m handy with love and I’m no fool… Yeah baby, I’m your handyman...”

Now that I’m on my own and am free to cultivate my own vibe in the apartment, I’ve decided to rehang the shroud (glorified mosquito netting) that enclosed my bed before I had to share a bedroom with someone. The rehanging of the shroud, however, involves drilling a hole in the ceiling, and imbedding an anchor, and then placing a hook in said anchor.

I don’t own a drill (though I do have the hooks already), nor am I tall enough for this job, even if I did have this handy piece of equipment—so I e-mailed Gordon and asked if he would do this for me. At the risk of being a cliché, I let him know that I understood if he wasn’t up for it, and that I wanted to invite him to dinner sometime regardless. I stressed that I do not expect him to be at my beck and call for these kinds of tasks.

As a result of a few e-mail exchanges, and a remarkable demonstration of his willingness to go above and beyond to do this for me (one example is that he was going to come to my office tomorrow morning to get the hook so he’d know what kind of anchor to buy). When he realized he’d need to do this for me tonight because of his band practice commitment, he said he’d just bring over a few different types of anchors, and that hopefully we wouldn’t need to go to the hardware store.

It’s not the thought of a free meal that lured him, because he doesn’t even know if he can stay long enough to eat given that he needs some time to paint tonight—but he’s willing to come to my place to drill a hole for me, so I can have the ambience I want in my bedroom.

I just wondered if he would agree to do it sometime. Maybe, if it wasn’t too much trouble….

The honeymoon is over…

Since I last blogged, I was “spoken to” at work about some things that have slipped through the cracks. I don’t want to rehash it all here, and in an effort to be judicious, I have to say that it was not entirely unmerited—but I also think it was shortsighted, and didn’t really take certain “restrictions” into consideration.

With that said, moving on.

I finally wrote Devika a reply to her letter, and I saw two old friends this weekend. Oh, and Sarah got all new furniture for her new place. Life is good, still.

The Great Pumpkin

I found eating to be painful yesterday since I have one of those annoying cuts on the back of my left gum. It is a bit better today, but I am still uncomfortable. I ate soup for dinner last night (crab bisque), and then intended to watch "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown." I barely made it through the opening credits, before I drifted off to sleep. I woke up just in time for Linus's famous "just you wait til next year, Charlie Brown!" tirade during the end credits. I guess I will have to wait til next year, afterall.

I've been listening to Prince's hits and b-sides 3-disc set for the last couple of days and getting reacquainted with some favourite songs. I have also been listening to the neo spiritual goth stylings of Evanescence. My youngest sister turned me on to the deftly rendered vocals of the frontwoman. It may be too young a cd for me in some ways, but I like a little angst with my morning coffee.

What else can I say? It's raining in Baltimore, baby, but everything else is the same.

To Do

Sunday Night

Laundry
Wash Dishes
Wipe Down Kitchen Counters
Vacuum

Monday Night

More Laundry
Go To the Market
Make Dinner
Light Candles
Vacuum Again

Tuesday Night

Windex bathroom mirror and coffee table and end table tops
Scrub Kitchen Floor
Scrub Bathroom Floor
Write a Reply to Devika's Most Recent Letter

Rain Stained Buildings

Selma Blair and Ahmet Zappa stood out on the balcony this morning playing with a toy bird--sending it out, watching it fly back to land at their feet. There were a few times when I wondered if they could see me as they seemed to stare straight into my office window, but probably not.

It is a gloomy day in Charm city. Looking forward to going home tonight, making tea, doing laundry, and making dinner for one. Think I'll do some extra work and light a few candles.

Separation Anxiety

I feel that I haven't blogged in days. Sarah and I woke up yesterday morning at about 7 a.m., showered, dressed, and headed to her storage unit in Montgomery County where we met her parents who were waiting with a Penske truck in tow. A small group of friends were also present to help us with this first of three legs of the move.

