I'm Accustomed to the Smooth Ride

"When you're manic, every urge is like an edict from the Vatican. No plan is a bad one, because if you're there and you're doing it, it can't be bad. Mania is, in effect, liquid confidence. When the tide comes in, it's all good, but when the tide goes out, the mood that cannot and should not be named comes over you. Because to name it would be an act of summoning."

"Years ago, there were tribes that roamed the earth, and every tribe had a magic person. Well, as you know, all of the tribes have dispersed, but every so often you meet a magic person and every so often, you meet someone from your tribe. Which is how I felt when I met Paul Simon."

My two favorite passages from Carrie Fisher's book, Wishful Drinking.

Beautiful Soup

More soup. Parsnip and carrot. Potato and onion. Chicken and mushroom with collards. Some improvised, some not. We've been souping it up all week long. No pictures, because we've eaten them right up. I recommend Deborah Madison's Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone as a great foundation cookbook for anyone, not just vegetarians. One of my informal resolutions was to lighten up on the meat this year and eat more vegetables, and so far, this book has really been helpful. Andrea Chesman's The Garden Fresh Vegetable Cookbook is another good one, arranged seasonally so that you can just flip to Winter and cook what's in season and well-priced right now.

Parsnip Soup with Ginger and Parsnip "Croutons"
(from Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone)

3 large parsnips, about 2 lbs, peeled
6 cups basic vegetable stock or water (below)
1/2 cup chopped cilantro stems, plus sprigs for garnish
4 thin slices ginger
3 tablespoons butter or canola oil
1 large onion, chopped
3/4 lb carrots, peeled and thinly sliced
1 1/2 tsp ground coriander
1 T white rice
Salt and freshly milled black pepper
1 cup (or more) milk, cream or almond milk to thin the soup, as needed

Cut two of the parsnips crosswise in half, then quarter each half lengthwise. Cut away most of the cores. (Note: this is an important step, especially with larger parsnips, as the core is woody and fibrous.) Reserve the other parsnip (to be diced and sauteed as garnish later.)

Heat 2 tablespoons of the oil or butter in a soup pot over medium heat, letting it brown a little. Add the vegetables, remaining ginger and the coriander. Cook, stirring frequently, until the onion and carrots have begun to brown here and there. Add the rice and 1 1/2 tsp salt and cook a few minutes more. Add the strained stock and bring to a boil. Lower the heat and simmer, partially covered, until the vegetables are very soft, about 35 minutes. Remove the ginger, then puree the soup, leaving a little texture or not, as you wish. Thin if necessary with the milk. Check for seasoning, add salt if necessary.

Dice the third parsnip into little cubes (remember to remove the cores) and cook in a skillet in the remaining butter, until golden and tender, about 8 minutes. Season with salt and pepper. Serve the soup with a spoonful of the parsnips and garnish with sprigs of cilantro.

If you've never cooked with parsnips before, give them a try. They make plain soups, like potato, more interesting and tasty. Here's one of my favorite recipes, for a deceptively simple soup that tastes richer than it is. Cauliflower-Parsnip-Leek soup, from chowhound.

Two Delicious Soups for the New Year

Tonight, I blog.*

Right at this moment, I could call AT&T from my phone and crawl my way up the service ladder in search of someone who might be able to take a sensible look at all of my plans and figure out a way that my minutes and bytes could be shared. The thought of it makes my upper lip begin to curl in a peculiar way. So I’m putting it aside for tonight, in favor of more calming pursuits.

Because what I really wanted to blog about was…soup.

One of the things Mike got me for Christmas was Deborah Madison’s classic cookbook Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone. The first recipe I made from it, which I’ve included for you below, is chock-full of green nutritiousness, cooks up quickly, and is just the thing for a cold January night. Surprisingly tasty for a soup with so few ingredients. The second soup, which Mike and I made the following night, was a serendipitous coming together of wintry ingredients that will definitely make a repeat appearance.

Chard Soup with Sorrel or Lemon (Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone)

2 T butter

1 onion or two medium leeks (white parts only) chopped

3 red potatoes, peeled and thinly sliced

1 bunch chard, stems removed, about 10 cups leaves

2 cups sorrel leaves, stems removed, or juice of 1 large lemon

Salt and freshly milled pepper

1/3 cup crème fraiche or sour cream

optional: ½ cup cooked rice or small toasted croutons

Heat the butter in a soup pot over medium-high heat. Add the onion and potatoes and cook, stirring occasionally, until they begin to color, about 8 minutes.

