Channeling Nana Luke

First order of business:  A HUGE thank you to USteve, who rescued me and my ginger kitty Weasley on Friday night by bringing us to the animal ER.  Weasley was quite ill and I was quite mentally ill, imagining his impending death.  Weasely is on the road to recovery thanks USteve's assistance and some prescription meds.

Second order of business:  Last week (before incurring a large emergency vet bill), I purchased this bag in kicky "poppy" pleather.  It is very pink.

Anne Klein Perfect Medium Tote

Today I am wearing a pink maxi dress that matches the bag to a startling degree and my pink toe nails are on display too.  I am not usually a pink person and I am definitely not usually a head-to-toe pink person.  When I walked out of my house today, I realized just how coordinated I was and I thought of my great-grandmother, Nana Luke, who loved the color pink.  We played a family trivia game years back in which each person wrote ten facts about him/herself on a sheet of paper.  The facts were read one at a time and when you thought you knew which person had submitted the facts, you wrote down the name and handed it into the moderator.  If you guessed right on the first fact, you would get 10 points, with the number of points decreasing for each additional fact.  Nana Luke included, "My favorite color is pink" in her list and the entire group passed in their guesses at once.

Nana Luke in pink-- a tougher shot to find than I would have guessed.

Third and final bit of business:  Today is my dad's birthday.  He asked that Ryan and I not get him birthday presents, and we failed to meet that request.  He asked that we not post about his birthday on Facebook, and again we let him down.  I am not home to send him through the hot oven, so I hope that any readers in Central Maine will take care of that.  Thanks a million!

Pretty incredible story

I saw this article on Yahoo headlines this afternoon as I was wrapping up work.  It is about a burn survivor who appeared on the cover of Australian's 'Women Weekly' magazine.  I read the article below and became more curious about this woman and her struggle/journey.

Turia Pitt Yahoo Headlines article

I Googled Turia and came across her 60 Minutes segment from a few years back.  The whole thing is very inspirational and amazing.  Not only did Turia recover from severe burns over 70% of her body, but she got back into tip top shape, overcoming newly grown/tight skin and a complete lack of muscles.  The physical and mental pain she had to overcome is astounding.  An article and story like this really makes you take a step back in your life and realize sweating the small stuff/getting upset or stressed over minor issues is not worth it.

Part 1 of the 60 Minutes segment

Part 2 of the 60 Minutes segment

Couple of other points:

• The Owner/Founder woman of Race the Planet is a complete dipshit.
• The idiom, "beauty is only skin deep" has been said many times in song lyrics, movies, poems, etc - definitely not a new phrase to me.  Oddly enough I can remember my Mom saying that to me in different terms when I was as young as 14 years old.  She told me to always make sure when you are with someone you care for them as a person, their personality, feelings, sense of humor and not just how they look.  Her big thing was, "What if you or the person was in a car accident or fire and you were paralyzed or disfigured?  The love you have for that person and they have for you should be strong enough to keep you together."  I never really understood the gravity of what she was saying at the time/as a teenager and just said, "sure/yep" to acknowledge I was listening to my Mom.  Seeing Turia and Michael's true life story that outlines my Mom's philosophy makes me appreciate things that she taught me that I wouldn't understand (but would remember) until later in life. 
• I think I'm becoming a bit sensitive in my 30s.  What the?!  I guess I deserve it after living the majority of my 20s as a pompous d-bag.

Thanks Again

My strong belief in writing thank-you notes has been previously documented.  I was happy to come across some advice on Dear Prudence today that revisited Emily Yoffe's feelings about thank-you notes. 

During graduation season I was thinking that if I were to give a commencement address it would open with: “Write thank you notes.” Often people dismiss this obligation as some fusty leftover from an oppressively formal time. It’s not. Thank you notes touch on some basic and universal human issues of respect and reciprocity. It is maddening to go out of your way to do something generous for someone and not have your efforts acknowledged. The young graduates who write their thanks to people who interview them or help them in their job search will absolutely stand out from the crowd. As for your young marrieds, don’t compound their rudeness with your own by reaming them out. If you have sent a gift that was not acknowledged, it’s perfectly fine to inquire of the recipients whether it arrived. Things do get lost, after all. If that doesn’t prompt a thank you, then consider it a financial boon. For couples who can’t express appreciation for a wedding gift, feel free to skip sending something for the baby shower.

