i thought of this strip this morning as i was making breakfast. i decided on oatmeal-cranberry-white-chocolate-chip scones. i love scones. they’re just healthy enough that i don’t feel bad eating them but just sweet enough you feel like you’re eating dessert for breakfast. scones.

scones, scones, scones.

point is, the word smock to me is a lot like the word scone (see what i did there).

thankfully, my oatmeal-cranberry-white-chocolate-chip scones came out pretty good today. as they should. i could make them in my sleep. which is also good, considering i’m invariably making them before my first cup of coffee. so anyway, here there are:

aren't they bee-you-tee-full?

(note my cuppa joe there to the right)

they’re incredibly simple to make. would you like to know how? thought you’d never ask. since i really only slightly modified an old better homes & gardens recipe (as opposed to, say, my damn-good chocolate chip cookies) it’s not really a secret. i’m feeling generous. here’s the recipe:

oatmeal-cranberry-white-chocolate-chip scones (or, ocwcc scones, for short)

1 cup a/p flour
3 tablespoons packed brown sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/3 cup unsalted butter, chilled
1 cup rolled oats
1/4 cup dried cranberries, and
1/4 cup white chocolate chips, coarsely chopped
1/4 cup skim milk
1 egg, beaten or 1/4 cup egg substitute

milk + pure vanilla extract

pre-heat oven to 400°f. line a cookie sheet with parchment. in a medium mixing bowl, combine flour, brown sugar, baking powder and cinnamon. using a pastry cutter (or a couple of forks, or knives – whatever) cut in the butter until mixture resembles course crumbs. stir in the rolled oats, cranberries and white chocolate chips (to save time and dishes, i usually chop the dried cranberries and chocolate chips together in a mini-food processor). combine the 1/4 cup milk and egg, then mix into the dry mixture (dough will be sticky).

on prepared cookie sheet, sprinkle a little flour; dump dough onto parchment, sprinkle some flour on top, then pat down into a 7 – 8″ circle. cut the circle into 12 segments (or less, if you want the scones to be larger). in your measuring cup (since its already used anyway – save dishes!) mix an ounce or two of milk with a splash of pure vanilla extract. brush this mixture over the scones. separate the scones by a few inches across the cookie sheet. pop them in the oven for 11 – 13 minutes.

this is generally just enough time to clean up your mess and brew your joe (or tea, i suppose). the scones don’t really brown much beyond the edges; so don’t be tempted to over-bake them; if you do, they get very dry and very tough.

if you’re not big on cranberries (wha?) or white chocolate (wow!), you can easily make these with just about any sort of mix-in, provided it totals a half cup; raisins, walnuts, chocolate chips, etc. i don’t know how crazy i’d get with the mix-ins, they may alter the consistency of the scones.

you don’t have to be english to love scones. and you don’t have to be a baker to make scones, either.

enjoy your scones!

BAM

it’s been two and a half months.

sigh.

so, no apologies this time. just following up on a request. i cook a lot. and bake. i used to bake more – quite a bit actually – but my slowly expanding ass won’t allow me to keep baking all the time like i used to. especially considering my level of physical activity has slowed to a sloth-like pace.

still and all, i love to spend time in the kitchen. wait, back up. i love to spend time in the kitchen when my efforts are appreciated. thankfully, they are appreciated.

one of my most appreciated dinners is steak marsala. a little something i stumbled across years ago when i first started concerning myself with eating healthier – which not-too-coincidentally happened about the same time i could start affording better foods. organics. grass-fed beef. finer cuts. you get the idea.

so – steak marsala. i’m not a big meat eater – my whole problem is the longer i think about it, the more i start to visualize that i am, in fact, eating flesh, and it turns my stomach. but when i do get a hankerin’ for a good piece of meat, steak marsala is by and large my favorite. it’s fast, it’s healthy, and it’s easy. and did i mention fast?

so if you want to make it yourself (and you know you do) you don’t have to have any fancy kitchen equipment or a degree in the culinary arts; but you’d better have a desire to cook more often. because, i’m warning you, this will get requested again.