Long story short, it went off without a hitch. A good friend of mine, the illustrious Quill and her invaluable brother were the indisputable stars of the day. It really touched Sarah, because Quill hardly knows her, and Quill's brother had never met her before Saturday. Everyone was so generous with time, help, and resources.

I have been trying to prepare for tonight for a week. This is my first night in the apartment as the sole occupant (I stayed at her new place last night). It feels empty because Sarah's essence is really not here now, though a few of her possessions still linger (like this laptop that I will take with me to work tomorrow), but it is clear that she does not live here anymore.

I asked her last night if she had disengaged, psychologically speaking, from this apartment. She had--and she should--but it's still a bit sad. I am not worried about not seeing her enough (we work together!), and I am not worried about not being in her life, but it is the end of an era. We have been roommates for four and a half years, and while I have dreamed of the autonomy that is part and parcel of living alone, I find that I feel alone, and miss her so much I don't think I'll make it to bed tonight without crying.

Sarah, know that you are the best friend I have in this life, and though it's time now for us to have our own space again, I loved living with you. Sleep well, honey.

ARTIST
(Dominant Introvert Abstract Feeler )

Kate:
Like just 4% of the population you are an ARTIST (DIAF)--creative, adventurous, and deep. Although you are an introvert, your dominant ideas lead you to assert yourself often--especially through your work. You actively put your creativity to constructive use, and because you are ruled by your heart you are less likely to be inhibited by logic.

You have an intuitive understanding of emotion and know how evoke it in others, but the real world can be a prison of foolishness and embarrassment if you don't get your head out of the clouds a little more. Also, you are 87% likely to write poetry. Please, for the love of God, stop now.

"We Would Never Have Marched So Far To Be Food For a Crow."

I come back to the idea that "God has not brought me this far to abandon me now" many times in any given moment of fear and distrust.

I am worried about many things all the time--having enough money, needing to lose weight, having exact change for bus fare, one day getting furniture that I will really like, being able to move to a vintage building in the city, Gordon... Since I've turned 30 the mysterious, centering calm I'd been feeling has not waned altogether, but it's more like a thin mist some days than a warming shroud of bliss.

And I worry about not being good enough at my job. I worry about dropping the ball on anyone, and when I do, I smart over it for days. When someone else drops the ball, I smart over it for days. There are moments when the disconnect between what I want and what I have is so impassable, that I sink into a crippling, VH-1 marathon-watching malaise...

If I can't have things completely just so, I don't have the heart to try for any element of what I want.

So, on the eve of living alone, for real this time, I have plans in place to regain my footing, get established the way I've always wanted to be, to stop ordering carryout, stop buying on credit, light candles, and play more with the zen garden I inherited from Sarah.

Sinister

There are several "group" meetings at work today, held at different times, in which the president of our start up will address the company's future, and discuss the financial forecast.

Add to this the stress of Sarah's move, which involves making several forays over to her new apartment between tonight and tomorrow to take things that shouldn't go in the moving truck on Saturday.

God, I need you to intervene here.

I didn't even see this movie (I'm an adult afterall), but what a flattering result!


What Finding Nemo Character are You?
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Couldn't Resist...

New York, NY, you like shopping, looking good, and
making statements. Living on a 5ht avenue
apartment makes you feel sophisticated and
real.


WHAT CITY SHOULD YOU LIVE IN?
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Requiem

My grandmother's memorial service was tasteful and simple. My father and the two of his three brothers who attended, each spoke anecdotally about her wit, her sensibilities, her utter ineptitude in the kitchen, and her pride in being the mother of sons.

I saw my father as a broken man, mourning the only woman he's ever adored. I also saw that for all of my legitimate issues with him, that I have not helped the situation by relating to him out of anger. I think that I can still insist on respect, not let myself be emotionally man-handled, and meet him half way.

I remembered, being there with my family, who I am in the scheme of things. Being with my uncles and my grandparents as a child, I felt such a sense of possibility and pride, because I belonged to a name--even though I have never carried that name, legally speaking. The reason is too complex to go into here--and in truth, is beside the point.

