Cooking for one

I bought a handful items at the grocery store today, in part because I didn't need much but also because I'm broke (awaiting funds in the mail).

If I go to Maxi on Wednesdays, it's the day before the store puts a new batch of stock on special. So I can get some meat and fish items at half-price - provided I either cook or freeze them that very day. It's worth it. Especially if you can get a nice package of cod or salmon.

So I got some chili fixings and walked back home, thinking, as I so often do, how nice it would be to cook for my kid.

He was always so appreciative of my cooking. Where he lives now, the lady is very good; she makes some really nice dishes... such as the salad she threw together one summer night: faux crab meat, avocados, strawberries and cucumbers, in a light dressing of olive oil and lime juice. It was fresh, light, and delicious. Easy, too, but of course you'd have to know the recipe to just whip up that sort of thing. I would keep it in mind for any event next summer for which I might need to bring a dish.

So, much as Alex appreciates her culinary abilities, he often says he misses my cooking. I am still somewhat surprised, because my style was pretty basic.

A couple of days ago, on the phone, I mentioned that I'd made two different cakes for the halfway house residents. I said I was glad they turned out well and were enthusiastically received, but...

I said, "It's a community service. I like doing it, but they aren't friends of mine, really. They're just a bunch of people, they're..."

Alex said promptly, "They're not your SON!"

Exactly!

Anyway, I made my chili tonight and it was good.

And then came autumn

It was easy enough in the summer to feel alive and cherished; God’s presence and love were felt in every sunrise and sunset, every phase of the moon, in the wondrous formations of clouds, in much-needed rain showers, in the dappled light through green leaves, in rocks, in flowers both wild and domestic, in birdsong, in the wind. All was well. All was fine early in the morning, before the noisy world woke up and started running its engines and motors and fans. All was possible, each day ripe with expectancy, with possibilities, with myriad outcomes.

Blogger refuses to upload a picture for now.

Cutbacks

I have decided to slow things down. Since mid-May, when I did Steps 4 and 5, I have been in constant action that has varied between mild levitation (groovy, man) and full-bore charging (in sneakers) into all kinds of activities.

But in the past two weeks, I've become a little tired and draggy. Maybe it's the change of season, with the grey, soggy weather and shorter days. Maybe it's that I went off my strict regimen. Maybe I'm just going into a new phase of recovery. My sponsor tells me the latter is likely, but not to discount the other factors.

Whatever it is, I need to cut back a bit. And so as of today I've decided to accomplish three things per day.

Work doesn't count. I mean three things other than my regular, income-producing work. I've done four productive things today (3 of them service-based), so I'm ahead of the game as far as I'm concerned.

I don't think I need to work quite as hard as I have been to maintain sobriety, to prove I'm useful to myself and to others, to be so busy all the time.

I don't mean I plan to be complacent. That would be dangerous. I only want to feel less of a driving need to be constantly out there, doing. I have to pick and choose now. I think with 3 basic things per day I can accomplish quite a lot. Just for a while. Just to see how it goes.

Too good to be true?

Part of my recovery process involves changing my thought patterns. For example, rather than saying the negative form of things ("This always happens to me!" or "There's never a cop when you want one!"), I try to turn them around. I could write reams about positive thinking, its impact on the subconscious, and the many authors whose fascinating works inspire me, but I won't. I'll just set down one recent example when positive thinking didn't work.

Alex lives with a buddy (let's call him Buddy) and his parents, as you know. Buddy's grandfather passed away some months ago and his wife went into a senior's residence. Their house, which the grandfather built, is sitting unoccupied. Grandma and her sons are all helping pay the taxes, insurance, and electricity. So Alex and his friend were made an offer: to live in the house, rent-free, particularly to comply with the insurance company's demands, until the house sells. It's been on the market for several months and isn't getting any nibbles.

Buddy decided he'd rather stay at home - and why not, since living elsewhere would mean doing his own cooking and laundry (and other chores)? Alex, on the other hand, was keen to make the move. So after some discussion, we decided it would be even keener to move in together.

We were both pretty excited about the idea - for me, an actual house in a quiet neighbourhood, with its own yard and all. Close to the city, all services, etc. etc. A chance to "mother" again. A host of other jubilant ideas. A fireplace. A guest room! Space to stretch out. Dad said he'd discuss it with his brothers and let us know.

What they came back with was disappointing, to say the least. Ludicrous would be a better word. Not only do they want plenty of rent... OK, I get that... but they would also keep the house on the market, and if it sold, give us one month (30 days!!!) to clear out.