the grocery list:

• 2 nice thick (like 2″ or more) tenderloin steaks (a.k.a. filet mignon), about 6 oz. each; not bacon-wrapped
• marsala cooking wine (the cheap $hit in the spices aisle, holland house)
• non pareil capers (usually in a 2.5 oz jar in the canned food or salad dressing aisle)
• minced garlic (i don’t bother w/fresh garlic, though some people swear by it. in jars in the produce section)
• salt & pepper (seriously, you don’t have this already??)
• fresh green beans, or asparagus, or broccoli – enough to steam for two of you

the good news is, other than the steaks, there will be enough of everything else to make this about 4 more times. the bad news is, this first trip to the store for an incredibly short list will likely run you about $40-$50.

alright. when you get home, leave the steaks on the counter while you rinse the fresh veggies. if you’ve got a large pot and a steamer basket, great, add about a 1/2 inch of water to the pot and put the veggies in the basket. put that on to boil/steam while you prep the rest. if you only have some bowls and a nuke-box, put about a 1/4 cup of water in a bowl, add the veggies, put some plastic wrap over it and stick it in there. don’t cook them yet.

now, unwrap your steaks, spray a frying pan with some cooking spray and put the steaks in there. spread about a half teaspoon of the garlic on top of each of them, then flip them and do the same, and shake some salt & pepper on both sides. turn your burner on about 1/3 to 1/2 way. let your steaks cook for maybe 7-10  minutes, resisting the urge to poke or turn them. once the brown starts to spread about half way up the sides, flip them and let them cook another 10 minutes or so.

the beauty of filet mingnon (especially a good one) is that you can eat them way more rare than you would, say, a strip steak or t-bone. to test these for doneness, press your thumb into the center; the resistance should feel about like when you’re pushing your thumb into the heel of your hand. this means they’re about medium-rare.

remove them from the pan (leaving the heat on) and set them on a plate. if you’re steaming your veggies on the stove, you can turn them off at this point. if you’re nuking them, now’s about the time you want to get them going. 3-4 minutes for green beans or asparagus, 5-7 for broccoli.

take a half-cup of the marsala wine and put it in the pan. it should almost immediately come to a boil. add in two tablespoons of the capers. using a spoon or something that won’t scratch your pan (if you’re worried about it) let the marsala cook down for about 3-5 minutes while scraping the garlic up off the pan and stirring the capers around. you should end up with a nice, brownish-red juice.

put one steak on each plate, along with about half of your veggie of choice. spoon some of the juice from the pan along with the capers over each steak.

tada! steak marsala. isn’t it beautiful? don’tcha look like a friggin master chef?

okay, we ate ours before i snapped a pic, but it looks a lot like this, only with more juice.

(and thanks to goGLco for making me finally write something.)

For old times, my dear, for old times sake.
We’ll take a cup of kindness yet, for old times.

And surely you’ll buy your pint cup, and surely I’ll buy mine!
And we’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet, for old times.

For old times, my dear, for old times sake.
We’ll take a cup of kindness yet, for old times.

We two have run about the slopes, and picked the daisies fine;
But we’ve wandered many a weary foot, since old times.

For old times, my dear, for old times sake.
We’ll take a cup of kindness yet, for old times.

We two have paddled in the stream, from morning sun till dinner time;
But seas between us broad have roared, since the old times.

For old times, my dear, for old times sake.
We’ll take a cup of kindness yet, for old times.

And there’s a hand, my trusty friend – now give me a hand of yours!
And we’ll take a right good-will draught, for all old times.

For old times, my dear, for old times sake.
We’ll take a cup of kindness yet, for old times.

