Lunch Plans

One of my quirks that makes Mike shake his head is my habit of eating a variety of snacks over a period of a few hours--sharp cheddar, some almonds, something leftover from supper, carrots with hummus, cucumber salad, a hard-boiled egg, whatever sounds good--as breakfasts and lunches on my days off instead of taking the time to "eat something real."  I don't think one way is better than the other, but it occurred to me this past week as I brainstormed ways to make this winter better for myself that taking the time on one of my days off every week to cook a "proper" dish that has some fondly-remembered significance to me would be a sweet habit to get into this winter.  Similarly, a friend from high school who is a marathoner mentally dedicates every mile of a race to a different loved one to get her through the hardest stretches and to refocus the endeavor for herself in that way.  Yes, yes, yes.  I've long thought the finest thing about my life is the beautiful people who have been in it, so why not honor them in the days ahead by measuring out the same ingredients and performing the same steps of measuring and boiling and baking that they did or do.  Yesterday I kicked off the project by cooking my grandfather's gnocchi and my grandmother's meatballs.  I cried once as I smelled the potato-flour dough and then again when I tasted my first bite.  I make the meatballs often, and I used to cook the gnocchi a few times a year, but neither Mike nor I should have the extra potato or white flour anymore, and I'm not interested in the healthier versions out there--I want Papa's heavy gnocchi or none at all--so it had been at least five years since I'd made these foods together.  I will modestly but honestly say I hadn't lost my touch:  My grandparents would have proudly recognized both their beloved dishes.  :)  Here's to the best of grandparents, here's to memories of Sunday dinners at their house the first 24 years of my life, and here's to all the LOVE.  How blessed am I.   

♥

Aches and Pains and Papas and Petals

After thinking for awhile that I have arthritis, medical appointments the past few months have confirmed as much--osteoarthritis and psoriatic arthritis--and I'm now scheduled to meet with a rheumatologist this winter.  "You should consider talking with someone," one of the doctors told me, "because chronic pain is hard."  I should take her advice--Trained Counselor, heal thyself!--but I'm not there yet.  In a dream earlier this week, my grandfather who died in 2017 smiled at me and said, "I want to see you happy again."  There was no disappointment or judgement in his tone.  I could feel his own seemingly ever-present lightheartedness same as always, but I understood the implied urging toward action in his words.  This was only the second time I've dreamed of him since he died, and this was the first time he's spoken.  I want to see you happy again.  Well, then!  My goodness.   I cashed in a little vacation time this week and next to sort myself out a bit and took pen to paper the other day to come up with some Operation See Val Happy Again ideas.  Treating myself to flowers every week was one.  I've had stretches before of doing it but never consistently for very long, and I'm determined now to indulge myself weekly.  The creamy white Hydrangeas caught my eye late last night and seemed a sweet start to this small part of my plan.  I have other ideas, but this voluptuous bouquet was enough for yesterday. 

A Few Days Off

I ran into this orange peel heart on my way to work Tuesday and took it as the "Hello, I see you, keep going, hang in there" from the Universe that I always choose to view these found hearts.  Gahhhhh, what a week.  As I limped up the front steps near midnight after last night's shift, I muttered "Thank you, God.  THANK YOU, GOD!" out loud, so glad I was to be home--and for three whole days.  I will soak in cocoa butter and shea bubble baths.  I will make myself mixing bowl-size "Grandma salads"--endive with oil and vinegar--for my lunches.  I will enjoy Mike's homemade chili and finally catch up with him after this aggravating-to-us-both week.  I will write some more of my 80s memoir:  The house that belonged to our next-door neighbor back then was listed for sale a few weeks ago, and seeing the realtor's pictures of it online has spurred me on anew with my project.  I will sleep until I've slept this week's bad mood away.  I will treat myself to a new tea:  I gave up caffeine more than a year ago and have been trying herbal teas, yet to find one I love, but this could be the weekend.   (←  I trust you'll all be waiting with bated breath for an update.  These Covid Times thrills are endless, I know!)  I will walk in near-balmy upper-50s weather for the first time in months.  I will read in bed.  I will read in my chair.  I will read while I do my laundry.  And Sunday night, I will cook a healthy lunch to pack for the next day's 12-and-a-half-hour shift.  Sunday is the last day of February, so even if next week is as "gahhhhh!" as this one was, at least it will be March.  Onward and upward.  But first:  Sleep.  ♥

