Status post-status update

I love the word status. It sounds kind of medical, and military, and statistical all at the same time. I just thought I'd fill you in on some projects, before I start some new ones.

Walking toe-heel has fallen by the wayside. It is sad. I tried it for a minute while hustling down the mall to dinner the other night, and caught a glance in a store window, and I just looked uncertain and clueless. I'll try it some more. I still think it's a good idea to do on the way to dance, but I always forget on my rush to class.

And speaking of dance, I am performing tomorrow in a trio at a hafla. The good news is, I'm feeling pretty confident about the choreography / music choice. I would like to be a little more excited about the costuming, but it is a trio and the other two didn't seem as inspired as I was by the Balinese gamelan parts of the music we chose. If someone captures video, I'll post it. I don't know who will do that, however, because even Richard is not attending. I'll be performing to acquaintances and strangers.

The running has been going pretty well, despite the slight frustration of not being able to run today due to weather. (Yes, I know the weather of cold, rain, etc. is not real barrier, but why make it unpleasant when I can do it tomorrow it is also forecast to be cold and raining, but the forecast could be wrong?) The 5k I am running is next Sunday. I hope to finish feeling good. If they weren't so good at timing, I wouldn't even look at my time, but I feel it may be unavoidable.

And my oldest project of gratefulness is going pretty well, also. It really does help put things in perspective. Right now I'm loving the napping husband and cat in my living room, under the gorgeous quilt his aunt made.

So, if we end the story now, it has a happy end. Everyone coo. But I want more! So here we go again. 

Bucket of perfection

Weeks ago, Fashionably Late Sarah posted a blog about her bucket list (it was so long ago, it was about skiing). Oooh, ooh, I'ma gonna write one too, I commented.

Crickets. Because it's almost summer now. (Well, I exaggerate, because that's what I do.)

I have been doodling in my little Moleskine. So, it's not entirely fatal, but I've basically been stalling on stuff because it's not going to fall out of my mouth like a perfect molar. And it's driving me crazy.

In the mean time, I could have either 1) kicked the bucket, without any of these things ever happening, or 2) filled all the buckets, and have to start over again on my list. So I'm just going to spit it out.

Here is a random picture, so this blog doesn't look so boring:

Ha ha, Eccentric Day.

Bucket 1: Attend a black-tie event in a fancy dress. Technically, I have already done this. But I was 28 years old, wearing the cheapest plain black dress I could find, I had a terrible haircut, and it was for the opening of the public library. The pictures reveal that I was actually 58 at the time. I need a re-do.

Bucket 2: Sing opera. Why not? I know this is not a one of those one-day processes and then you can check it off the list. It's a career, based on a talent I probably don't possess. In fact, I probably should have started in high school. But maybe I won't be able to dance someday and I'll need a new hobby and then I can take voice lessons.

Bucket 3: Travel. On the short list: Beirut. Australia, in general. A Germany, Netherlands, Belgium, Luxembourg tour. Japan. Egypt. Switzerland. Turkey and Morocco. Spain. Venezuela. Portland, Oregon. I am renewing my passport next week, obviously.

Bucket 4: Ride a horse. Without screaming.

Bucket 5: See a cabaret show in Paris. Whatever is hot. It also means I get to go back to Paris, yay!

Bucket 6: Believe in love. I would say "again", but I don't think I ever did.

Bucket 7: A minor scandal. I'm probably already a little scandalous (the belly-dancing health care improvement coordinator, oh my!) but maybe a little something where, at the black-tie party for the Moulin Rouge, it is discovered that I rode a horse through the Netherlands with John Cusack in a showgirl headdress or something. I guess you guys could make something up for me.

Pretty shallow bucket list, eh? Well, you can drown in an inch of water. 

Signs.

Coney Island Hot Dogs. Don't they make you think of internal organs? No?

Since this is sometimes a blog about thyroid cancer, I will confess that my most recent check-up was really bothering me. I didn't realize it, of course, until it was too late. I scheduled this routine follow-up ultrasound appointment six months ago, put it on my calendar, and watched it approach. No big deal. This cancer almost never comes back.