Add ½ cup water and scrape the bottom of the pot to release the juices that have accumulated. Add the greens and 1 ½ tsp salt. As soon as they wilt down, after 5 minutes or so, add 6 ½ cups water. Bring to a boil then lower the heat and simmer, partially covered, for 12 to 15 minutes.

Puree the soup and return to the pot. (Note, a “stick” or immersion blender is lovely for pureeing hot soups in the pot. If you don’t have one, they are well worth the investment for this application alone. Otherwise, carefully transfer a portion of the soup at a time to a blender or food processor to puree, taking care that the top is on loosely enough to allow steam to escape, or cool the soup and puree, then finish the recipe when reheating.)

Taste for salt and season with pepper. If you didn’t use sorrel, now is the time to add the lemon juice. Mix the crème fraiche with some of the soup to smooth it out, then swirl into the soup. Serve with rice or croutons in each bowl. (Or with a crispy grilled cheese sandwich, as we did.)

Chicken and Black Eyed Pea Stew

2 T olive oil

4-6 boneless, skinless chicken thighs

1 onion, quartered and sliced

1 yellow or orange bell pepper, trimmed, quartered and sliced, optional

1 T Better Than Bouillon organic chicken stock concentrate, or 1 T gray sea salt

1 container fresh black-eyed peas (if using dried, soak, cook and drain according to package instructions)

8 oz button mushrooms, trimmed and sliced thickly

3 chard leaves, stems removed, rough chopped

In a soup pot or sauce pan, brown the chicken in the olive oil, turning once. Once the chicken is a little brown on both sides, add the onion and pepper and sautee, stirring occasionally, until the onions are lightly blond. Add 4-6 cups water and desired quantity of salt or bouillon concentrate to taste, deglazing any meat bits from the bottom of the pan by scraping with a spoon as you stir. Allow to come to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer 30 minutes or more, or until the meat yields easily and falls apart.

(If desired, remove the chicken and some vegetables to a cutting board with a slotted spoon and roughly chop into bite sized pieces.)

Sautee mushroom slices quickly over medium-high heat, add to broth. Add the peas and cook in the pan broth until tender. If removed, return chicken and vegetable pieces to pan. Add chard and simmer until just tender.

This would be great with a trencher of buttered Acme levain bread.

Following the recipe up to the part where the meat yields easily is also the way we make chicken for tasty burritos and tacos, or a quick, flavorful stock to serve as a base for an ad-hoc soup. The whole soup can of course be made vegetarian, omitting the chicken and using just salt or vegetable stock. I actually made the chicken the night before and put the whole thing in the fridge, then Mike cooked the beans in the stock while he chopped the cold cooked chicken, adding the mushrooms next, then the chard.

The possibilities with other legumes—white, lima, lentil, split pea, garbanzo, and other winter greens, are endless. I like the grassy, slightly meaty flavor of the black-eyed peas. Containers of fresh peas can be found at Whole Foods. (Don’t know if they are available just this time of year, or year-round.) For me, they were a flavor revelation over the dried variety. This is one of those soups wherein the flavor is greater than the sum of the parts, the mushrooms building on the earthy flavor of the beans.

Happy Cooking!

**********

*Or tonight I would be blogging if my INTERNET CONNECTION had not been SUSPENDED. Due to geological limitations, I have few options for internet service. One is/was satellite, which was offered via Hughesnet, my nominee for the title of Worst Customer Service Ever. The other is the AT&T “aircard” which has a limit of 5GB per month. Each month, up until today, I’ve received a “Danger danger, you are nearing the limit of your coverage” notice, but had not gone over, remarkably, until last month. Today, I received said notice, and then, in the middle of my email session, prior to logging on to the blog, my connection was dropped, and my little blue “connect” button turned a forlorn shade of gray.

Each time I received the warning message in the past, I dutifully called AT&T “Customer Care” to ask what could be done. The message offers: “As a valued customer, we would like to assist you to avoid possible service interruption and minimize a costly bill. Please call us at 1-800-331-0500 or 611 from your wireless.”