Photo-Heavy, Heart-Heavy

Nightmares plague me in my sleep, one after the other, and despite the walks, the vitamins, the distraction of work, the talks with Mike, the donations made, the healthy meals, the frosting-covered treats, the focus on kindness and beauty, the books read, the magazines curled up with, and the visit home to family, the days continue to be hard too.  In many dreams since the 27th, I am being chased and am running for my life.  In one, I was hiding with Stuffed in a closet from a violent man who had just cut someone's hand off in front of me before I had escaped, and Stuffed and I were waiting it out until I thought he had given up on hunting us and we could climb out a window and run farther from him.  In another, I handed a small gift-box to a friend at work, and it was only when she hesitated to take it from me that I realized that she was Jewish and was afraid I was tricking her by handing her a box that contained a bomb.  Then the dream changed and I knew there was, indeed, a bomb inside and that we were in danger.  In one dream I didn't remember more of upon waking, Mike had told me that we would be okay but would need to stick together and be careful.  In one last night, I was standing on the boardwalk in my beloved Ocean City when I suddenly knew that the stranger beside me had it in for me and I needed to leave, and to leave quickly. . . .Knowing there are so many out there who have lived actual nightmares and mourned real losses of friends and family these past two weeks only makes me sadder.  

The day I caught the bus home to visit my parents and brothers, I walked out of the apartment only to find a news crew filming an interview a few steps from my front door:  One of the victims' funerals was being held across the street that afternoon.  (I had known that but hadn't expected to see news cameras in my front yard.)  The first time I visited the synagogue to leave my flowers, a newswoman who said she was from Denmark asked me how I was doing and a few other questions, and I awkwardly made my way for home soon after, uncomfortable talking at all, let alone while her partner filmed.  Maybe in awhile, when the news is paying less attention to this little part of the world--and being realistic, that will be when the next big gun violence story "steals" the spotlight--that will help some, I don't know.  A peace rally to honor the victims will be held this Friday, and I plan to attend, and maybe that will help some too, and again, I don't know.  It sounds like something that might feel like a step forward.  I have a growing list of letters to write--the mayor is on that list--and gestures of gratitude and recognition to pass along--the local police and the nearest funeral home are two on that list--and maybe getting those things done will help some, as well.  I want to give, give, give but feel fairly depleted these days.  

This is my favorite season, but the juxtaposition of the memorials and police tape with the stunning foliage and (all the flowers and) fall light has made the past two weeks even more jarring.   Relatedly, it has been mentioned over and over again that the site of the shooting was also quite literally the real "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood," since Fred Rogers lived just three blocks away.  On the afternoon of September 11th, 2011, a fellow teacher and I were driving home together since our classes had been dismissed early, and while we listened to the news on the car radio and talked some along the way, all I remember of the commute home was how brilliantly blue the sky was.   And now when I remember the shooting and these weeks that followed it, I will remember how the morning I took my roses to the synagogue was the prettiest morning I'd seen yet that fall and how striking the fall colors were that year.  This is just life, of course.  And it goes on, as the saying goes. 

♥

Daffodil Cookies and Disciplined Days

Our simple Easter dinner was lovely, if I may say so.  I somehow got the grocery store's last pot of miniature Daffodils for it, my Daffodil sugar cookies--and even their trumpets--kept their shape as they baked, the blackberry dessert I'd concocted for myself turned out better than expected, and the Lilac tablecloth I'd treated myself to for the occasion, since I love Lilacs and never see them on anything, looked as pretty on the table as I'd hoped it would.  The actual meal was good too, yes,  :) but the fun part of dinners for me is playing with the desserts and the table. 