I received a thank-you card from my Nana recently for the world's tiniest gift.  I would never have expected a card to recognize the item, but she is a model of good manners, as you can see below.

Nana Flem's message to people who don't write thank-you notes

The New Roof Is Here! The New Roof Is Here!

Call me The Jerk because I am beyond jazzed about the impending arrival of my brand-spanking-new roof.  The roofers start tomorrow.  I borrowed towels from Ryan and USteve months ago when a waterfall became an unwanted feature in my home.  Even though the leaking tapered off after having some repair work done, I did not dare to give back the towels as I was sure returning them would be a jinx that would lead to another flood from above.  So as summer officially began this past Saturday, Ryan and USteve continued to live sans beach towels.  The good news is that they will have their towels back very soon, and they won't be forced to drip dry next month at Journey's End.  Happy news all around!

For those who do not care about roof updates, I have this solid gold article for you:

"Quack, Quack, Quack: An Oral History of the Mighty Ducks Trilogy"

For my taste, this article doesn't feature enough cast commentary.  Interviewed Ducks include Spazway/Charlie Conway, Averman, Fulton Reed, Guy Germaine, Connie Moreau, and Cake Eater/Adam Banks.  Emilio Estevez declined to comment!  WHAT THE?!  Also no Greg Goldberg or any of the new additions from D2.  Still, Ryan and I were fully obsessed with these movies so I enjoyed the article.  And I am kind of dying to watch the beginning to D2 right now where they roller blade around Minneapolis reassembling the team.  I'm busting out that DVD tonight.  And in the mean time-- Youtube is a wonderful thing.

Know It?

Last night Ryan threw a surprise pizza party for two at my place.  He showed up at my bus stop and then drove us both back to my place, where food was promptly delivered.  We turned the TV on while we were eating and an episode of "Keeping Up with the Kardashians" popped onto the screen.  Each of us made half-hearted remarks like, "Feel free to change it," and then we settled into watching, criticizing, and enjoying the show. 

We spent a few minutes Googling before-and-after photos of various Kardashian/Jenner family members.  Their plastic surgery bills must rival those of the Jackson family.  They are wealthy enough to swim through their money like Scrooge McDuck though, so who am I to question their choices?  (And with the ludicrous storylines developed for that show, how have they not filmed Lord Disick backstroking through a pool of gold doubloons yet?)

We also called our Dad last night while we were together.  Ryan bestowed the nickname "Little Grampy" upon himself and proceeded to make comments he thought Grampy would have made in his prime, announcing "Little Grampy" after each one.  Anyone who knows our grandfather can assume that these were colorful remarks.  Grampy has always gotten a lot of mileage out of his own material and it turns out his namesake does as well.

Grampy & Little Grampy

Quite the quandary

I just found out this morning that my boy Steve Winwood is playing at Fenway Park on Saturday, August 30th.  The tickets are quite pricey and the main issue is that Mr. Winwood is opening for Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers.  I'm not a huge Tom Petty fan, though I have been known to sing "Free Fallin'" on karaoke here and there and enjoy "Learning to Fly" due to a Michael Jordan DVD from over 12 years ago.  The songs "Mary Jane's Last Dance" and "You Don't Know How it Feels" have always freaked me out/annoyed me for some reason and Tom Petty's voice in general doesn't tickle my fancy.  On the flip side, 1980s phenom Steve Winwood has some incredible songs and an amazing voice.  Take a listen:

Higher Love

Back in the High Life Again

Roll With It

Valerie

After further deliberation, I might just park my butt outside of Fenway at the Cask, Game On or Jerry Remy's just so I can hear Steve perform live that night.

A Little Slice of Heaven

I work in Chinatown and thus have easy access to delightful Chinese cocktail buns.  I rarely procure these divine creations, but today I did and was reminded that they are all things good rolled up in a neat little package.  You cannot go wrong with bread stuffed with a butter/sugar/coconut filling.  I could eat myself into a diabetic coma with a sufficient supply of these.