Think of it. We'd never be able to really settle in, make any plans, feel as though we were at home. We'd live in a state of uncertainty all the time.

So, yeah - it seemed too good to be true. And it was!

In the end, though, I can think of it as a good sign. That house wasn't meant for me. But there's another one out there that is. All in good time, all in good time.

p.s. that photo above is not the house. But it would be the sort of house I'd love.

The last day off of summer

Someone recently sent me a Facebook fortune cookie with the note, "Hope your days are always full of surprises!" and yes, yes they are.

I suppose it depends what you consider a surprise. I prefer to call them gifts. Someone dear to me called long-distance on Saturday morning. Yesterday a friend gave me a small, sparkly silver cross on a silver chain that he'd been keeping to give to the right person. These are little meaningful things that make each day a joy.

Last night I had an entirely different surprise. I drove for many miles on near-deserted country back roads in the dark. The operative words being "I drove." On the way back from a movie, the driver asked for a break and so I obliged. This has given me renewed resolve to go get my learner's permit again. And maybe even go a little further and actually take driving lessons.

I braked for a white bunny as it hopped none too quickly in front of my path. (I think one of my greatest and most frequent heartbreaks of late is the sight of so many dead animals by the road. Deer, coons, skunks, groundhogs. I avert my eyes. I remind myself that they already feel no pain, but I hate to see the striped tails and lifeless curled paws.)

I don't get out much into the deep countryside after dark, but last night at 9:00 the sky was a spangled jewel box of black velvet and diamonds. I even saw a shooting star.

We even took a ferry (a short ride which nonetheless fills me with glee just because it's something different.)

Busy week ahead: finalizing the purchasing for the upcoming anniversary event and dispatching all the goods to trusted helpers. They will be in charge of setting up the hall because by that time I will be ensconced in a convent for another weekend retreat. Breakfasts at the school; last Tuesday/Thursday were our first mornings back on the job, and I enjoyed seeing the kids again. Perhaps there is something reassuring for some of them, too, in seeing the familiar faces of those who dispensed cereal, fruit, and hot buttered toast all last year. Meetings as usual; a hospital visit; a first-time appearance on Tuesday night at a drug treatment centre; laundry, packing, and whatever else might pop up.

But first, a bike ride, a bag of stale bread, and an appointment with some hungry gulls in the park. Priorities!

I insist you watch this

It always puts me in a great mood... pretty sure it will do the same for you!

The case of the twitching curtains, and other mini-stories

The lonesome neighbour. So now I know she lies in wait for us to come out. Then she pounces.

Well, actually, she sits by her window and looks through her verticals at the dull expanse of our parking lot. I thought I was safe if she wasn't actually sitting outside. Or fiddling with her never-ending array of hand-washed garments on her two plastic chairs, the railing, the broom handle, the cedar bush, and wherever else one might hang laundry. Yesterday I went down the back stairs with some stuff for the bins and before I'd even reached the last step, she'd somehow managed to beat me there.

Maybe she was sitting behind the dumpster. Anyway, she moved fast. And I was treated to another dizzying flow of disjointed one-way conversation. I wasn't in any hurry, though, so I let her talk until the air got chilly as the sun sank low.

But now I hesitate before taking out my garbage and recycling. It's the... inability to follow her threads, to get a word in edgewise, or even to know who or what she's talking about sometimes. All she really wants or needs is someone to nod and smile. I can do that. Just not all the time.

A luncheon. At last, not the usual "let's grab a bite at the restaurant" deal. I was invited to lunch at the home of folks who made everything from scratch, from the thick pea soup to the three-berry pie. Clearly, I have not been hanging out with the right class of people. It was simple, unfussy, and delicious. And a very pleasant break from the routine. They live way up in nowhere land with a beautiful view of a lake and hills. Must be spectacular when the trees turn in the fall.

A boat ride. Another unusual outing, albeit a short one. A friend was taking a motorized rowboat out for a test drive before committing to buy it. Good thing, too: the little motor kept conking out every two minutes. Fortunately, there were oars. The river - which meanders all over the place and up to Mont-Tremblant - is an incontrovertible feature of this town, and I have been hankering to go out on it. I finally got my wish. We spotted a great blue heron standing, artfully camouflaged (he thought) amongst the bleached roots of an upended tree on the shore. We rowed vewwy, vewwy quietly to about 10 feet from him before he twitched, took one step forward, and spread his magnificent wings to flap away. Beautiful.

