Who I Am

I had a secret goal this summer: I wanted to become an athlete. I wanted to become one of those toned ladies who says, "I'm so glad I was able to get into this weekend's 5K up in Salem. I mean, I registered really last minute, but coming down from the triathalon Saturday, I felt like I needed an easy race just to feel good."

I work with these people. Some of them run 5Ks with their families on holidays. On holidays! Holidays are for eating, talking, noshing, eating, and playing ladder horseshoes with a drink in one hand. On July 4 it is also acceptable to play volleyball with cousins, provided there are no volleys whatsoever. The game must be played in a strict serve-miss-serve format. Anything else is unAmerican. Winter and fall holidays may include spectator sports and/or marathon games of Scrabble.

Although tracking my food intake, amping up the exercise, and reading Healthy Magazines have been good and fun for me, and I will continue to do them, I fear I will never become the Supra Athlete Woman of my June-July imagination. Reality settles in during August, and that reality says, 'Style, you are not this person. If you're honest, you don't even want to be this person. You just want to be in good enough shape to canoe and stroll through apple orchards during fall foliage.

I'm not a marathoner. A friend of mine ran a marathon and--cross my heart and hope to die--all her toenails turned black and fell out the next day, but she proclaimed, "I can't wait to run my next marathon!" This gal would also work until 11 PM at her crappy editorial assistant job on a regular basis. Now, of course, she is in law school. I am not like this determined young woman. In a test that a life coach friend suggested I take, I learned that "Leisure" is one of my top-three goals in life. My ideal weekend may involve some good sweating from dance, yoga, hiking, and sex, but it never, ever involves any running.

Nor am I like those women who thrive on the challenge! of beating a competitor. I don't relish the notion of beating my own best performance, either--why make myself my own enemy? I prefer cooperation to competition (not that it's a competition). My goals in life revolve around making the house smell like cinnamon as often as possible, and having delectable cups of tea and magical racks of muffins ready for unexpected visitors (who never arrive, so we just eat 'em or fatten up coworkers on Monday). I like to sit and meditate. I like to socialize, especially at the Friday night Nia theme parties we have at the studio. (Later in August--a James Bond dance night!) On special occasions, we may even enjoy a potluck supper and break out the djembes after we finish dancing.

I am not the six-pack gal.

I much prefer a good, inexpensive vinho verde.

Mental Health Day

...started with a trip to the doctor's for a titer. I don't have a complete vaccination record, and State Laws want to know whether graduate students are immune to MMR and Hep B. Weird, right? I'm sure that some statistician in some public health office determined this was necessary.

Then to Trader Joe's for a grabbag of ingredients in order to make Big Breakfast! And Banana Bread for Tomorrow! I came home and began frying the Niman Ranch bacon, which wafted a sinfully delicious, smoky smell throughout our little condo. Then: too smoky! Turn on the fans!

Feeling quite devil-may-care today, I made our French toast using Texas-style bread, those soft, white, thick slices, and yes, I fried it in the bacon grease. To class it up, I added a touch of cinnamon and vanilla.

Then we ATE!

Then we sat on the couch. I looked at Architectural Digest and once again contemplated how much I would enjoy a living in a home with panoramic views of the Rockies.

Next up, shiatsu laundry and baking banana bread, with a side of meditation during baking time/dryer cycle. I also have some not-so-fun items on the list today: finishing my financial aid application and a trip to the bank.

I'm trying to convince G. to take at least half the day off with me. He is thus far noncompliant. He did not complain about breakfast, though.

Happy-Sad-Happy

I applied for another job, an ESL posting that had perfect part-time hours to accompany grad school. The posting did not require certification! Heck, since I was on my way to certification in ESL, I felt like I had a foot in the door already.

At 5:05, the principal called me. Happy! We chatted. It turned out that she needs someone to manage the ESL legislation requirements more than to teach English language learners. I don't know the laws; I am therefore not right for the position. (And anyway, it's not what I really want to do.) Sad.

But, she is keeping me on the list in case they need subs or someone to give the ELLs vocabulary intervention for their academic courses. Happy. -Ish. I took the opportunity to mention that if a sheltered English social studies position opens up, that is my bag.