Each time I call, I speak with a series of ascendingly infuriating but innocent first level Santa’s helpers, who read me the script about how many k’s I have in my plan and don’t know the difference between the letters K, M and G. I confess, sometimes I find them confusing too. The point is, there is nothing they can do for me.

I have an iPhone with AT&T, for which they charge me too much money and with which I have unlimited data. I have a home phone line with AT&T for which I am charged approximately $25 per month and on which I send approximately 3 faxes. And I have the air card, for which they charge me $59, yes, that’s $59 per month and limit me to 5GB. So I’m forking out just under two bills per month and right now I am proxy-blogging on a word document because I can only connect to the internet via the iPhone. Something is rotten in Denmark. Or wherever AT&T has its lair these days.

I’ll get back to those robber barons at AT&T later…

Facebook Ate My Blog

I finally have to admit it. Did I mention that I received a trophy in the mail from the sprint triathlon back in October? Probably not. I got third in overall Athenas! I was pleasantly surprised.

Pilgrimage

I woke up in the middle of the night knowing I’d go to see the butterflies. The next day, my anxious mind wrestled with my need to drive, until I’d exercised my last excuse and finally coaxed myself to the door.

They have come from hundreds, even thousands of miles away, on fragile wings, sometimes fringed with wind-wear. To see them, it’s astounding that they travel at all. Fewer and fewer of them each year, dwindling to naught or simply dipping, we don’t know.

When I lived in Santa Cruz, on the west side, the park was an easy bike ride from my shabby student rental in “the circles”. I don’t know how many visits I made on my new bike, helmetless in those days, hair blowing dangerously in the wind, before they arrived that first time. Down West Cliff Drive, hook a right at the park on a quiet weekday morning, follow the road and then head down the dirt path to the right.

Riding that bike, the first bike I’d ever purchased with my own money—probably the first big thing I’d ever purchased, if I think about it—was one of my favorite things to do. Sometimes I felt like I was ten years old again, riding wherever I wanted to go as fast as I could, with no particular destination.

The first time, I don’t know that I knew they were there before I went, or if I had heard they would come. Dripping from branches, in flickering clusters, they warmed themselves in shafts of light that seeped through the canopy of eucalyptus into the quiet grove. What I remember is how magical and serene it was to ride through the mist and stay there in the quiet of that half-lit grove among them.

Now, twenty-five years later, young, clean-shaven park rangers patiently answer questions from a road-addled tourist at the gate. Yes, the butterflies are here. Yes, you can take your dog into the park, but not to see the butterflies (duh) and please make sure your car is parked in the shade with the windows down and obvious water for the dog and don’t stay too long because other people get really upset if they see a dog in a car for a long time. Ten dollars for day use, please.

The quiet dirt path has been replaced (very necessarily) by a new boardwalk, which is attractive and sturdy, designed to take the abuse of eager nature-lovers. At the base of the walkway in the grove itself is a low multi-level deck.

At first, it is lovely just to see the Monarchs flitting silently between the trees. You'll notice that there are no close-up photos. The butterflies are very, very high up, though when it's quiet, and bored children have dragged their parents back to the beach, they'll swoop teasingly close to the deck.

A mother and her young daughter were lying on the edge of one of the deck’s steps, looking up at the treetops. They were talking sweetly, sharing an enviable mother-daughter moment. A small family group was listening to a female ranger talk in whispers about the butterflies and their journey. I caught just the end, just enough to hear her say, “…people who saw them twenty years ago, in the 80s, say that there were hundreds and thousands of them…what you can do is plant milkweed to grow during the seasons that they are traveling…”

I don’t want the butterflies to be just another thing that is dwindling, dying, disappearing. Once there were hundreds, herds by the millions across the plain, great black clouds of wings in the sky, etc., etc. My generation really is Generation D, for disappointment. Everything “used to be” bigger, more. Everything is just outside of our grasp, lost to us by just a little bit.

But then I think, how lucky that I was one of the people who saw them then, who got to stand in that grove alone, on a quiet weekday, not surrounded by well-meaning eco-tourist families whispering questions below the fluttering clusters of insects. I could come down any morning I wanted, and see them hanging on drooping eucalyptus branches, wings still too wet with dew to fly.

