Comfort Food

One thing I missed this summer was the abundance of a variety of super-fresh produce and specialty grocery items unless I wanted a long commute. I can understand the produce issue, as California's terroir supports a variety of crops almost year-round, while England has a relatively limited growing season. However, being a fairly large port city, Bristol should have ready access to a variety of "exotic" items. Perhaps I didn't explore the right places.  I did find out about a local organic market the week before I left, and I'm disappointed I didn't have the chance to explore it.

I also missed being able to cook in my kitchen on my stove with my cooking paraphernalia, so on my first opportunity after returning home, I decided to make oden, a stew, and chawan mushi, a savory custard.  I made the stock (or dashi) first, a deceptively simple task.  It is easy to make from scratch, but also easily ruined if you don't pay attention.  Good dashi has the faintest tint, a subtly earthy scent and an equally subtle, but rich flavor.  This batch was not my best, but it was good, and worlds better than the instant version that is mixed with water.

I began the prep, enjoying the weight and feel of the well-balanced Wüsthof chef's knife inherited from my grandmother, and the precision of the sashimi knife (also inherited -- carbon steel, a pain to care for, but worth the effort).  I even appreciated my faithful wood cutting board, which is still in pristine condition for the most part, because it's hand washed and oiled regularly.

As I reached for the age (pron. ah' geh), a spongy fried form of tofu, I realized it, and Piglet, were missing.  Arrggghh!!!  I ran to the living room and there on the back porch was the dog, swallowing her prize and attempting to look innocent.  Easy come, easy go, I guess.  I headed back to the kitchen, grabbed two new age sheets chopped them into manageable pieces.

While the stew simmered and the custard steamed, I picked a few lemons from my trees to squeeze on the jicama and little yellow pear tomatoes (it didn't fit with the rest of the meal, but I was in the mood for it).  My grandfather planted Meyer lemons long before they were popular.  Until recently, most of the people taking the fruits were my neighbors, which is okay, because I can't use them all and I live in a working class neighborhood, where sharing is always appreciated.  In the last 10 years, people from "good" neighborhoods who wanted free Meyers began stealing them, so I stripped them of their loot and chased them off, because they could afford them.  Yeah, I'm mean.

Back inside, I pulled the custard from the steamer, plated the stew and salad, and sat down with a bottle of nigori sake to wash it down.  As usual, Steve drank most of the bottle, and I drank enough for moral support.  I savored the warm, soft custard, filled with bits of shiitake, chicken, carrot and shallots - it is one of my favorite comfort foods. 

After we ate, Steve came to my room holding the leftover konyaku, a yam cake with an unusual texture that is an acquired taste for most people.  I had used it in the oden.  He asked "hey, are you missing this?"

"Umm, I don't think so, but I haven't been back in the kitchen."

"Well, Piglet had it in her little corner.  I don't think she liked it though, because it's still intact."

One thing I didn't miss this summer was having to keep constant watch on my food.

Home Again

A month has passed since my return home, and my last entry.  Settling back in has been difficult.  I am suddenly not as comfortable at home, and I long to immerse myself in new experiences, meet new people, and explore new places.

On a happy note, my housemate started a new job as Technical Director at a local arts organization.  I took him out for a drink last week to celebrate at a local dive bar, where the bartender poured a fairly generous shot of Jack for me, which I drank on an empty stomach (that's the recently-poured shot in the photo -- good thing I didn't order a double!).  I was soon plastered, and completely oblivious to the conversation around me.  Steven had to drive home.

My company is closing the Bay Area office at the end of October, and I will probably work from home until I finish teaching in Mid-December.  And then?  I have the option of moving first to the UK, and then possibly Paris with this company.  But I am restless, and in a way I want to test myself.  I am beginning a search for a new job in Europe to see what comes up.

And I have to admit I want to be closer to someone I think has the potential to be very special to me.  A frightening prospect, considering we've only spent a total of one week together and I'm basing my opinion of him on a "gut" feeling.  But the heart wants what it wants, and I need to follow where it leads, so I won't have regrets later.

I sent a "hey, I'm looking for a job far away from home and need suggestions" message to a third of the people in my address book Saturday night.  So far, I received many words of encouragement, a few suggestions and an outright offer of help from a college friend who now works near Nürnberg, Germany.  I may have a bunch of visa/work permit questions for him!

Journey Home

Six forty five in the morning.  Pete was cheerful and on time, as usual.  He put my bags in the car and whisked me to the bus station downtown.  Pete and I were both musicians and athletes in former lives, so we always had a lot to talk about.  He was my favorite taxi driver in Bristol (actually, it was a tie between him and Rachel, but I'd already said thank you and good-bye to her), and I was happy to have a chance to chat with him one last time.  Pete schlepped my bags into the station for me, gave me a big hug and drove off into the sunrise.

The bus ride, wait in the airport and successive flight all went thankfully smoothly.  I was headed home, a place that had always been my sanctuary.  And yet, my return was somewhat bittersweet.  The Airbus carrying me homeward was also taking me farther away from the place where I not only found happiness and contentment, but also put me out of my element just enough to make me want to experience more.