(and i don’t even like beer)

it’s been a long year; it’s been a short year. it’s been a fast year, that’s for damn sure. but all in all, it’s been a good year. i made yet another major change in my life by opting to stay with what i thought was an insane plan last fall, which was to become self-employed. it has it’s ups and downs to be sure, and there’s something to be said as to the implied “perk” of being able to work in your pajamas, but for the most part – it was a great decision and i’m glad i went with it.

and i guess that’s sort of the reason why i haven’t been blogging so much this year, or at least, these last few months. because for the most part, my blog was created as a place to blow off steam – at the world in general, at people around me in particular and what was usually my co-workers specifically. and like in other times in my life, when the chips were down for me, i focused all of my energies – good and bad – into my work; which usually resulted in having steam to blow off. but because my life is good now – great even (i won’t say “perfect” – no one’s life is perfect and if they say so, they’re lying), there’s far less steam. hence, less biotching. which is what i’ve been reflecting on these past weeks.

whether you know me or not, it’s usually pretty apparent that i *heart* alanis morissette. at barely 18 months my senior, she is easy for me to relate to in her life experiences (not the touring and being famous parts, the i have had my heart broken and dropped a spoon in the garbage disposal parts) and her ways of expressing herself have resonated with me for most of my adult life. granted, many artists have crafted songs, poems, lyrics, paintings, musings and photographs that have touched me in one way or another; but she has masterfully matched my life experiences year after year and given voice to the voice in my head by saying the things i could not say, relating to my joys and my pains in real, human ways and sharing the same feelings and emotions i have felt and had.

the first time i had my heart completely and totally trampled upon – i mean absolutely crushed; ripped still-beating from my body, thrown to the floor, stomped, kicked, cut up and ran over – was in 1998. i’d only discovered alanis about a year and a half previous, but imagine if you will how the lyrics to “you oughta know,” “right through you” and “you learn” gave voice to my anger and heartache. i would max out the volume and sing at the top of my voice to “Did you forget about me Mr. Duplicity? I hate to bug you in the middle of dinner. It was a slap in the face how quickly I was replaced, are you thinking of me when you fuck her?“ how much i identified with “forgiven” having come from a strict christian upbringing.  then later, when i wanted so desperately to prove myself at the office and was repeatedly ignored, how much “wake up” resounded with me, with lines like, “there’s an underestimated and impatient little girl raising her hand.” later that same year, when a (much) older (married) ex-supervisor from a previous job starting calling me to offer his sympathy/get me to like him, i’d listen to “uninvited” off the city of angels soundtrack… “Like anyone would be, I am flattered by your fascination with me. Like any hot-blooded woman, I have simply wanted an object to crave. But you? You’re not allowed – you’re uninvited.”

the next two years or so, i dove headlong into my career, spending first nine, then ten, then sometimes up to twelve hours a day at the office. i didn’t know what to do with myself in my off time, really. i baked, a lot. and didn’t eat much at all. alanis released “supposed former infatuation junkie” in 1998 and i admit, i nearly wore it out. and as time went on and i was better able to turn my past pain into anger at my ex, the song “are you still mad” helped keep the tears in check as i learned of his life moving forward. instead i would hold my head up, and when at home at night and on weekends, baking or cleaning, i would dance and sing with “thank you” and “so pure.” sometimes in low moments, i’d listen to “unsent” and relate matthew, johnathan, marcus, terrance and lou to exes from high school, or crushes i’d had but ignored. her “mtv unplugged” album released around that same time, and because i was alone a lot, i would relate to “these are the thoughts” and “king of pain” easily. in fact, i found myself feeling sorry for myself a lot, come to think of it. making songs like “that i would be good,” “the couch,” “can’t not” and “your congratulations” feel cathartic to me. balm for my wounds.

but then i met he-who-would-destroy-me. oh, not that i knew that’s who he was at the time. oh, no. at the time, he was every bit my knight in shining armor. he was the one who made me smile as i sang along with “head over feet.” he was my “prince familiar.” little did i know that only after i made the plunge – dove feet first into a relationship all my closest friends and my own father warned me against, not to mention my very own logic and reason, it would become apparent he was instead my “sympathetic character.” not that i ever let on.