As soon as the woman and her daughter left, I found my own spot on the deck and leaned back, resting my head against the wood. The family group moved on, and the couples that trickled down into the grove were respectfully silent.

Directly above my head was a branch whose clustered leaves fluttered—every bare twig shimmered with the dun undersides of their orange and black wings. The sky was blue, and the smell of eucalyptus was caught up in the occasional breeze. There was a serenity in the scene that made me wish to stay. But I had promised the rangers that I wouldn’t leave my dog for long, even though she was safely parked in deep shade, and so I had to be on my way.

***

First stop: The Bagelry, downtown Santa Cruz for a "Dark Star": An "everything" bagel with thickly-layered with cream cheese, chopped olives and chopped walnuts. (PS- they call it the "Ultimate" now.) Mike’s favorite from his MBA days. Mike does not have a Master’s in Business Administration, but he was once the assistant dean at the Monterey Bay Academy. After a walk around the block with the dog, fill the water jug, use the clean bathroom for customers only and park in the free parking for customers only.

Second stop: Butterfly grove

Third stop: Lighthouse point

Fourth stop: Caffe Pergolesi for a chai (the chai by which all others must be judged-- perfect.)

Fifth stop: Pizza My Heart for a pesto pizza to bring home to Mike. Another favorite.

Sixth stop: Cemetery

For the Lovely Ladies from Ohio

Here is the link to all of my Thanksgiving recipes, including the one for the delicious (if I do say so myself) Granny Smith Apple and Herb Bread Stuffing. How wonderful to spend a Napa Valley week with best friends- I'm envious. It was a pleasure spending time with you!
(Didn't realize until re-reading this post just now that it is rather autobiographical, so pardon the personal details. Scroll down to the food if you get bored. Or hungry.)

Any Fruit Coffee Cake

If you're up early because you couldn't sleep, because something was troubling you the night before, you'll have the time to make this coffee cake. It's a little complex, just because there are three parts to it (cake, fruit and crispy top) but in the end, it's comforting to awaken to the smell of apples and cinnamon baking in a classic coffee cake like this. Just as good the next day with afternoon tea. If you don't have time, just pour yourself a cup of coffee and make a Dutch Baby.

From one of Grandma's old cookbooks, it's called the "Any Fruit Coffee Cake".

Note: the ingredients are grouped together to save space, but the sugar, butter and flour will be divided and used in separate sections of the recipe. In case you're one of those folks who jumps ahead without thoroughly reading the recipe like I am.

1 1/2 cups chopped, peeled apples, apricots, peaches or pineapple or 1 1/2 cups blueberries, raspberries, or any other berry. I used apples.
1 cup sugar
2 tablespoons cornstarch
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 tsp baking soda
6 T butter
1 beaten egg
1/2 cup buttermilk or sour milk (since I almost never have buttermilk in the house, but I almost always have yogurt, I substituted almost 1/2 cup plain yogurt thinned with enough milk to make it 1/2 cup)
1/2 tsp vanilla
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon* my own addition. Optional if using fruit other than apples or pears.
Preheat oven to 350 degrees

Step 1: Fruit
(If using raspberries, do not simmer.)
In a saucepan combine fruit with 1/4 cup water. Bring to a boil, reduce heat. Cover and simmer 5 minutes (or less if you like a bit more toothsome fruit) or until tender. Combine 1/4 cup of the sugar and cornstarch. Stir into fruit mixture. Cook and stir until thickened and bubbly. Cook and stir 2 minutes more. Set aside. (This will produce that shiny, pretty stick-together fruit filling you always wondered about.)

Step 2: Cake
In a mixing bowl, stir together 1/2 cup of the sugar, the 1 1/2 cups flour, the baking powder and baking soda. Cut in 4 tablespoons of the butter until mixture resembles fine crumbs. Combine the egg, buttermilk (or substitute), and vanilla. Add to flour mixture. Stir until moistened. Lightly grease an 8x8x2 baking pan or equivalent round. Spread half of the batter in the pan (it will be thick, and may only make a thin layer). Spread fruit mixture over batter. Drop remaining batter in small mounds atop filling.

Step 3: Topping
Combine the remaining 1/4 cup sugar, 1/4 cup flour and cinnamon. Cut in remaining 2 tablespoons of butter with a fork until mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Sprinkle over batter. Bake in 350 degree oven 40-45 minutes or until golden and a tester comes out clean (except for fruit).

