A Room of One's Own

Myself to music

I was driving down the road today, listening to my iPod on shuffle. Every now and then a song comes on that I haven't heard in longer than it probably pleases me. It stops me where I am for whatever reason and today was no different. It was Kate Bush's Love and Anger.

I couldn't even put my finger on what it was about the somg.  I just listened to it and was very certain it was mine. I own that song. It's part of me and who I am for reasons I can't even really put to words. Maybe it was the time of my life when I first started listening to it. Maybe it was the rembrance of something I loved that I had forgotten about. The music made me feel like me. I thought about that if you could put who I am and give it a soundtrack I'm sure there are a few good dozen or so songs that make up who I am.

Tonight, I set out to make that happen. I have had a long few years and have lost sight of many things and one of them is who I am. Somehow it just kind of got lost along the road to no destination in particular. I want to find it again, starting here.

I will most likely draw upon this list for further post when either I can't find anything else to write about or it seems necessary. I'll explain and write it out wiht a smile on my face as I sweetly listen to these songs. In no order in particular, just as they appear right now on shuffle:

• Angel from Montgomery - John Prine
• The Painted Desert - 10,000 Maniacs
• Tapestry - Carole King
• Old Blue Chair - Kenny Chesney
• Birches - Bill Morrissey
• Love and Anger - Kate Bush
• Bathing Suits and Cowboy Boots - Jerry Jeff Walker
• Rocky Mountain High - John Denver
• Fire and Rain - James Taylor
• Object of My Affection - Shawn Colvin
• Thank U - Alanis Morrisette
• Blue Eyes - Elton John
• Summer Breeze - Seals & Croft
• I Told Him My Dog Wouldn't Run - Patty Larkin
• Bethlehem - Paula Cole
• Sullivan Street - Counting Crows
• Blackbird - The Beatles
• Darling Be Home Soon - Joe Cocker
• And It Stoned Me - Van Morrison
• Look at You Girl - Chris LeDoux

That right there is just about anything you ever needed to know about me.

I have a new loathing

I'm going to say it. I never thought I would ever say it. I loathe Christmas. Loathe.

Next year, I am boycotting altogether. Each year it gets a little bit worse. My mom and I ran down a good list of my last few Christmas holidays. Oh, it was grim and each year seems to get a little bit worse. Let's review shall we? Trigger dream sequence here...

2003 - I was nine months pregnant and my then husband's parents decided to come stay with us for 10 days in our 1655 sq ft. home and that his sister-in-law shoud come over every night and bring her two kids and her dog. My family, which did not get along with his in one house. 12 people. 1655 sq ft. and I couldn't drink.

2004 - I took the tip of my thumb off in a rare mandolin accident. I don't remember anything beyond that. There was too much liquor and bandages involved, I assume.

2005 - Again with the in-laws at my house. Only this time, my darling ex-husband had joined the police force and had to work each night leaving me to entertain his family (including his sister, her two kids and the damn dog). I made a perfect meal that was criticized before and during consumption. The friggin' dog got into it my my new dog and in tearing them apart, I had a chunk taken out of my forearm. Bandage redux.

2006 - Freshly divorced, I ran out of steam and left my treasured garland hanging down from the staircase as I could only muster decorating the top half of the stair case. Really, it just hung there. Dangling. I spent all Christmas Eve being dragged around with my parents from house to house, while their friends all asked, "Are you okay?" I answered yes and then was greeted by one of two responses. A) "No really, are you okay?" or B) "Great! I want you to meet my nephew (fill in the blank)...

2007 - Nine hours in the dungeon of excrutiating humiliation as I get company in my fifth wheel spot by a man who would not date me, solidifying the common assumption that I am undatable.

Seriously. I am not doing it next year. I am just not. I am calling it off right now. I give. Where's the white flag?

Oh, won't this be quaint?

I may need to habitually kill my sister each Christmas.

My sister can't hold her liquor. Last Christmas, my family got together at my house and we made martinis. Sounds like fun, no? I was casually talking to my sister about a friend of ours that was single that I had seen at her birthday party a few weeks prior. I mentioned that I might be interested. Yeah, how dumb am I? Next thing I know, my very tipsy sister is upstairs in my bedroom calling our friend Troy in North Dakota on Christmas Day telling him how he should get together with me immediately upon his arrival back into Arizona because wouldn't that be perfect. My parents already love him. Actual words coming out of her mouth. Humiliation, party of one?