My mother arrived, due to a snarl in traffic, very late. The service was actually over, but everyone was still there--so I got to see my mother and father in the same room for the first time in 24 years.

Things will always occur just as they should.

In my heart, when I heard about my grandmother's passing, I thought "Gordon, come with me [to the service]."
The following day, without any prompting from me, he offered to drive me if I needed him to do so. Unfortunately, when I decided to take him up on the offer, his car died.

But I couldn't shake the feeling that he was supposed to be there. I prayed to make peace with his inability to accompany me, for God to provide another means that would be perfect. I did what I could to make other arrangements, but nothing felt right.

Sarah actually called him on Friday and asked him if he would consider borrowing a car to take me--she let him know that I had not asked her to do this, that I would not ask him... but that she knew I was stressed and agitated, and asked him to consider it. She did this out of love for me, also believing that he was supposed to be there.

The day came and went with no word from him, so I knew that whatever was going on--it was something that couldn't be helped. I went to bed believing that that was the end of the story. Until the phone rang at 11:30. It was him saying he'd borrowed his parents' car, and would pick me up at noon the following day. He did not mention that Sarah telephoned him.

So, in the course of one afternoon, he met everyone in my life that has ever been important to me, including my very flamboyant, over the top mother (and her quasi boyfriend). Something indescribable happened in my heart when I saw my uncles shaking his hand, and later hugging him... to see my father very kindly thanking him for being there.

One of my uncles said "you know, we have a lot of Gordons in our family..."

Later that night, on the phone with my mother, she couldn't stop talking about how much she liked him. She described his spirit as being beautiful, she remarked further that there is something about him that just "drew" her, and she also loved the warmth and openness of his smile.

2 + 2 = 4

About a week and a half ago I saw Tracey Ullman a stone's throw from my office building. I was on my lunch break, and had just stepped into the waterfront deli to buy a 20 oz. Coke. Seeing her from a distance I thought to myself 'That woman looks like Tracey Ullman.' Then she spoke, and it was unmistakably her.

Keep that in the back of your mind for a bit while I introduce a new element.

For the last couple of weeks, I have been taking note of the apartment that is eye level with my office window. I have been taking note of that apartment because the female occupant has come onto the balcony twice in the nude. Once a week ago, and then again today. I started to wonder why a) this person doesn't recognize she's directly across from a functioning office building, and b) why she is always home during normal work hours.

A few days ago I noticed "the boyfriend" character (as I came to think of him)--also home during peak hours, not seeming to rise much before noon, and mostly talking on his cell phone as he paced back and forth along the balony door. I also noticed that he bears a striking resemblance to Ahmet Zappa, most recently seen on the new Star Search this past season.

There seemed to be something oddly familiar about the woman in the apartment,but nothing clicked because I never got a very clear look at her face.

Today, I saw "the boyfriend" person outside. And it was beyond the shadow of a doubt, Ahmet Zappa. I spent several Friday nights this past spring looking at his face while Bina indulged her guilty pleasure of watching talent competitions, so I should know.

I immediately thought about Tracey Ullman, whom I'd not thought of since passing her on the street nearly two weeks ago.
I did a web search to see what's she's up to these days.....

She's filming a John Waters movie (A Dirty Shame) in Baltimore (where else would a JW movie be filmed?). Other cast members include Selma Blair, to whom, I realized today (before I did this search), the naked woman in the apartment across from my office window, bears a striking resemblance.

If you're still not convinced, I just read online that Blair and Zappa are engaged.

There you have it.

You're honey! You're sweet as can be, but
sometimes you can be too nice!


Which condiment are you?
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As I sat in the salon chair tonight getting my tresses chopped, it came to me.

How can anything I do out of love reap destruction? Why would anything I do for him out of love ruin me?

So the verdict is "irrational fear."