(I didn't say, "That's my bag". It would be an idiom, the opposite of sheltered language.)

Shrimp Tandoori and the Delusional Feline

Takeout shrimp tandoori creates hopefully delusional behavior in Luna Cat. As I sat at the table, carefully unwrapping tinfoil to reveal the plump red shrimp, Luna sat so prettily at my knee. The dear cat wore her best tuxedo, black fur extra-glossy and white fur snow-white, all dressed up for a fancy prawn dish she would never taste. She gazed at me adoringly, luminous green-and-pale-yellow eyes wide and innocent. She loved me so much that she couldn't help but place one gloved paw on my knee and lean in to say, "Oh, how lovely you are! And what is that wonderful smell coming from your plate? Let me just get a closer look."

Nice try, Luna. I invented that one. "Mommy, you're so pretty," I'd say to my unsuspecting mother, "Could I have a cookie?"

Eventually I took pity on her and let her lick the foil after I had eaten every. Last. Bit. Of shrimp.

At least we are delusional together. I won't eat all the garlic naan!, I had promised myself. Oh, but it was so hot, and garlicky, and buttered so nicely.

In which the afternoon becomes pretty damn fine.

G. is off at the party I am too tired to attend, and so I am left alone with two dozing cats and the marvelous lightning storms. Thunder cracks right in the yard, and sometimes sirens yell as rescue vehicles race through the intersection, but the sirens sound lazy to me. My Tibetan prayer flags on the balcony look beautifully vibrant soaked through. I have prepared Mexican chocolate pops, now nestled in the freezer, and the sweet aroma of milk simmering with loads of cinnamon is still wafting through the condo. I placed frozen butter on the edge of the hot stovetop to defrost, so that I can make my aunt's recipe in a few minutes. Lucky me, turns out I have all the ingredients in the cupboards. While the raisin buns bake, I plan to sit at the kitchen table, enjoying the good smells and listening to the rain pour, and pull out my Tarot cards for a shuffle.

PS. Here is my aunt's description of the Golden Raisin Buns, from a collection of family recipes she gave me for my wedding shower:

These soft, golden, eggy buns are almost like cream puffs. The outside raisins toast a little; the inside ones stay juicy. Lightly frost and serve while still fresh from baking.

Are you drooling? I am!

PPS The frosting is lemony. The buns themselves have very little sugar. This promises to be fantastic.

Tired kStyle Is Tired.

The last class went well today. I had fun "teaching" my classmates, and they had fun pretending to be 6th graders for me.

But now, I am supposed to be at a party, and this makes me sad, but I am too tired. The party is an hour's drive away, and we'll be seeing these people next weekend anyway, so...I'm just not up for it. And my throat is sore.

I'm going to put on a nice pot of China Rose tea and maybe, once the thunderstorm abates, get some eggs and confectioner's sugar in order to make my aunt's golden raisin buns recipe.

Almost. Done. For now.

Life gangs up on ya sometimes. Take, for instance, this week. It is the last week of my condensed summer term, and I had to prepare my portfolio and write lesson plans as well as do all the regular reading.

At day job, all my books reached crucial points in the publishing lifecycle at once. I needed to clone myself just to accomplish everything at work, never mind the classwork on top of it. And a certain vendor kept f-ing up a certain book's front matter, and nothing I could say seemed to make them do it right on the next try. Or the next. Or the next. I'm not supposed to work on Fridays, per my agreed-upon schedule, but here I sat today, checking work email to finalize this damn front matter.

But my portfolio for class, complete with sheltered English lesson plans, is now neatly tucked into my binder. The front matter is finalized. I still have to finish the readings, though, and attend a birthday party tonight. Class is tomorrow at 9 AM. Dear me.

A peaceful moment. After an evening storm yesterday, I went for a walk in the park. Over the pond to my right shimmered a huge rainbow, arcing across the clouds. Over the hill to my left, bright purple-orange clouds marked the end of the day. As I walked around the pond and over the hill, the colors faded from the sky, and a blue heron flew across the gray expanse. A jet appeared above and behind him, adding its vapor streak to the graying sky.