I was reading this article the other day about writers and their “quirks” – how people who write often have a very specific time, place and even mood they need to be in for the words to flow well.

It was reassuring to know that I’m not simply crazy…

For me, it’s quiet. Not just physical quiet, although that too. But quiet in my head and in my heart.

I just don’t feel that way lately.

It just feels like the stress is coming in waves, steady and unrelenting. Each wave sways me, threatens to knock me off my feet. No sooner do I catch my breath and steady myself, than another wave comes along. And with it a great, thundering noise.

I’m so focused on just not falling on my rear, that I have no time to find that peace and quiet that I so badly need. Not that I know where to begin looking if I had the time…

I just can’t escape the noise…

The nearness of you unseats me,
unravels me
and exposes me.

I fear what you think of me.
It both repels me
and attracts me.

Like resting on the edge of a blade...

The Cure

I’ve been kind of obsessed with this song called “The Cure” by Jordan Sparks lately. It’s this beautiful song about a man who has come out of a terrible relationship, hurt and jaded. The woman, in turn, offers to be his “cure.”

One of my favorite lines is, “So consider this a moment, as defining you are. I can fix what’s broken. And here’s how I’ll start. Just come with your heart. And leave the rest to me. And I promise I will be, I’ll be your cure.”

When I first listened to it, I thought that it was SO incredibly romantic, since my heart bleeds romance (despite what some people think). To think that all the pain and hurt caused by someone can be so easily undone by someone else… that they could completely restore your faith in love, seemed liked such an extraordinary thing.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that maybe this is part of the problem with relationships in general. We have ALL been hurt – lied to, mistreated, used… and yet somehow we have all been led to believe that it’s just that one person, and that somewhere out there lays the person who will undo all that hurt and pain and be our perfect fairytale romantic, movie ending where everyone rides off into the sunset and lives happily ever after.

What a load of crap!

The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that maybe this is where so many of my problems began. Somewhere along the way I allowed myself to be defined by the relationship I was in, and by that person’s opinion of me. When the relationship ended, even when it wasn’t my fault, especially when it wasn’t my fault, I somehow internalized it and blamed it on myself. As if somehow I was inadequate – wasn’t pretty enough, funny enough, smart enough, or heaven forbid skinny enough…

Somehow, I talked myself into believing that the next relationship would be different. I came to believe that if the next man was different, valued me more, or saw me for who I was, or just honored the commitment that he made, that it would somehow undo all the other hurt and pain. That he would be my cure…

And now I don’t know. Have I come to understand that I need to be happy for my own sake, or am I just jaded?

After listening to this song enough times, it suddenly struck me at what an insane notion this is! Why should my happiness be forever tied up in someone else’s? Why should I allow myself worth to be defined by this person? And why the hell should I expect them to be “The cure?”

Isn’t enough for me to be happy because I’m me? To feel my own self worth and not have it hinged on someone else’s opinion of me?

I got the strangest Mother’s Day card in the mail the other day from my oldest brother. I haven’t seen or heard from him in nearly thirteen years. It’s the strangest thing…

Over the years I’ve often felt guilty about not keeping in touch – wondering if I played a part in the hurt and isolation that has led to his continued drug use.

I really have no strong memories of him from my childhood, and as adults our lives have taken such different paths. Perhaps I should have tried harder to stay connected with him in spite of his problems. Maybe even more so because of them…

I wonder why he’s suddenly reaching out now, after all these years.

As I lay in bed trying to fall asleep last night, I found myself thinking about what my answer would have been had the tables been reversed and someone had asked me my memorable food moment.

While there are many, some probably better forgotten, one of the strongest is from my trip to Newport. That trip holds a special place in my heart for a lot of reasons – it’s one of the few trips I’ve taken in my life by myself, existing solely on my own agenda. I woke up when I wanted to wake up, ate what I wanted to eat when I wanted to eat it, and went wherever I wanted, all without having to consult somebody else or alter my desires to accommodate someone or something.

The night I arrived, I found a spot near the harbor to park and just wandered the streets with a cup of coffee, stopping to marvel at the old buildings and the view of the harbor. The weather was sublime, and the smell of the salt air reminded me so much of home. And while I wanted to linger, I was also eager to see it all.

After walking around town for a few hours, I found a little bakery/deli where I grabbed a loaf of baguette and a small wedge of Comté. From a wine shop, I grabbed a bottle of Newport Vineyards’ Table White, and headed back to my hotel which was located on the beach.

I took my little ‘picnic,” my camera, a journal and a pencil out to the beach with me to enjoy the view looking up at all the mansions on the hill. The beach has always been a place of utter calm for me, and this night was no exception. I sat there till long after the sun went down, totally at peace.

While the food was nothing particularly all that extravagant or special, that moment was. It had been SO long since I’d been alone with my thoughts. I had arrived in Newport tired and stressed, with so much weighing on my mind and in my heart. In that few hours, over a glass of wine and a sunset, I was a calm I hadn’t been in a very long time.

I haven’t tried that wine since – it’s almost like I’m afraid that if I tasted it again, it wouldn’t live up to my memory of it, and the disappointment I would then feel would somehow taint my memory of that experience. Maybe it’s better this way…

It amazes me that so many years later, the thought of that night can still evoke so much joy for me.

The other day, during my first Baking class, the Chef let us each ask him one “semi-intelligent” question as part of his Q & A session.

My question for him was: What’s your most memorable food moment?”

I asked this for two reasons. One just because I was curious. He grew up with a totally different culture and food experience than I did. He’s also worked in many different places and been exposed to so many more foods than I have. I was curious to know which of these foods really stuck in his memory.

Second, because I think the answer tells a lot about a person. Somebody who really loves foods usually has to think about it. Their lips purse, their eyes look up as if they’re trying to visualize it, and the moment that they think of it, you can almost see the joy and contentment the memory brings in their physical features. They smile, and their shoulders relax, almost as if their whole body just sighed. And when they finally answer, it totally reveals their sense of food, food style, and their passion. You can tell more about a person by asking this one question than by asking a hundred others.

His answer didn’t disappoint, and now I understand him more than I ever could before.

The other question that popped into my head was: what do you do in the kitchen when nobody is looking? Do you drink milk out of the container? Double dip? I somehow didn’t think that fell into the “semi-intelligent” category (or the remotely intelligent category either for that matter), merely the nosey one!

Quote for the day...

"Words mean more than what is set down on paper. It takes human voice to infuse them with the shades of deeper meaning."

-Maya Angelou