My own Easter dessert was a dish of Greek yogurt mixed with crushed and whole blackberries, cream cheese, and edible flowers.  This was my favorite thing I ate yesterday. 

Saturday marked ten months on the job for me, and I can say now that it ended up taking me all of the first nine months on the job to get into new routines and have life feel manageable again.  That's a long time to feel discombobulated on a near-daily basis, especially for someone so appreciative of order and organization.  I get up every day at 7 am now, despite working until midnight some nights.  The extra hours in the morning are the hours that were missing before that now allow me to get things done, and although I would have guessed that this change in routine would make me more tired every day, I feel better than I have in ages and am only sleepy when I finally go to bed, as opposed to the day-in and day-out fatigued-right-to-my-bones that I felt every night (and day, for that matter) even through January.  I eliminated caffeine and sugar from my diet back in February and have been falling asleep quickly, for the very first time in my life, and sleeping like a rock.  Despite still not liking it, I drink about a gallon of water a day now.  Likely because of eating better and sleeping better, I've lost seventeen pounds so far this year, as well.  I used to be hit-or-miss with all the vitamins and supplements I take each day, but the so-obvious-I-didn't-think-of-it solution of a daily pill-organizer/container has made it easier for me to remember to take every pill every day, and there's something satisfying to me each morning about seeing that day's pills become a blank compartment after I've taken them with my glass of almond milk.  This is such a slight change in routine, but it's one that makes me feel better and more on-top-of-things every single day--and minutes after starting each day--so it's worth noting.  I still walk to and from work as often as I can--the nights I work until midnight, I catch the bus--but I also still need to work my longer walks and some writing-time into my mornings.  And I will.  Those will be two of this spring's changes-for-the-better, after having spent the winter focusing on other ones.   

Home itself has been getting sorted out too.  I cook ahead more often now, to make the nights I work until 6, 7, or 8 pm easier.  I'm in the process of creating a go-to grocery/shopping list of all the things I ever buy so I can just make copies of it and circle what I need on each copy for each trip.  (A friend's dad used to do this back when she and I were in the sixth grade, and now at almost 41, I see the brilliance of the idea that struck me as over-the-top at 11.)  :)  I have been wearing a uniform of sorts to work instead of real outfits, since I have that option at my workplace, and not having to choose clothes, shoes, and jewelry has freed up a lot of my pre-work time.  I've begun the past few months with not only my usual daily to-do lists, but also weekly and monthly ones.  I still need to come up with a better laundry system--it may likely end up being something as simple as "Tuesday is always Laundry Day, no matter my work schedule."  We'll see.  I  began April yesterday knowing I had met every goal on my March list, which felt incredible.  

My latest project has been to create--finally, after years of planning it--a writing corner for myself in the apartment.  In February, I bought a used table on craigslist to transform into a corner-desk.  A few weeks ago, I finished re-papering--really "re-fabric-ing"--one of that corner's walls and found a lamp for what will be my desk.  Saturday evening, I finished sawing the table into the wedge-shape I need.  Next is to put the table/desk back together, attach some type of shelf to its top as a sort of hutch, to paint it all, and to redo the chair I'll be using with it.  Finishing the entire corner is one of this month's projects, and I can already tell it's going to be my favorite spot in the apartment.  