But I somehow worked myself into a frenzy before the appointment. To add to the fun frenzy feeling, I was of course running late. And the car was in poor repair. Plus I'd just had a hard week at work (apparently I can't do "whatever I want", management approval is required. The golden girl has left the pedestal.). So, I was driving through Parchment, frantically looking for a sign that things would be all right.

And there was LITERALLY a sign. It said, "I love you. - God". One of those infernal, cheesy, horrible church signs that all the cool kids mock. Okay, I thought. That was ridiculous. (I don't believe in the Old Man in the Robe "God" anyway, but I'm cool with the "universe" or "everything is god" god.) There's got to be another sign.

The next sign said "Sunny Burns." Might have been an accountant or lawyer. I'm not exactly certain I read it correctly, but it made me laugh anyway. Because Sunny Burns and Sandy Bottoms are the denizens of the beach. The beach where I've had the best times with friends. My friends that I love.

So, I made it to the appointment, rolling on love. The doctor declared my lymph nodes "beautiful", then apologized for getting so excited. (They were pretty cool looking on the ultrasound, but they didn't really look like hot dogs. I just like that picture.) I walked out into the unseasonably beautiful spring day and tried to relax. 

What I Have Learned by Baking Bread

Lesson 1. I suck at baking bread.
But being an optimist, I always think it's because I haven't tried very hard enough. So I tried it again Monday night. Dough looked good (why didn't I go to Mark Bittman first?), I had new fresh yeast on hand, and it was actually growing. But then, things slowed down. My generous schedule got tighter, in that daylight savings time was making me sleepy, but I needed MORE second-rising yeast action before I could bake it, and then 40 minutes for baking. So I went to bed, and baked it when I woke up. Hot buttered bread for breakfast! Which didn't suck, when I think about it.

(It was so nice, I braved a run-in with a huge spider on the bread knife this morning. Well, I waited until he went to investigate a different knife in the block. Then I snatched my serrated knife, which actually wasn't the  bread knife but would have to do, and got my slice for the toaster. Realizing that the knife block was right next to the coffee maker was my next problem... but the spider was really into a paring knife by that point.)

Lesson 2. Some things should be left to the professionals.
The bread that I bought Friday from the Victorian Bakery was just dandy. Said bakery is, what, 4 blocks away? Why am I doing this to myself?

It started with the Sarkozy Bakery fire. We probably stuffed an oatmeal loaf a week in our collective craws, if not two loaves. It was simple, delicious bread and it was no longer available. How hard could it be? I am handy, crafty, smart. I have cookbooks. I CAN FOLLOW DIRECTIONS! which is pretty much the theory of my life.

But as you could probably surmise, I was lacking time. I don't have the simple farm girl schedule. Bread baking is a time-sucking old-world housewife drag. Bread machines seem like yuppie cop-out techniques. Walk to the bakery, or stop on the way home. It's the easiest way.

Lesson 3. Carbs! I am delusional.
The most ridiculous part of this, I don't even really eat bread (in my mind). Nope, I never eat bread. Except for the occasional slice of toast for breakfast. And grilled cheese sandwiches. And freshly baked bread. So, in an effort to replace a food item I don't actually eat, I quadrupled my bread consumption.

You're right. I've actually learned nothing. 

How to waste 24 hours in 24 hours.

Richard was gone for the night. I had 24 hours. Here's how I wasted it in photographs. Bad, point and shoot photographs. Read on if you'd like to waste 2-4 minutes.

Saturday afternoon. One-day sale. Well, that must mean the deals are EXTRA great, right? So, yes, I went to the mall. But I only entered Macy's. I was hunting for bread pans, actually, but first I tried on every clearance dress or top in my size. Depressing, then ridiculous, kind of hot and sweaty. No sale. I then checked out shoes (see below). Loaf pans were very non-climactic at that point. Also no sale. I stopped at the grocery store on my way home to get the rest of the bread ingredients, plus dinner. Roses for myself.

I grilled my coffee shop sandwich at home, had some computer time.

Played with the cat.

Finally got a text that included an invitation for the evening. 

Off to visit Scott and Sara. Cats were explained.  

Hats were put on cats.  

Then, we went to the bar and tried hats on people.  

Morning view. It's Sunday now. 

Time to work on the bread. 

Yes, it looks doughy and small now, but just wait! This should double in size and make a delicious fluffy oatmeal bread. 