Upon his arrival back into the state, Troy tells my sister that he cannot in fact go out with me. Seems that back in 1998 or so, I had taken it upon myself to have a night of adult frivolity (oh aren't I demure) with a friend, who happened to be one of Troy's closest friend and has a very big mouth. I am, apparently tainted and unsuitable for dating as a result. Oh nice. This is about the time that I decided there should be a rule that any sexual transgressions that occur in your slutty days should not be held against you in any way if they occurred in the same decade in which you graduated high school. At the very least if they happened in the previous decade and the current year ends in a number greater than five. Honestly, I need to draw some kind of flow chart for this ruling. It's rather complicated, but absolves me of my actions.

I find out some interesting news today. I'm going over to my sister's house tomorrow for Christmas. It seems that someone we know was not able to make it back to North Dakota this year. He's just ended his relationship with his girlfriend so he won't be going anywhere, as planned, with her. Guess where he'll be? My Christmas is going to be spent with my mom, dad, sister, brother-in-law and Troy. The six of us happy little campers. How did I end up Bridget Jones again this year?

I have to go now. I have research to do on how to fake a collapsed lung. Merry freakin' Christmas.

That was unexpected

Two odd things happened today that I in no way expected.

First, I had told my ex-husband that Dave and I have broken up. He had called me on the way home from a dumping so it was kind of tit for tat. I do suppose it's odd to most people but that's just how he and I roll. Later, he sent an ecard with his genuine sympathy for things not working out. Never saw THAT coming.

Second, I am so oddly okay with it. It might be too much to say that I'm relieved because that's not exactly it. I told him that in the last few months he's not seemed like himself. He's made me feel nervous and edgy. It's very true. It's been a long few weeks of trying to sort through feelings and mixed messages.

I can honestly say that I am excited about next year and having time to myself and to focus on nothing but me. I am going to be selfish as hell. I am in the works with a number of New Years Resolutions, which I will certainly be posting next week, so stay tuned. All I can say is that it'll be good.

Crap.

I'm still sick. Dave and I broke up again last night. This time for good. And I hate Christmas. Hard.

Fuck.

The buche is everywhere.

I'm watching The Secret Life of... Christmas on FoodTV. Very interesting show. Before I get going here, let me say that ranking high on my list of things I wouldn't do, not even on my birthday, is go to a "great hall" and have a medieval style meal of roast pig (it was a huge real goddamn pig) with a bunch of strangers drinking "ale" while dressed in Renaissance garb as men play the flute. Sorry. If you had plans to invite me to such a festivity at some point, I thoughtfully and respectfully decline. I have to wash my cat that night.

However, I have found something new by which to be completely enthralled. It's the Buche de Noel. For those not wise in the way of Christmas desserts, it's the Yule Log and it is glorious. It was invented by the French because Napoleon was a little punk. Really. It says so on Wikipedia. It is also omnipresent this holiday season. I take it as a sign, much like when I started to get those random spam emails last year with snippets of Pride and Prejudice. The universe was telling me to read Jane Austen. I know it. I haven't ever figured out why but I'm sure clarity will be mine eventually. It started with a recipe in Bon Appetit.

The picture in the magazine was just darling. It was this cute little chocolatey dessert item that looked like an actual log and resembled those great rolled up ice cream cakes they have at Basking Robbins. Look. Look at how cute it is!

I love how they decorate their dessert! It's supposed to look like a real life little branch right there on the plate! Leaves and everything! I saved the recipe as I thought that at some time in my life I would be able to impress friends and family with a Buche de Noel. I'm such a planner and a show off.

Then I saw Iron Chef on Sunday. More specifically, I saw Tyler Florence, mercilessly screw one of these up so badly it could not have passed for a Texas sheet cake's red headed stepbrother let alone a French dessert. I was deflated. If Tyler can't make one, how the hell am I going to? You might be asking why I would want to. Again, look at how cute it is. Also, say it. It's pronounced Boosh de Noel. Say it a few times. Giggle. It's okay. I know it sounds like something you would get at a store that might sell other edible items that aren't necessarily meant for the table. That's what makes it so fun!

So, I'm daunted. Then this special comes on tonight and there it is again! A whole segment on the buche. Now I'm back to being enthralled. I must make one. I must prove my culinary expertise by baking a buche and then decorating it as those it were a train set. Hand to God, the buche the showed on Food TV tonight looked like there should have been a conductor serving it. They stabbed that thing with fake pine trees. Very festive!