Here's to new routines and better days.  Happy spring to you all.  ♥

The Third Day of the Year

'A tranquil but determined start to the new year here.  I had a good bit of time off from work these past few weeks, and I used a lot of it to get some things organized and reorganized in this little apartment.  I have long thought of home-care and decorating and what I call puttering around--fluffing up the throw pillows, changing out the tablecloth, adding the fresh flowers to canning jars, hanging the new-old paintings and embroidered pieces sooner rather than later, refolding the granny square afghans on the backs of the chairs, taking oranges out of their mesh bag and adding them to the green stoneware bowl, even just putting the dishes back where they belong and arranging them neatly on their shelves--as hobbies or pastimes or interests, but I have realized this past month that for me, these little activities are actually a form of self-care.  Eureka!  When we see a woman who has made the extra effort to dress especially nicely, paint her nails, look out for her health and fitness, or [insert-your-own-examples], we think "There is someone who values herself and makes the time to take good care of herself," and I realize now that similarly, when my home is orderly and sweet and cheerful, I feel those things about myself.  When my home is orderly and sweet and cheerful, I feel those things about myself.  Ahhhh!  All the little "puttering around" tasks, then, aren't really chores at all, then, just as I would no longer think of them as one of my hobbies either.  I see now that they're more vital for me than that.  These are ways I take care of myself, I have just learned at 40-and-a-half-years-old:  I go for long walks, I take my vitamins, I try to eat and drink well, I use sunscreen year-round, I pray, I read, I cuddle with Stuffed, I show my love to my loves ones, I slather on lotion, I rest when needed, and I keep an organized and inviting home.  

On that front, I have tackled the bathroom cupboard--and after almost seven years of living here, have wrestled it into submission.  It is about seven feet tall and its three shelves are two feet deep but only twelve inches wide.  Without the shelves, it would be the perfectly-proportioned space to store a broom and mop, but . . .I think I've finally figured it out.  And now hanging vertically on the inside of its door are three narrow cork bulletin boards, my work-schedule, a list of that month's birthdays and other need-to-send-a-card-or-otherwise-mark-a-special-day occasions, a small pink dry-erase board I'm using as my weekly food diary, a basket for pens and dry-erase markers, Stuffed's litter-scoop, a dust pan and broom, and a six-inch-wide calendar I use to record my daily walks.  'A good use now, and better late than never, of that seven-foot tall-but-only-twelve-inch-wide door too.  Take that, Ill-Proportioned Closet.  That alone has made home and life feel so much tidier.  It's What-I-Need-to-Remember Central, and it's a breath of fresh air for this lifelong list-maker:  I have it all in one spot now but tucked away on the back of the door so it doesn't "read" as clutter.  That's been just one improvement lately.  And now that I actually like the cupboard, I want to doll it up even more by papering the small wall-spaces inside the cupboard. . .give it a little more love.  Just like that, it's become a time-saver, a better use of space, and features a door I actually enjoy opening and seeing what's behind.  I myself feel so much more on top of things even with this one project, is the point.  And now that I have a better perspective on it all, I look forward to taking on everything else that's on my around-the-apartment to-do list.  Those to-do items no longer feel like problems or chores ahead of me, but instead opportunities and possibilities.  How good this all feels after watching everything fall apart around here the first seven months with this new job and new work schedule!  Ohhhhh, I love learning.  I love figuring it out.  Life already feels so much better, and 2018 is looking so much brighter.  ♥

Back from the Beach

I am grateful as all get-out to be able to say that I've just returned from an impromptu trip to the beach.  I planned a short getaway to Ocean City, Maryland--my family's annual summer vacation spot when I was a kid--the week before leaving, which is to say I ended up making the trip with very little money and just a shoulder-bag of a few belongings, and it was perfect and just what I needed.  ♥