in a matter of months, just under a year really, my strong, independent, free-thinking self became yet again an empty, blackened shell. i took all that was good in me, boxed it up and placed it on a high shelf in the back of my mind, where it’s warm glow peeking out of the cracks would burn me whenever i’d let myself wonder what i had gotten myself into. i had tried many times to explain alanis and what she meant to me to this man. i could have better explained it to a penguin. when i bought ”under rug swept” and listened to it (safely in the refuge of my car, on my long commutes), i found myself fighting back tears at lines such as “i’m 13 again am i 13 for good?” in “so unsexy.” or “I’ll be worthy right? Only when you realize the gem I am.” from “precious illusions.” later that same year, the album “feast on scraps” was released, and i found myself trying desperately to latch onto that precious little box i’d packed up. i looked in the proverbial mirror with lyrics such as, “This talk of liberation makes me want to go lie down under the covers til the terror of the unknown is gone” from “fear of bliss.” i’d lost all ability to stand on my own two feet. i felt abandoned by everyone i trusted, and found myself blaming them with lines like, “You’re essentially an employee and I like you having to depend on me. You’re kind of my protégé and one day you’ll say you learned all you know from me. I know you depend on me like a young thing would to a guardian…” from “hands clean.” but the truth was it was me who had done the abandoning. i had gotten myself into this situation, i would have to get myself out.

somewhere along the way i got to see alanis live again. this time it was an acoustic set, and about halfway through that show, she sang “sympathetic character.” by that point, angry, hurt, and struggling to find any joy in being there at all, it was all i could do to sit still as the lines washed over me -

I was afraid you’d hit me if i’d spoken up,  I was afraid of your physical strength I was afraid you’d hit below the belt I was afraid of your sucker punch I was afraid of you reducing me. I was afraid of your alocohol breath, I was afraid of your complete disregard for me I was afraid of your temper. I was afraid of handles being flown off of I was afraid of holes being punched into walls I was afraid of your testosterone.

I have as much rage as you have - I have as much pain as you do - I’ve lived as much hell as you have - and i’ve kept mine bubbling under, for you.

you were my best friend, you were my lover, you were my mentor, you were my brother, you were my partner, you were my teacher - you were my very own sympathetic character.

I was afraid of verbal daggers I was afraid of the calm before the storm,  I was afraid for my own bones. I was afraid of your seduction I was afraid
of your coersion I was afraid of your rejection I was afraid of your intimidation I was afraid of your punishment I was afraid of your icy silences
I was afraid of your volume. I was afraid of your manipulation I was afraid of your explosions.

I have as much rage as you have - I have as much pain as you do - I’ve lived as much hell as you have – and i’ve kept mine bubbling under, for you.

you were my best friend, you were my lover, you were my mentor, you were my brother, you were my partner, you were my teacher, you were my very own sympathetic character. you were my keeper, you were my anchor, you were my family, you were my saviour. and therein lay the issue; and therein lay the problem.

by this time i’d settled into a routine; the real me buried, the outer me wooden and stoic, like a russian nesting doll. i almost perfected projecting this façade. i had to. to let it show any cracks or weakness was to invite punishment, and i had no strength to ward it off. every ounce of unused energy i had left had to go into the rediscovery and rebuilding of myself. i knew i was in there somewhere, i just had to get out. i listened to “sorry to myself” a lot then. “For blaming myself for all of your unhappiness and for my impatience when I was perfect where I was. Ignoring all the signs that I was not ready, and expecting myself to be where you wanted me to be.” i had to apologize to myself, before anyone else.

alanis released “so-called chaos” in 2004 and i bathed in it. it spoke to me. hell, it was me. from “8 easy steps:” “How to stay paralyzed by fear of abandonment, How to defer to men in solveable predicaments, How to control someone to be a carbon copy of you… How to keep people at arms length and never get too close, How to mistrust the ones who supposedly love the most, How to pretend you’re fine and don’t need help from anyone, How to feel worthless unless you’re serving or helping someone.” yeah, i could teach you all that in eight easy steps. then “My tendency to want to do away feels natural and my urgency to dream of softer places feels understandable.” from “out is through.” and then, from “excuses,” “These excuses how they served me so well; they’ve kept me safe, they’ve kept me stuck – they’ve kept me locked in my own cell.” and the hits just kept coming… from “not all me,” “It’s not all me, it’s not all my fault…” then, “Heartburn and headaches and soon-to-be ulcers. Compulsive yearnings non-stop to please others.” from “so-called chaos.” it was like i’d been doused with ice water the first time i heard “spineless:” “I’ll be low maintenance and agreeable. I will not talk about my dreams so much. I’ll listen to you for hours, won’t need anything…” is that what i had become? spineless? yes. so i began to grow a new one. i began to regrow altogether. it started with “everything:” “I can be an asshole of the grandest kind. I can withhold like it’s going out of style…”