Best if left to rest a bit, but too tempting warm!

Stuff

Let's talk about stuff. The stuff that we crave, covet, pursue, stash and hoard.

The thing about things is that they outlive us. Look around the room you are in. Barring natural disaster, everything in it will last longer than you do, or at least it can. There are things that come and go, of course. Rubber bands, pens, bobby pins and paper clips seem to originate at the point of purchase and then slowly dissolve back into the air to be purchased all over again. And paper, in the form of mail, notes, and to-do lists, seems to do just the opposite, multiplying, spreading and clogging up the room like flat, white tribbles.

But the objects, for example, a computer, a metal desk lamp, a framed Polaroid, a picture of Karen and Abbie, a picture of my grandfather, a photo card reader and a painted rock my mother made for me on my fourth birthday. Many of these things will remain with me my entire life. If the lamp breaks, I will reluctantly throw it away, likewise the computer, though most likely both will linger in the garage for years before making it to the disposal site, if past lamps and computers are any indication. You never know which things will go the distance, but they are there somewhere around you already.

When I look at magazines about homes, I'm always drawn to the lean, simply decorated ones, or the ones that look as though every piece was hand-selected by former Pottery Barn stylists. Although I know I loved everything I have once, when I brought it home, I don't love everything now.

In fact, right now we live in a home that was furnished when we arrived. We've become accustomed to the excessive curves of the sofa and the giant bed we had to buy new sheets for on the first night we slept here, and the rattle of the handles on the dresser that signals whoever is still sleeping that the morning routine has begun. But when we leave someday, this stuff will stay, ready for another round of property managers.

So here I am, in my early 40s, with a lot of little stuff and no big stuff of my own. The vintage red chenille sofa is long gone, the platform bed dissembled. I do have a plain dresser with vintage glass knobs that belonged to my grandmother and was used by my father. And this desk, which is oak and not my style, but which I got for a very good price. It serves its purpose.

"Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful." (William Morris) Easier said than done. How useful are eight sets of headphones? How useful are a thousand books, some I'll never read again, some I've never read at all? A stack of magazines two feet high, four single-hole-punches, all the same? The things that are hardest are the things that are beautiful, or were beautiful to someone else, and now sit in a box or a drawer. Likewise the things that are useful, but not right this second. These are the things that someday someone will find in that same box or drawer or another one and say, "What was Tamara thinking? What does this mean?"

And yet they remain and we are helpless against them. It is so hard to let things go, once they are infused with meaning, even if their only significance is that they have become ours. It's more than hard-- it's painful. To think that they might not be cherished as much as we once cherished them, even when we no longer do. To think that there will be a space where they once were that has nothing in it, and that the thing, the framed card from someone we don't remember, or the wind-up godzilla, or the oak desk, will go on and perhaps end up in a thrift store with a ten-cent price tag or worse, (much, much worse), go to WASTE in a landfill, this is just too much to bear.

So we keep. And we squirrel away. And we file and stack and shelve and cram, and then one day we are weighted down by all that we have and all that we have saved and we feel like we can't breathe anymore and it all has to go, but how and where, and oh, not this little one right here, because that is very special... all the memories clinging like glistening webs to every single piece keep us mired in and tethered to things.

The thing is, things can be let go, to continue on their paths, coming from wherever they came from and going wherever they are going to go. If we can sort out what's precious from what's just passing through, maybe we can lighten our load just a little bit.

********
(George Carlin once said, "your stuff is stuff, other people's stuff is sh*t". Funny routine NSFW. Damn he was funny. RIP.)

Here's an interesting reflection on stuff from the movie The Labyrinth: YouTube link. I find myself remembering this when I set out on a mission to sort and discard and wind up sprawled on the floor with an old book amid papers and tchotchkes an hour later.  Hoarders with legs.  Note: despite the fact that the giggle-inducing phrase "manipulating her junk" is used, this is also a neat insight into the puppetry involved in the film, which has become a cult classic.

Just for You

Voila le Gateau des Blueberries

Barely caught these last two pieces before we polished off another one. I made one substitution: I used King Arthur Unbleached White Whole Wheat instead of AP. Didn't harm the texture one bit-- if anything, it enhanced it. Happy munching!