No matter how much I travel, I can't imagine loving any place more than I love Ocean City, since the nostalgia of it is so dear to me.  My older brother and I were still the only kids in the family the first time we ever went.  My younger brother was barely ten the last time we were all there together.  My parents were still both healthy enough back then to run on the boardwalk every morning.  I brought my Cabbage Patch Kid in her pink bikini-outfit one summer and spent another summer imagining I was wowing everyone walking along the boardwalk as I did gymnastics on the front lawn outside our motel, doing one-handed cartwheels so I could hold my t-shirt down while I flipped.  Ocean City is Dad in his thirties and forties.  Ocean City is Mom in a bikini.  Ocean City is my Older Brother's arrival at the beach wearing striped tube socks almost up to his knees.  Ocean City is Younger Brother's rubbing sand into his eyes the first time my mom ever set him down in it, forcing us to forgo the beach awhile longer to find the nearest drugstore for eye-drops.   Ocean City is Dad's exasperatedly forcing me, year after year, to try the various types of seafood that everyone else would devour--"You might like it this year!  You don't know!"  (I did know.  Phillips Crab House on Atlantic makes incredible potato salad that a girl can fill up on, I can report; A bucket of Thrasher's French Fries is also a meal unto itself, and the Paul Revere Smorgasbord offers fixings for a turkey dinner.)  Ocean City is a boy staring at me in my bathing suit for the first time.  Ocean City is my helping Mom choose the perfect postcard for Papa and Grandma back home in Pennsylvania.  Ocean City is my wondering if anyone will ever feel about me the way Peter Cetera is singing about in "Glory of Love" on the radio while our car is crossing the seemingly-never-ending Chesapeake Bay Bridge.  Ocean City is my collecting a gallon-jug of soft beach-sand for my friend Sommer since she's asked me to bring some home for her to use with craft projects.  I can laugh and choke up at an almost infinite number of Ocean City memories.  And everyone but me had made it back to the beach in the many years since we all last went together as a family, for their vacations and anniversaries, and I have ached for it and missed it like it was a person.  Last week, I'd waited long enough and decided to throw some money at the problem, as they say, and I planned a getaway. 

By Tuesday evening, then, I was finally--FINALLY!--there again.  ♥  I felt weepy the first moment I smelled the salt water, I cried as I stepped back onto the boardwalk, I choked up when I caught my first glimpse of the ocean from the boardwalk, I cried off and on as I walked along it to get to my motel--one of the ones we would stay at when I was a kid, of course--I cried while sliding open my room's balcony door to listen to the surf.  The woods in the fall and Ocean City at any time are Heaven on Earth to me.  I didn't take a minute of my time at the beach this week for granted. 

I spent my twenties struggling through years of college and grad school, much-hated jobs and hard times without jobs, bouts of depression, a lack of bravery that repeatedly hurt me more than playing things safe ever helped me,  deaths and other losses, so many things that didn't work out in just about every aspect of my life, a breakup that I let keep me worked-over years longer than I should have, weight gain, giving up my apartment to move back in with my parents, and ohhhhhhhhh!  just feeling so lost and screwed-up in so many ways.  Jauntily heading off to Ocean City, or much of anywhere else, was just not in the cards for me for so long.  And then I spent my thirties catching up in all kinds of ways.  As I've told my mom, everything that made life hard for me for so long is exactly what makes all The Good and The Sweet and The Beautiful so precious to me now.  This was my first trip to "my" beach in twenty-three years.  The picture below is the first I took of myself my first morning there this week, and my gratitude in it is palpable.  Ocean City!  My heart!  ♥

As I mentioned when I turned forty in May, I am getting better about making self-care a real priority, and remembering to do so remains one of my goals for the year(s) ahead.  I spent Wednesday evening drinking glass after glass of iced tea on my balcony while watching the seagulls and the tide, and that time was a balm for the soul.  There was an ice cream cone and some pizza this week too, but also a good afternoon nap with the balcony door open, long walks up and down the boardwalk and along the shore, a gorgeous fruit salad for lunch and another salad for supper, so many cups of water, and all my usual vitamins and sunscreen-slatherings and prayers.  May my forties be a colossal "Thank You" and "I Get It" after all the Mister-Toad's-Wild-Ride Years.  And may they find me--please--iced tea in-hand at the beach many, many more times.  This is good for me, and it's not a waste of money, and I deserve it as much as anyone else.  (Repeat as needed.)  I finally understand this now, and I don't want to forget again.    I have always been too hard on myself, but I am slowly changing for the better.  Live and learn.  And book a room with a balcony.  :) 

This is forty.  :)  ♥

Save my spot, Ocean City.  I am already planning and saving to get back to you again next year.  

♥