It has been so long since Ryan posted on this blog that my previous post that repeatedly mentioned eating meat and this post that talks about eating buns aren't even eliciting inappropriate comments from him.  What a sad state of affairs.  I promise that this is not going to turn into a food blog, but I feel that it is my duty to tell all Baking Like a Toasted Readers that when they are in Chinatown (or China), they must try the cocktail buns.

Vegetarian Propeganda

I had an "Orange Is the New Black" season two marathon this past weekend and was unsurprised to learn that the new, irritating inmate, Brook Soso, is a vegetarian.  If someone is going to drive a nun to lose her cool, you can bet that someone is a vegetarian.  We are THE WORST.  Our Facebook posts never celebrate bacon, the greatest creation on God's green earth.  Rather, we spread vicious lies about pigs being smarter than dogs.  Yes, Soso made this statement on the show and yes, I have made this statement in real life.  It stung a bit to hear a character who is universally regarded as annoying spouting some of my classic material.

Brook Soso, Vegetarian/Pain in the Ass

Some time in my teens I came across the famous "pigs are smarter than dogs" fact and stopped eating both pork and beef.  I had never liked seafood, so there was no conscious choice to stop eating fish.  I stayed on the poultry gravy train, however, until I hit my 30s and read Eating Animals by Jonathan Safran Foer.  There are numerous reasons to stop eating meat, including environmental and health benefits, but for me it all comes down to not hurting animals.  I know that I am fortunate to have the option to make this decision.  A hungry person can't eat her morals.  And even though I have tossed my pig-intelligence fact around through the years, I rarely comment on people's meat consumption. 

Last week I had dinner with friends, one of whom asked if I miss eating meat.  I told her that I am used to not eating meat, but the phenomenal smell of a summer barbecue has not yet lost its appeal.  There are no exciting vegetarian substitutes for good-old-fashioned burgers and franks on the grill.  I have found that, grilling aside, gardein products are my favorite meat substitutes and are usually crazy delicious.  Just last week at the aforementioned dinner, I discovered that Yard House offers meals that feature gardein.  It was an exciting night. 

My three carnivorous kitties* who I love so very much strengthen my belief that I, personally, do not want to hurt or kill any living creature in order to fill my already ample belly.  Today I came across an article about a baby rhinoceros whose mother was killed by poachers.  The following heartbreaking sentence from the article affirmed what every animal lover knows to be true-- that animals have feelings.

"Next to her body, the rangers found a baby rhino refusing to leave her side, crying inconsolably, Hoedspruit Endangered Species Center officials said."

Until there is evidence that soy beans are capable of "crying inconsolably," I will keep passing on crazy-delicious barbecued meats this summer and eat gardein's ultimate beefless burger instead.  I think it will be a win for both me and my my bovine friends.



*They continue to dine on chicken, venison, and tuna right under my nose.

Artsy Fartsy

Today Art.com is offering customers a discount of 40%.  The coupon code is:  MAP496

I have bought many framed prints from this site over the years.  Below are a few of my favorites that currently adorn the walls of my itty bitty home (and one that hangs in my office at work.)

My bedroom is decorated to remind me of Rehoboth Beach:

"Summer Memories" by Daniel Pollera

"Deck Chairs and Beach Umbrellas on the Beach, Jetties Beach, Nantucket"

This one is not available on Art.com 
"Rehoboth Beach Kite" by Aurelio Grisanty may be purchased through beachtownposters.com

Living Room:

"Le Petit Prince" by Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Bathroom:

Also not available on Art.com
"The Neighborhoods of Boston" is available on Etsy.com

Hallway:

Definitely not available on Art.com
Photograph of my father and uncles circa 1975.  A larger copy of this picture hung in my great-grandparents'/grandmother's house and I always coveted it.  Now I have my very own copy and it is glorious.

Kitchen:

Not available on Art.com
"Teacups" and "Teapots" by Laura Amiss were purchased on Etsy.com

Guest Bedroom:

"Apple Blossom Lane" by Monte Nagler
This print reminds me of Turner, Maine, where my great-grandparents and grandmother used to live.