I have big plans. I will make one. It's very impressive. I live alone and my sister is in charge of dessert at every meal. Girl can't cook worth a damn but she bakes a mean brownie. What's a girl to do? You can't possibly pull something like this off if no one is going to throw their hands into the air and proclaim, "Great Scott! This is the most amazing Buche de Noel in history!"That simply will not do. I would have to at least make sure I tell people to call me on said baking day so I can just say into the phone, "Can't talk now! I'm making the holiday buche!" Or I would have to make it on a Sunday and bring it into work. Of course, I could see the snickering and giggling that would occur as I insist everyone come into the kitchen and admire my buche. (What! You were waiting for it!)

It's not happening this year. Next year, I may have an entire party just for the buche. I can't think of a better way to get the holiday rolling than breaking buche together.

What happiness looks like

Or smells like rather....

Today, I made one and a half gallons of homemade egg nog. You read that right, one and a half gallons. That's a lot of nog. It's my full intention to give most (I'm still a little greedy) of it away as gifts to colleagues and other folks I need to get drunk to convince them of the glory that is me. I hate that I need liquor to do this. I must say, it is damn good.

I've moved on to apple butter. I'm never made this before but I could make it every weekend. Hand to God, it's a marvel. Truly beautiful. I only have two large stock pots, which is odd enough, I know. So I'm staggering the two batches. I have peeled 8 pounds of apples. I find it oddly fun in a Zen kind of way.

One pot is full of 4 pounds of apples steeping and bubbling in a half gallon of apple cider. It's the making of apple sauce. The other pot is bubbling away with homemade applesauce with cinnamon, sugar and ground cloves. I must say I love to boil the shit out of fruit. My house smells good enough to eat. I could do this every day. Every damn day. And yes, I am on my second helping of bourbon. It was needed for the egg nog. I had extra...

In a half hour the White House special comes on HGTV. As much as her husband is a total tool, Laura Bush knows how to decorate a house. I have my Christmas cards all ready to get written out which should be amusing should there be more bourbon involved in my evening. In the meantime, I am knee deep in the first season of the West Wing and can't figure our if I love Josiah Bartlett, Sam Seaborn or Josh Lyman best. Let's not even talk about Leo McGarry.

I have a fire in my fireplace. Well, it actually flame created by a gas line to my fireplace. It doesn't smell nearly as good, or at all, my it sure is pretty. I have just sat back and determined the following thing: Life is fucking beautiful.

I know. I know.

I have a weird fear of car accidents. They freak me out for no known reason. I think it's more of a fear of large metal objects becoming one with my body in a very unpleasant manner.

I have never been in a major accident. Last year I got rear ended very hard and got sandwiched between two cars. Of course, I drive a Chevy Trailbalzer so things bounce off me. If I could drive a Howitzer, I probably would though it would be a bitch at the gas station.

Today I got a call from my Facilities Manager that there was a crash on one of our streets. He had called 911 and they were on their way. One of his crew members saw it. About 5 minutes later, I get a call from my Chief of Security and he tells me I need to come out there. Now I know this is not good because that man NEVER calls me out of the office into the field. Ever. I fly down there to find two fire trucks, two ambulances, and three police cars. There was a Range Rover turned on its side, an Acura sedan facing the side of the street and an Escalade in the landscape off to the corner. All airbags were deployed. I walked up, gasped, grabbed the arm of whoever the random guy was standing next to me and said, "Oh fuck!" It just came out. I apologized and he said, "Nope. That was needed."

Turns out the Escalade ran a red light and plowed into both cars. The Range Rover driver was pretty banged up. The look on her husband's face as he ran up to the scene and saw her lying on a stretcher about made me cry. They have a few small kids and thank God they weren't in the car. It was alarming as I walked up to the scene as the car has a good number of kid toys in it and they were on the ground. Very scarey sight.

According to police, she has a record of reckless driving. The crew member who say the accident said that the woman was at the red light going in reverse and going fowared several times. My mom's done that when she thinks it's going to change the light. This woman apparently couldn't wait. She went for it.

I can't imagine being is such a hurry that you need to put your life and others at risk like that. Imagine a force strong enough to flip a Range Rover. I can't imagine if that would have been a sedan car. I just can't. It just terrifies me. Absolutely scares the ever loving shit out of me.