Any time now.....

12 hours later... I gave up and baked it. 

It's an oatmeal brick. It tastes a little doughy (surprise!) and alcoholic. It's very solid and full of fiber, though. No empty calories here. 

I do wish I had wasted my 24 hours a little more productively. (You are missing the photos of a craft project and some attempts at choreography. You should feel very lucky.) But I don't really have regrets. Puttering and socializing are my two favorite hobbies.

Why I Am Always Right

Mostly because you've convinced me. Or I've convinced myself that you've convinced me. But I'm trying to avoid living in cognitive dissonance any longer. Than necessary. Yes, more weasel words. Because I also know that I will fail.

But the goal is to try again, yes? Yes.

For example, I got sucked into one of those horrible female marketing pyramid schemes that are prevalent in the workplace for women's products. (I don't mean to sound so gender specific, but I don't believe that they sell, say, tools this way. Just jewelry, candles, "home decor", etc.) I thought I knew what I was getting into, wanted to be "supportive" to a co-worker in what seemed like a harmless way, so she could have her spot on the pyramid. Yes, I know it was going to cost me some money. But I like jewelry, right?

In the end, I'm disgusted and embarrassed and willing to say it public so I don't do it again. I don't need any jewelry. This jewelry, in fact, sucks. I could get the same thing at, say, Steinmart, for much less money. In addition, I had blacked out the "Christian-based" background of this particular company, so I had to sit through some very annoying use of the word "blessed". AND THEN I hung around eating crackers for too long, so I also got to hear the "mother" sales figure inform the "daughter" sales figure that she never emphasizes the fact that the more money the customer spends, the more they can send to "mission". So yes, I just bought some ugly cheap jewelry I don't need to support Christian missionaries I don't support in theory.

I state this in public because I know that at least one more co-worker will have a "party". I must stay strong! I would like to be nice about it, but I'm no longer convinced. I would love to try on jewelry at a friend's house. But it should be nice jewelry. There should be no incentive to purchase more, or host further parties. The transaction should end when everyone feels satisfied.

And here is where I give away an idea: what if I hosted a jewelry party (or you, because ideas of free)?Gather all of your jewelry making friends and offer them a table at your house for an evening to display the sparkles. Then, invite all of your other friends to shop from them. Make some snacks. Ask each jeweler to leave a piece for the hostess. All other business is between the jeweler and the customer. There's no presentation. Snacks and wine flow freely. Everyone feels like they went to an actual party, and not a sales presentation. Wouldn't that be better?

Anyway, at least I discovered the You Are Not So Smart blog (linked in the first paragraph on the "convinced"). So I know I'm not crazy. 

How to run if you're an adult with exercise issues

Put one foot in front of the other. Repeat. Faster.

Just kidding. There's only slightly more to it, though. I feel like it's a good writing subject because it's really in your mind.

And just now, I realized I still worry about whether I am allowed to call myself a runner. I run low mileage, very slowly. Does that count? I think it counts as long as I continue to run very slowly for less than an hour at least once a month.

So here's how it started: I ran until I couldn't anymore. Sadly, this sometimes was only for a block or less. I then walked until I felt like I could run some more. Even more sadly, I spent all my walking time telling myself what a loser I was for not being able to run. Although this was not exactly ideal, it was at least getting my ass out the door. The iPod was crucial. A dead iPod battery canceled the run. This period was five years. No, I am not joking.

But I began to run for longer periods of time. So when the opportunity came to sign up for the "run camp" came around, I did my usual, "Sure! I have no idea what I'm signing up for, but otherwise I'll never do it" response. And as I have written previously, it served its purpose.

The positive running is working so much better for me. I ran yesterday, with the phrase, "I draw from resources within" as the theme, and despite the snow and 17 degrees, it was a wonderful, sunny two miles with excellent tunes. I am running two days a week, alternating between 3 mile and 2 mile runs. If I am feeling ambitious, I might add a long day in there, like a 4 or 5 mile run. But that's it. I'm not looking to destroy my knees, a race, a time, or anything else. I want to be able to do this, but not to the extinction of anything else I am doing.

So that's how to run. You're not a super athlete. Take it easy on yourself.