I am disappointed that he won't be at the memorial service with me--that would have been a real statement to my family, all of whom I have not seen in the better part of ten years. I couldn't have introduced him as anything other than my friend, but it would have been the first time in my life I would have been present at any family event with a man from my own, separate life and experience.

It would have helped me to feel less alone when I face my father. It would have said to him "This man cares about me so much he wouldn't let me look you in the eye without him."

His offer is in no way undermined, but I wish it were going to be an actuality, instead of remaining a gesture. When I first heard about my grandmother, in my heart I whispered Gordon, come with me... Then I wrote it on a post-it note I later threw away.

Irrational Fear or Gut Instinct?

I need to be honest about something. A couple of months ago when one of the women I manage had just started working at my company, I told her about Gordon's art. This topic came up organically enough, and she was actually very taken by one piece in particular that she felt she wanted to buy.

A couple of e-mails to Gordon later, and I had potentially set up a very exciting sale for him.

Since that time there have been some stops and starts--Deb needing time to get the money together (art is expensive), mostly. During the course of this elongated waiting period, I have experienced a persistent, niggling fear that once Gordon meets this woman, he will become instantly attracted to her, and that he will want to pursue her.

I am worried because for as much as I have in common with Gordon, she would have just as much, if not more (I know because we've had enough conversations, and I've clicked enough with her that the parallels between her and me, and him and her, are obvious enough).

It doesn't matter that she is supposedly in a committed relationship with a man in New York--Ah... New York...something else they would share in common. Their disdain for Baltimore and utter love of the Big Apple. It doesn't matter that she is 24 with a five-year-old son. Love always finds a way, if it has the potential to be such.

I try to talk myself down from this ledge of fear all the time. I try to shoo away the inexplicable thought that occurred to me a scant two weeks before Deb began working with me--the thought of Gordon maybe dating a single mom sometime, and wondering how that would go over with his family. I was at the bus stop and this just occurred to me one morning....

I tried to comfort myself with Deb's pending plans to move back to New York--but in my heart I knew that somehow she wouldn't be able to do it when the time came. Yesterday she confirmed this. Money, or the lack thereof, won't allow it right now. Hmmm. Sounds familiar.

In any event, I took myself out of the logistics end of this painting sale a while back, so not knowing if and when they would ever make contact has been a source of nagging worry. I relaxed a bit more when Gordon told me a week ago that he had indeed heard from her, and that he hoped to set up a time for her to come by and look at the piece to make sure she wanted it.

Yesterday, I got tired of feeling helpless, so I asked her if she'd yet bought the painting. Apparently, Gordon hadn't answered her e-mail. I offered to call him (since I know he wants to make the sale), for which she seemed grateful. She told me she could put cash in his hand next week, once she's back from visiting... New York...that's right.

I am torn because I never want him to set eyes on this cute dynamo with a pixie hair cut, sharp wit, taste in music that probably matches his more than mine, who has a body that would entice him more than mine would, I'm sure. But I want him to do well; I want him to have enough money. I want the world to know and experience his art.

So I called him and let him know he could have money next week--we agreed that he would just call me to set up something since reaching Deb on his own had brought minimal success (apparently, he had e-mailed her back, but she'd not gotten the message). I am the liaison once again. On the one hand, that brings with it a degree of comfort and control. On the other hand, I am worried that I will be forced to be the architect of my own despair.

It didn't help that during my conversation with him yesterday that he asked if Deb "[has] a rich boyfriend or something" because I said she'd be in the bahamas (now it's New York. Long story.) for a few days. I couldn't tell if that was his way of trying to find out her status, or if the question was unloaded with double intent. I took the opportunity to tell him that she is indeed attached, but that I'm not under the impression that her guy is rich. And, God help me, being a woman, I took the opportunity to mention her five-year-old child.

Moments later, he mentioned my grandmother's passing and her pending funeral. He told me he knew that seeing my father was going to be the hardest part of the whole situation. He asked me again if I knew details about the service--where and when it would be. He expressed a willingness to drive me there if I needed him to, provided his car held up. To say that I was touched, and temporarily bolstered, would be an understatement.