Blueberry Cake

Getting started. Generously greased pan.

This butter was not soft enough-- had to mix it in with my fingers.

Batter before blueberries is like a very wet cookie dough- thick but still spreadable.

After adding frozen blueberries, a very stiff dough, looks and feels just like cold chocolate chip cookie dough. Make sure you've mixed it thoroughly before adding the frozen berries, and then press it into the pan as much as you can. It will continue to fill in the holes as it bakes.

An Easy Summer Tea Cake

Another nice little breakfast cake that's fairly foolproof. It is not too sweet, and comes out somewhere between a scone and a cake. If you'd like it a little sweeter, a glaze similar to the one on these scones would be lovely. I liked that the recipe was simple and could be made with a bowl and a fork (as long as your butter is already soft), and uses ingredients that I typically have on hand.

Shenandoah Valley Blueberry Cake

Ingredients
1 1/2 cups AP flour
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
1/3 cup softened butter
3/4 cup plus 2 T sugar
1 egg
1/3 cup milk
1 cup fresh or frozen blueberries (do not thaw frozen blueberries)

Directions
Preheat oven to 375 and generously grease a 9 inch round or square cake pan.

Combine flour, bp and salt in a bowl, stir with a fork to combine.

In another bowl, combine butter and sugar and beat (with a mixer or fork) at high speed until well combined. Add the egg and beat well for 1 to 2 minutes, scraping down the bowl, until the mixture is smooth and light.

Stir in half the flour mixture, then half the milk, mixing just enough to keep the batter fairly smooth. Add the remaining flour, then the rest of the milk, mixing gently. Stir in the blueberries. (Note: if the blueberries are frozen, you are going to want to mix them in quickly and get the batter into the pan right away, as it will chill the batter to an almost solid.)

Scrape the batter into the pan and bake at 375 for 30-40 minutes or until the top is golden, springs back when touched gently in the center and is pulling away from the sides of the pan. (Note: my cake took 40-45, using frozen blueberries. I thought that my oven was running slow, but I checked it with a thermometer and it was 3 degrees warmer than it read, so FYI.)

Serve a square cake right from the pan, warm or at room temperature, cut into small squares. IF it's round, let cool in the pan on a wire rack, then turn it out to finish cooling, top side up. (From Nancie McDermott's Southern Cakes)

My grandfather would love this warm with a nice fat slab of butter melting into it. (Hi Grandpa! Maybe you can get the Viking Queen to make you one!)

Didn't get any pictures of the first one because we gobbled it up so fast, so I'm going to go make another one right now-- pictures up shortly.

*******
While you're waiting, check this out: I discovered this pink caterpillar on my magenta geraniums yesterday morning. Cool, huh? I don't think I've ever seen a pink caterpillar before.


By this morning, the pretty pink bud on the right was completely devoured. I wonder if the caterpillar started out pink, or became pink from eating all of those flowers?

Stay Gold II

Here's my gang. That's me in the middle. There are a couple of people missing from the original "Table" group. You can see the neckline of the dress, but that's about it. Trust me, it worked. (I think that's my disembodied arm growing out of my friend Karen's shoulder...)

I Second That Emotion

So...HOW WAS THE REUNION...I MEAN, THE DRESS?
(I know you've been waiting for this. You'll read shortly why it's taken me so long to get a picture up of the darn thing.)

The dress turned out great. I don't have a good picture of it quite yet, because smarty pants here had to replace her dead cell phone on Wednesday of last week, and got a fancy phone. The fancy phone takes videos as well as pictures, and the little button for video is well, little, and also a little too close to the one for the camera, so I got several very short films featuring me and my friend Karen standing very still and smiling while her father told us to look like we were having a good time, as well as a couple of three-second masterpieces starring two unrecognizable people dancing to Devo.

But that is beside the point. I think there could be a little bit of tailoring applied to the, ahem, forward-most portion of the dress, or I might just need a little more...comprehensive tan, if you get my drift. Maybe I'm just not used to that deep a neckline. But overall it fit very well, and I felt good. I will extract a still from the videos and post asap. Or you could just use your imagination or look on facebook at the shots other people have posted. I'm the one in the black dress. No, the other one.