Not available on Art.com
"Lilac Sunday" by Brady Harris

 Office:

"Tree with Red Leaves and Barn" by Mark Karrass

And one last print that Ryan has in his home and I wish I had a spot for in mine, because I really like it:

"MIT Sailing Team Practicing in Charles River" by Adam Jones

Father Knows Best

One of my dad's most repeated pieces of advice when Ryan and I were growing up was, "Worry about yourself."  It was his way of reminding us to mind our own business and not to make comparisons between our situation and our perception of other people's situations.  Ryan and I discussed "worry about yourself" recently when the phrase popped into his head.  I told Ryan that I think about our dad's advice frequently.  Whenever I start to get ticked off about something that is none of my business, I try to remember to worry about myself.  My dad is a very even-keeled person and I think that is in part because he is not constantly getting fired up about petty issues.  "Worry about yourself" is my mantra for attempting to manage anger and jealousy.  Whenever I am consumed by the THAT IS SO UNFAIR-ness of a situation, I try to worry about myself.  It helps me to avoid being consumed with envy when a coworker manages to finesse an advantageous work schedule or to avoid blowing my stack when a person claims a seat for his backpack on a crowded train.  I have been trying to practice what my dad preaches for years and it is still a work in progress.  Check out how youthful and relaxed the master himself is:

Sixteen Candles

I spent last week in Maine with my parents and our combined menagerie.  I am very grateful that my Mum and Dad allow me to use their home as a vacation retreat.  Their fancy-shmancy guest room mattress and soaker tub are quite luxurious.  I had the opportunity to visit with all of my grandparents during vacation, which is also a luxury for a 33-year-old.

While home, I got wrapped up in trying to organize family photos.  With many boxes of photos and albums in disarray, this project consumed my time and my parents' living room floor for several days.  In conjunction with the photo project, I finally moved all of my junk out of a guest room closet in my parents' house.  I got rid of some things and organized the rest into a couple of newly purchased plastic bins.  I was amused to stumble across name tags from the summer engineering program in which I participated nearly twenty years ago.  My name tag and that of my summer crush were both tucked away with my high school belongings.  Not only did I go through a pretty intense stalking phase in the mid-90s, I saved the evidence.  Another amusing find was my varsity letter.  I played soccer and basketball during my freshman year of high school, before renouncing all sports and embracing my position as the world's least athletic person.

And now to tie together my predilection for stalking and my disdain for sports in one embarrassing story.  I spent my sixteenth birthday at the aforementioned engineering camp.  When I returned home, I was distraught about leaving my new pals and my new crush/obsession.  My parents had arranged a surprise family birthday celebration for me a couple of days after camp ended.  For reasons that remain unknown, they decided my sweet sixteen would be best recognized by playing "beach volleyball" at a local playground that was nowhere near a beach.  The location did boast a net and some sand, so, yeah, my teen years were pretty much the source material for "The O.C."  In my aggressively depressed state, I was dragged to a volleyball event that I would have loathed on a good day.  As my large extended family played, I sat under a tree and publicly wept.  I still feel queasy thinking about my overwrought reaction to that volleyball outing, but my defense is two-fold.

1) Had my family never met me?  Beach volleyball?  Seriously?  I would have chosen this activity over my (pale, pudgy) dead body.

2) I was very into John Hughes movies in high school.  Very very.  As my sixteenth birthday approached and I fancied myself madly in love with a slightly older guy, I started to draw parallels between red-headed Samantha Baker's story and red-headed Samantha Me's life.  As I sat in a puddle of tears under a tree next to a sad excuse for a beach volleyball court, I kept waiting for my camp crush to drive up and for this to happen:

This did not happen.  Instead, I made an ass out of myself in front of my family and various members of the community.  But every cloud has a silver lining and I'm pretty sure my parents got me a Dairy Queen ice cream cake that year.  If you have to swallow a giant serving of disappointment and humiliation, the fudge-y center of a DQ cake helps the medicine go down.