And as I later found out, I would need his assistance. But... his car died. So he can't help me, afterall.

I felt bad for him. He didn't know what to call himself. "This is your... this is your... this is your..." I told him I had heard about his mother and that I am sorry. The conversation was brief. He only knew that the memorial service will be"either Sunday or Monday," and told me that he's taking the bus down from Philadelphia for the funeral.

"Maybe I'll see you," he said. I assured him that I would be there. Then he was gone.

Resurfaced

My paternal grandmother has died. I know this because my birth father, with whom I have a strained relationship, called my mother's house to find out my phone number. My sister, given the circumstances, gave it to him. She called me, though, to give me a heads up.

I haven't talked to him since January of this year when he called to lambast me for my negligence (from his perspective) of his mother in recent years.

I am sure he's going to let his anger simmer and thicken before he calls me to let me know she's died. And I am also sure that he will try to level me at her pending funeral (I have no details at this time) with his rage.

What was started nearly a year ago has reemerged as a battle for me to fight. At this risk of being campy, I am expecting something of a showdown.

I sent out a mass e-mail to friends soliciting their prayers when I heard in anticipation of that very occurrence. A few people have replied to that missive, including the elusive, incognito-as-of-late Gordon. So I guess his fingers weren't broken afterall.

At least I know not to send him any more poems. I can't take that particular silence. It's more difficult than death to me.

Milk Jug in Recession

The photos in my cubicle indicate that I have a warm, charming life,and that I know happy, interesting people. My current favourite is one that I took of Catchka in Boston in the last days of Summer. She is pointing a ketchup squirt bottle in my general direction, though her eyes are focused somewhere past me. I love the angles and lighting in this shot--the pure candor of it. But I also like what I didn't see in my frame of vision when I pushed the button that forever immortalized the look on my dear friend's face. There is an unassuming gallon of milk, cattycorner from the ketchup squeeze bottle in C's hand. Just sitting there (as milk jugs tend to do). I am intrigued to think this is what my eye took in in the half second it took to set up and execute this shot, but there is so much I didn't notice.

Something Unforeseen Barred

The walkthrough and lease signing/orientation went very well. Sarah noted a couple more issues she wants the property representative to have fixed before she starts to fully occupy, but other than those few minor things, all systems are go. She will move in on October 25th.

Frustration Factor

I had my cell phone number changed yesterday, more than a year after returning to Baltimore, so that the number actually reflects the area code of my "home" city. The monkey wrench? My voicemail hasn't yet processed the new number, and is correctly reading the old number as being defunct, so I can't set up my message box for the new number, if that makes sense. Time to call the company again...

Moon Beam

Even though my alarm is set for 7 a.m. more often than not, I often awaken without prompting between 6 and 6:30 every morning. This morning it was the fiercely blinding, white light of the moon hovering over the bedroom window that caused me to wake with a start. It seemed at first that something must be terribly wrong in the world, but then I mumbled "oh, it's the moon." From my vantage point there were four distinct beams shining from it in four directions, creating the illusion of a cross shape behind it...

Art and Vulnerability

(I Showed him my notebook/ the underside of my soul released/in scribbles on pages-- the Innocense Mission)

I wrote a poem about Gordon's painting "Only the one who knows longing knows what I've suffered." I told him about it, partly because I wanted him to know that his art inspired me, but also I wanted him to know that I had written something at all, especially after his recent, heartening encouragement of my work--his plea to me to continue with it at all costs.

This is the second time I've written a poem about a painting of his-- the first time was about a year ago, and it took him a week to get back to me. And when he did reply it was to say that he needed more time, because the poem had made him speechless.

I guess, in light of that, the absence of an immediate reply this time shouldn't alarm or disconcert me, but you know, it does. I am left to wonder "Does he hate it?" "Does he get it?" "Would he tell me if he hated it?"