The reunion weekend was delightful. It was such a joy to reconnect with some of my oldest friends. After all these years, love sees right through all the changes that have happened to each of us over the years. I wish I'd had more time to talk to each person one on one.

Friday night, I was composed, adult me. I could stand back, observe and appreciate my friends for the great people they have become. My high school friends are some of the neatest people, and parents, you could hope to know. Many of them are teachers, and collectively, they have a bunch of kids. These are the people you want raising and educating the next generation. Kind, present, bright people, raising good kids.

There's something that's been bothering me, though. I'm trying not to kick myself for this, but over a 24 hour period, I feel like I completely regressed. By midway through the reunion on Saturday night, I was high school me, just as sure as Michael J. Fox used to get hairy ears when the moon was full.

I forgot completely about my vow to have meaningful conversations with few people, rather than trying to chat with many. I forgot that people who ask "How?" have more fun. I treated myself to a shot of tequila. I squealed when a song came on that I knew. (You can hear it in one of my micro-movies!)

I don't regret grabbing my friend Rusty for Donna Summer's "Last Dance," nor do I regret going back for a round of hugs for the people I'd really enjoyed seeing.

I do regret trying to make guilty (impulsive, slightly drunken) conversation with people I didn't remember that well, or remembered but never really knew that well. When I should have just smiled and said, "Hi, how are you?" I said other things that were equally embarrassing to both parties. Something along the lines of (shouted over too loud, too old New Wave music) "I know you, you're _________, you look GREAT! WHAT?? HOT! You look HOT! I KNOW, THE MUSIC IS TOO LOUD!" as they tried to decipher my bouncing name tag. Ok, not quite that bad, but close.

Or when I told a former female classmate, who may or may not have been a bully in high school, en route to the restroom, that I'd seen her picture on facebook because we had so many mutual friends and she just looked at me and said, "Yeah?" I wanted to run. She looked really beautiful, actually. Her dress was a similar style to mine, but shimmery gold with a leopard-ish print. I should have said something about that instead.

Really, what I should have done was allow silences, moments of quiet for things to happen, for people to

***
and that's where I stopped when I realized that I was going on and on about what could or should have been rather than what was. So I put the post away, about a week ago, and didn't wrap it up. So now I am. Now I have to go pull those stills out of the "movies" so you can see a picture of the dress.

I don't know if you realize this, but I have crossed a barrier this year. In the three years that I've been blogging, I had never posted a picture of myself on the blog. Until the triathlon. Now that many of my friends have seen me on facebook, I got over the fact that I'm not 21 anymore. I look the way I look.

Here's the room where I spent the reunion weekend nights:

Oh you tease...

I just realized that I never described the dress itself! (That's a link so you can check it out.) The dress itself is black. It has 3/4 length sleeves (perfect since the mosquitoes chewed up my left upper arm, so I now I won't have to explain the huge red welts to anyone. The front is "surplice" style, and there are horizontal "shutter" pleats the entire length of the dress. It is lined, and as I mentioned, heavy on the hanger. It doesn't feel heavy on, but then, I've only worn it for a few minutes at a time so far. If you are going to the reunion, act surprised.

If you look at the picture, you'll see how it looks on the professional fashion model. You might not have guessed this, but at 5'5" I am not a professional fashion model. I was once told by a theater costumer that I had a "short waist," meaning there is not much distance between my bottom rib and my hip bone. About 2 inches, I think. I've been trying to have a waist ever since. Anything belted is out of the question. In this dress, I have a waist. That is worth two times the price of admission.

The other reason I didn't want you to see the link is that you'll know what I paid for it (less $10 on sale and $20 for opening a new account, don't forget). Sometimes you want to tell the world about a bargain-- other times you want people to think you spent a fortune. I don't care if you know, but I wanted to maintain the illusion that a dress so fabulous must have cost a mint to others. I did forego renting the adorable Kate Spade bag below from bag, borrow or steal, getting some serious bling out of the safety deposit box, or even getting a professional manicure or pedicure (ok, I broke down and got the pedicure). I'm keeping it real, folks. I may look fancy this weekend, but remember, I'm still the girl who personally put Bartles and James through college.

Damn, that's a cute bag.

Ok, I'm off to pack.

Here's what I was doing this month last year. And the year before. Some cool shots of my grandma (finally) showing me how to make banana cake. Thanks, Grandma.