like it or not, i taught myself to be an asshole. and i got out. i shed it all like 350 pounds of lead and learned to be weightless over the next two years or so. and, right on schedule, in 2008, alanis released “flavors of entanglement.” which was perfect. because i was finally, really, actually happy. not happy on the outside, dying on the inside. happy all the time.

well, most of the time. sometimes life at the office was a biotch. but since i was finally at a place in my life where my focus was on me, and not my work, it became easier to learn to leave it at the office at the end of the day. i stuck with eight-hour days. i think i gave up only one saturday in nearly three years. meanwhile, alanis sang, “I come alive and I get giddy I am taken and globally naturalized,” in “citizen of the planet.” i met the bf and laughed and sang with her, “You are the sexiest man I’ve ever been with. You, never hotter than with armor spent.” “in praise of the vulnerable man.” when i pushed back, it was he who said i was listening to bad tapes in my head. which was funny, really, because it just so happened there was a song called “tapes” on “flavors of entanglement.” those tapes said things like, “I’m but thorn in your sweet side” and ”You are better off without me.” i’m glad now i didn’t listen. and as time went on, i started to notice i hardly heard any of it at all. i began to feel like if i really had suffered a total rebirth, maybe, just maybe, i should let this go, too. and when i discovered that i couldn’t relate to a sadly beautiful song, “torch” but instead, only felt sympathy for her, and what she must be going through, i knew we’d come to a crossroads. when she said, “These are the days of raw despondence, and I never dreamed I would have to lay down my torch for you like this.” it was no longer about me and someone. it was about her and ryan reynolds. and that’s all it would ever be about. well, fingers crossed, anyway ;op

but it was looking back at this path of rebirth and self-discovery that made it so much more fun to look to the future. to free myself from gut-wrenching worries. or at least, worry, but know that worrying was about as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum. amiright? i look forward to horizons now. i’m still not the world’s biggest risk-taker, but i don’t automatically shy away from the unknown anymore. and fittingly, one last track of that last album was a perfect send-off, “giggling again for no reason:”

“I am driving in my car up highway one,  i left LA without telling anyone. There were people who needed something from me, but I am sure they’ll get along fine on their own. Oh this state of ecstasy; nothing but road could ever give to me. This liberty wind in my face – and I’m giggling again for no reason.

I am sitting at the set of cali sun,  we’ve gotten quiet for its’ last precious seconds. I can feel the salt of the sea on my skin, and we still hear the echoes of abandon.  Oh this state of ecstasy; nothing but road could ever give to me. This liberty wind in my face – and I’m giggling again for no reason.”

alanis is happy now, too. last i heard, she was in love in her new nuclear family. she got what was surely the best christmas gift ever; her first child, a son, was born this year. his name is Ever Imre. imre is hungarian (fittingly) and, loosely translated his full name means “always in charge” or “forever ruler of the home.” i think she’s come to a crossroads, too. and i think she, too, might just decide it’s time for rebirth and refocus and to leave the past behind. we’ll see.

so happy new year to you. i hope the next year – the next decade – all of your tomorrows give you some opportunity to find yourself giggling for no reason.

i know i committed to writing a post about all the advice to be offered in “wear sunscreen.” and i guess because of that, i keep putting off writing anything new because i think, well, i’ll have to come up with what i want to say about the next line, and oh, look, the laundry is waist deep again and oh, crap, i really gotta finish that site update before my client calls one more time asking about it and oops! off to the midwest, i should tell people about that…

so let me tell you. i’m busy. but aren’t we all? really? thank some higher-power entity for twitter. because at least that i can do 1-50 times a day while i’m working and let you know i’m alive… amiright?