If we are really getting closer, there should be room for him to dislike something I've done and tell me about it--but my writing has always been the purest and best version of who I am--the part of me with which he connects the most deeply, and holds in the highest esteem. Maybe now that's been compromised and he just doesn't know how to say it....

Once I gave serious thought to joining a wolf pack. Now we know why...


Your element is Earth. I hate to say it but you are
down to earth. Stubborn and loyal. You tend to
want to nurture others and you are the one
person friends always come to for awnsers.
Without people like you others would be flying
over the edge because, whether you know it or
not you keep a steady beat to your life and
will end up where you want to in the end. There
is a sureness about you that is hard to match
that draws people to you. No matter what
happens the Earth keeps turning.


What's your element
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Sarah, barring something unforeseen, has a new 2-bedroom apartment about 15 minutes outside the city proper. I'll go with her to sign papers and do a final walk through tomorrow afternoon.

I've been waiting to be a free agent for more than a year and a half, and now it's happening. Living alone is truly imminent this time, and I'm already turning my attention to what I'm going to do. I'm either going to get another apartment in this building, or move to a vintage building, but that's seeming a little improbable at the moment, since I never received a call back from the real estate office, and I doubt I could find money for a truck and a security deposit for a new place...

I already passed up a cute little one bedroom in this building because Sarah had not yet found a place. I just hope another one opens up sooner rather than later. I need to start packing as though one will be, I guess. Things seem to happen on a dime these days.

I keep meaning to mention that I can see my apartment building from several of the windows here at the office. It always gives me such a feeling of integratedness to be standing where I work and watching the place where I sleep.

Potential and Kinetic Energy

When an object is elevated or intensified, and is released, the potential energy (stored energy) becomes kinetic energy (motion).

"Since energy can neither be created nor destroyed, the energy is merely changing from one form to another." (excerpts from a Science lesson I edited this morning).

This principle is intriguing to me in its implication for human interaction. It would seem that everything is always just about to become, or is becoming....

Renewing My Mind

I don't know anything about intimacy, real intimacy. It seems that it would require an awful lot of willingness to sit quiet and still with another person, without forcing an agenda. I have the same tendency many people, even those who know better, have. I often sexulize the concept of intimacy. So, when I imagine being close to a man, being in an exclusive relationship with him, I think primarily of physical gratification.

For my entire life I have subscribed to the belief that the full expression of physical intimacy should be kept for marriage--so priceless and exclusive are its joys--as an indication of the singularity of intention in that relationship. I don't believe that any less now, but as a 30 year-old, I struggle with a very keen desire to know those pleasures sooner rather than later.

As I nurse the hope of being in a marriageable relationship with a specific man, I cannot say that I am not plagued by thoughts of what it would be like to enjoy those pleasures with him. This is normal, I'm sure.

But it worries me. It concerns me because I notice that when our friendship enjoys any significant increase in depth, my fantasies run rampant, unchecked, I am chagrined to say. The basis of the correlation may be understandable, but that doesn't make it right.

I know that one of the reasons I am not ready to be in the exclusive committed relationship I want to be part of is because I need God to inform my desire for intimacy and my concept of what it is, at the deepest level. I know that intimacy is a process, not a theory. I know that you learn about it as it unfolds in your life, but there is so much to be said for contemplation and prayer before attempting something of this magnitude.

God, I want to be in a relationship with Gordon that is characterized by true intimacy, respect, and a lack of self-consciousness. Won't you help me to see what such a relationship would look like, from your perspective?

I selected two paintings from among the group he laid out for me. As he pulled them out one by one, some I had seen before and some I had not, I let my heart be the judge. It lurched forward when I caught the first cursory glimpse of a sad, alienated man in a room with an upright piano. Everything about the spirit of the piece resonated with me, and though I did not say so immediately, I knew immediately that I wanted it.

Gordon left me to make my selections without him, so I gingerly pulled the piece from behind the others in the stack. On the back of the canvas he had written "Only the one who knows longing knows what I've suffered." (Goethe) Obviously, I had not seen that quote that also functions as the title before, but it seemed to confirm all that I intuited in an instant.