Steven was waiting at arrivals in SFO, and drove me home in my broken-down 1985 Honda CRX he's been using (left).  We drove up to an overgrown garden full of weeds (below), and I cursed the gardeners who deserted me last winter without notice.  As we walked up to the house, I heard a thundering noise and high-pitched whine inside.  I braced myself, opened the door, and held onto the stair rails for dear life when two gigantic paws thumped my chest, a large black head butted mine and a big, red tongue slashed across my face.

  "Sit, Piglet!"  

Piglet sat for half a second, ran in circles, whining the whole time, then started jumping again.  She can be a little excitable sometimes.  All the animals, except my Mini cat, who ran away while I was gone, all seemed happy to see me.  Mini always waited for me in her corner perch in my office every night, and now she's gone.  I'm devastated.

I picked up the neighborhood newsletter.  The last large undeveloped plot of land in town is being developed!  Arrggghhh!  Yes, the Bay Area has housing issues due to a growing population (which irks me because population growth is the problem, not lack of housing), but town councils everywhere are rubber-stamping poorly planned developments because all they see are dollar signs.  In the meantime, they are not planning for things like efficient transportation for the masses of people who will be living here or the education of their children.  I'm disheartened.  Before I left home, I'd put an effort into speaking out about development issues through several neighborhood groups, and I feel like those efforts were useless.  I think a lot of the residents here feel that way now.

Steve barbecued that night.  As we ate, he kept asking if I was okay.  Even after I insisted I was just tired from the long day of travel, he looked worried.  In the coming week, three other people kept asking the same question.  It was too difficult to tell them how my life at home is missing something, so I pleaded jet lag and made an effort to seem happier.

I created ltljpnzgrl on 360 as a way to work through uncertainties I faced in hitting my midlife crisis, many of which were insecurities carried over from my youth (I migrated to Multiply because of the interesting people I met).  Those insecurities led to many bad decisions as a young woman, and almost as many regrets.

It seems I'm still in flux and still working through issues, although I had moments this summer that allowed me to forget them.  I discovered that when I was out of my comfort zone in a completely new environment, I felt alive again, and eager to face what lay ahead, rather than dwell on mistakes of the past.  In coming home, I regressed somewhat.  I want that good feeling back.  I think it is time for me to make major changes in my life.  I just need a plan...

Leaving town

It's 1:00 am.  The evening rain cooled the heavy summer air to a comfortable level.  Yes, the temperatures finally rose here in my final week or so in this island nation.

What will happen to the ficus I found near-dead in the garage when I arrived?  I pulled it out, threw some coffee grounds and water on it, pruned it back, and watched as tiny green dots appeared on the brown twigs one morning.  In a few more days, they evolved into slivers, then tiny spears and finally, full-fledged leaves unfurled in the sunlight.  With no one to care for it, the tree I've come to regard as mine will probably dry out again and die.

Not one to leave behind a mess, I cleaned the house and did my laundry this weekend.  Sorting through my clothing, a familiar scent wafted off my sundress.  I closed my eyes, brought it to my face, inhaling deeply and saw a grassy hill under a clear sky, a quiet inn tucked away in the hills, fragrant herbs surrounded by vineyards, eyes that at times seemed clear blue, others stormy gray, but always full of expression and passion.  I felt the warmth of a summer evening along the Mediterranean, the cool kiss of mountain air as I gazed out an open window into the darkness, the reassuring hand that steadied me on cobbles slicked by rain, the warm embrace that made everything else in the world cease to exist for me, if only for awhile.  Not wanting to lose those moments, I decided not to wash that dress.

And the job?  I hadn't accomplished what I'd hoped I would this summer, but my goals diverged from those of my boss.  My time was consumed by odd jobs and errands that took precedence.  My brain is atrophying due to lack of challenging stimulation.

This summer I learned not to trust people who possess an overbearing sense of entitlement, and to trust my instincts when I sense something isn't quite right about a situation, things I already "knew," but hadn't really experienced.  A painful lesson I am still working through.

This summer I learned to feel.  For the first time ever, I didn't analyze the life out of a situation, I just let myself live in the moment and opened myself to whatever feelings flowed through me.  For the first time ever, I felt deep passion and attachment at a level of which I didn't think I was capable.  And for the first time ever, I understand deep in my heart the meaning of the adage 'tis better to have loved and lost...  even though I'm desperately fighting the 'lost' part.

Just a mindless meandering

Have you ever been so inspired by someone that they brought out qualities in you that you never knew you had and made it possible for you to try things you never thought you would?

Have you ever been so infatuated that you seriously contemplated throwing all caution to the wind and doing things you would normally consider to be stupid... and possibly did some of those things?

Have you ever been so obsessed that one person or thing has dominated your every waking (and sleeping) thought?

And have you ever cried yourself to sleep because you knew that one of the best things to ever stumble into your life would pass back out again far too soon?