so; these past few weeks, yes, i went to the midwest to see my family. this was bittersweet. on the upside, we spent a ton of time getting to know my nephew, who you might recall is just one year old. after he warmed up to me, we spent far too much time letting him crawl at me at top-speed and butt heads with me, goat-style. it hurt! but it was adorable!! so i let him do it over and over and over. went to bed with a headache both nights. the downside was this: my mom and my brother & sister-in-law hadn’t been getting along so well lately. mom’s a whiney-ass. s-i-l is a control-freak. bro’s caught in the middle. so we went up there thinking we needed to kick the kid’s asses. turns out, mom needed a talking-to. and in order to do that – we ended up hurting everyone‘s feelings. and pride. but in the end, in hindsight, i think they think it was for the best.

after we left there, we went to saint louis for a while. we didn’t tell them that. i realize that by writing the way i write, i’m simply asking to be outcast from my family one day. why the hell you think i’m so careful to not say who i am? anyway… we went to saint louis and did fun stuff like tour the budweiser brewery. we got to drink some bud light straight from the vat, pre-bottling. i hate beer as a rule – smells, looks and tastes like carbonated horse piss i say – but this stuff? holy crap! if beer always tasted this good, i’d drink it every day. we also went up in the arch, because, you know, ya gotta.

and since we were coming home from the east side of missouri, our travels took us through memphis. and you know what you gotta do when you go to memphis. so i’d never been to graceland and had to go. the boyfriend, he’d been three times before, but he assures me there’s more to see every time. we were kind of in a hurry, and the girl at the ticket counter assured us the tour we selected would take about an hour. maybe hour and a half. nope. three and a half hours later we were back on the road. but i now know more about elvis than i ever thought i would care to know!

what else? well… worked my ass off to be caught up to take a vacay (bor-ing! i know). took the vacay – six days of nearly no work at all! and a grand total of 33 hours and 2000 + miles behind the wheel. got back from vacay – found ourselves working 14-hour days for a week, when not stopping to go out for client meetings, grocery runs, pay the bills, run errands, etc. etc.

oh! and did i mention that i saw john mayer? *still grinning ear-to-ear* i mean, seriously. i loved his music before i went. i can’t say i love him – i mean, i don’t knowhim, it’s not fair to say. and he certainly doesn’t know me. but my god that boy can play! and yes, i get to call him boy because he is, after all, ever so slightly younger than me. slightly. a little. anyway… he’s positively masterful on the guitar, and an excellent songwriter to boot. and the closer the date of the show got, the more i found myself wanting to learn about him, and it turns out, despite his super-stardom level of famousness, he really is just about the most down-to-earth person you could hear about. seriously! and then, at the show, among his anecdotes about his wiffle-ball injury and his accidental funniness regarding which cover-tune he was gonna do next, his voice broke, and he stumbled while grasping for the right words, to express what it felt like – or at least attempted to express what it felt like – to be in a position wherein you’re famous enough that your name is mentioned in a story of a teenage girl who died on her way home. this poor 17-year-old girl, her whole life ahead of her, all she did was go to a mayer show, get in the car, and died on the way home. and his pain, his difficulty in comprehending this, stems from knowing that if she hadn’t been at the show, which she wouldn’t have been if it weren’t for him performing, she might not have died that day. some would call this narcissistic, i call this heavy. that’s a lot to take on.