The other piece, equally tender in its rendering, is for a dear friend, so I don't want to describe it here. I will say this, Gordon's empathy with the "other" as expressed through his work is really remarkable. My sister commented to me on this last night. She told me how much she values his ability to paint in something other than "his own image."

We got together "on the fly," because Sarah and Michael were having a rather serious conversation, and I didn't want the weight of another presence in the house to hem them in. I also didn't want to have to stay scarce, so I called up G and asked him if he was up for hanging out with me for a bit.

So I got to see the house where he's staying for the first time. One of his two roommates, Jack, was around. I noted the atypically sparse introduction Gordon provided. "Jack, this is Kate. Kate, Jack." I shook Jack's hand, said the requisite "It's nice to meet you, Jack," and started to walk away.

Jack then asked if me if Gordon and I are coworkers. I told him that we aren't, so he asked how it is that we know each other. Normally Gordon would have taken care of that by adding the detail in his initial introduction (i.e., This is my friend Kate), perhaps adding that he knows me through a mutual friend. Or maybe he would have said "Kate is here to look at some of my paintings" as an explanation of what I was doing there.

In any case, there I was having to explain something basic and fairly common, and all I could come up with is "We're old friends." Jack accepted that, though he seemed to be waiting for more details.

After giving me the grand tour of the place, Gordon and I sat out on the stoop of the house--He wanted to smoke a cigarette. I drank one of Ralph's root beers while he did so, and we talked amiably enough. He was very tired, so he was less engaged than usual, though not fully detached.

Before leaving we went back up to his bedroom so I could look at the alligator satchel he wanted to show me. While there, I took the fortune cookie fortune I had in my pocket and placed it on his desk. It read "Don't be hasty. Prosperity is about to knock on your door."

It will give him something to wonder about when he finds it.

I Hear You

I didn't get the chance to write about this before I left town for a church retreat (this past weekend) because I was in the throes of laundry, packing, and making and keeping a hair appointment for my much ignored tresses, but last week I received three pleas from three different friends to remember the reason I am alive.

Catchka, who always faithfully challenges me, gave me the assignment of going to the library, checking out the most recent copy of the Poet's Market, and to start submitting my work to appropriate journals. Gordon, who is generally only verbally encouraging, took the initiative to write me an e-mail in which he implored me not to forget my poetry and other writing in the midst of the busyness of my job, because "what [I] have to say is beautiful," and the lovely and intellectually astonishing Devika sent me a postal letter in which she strongly encouraged me not to keep my writing private--calling it a disservice to the literary world if my poems continued to be unavailed to the public.

The topic of this year's Women's Fall Retreat was finding, knowing, and implementing your life's purpose. The notion that God has created me for a purpose beyond my mere 9 to 5, beyond even the coveted roles of wife and mother, that is so specific and unique to me, my inclinations, and my gifts was heartening.

I believe the Lord speaks in myriad ways--through the words of trusted friends is certainly one of those means He uses to reach us. So, to honour these messages, I plan to enroll in grad school for writing next Fall. Keep me in your prayers.

29

your lips were seductive surrounded by smoke
i searched your face, saying only with the darkness of my irises
like coffee without cream, not bitter, just dark and tortured
that my body aches at the core
for your body

it was your birthday
and i couldn’t help but think
that you were being created
as i came silently, soberly into the world

how long i have waited
for you to emerge
into an understanding of me

your fingers tapered, intentional
in their grasping at air
your skin is raw milk
close enough for me to taste

feel the weight of my unspoken dreams
floating toward you on the air currents
with your smoke
weighted
waiting
waning

if you do not hear
they will vanish

i have tried to find myself in reference to other selves
but you are my guidepost
your wound the only one I want to heal
by opening my own flesh
to envelop you and reign you in
through dark hours

your mouth poison in its witholding
leave a drop for me.

© Kate Krupnik
June 2, 2003