Bro H. would hate this river on sight. It has truly massive, trunk-like weeds near the banks and (ugh) old trees sticking up in spots where they've been trapped by (ack) large boulders beneath the surface. Not a river for swimming (it's a river for lying down and avoiding!), and the murky brown water and mushy bottom only add to the list of why any form of death would be preferable to falling in.

Other than that, I am still up before the sun every day. Of course as we all know, the sun is rising later and later, and therefore, so am I. But not always. I was up at 5:20 this morning. It was our first thoroughly cloudy, cool morning in almost 2 weeks, and I did not go for my usual walk. Did I feel any guilt? Not for a second.

But seriously.

How does someone trip over a plant in a corner? Does it look to you like she was straddling the plant pot? HOW DOES THIS HAPPEN?

Knowing who the clumsy one is doesn't really make it much funnier. Because you probably don't watch the show and don't care that this was the nobody girlfriend of the "star" of that show. Nor should you.

Fortunate, selfish, or just emotionally stunted?

<----- knight in shining armour
I waffle between the three when I think of the absence of a steady romantic relationship in my life.

First off, I generally feel fortunate. I'm glad to be free of any emotional entanglement. Friends and acquaintances - some long-married, some just living with a significant other - tell me often that I am "lucky." After hearing their latest tales of woe, my answer is usually, "I know it." I could tell you many, many stories that'd make your hair stand on end. But they're none of my business, so I just move along and be grateful every day that I don't have to deal with the behaviours my friends complain about.

On the other hand, I sometimes wonder if anyone would put up with me and my casual housekeeping habits or my schedule. I am not a slob about cleaning, but neither am I obsessed. I keep up with the basics, but I am not punctual about cleaning floors. My kitchen sink is clear every evening and I maintain the kind of order that I can live with. I move pictures, accessories, and furniture around regularly. (Always a challenge, in this small apartment.)

My schedule, well, it revolves firstly around meetings and work, but the morning walk is now sacred and so are my naps. Sometimes I beat myself up over napping but not on the days when I'm up at 4:00 a.m.

My eating habits are a little weird, that's for sure. Since hooking up with -- and getting hooked on -- the Isagenix program, I've learned to eat lean and mean and at very regular times. I am a little rigid about what goes into my mouth. I rarely cheat, and when I do it's laughable. The past few days I was reminiscing over the winter 2009 and my slothful habits. I was popping chocolate raisins and chocolate bars, drinking massively rich mocha lattes, eating chips and peanuts and all kinds of stuff whenever I damn well pleased. No wonder I gained 10 pounds over the winter months. What a slob! Now I peel the skin and fat off everything, fry nothing, salt nothing, steam everything, weigh most things and yes, check calories. Actually, by now I've become really good at gauging quantities and I pretty much know the fat and caloric content of most things. A few days ago, I asked an employee at Tim Horton's for their nutrition information. As it turns out, my favourite muffin (bran, blueberry, cranberry) isn't even the most sinful item on the menu. One of my favourite sandwiches is.

I don't much like the phone, so I let about half my calls go to voice mail. I suppose that would irritate someone.

My last b/f happened along at possibly the worst time... for him. I was going into the final stretch of alcoholism, getting to that point where I simply could not go a day without drinking. It was still limited to evenings only, but he was wise and didn't wait for the inevitable progression. My real self was witnessing the advancement of my addiction but fighting a losing battle with the addicted self... which caused terrible stress and misery but which I conveniently blamed on him. Oh, how I found fault with him! I'm sure at least one SIL and other family members remember my litany of complaints. How unfair I was about most of it. How easy to blame him for my shortcomings.

Today, as I learn more about myself and how I react/perceive/deal with people, places, and things, I realize that I am not ready for a relationship. I still don't know myself very well - and the parts I do know fall into two categories: the kind and caring self who wants to help and nurture everything in her path; and the critical, reclusive self who doesn't quite believe that anyone can be trusted.

Moreover, and quite apart from not being ready, I am happy with the way things are. If I were co-dependent - and thank god I'm not - I could have plowed through several men in the past 16 months. But ongoing sobriety is giving me a good perspective. And I like the fact that I don't need to compromise on anything with anyone on a daily basis. I'll learn that later.

Two things: don't fix it if it ain't broke. And if Mr. Right is out there, he'll come along when the time is right.

Money won't buy happiness, but it does buy a lot of Big Macs.
Go here.

You're welcome.