so now i’ve nearly caught up to where i was before i got ready to go on vacay, and maybe next post i’ll pick up where i left off with “wear sunscreen” – or maybe i’ll post some pics. or vids. oh, yeah, i also went to goo goo dolls/switchfoot/green river ordinance. so that happened. oh, and i had some fantastically bad restaurant experiences. and some really great moments of hilarity.  yeah… so i’ll try to get back on track. we’ll see. but that’s the whole point, isn’t it? this vast, meandering experience that is a moment or two (or ten) in my head. welcome to my world. :o)

my mom recently asked me, nonchalantly, “do you think i should have seen a psychiatrist sometime?” of course she should have. so should i. i think, perhaps, a good 99.9% of us should. because we’re not as friggin put together as we all think we are. so i asked her, “well, if you think they do any good, why didn’t you let me keep seeing one after my childhood trauma?” to which her response was, “well, she was weird; all new-agey and crap. i didn’t like her.” as if that was the only psychiatrist that was available to us at the time, so she had no other choice. but i digress…

counseling doesn’t have to come from some shrink in a chair with a diploma over her head and the ny times crossword on her lap behind the notepad. counseling literally means “guidance: something that provides direction or advice as to a decision or course of action.” and that is never something you can get too much of. everyone could use a little input. some constructive criticisms (which aren’t necessarily all bad!). otherwise, you know what you get? an over-inflated (read: hollow) idea of who you are and why you think you’re perfect.

as for the knees… i’ve never necessarily been rough on mine, but i gotta say, they’re still going… and one day they’ll be gone. and then i’ll wish i had taken the stairs more often. so; be kind to your knees, yes. but take the stairs. that is all.

i confess; in a rubbermaid container, beneath a layer of dust and stored under the bed – between the dried remains of the first corsage i ever received and my mickey mouse ears from disneyland - there are a few sappy love letters from boys from back in my high school days. i confess this because they are the only ones i felt worthy of keeping. why? they were probably the most sincere. those that i received later in life, in the grown up years… well, those are gone. folded, spindled, mutilated, maimed, damaged, bowdlerized, butchered, crushed, cut to pieces, defaced, disable, expurgated, mangled, ravaged and burned.

(i had some pain in the past – it doesn’t show, does it?)

the ones from the school years, though, the last time i read them – sometime in the last decade – they still made me smile. feel a little warm and fuzzy. shoot, had i had a glass of wine and some eighties love songs playing, probably would have cost me a fortune in long distance calls. good thing for me, and my bf, that i didn’t, eh?

oh, now… *his* love letters… well, those are keepers. but i digress… keep your old love letters, the ones that matter to you, because even when you are at your happiest in life, should you need a little pick-me-up, they’re good for that. to remember how special you really must be to have inspired such words from others.

bank statements, on the other hand, those can just go. why? think about it. those times in your life when you had no money, but now you do? nothing but bad thoughts there, amiright? and just the opposite… don’t have a lot of money now, but maybe you used to? doesn’t make the old heart warm, now, does it? or maybe you’ve been fortunate enough to have had a steady income for the past decade, and well, good for you. but when you’re looking back and seeing the $850 you spent on the water pump for your car or the $4500 for your kids braces (and then he never wore the retainer!) or the $1200 for the tickets to hawaii that you never got to use because your grandma passed away and you had to go to the funeral or, or, you see where i’m going with this, right? and trust me – worst case scenario, you get audited and the irs wants them? the bank can get them for you. that’s what they get all those ridiculous fees for. customer service.

now, for one that hit home just this morning (when we got up at 6 to go for the first bike ride in a month)…

Stretch.

this one’s big, people. h-u-g-e!! so this is one of those moments when i’ll walk close to the edge of saying something personal. now, fortunately for the rest of the world, i can’t say as i’ve ever been accused of being reckless with someone else’s heart. well, maybe once… but i’ll come back to that. suffice to say it was justified.

i have, however, on many occasions, put up with people that were reckless with mine. note the use of the plural. because you’d think after the first time, i’d've learned my lesson. but i didn’t. i let it happen, again. and what adds insult to injury is, the second time around, it was even worse than the first. and it took me for-ev-er to figure out that i didn’t have to put up with it. or maybe not so much that i didn’t have to put up with it. i mean, i knew that. but how to get out of the situation that was causing the pain.

hence the reason i could have possibly been accused of being reckless with their heart. because i finally – finally got my $#&% together and got the hell outta dodge. and, somehow, they didn’t see it coming. though they should have. i’m just sayin’.

so look, i know it’s hard to make heads or tails outta this without the details, and for that, i’m sorry. but what matters is this: you only have one heart – be true to it. it’s not trite. it’s true. you have to let yourself love yourself. it’s the only way you’ll ever survive in this crazy, messed up world.

oh, and…

 Floss.

i’ve heard them (whoever they are) say that if you don’t, bad things can happen. fatal things. so, just do it.

this one’s pretty easy for me. in a two-way street sort of way. i’ll explain. i worry all the time. seriously. i worry i’m going bald. i worry i’m going crazy. i worry my wrists are way, way worse off than i think they are, and one day very soon i won’t be able to write legibly any more and will be forced to only type for the rest of my life…which will mean that eventually i’ll be typing with my eyes. cause they can do that $#*& now. i’m just sayin’. i worry i’ll have no retirement, i worry that i’ll never see the world, or at the very least, never leave this continent. i worry i don’t get enough sleep. that i get too much sleep. that i paid too much for a mattress that is already letting me down, less than three years later. *sigh* you see where this is going.

frankly, it’d drive me, and my bf, insane. if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s much, much, much better at not worrying than i am. and from the very beginning of our relationship, he starting trying to teach me how to not worry. and whenever i am, he gently guides me back to reality. a gentle nudge that usually sounds a whole lot like the algebra and the bubble gum analogy.

and he’s right. i know he’s right. and you know what? i – and everyone else – would be a lot better off if we could all remember that. worrying doesn’t change the future. it just takes away from the present. does that mean we should all float aimlessly through life, that nothing bad is gonna happen? no. but it does mean that no matter how bad (or not so bad) something that may or may not happen to us might or might not be, worrying about it isn’t going to help. because it’s always going to be the thing you didn’t worry about.

that thing that blindsides you at 4:00 on some idle tuesday.

happy tuesday! go forth and don’t worry!

i know, i know… as my mom said in an email to me this morning (in reply to my email, the first one i’d sent her in a week) “yeah, it’s been since like christmas since i’ve heard from you. yeah, yeah. hardy-har. you know, i’m not on a schedule here. it’s my blog, and i’ll blog if i want to.

well, that’s not entirely accurate. i want to blog way more often than i do. so i guess it’s more accurate to say, it’s my blog and i’ll procrastinate on blogging while i take care of things that pay the bills if i want to… but i digress.

second today in my series of advice that i’ve given, taken and ignored…

i think of the above stanza of the song pretty often. in relation to myself, i think, ‘ehm, no.’ i mean, when i look back on pictures of me 20 years ago, the first thing i think is ‘daaaayuuummm… no wonder i was a virgin all through school. can we say unibrow?’ no, but seriously, the one part of this i do try to take for myself is the last statement, about being fat. i know i’m not. not really. sure, i could stand to lose a few, most of us could. but as i just mentioned to the bf the other day, hey – i’m still in single digit sizes. which, honestly? i wasn’t always in. so i gotta find that precious balance between not being so hard on myself, and not convincing myself that just because i’m not fat doesn’t mean i couldn’t end up fat. and it’s not necessarily that being fat scares me… it’s the health risks that go along with it. what it means to your heart, your joints, your respritory system, your back, your colon and, some would say most of all, your mind – your self worth, your self value. you don’t have to be stuck up. you don’t have to be a diva. but you do have to love yourself. because you can’t love someone else until you do.

and as for the rest of this part of the song? i think of it every time i see girls that are currently in those random, awkward stages we have all gone through and survived. the girls that sit quietly in the corner of the library, reading books about third-world countries and wondering what they could be doing about it. the girls that at the tender ages of 13, 14, 16… think that they have to paint themselves another face, because the one they have is so inherently flawed. that’s your mind’s eye, sweetie. not the rest of the world’s.

but please, don’t misunderstand. there’s a huge chasm of a gap between teaching girls self-worth and empowerment and puffing them up with endless praise and princess tiaras. one will teach them they can do anything, and don’t need anyone’s approval. the other will teach them they can do nothing without it getting someone’s approval.