Free dandelions don't come cheap

Yes, I went to my parents' for lunch. Actually, I arrived well after lunch, after getting the tire fixed in Woodland. I stopped by on my way to pick up my older son from school, had some time to kill, got fed, chastised and sent on my way.

It started with a complement from Mom. She liked my slacks, a dark grey wool blend cargo pant from JJill. Every time I have on something she hasn't seen before, she turns it into an opportunity to lament how no one ever takes her shopping any more. Not true...I'll leave it at that.

So next we head out to the backyard. She loves to show me her vegetables and flowers. She showed me a potted burgundy chrysanthemum that she kept since last Thanksgiving. I gave it to her. It's flowering again. Mom has quite the green thumb. When the time comes that she has to move in with me, we're going to have to have a small hot house and a raised bed vegetable patch. Just to keep her occupied.

I saw the new young fava beans that are now six inches tall and sprouting enough leaves for a small addition to salads. The leaves of a young fava plant are absolutely the most delicious addition you can make to a salad. I'm mad for it! Last year, we had a huge snail infestation and they devoured my beloved fava beans. I am going to find an effective barrier to those ridiculous little vermin and protect those fava plants!

So then we commenced with the picking of the dandelion greens. This included being taught how to do squats, which I was told will make me lose weight. I guess she forgot that I was the one that taught her how to do them last summer.

(I haven't lost any weight from doing squats, but I can crack walnuts between my knees now...no, not really!)

Then she told me how to cook the greens...her recipe required me to drink the water afterwards, of course. I'd rather not. We came in the house, and she offered to wash the greens and cook them for me right there. This is why I bookend my visits. Otherwise there's an endless stream of mothering going on.

I reminded her I had to go pick up Quinn from school, in about 15 minutes. So she served me a plate of leftover greens and some green bean briam with, you guessed it, okra. Chunks of okra. She dressed the greens with olive oil and squeezed lemon juice on them for me. I ate, making all the appropriately appreciative sounds. Even the okra was good-ish. That's when she started telling me how I shouldn't eat so many vegetables at meal time because I would stretch out my stomach and get hungry later. She also told me that I shouldn't eat anything else today. It was 2:00 p.m. I just ate vegetables for lunch. I hadn't eaten since 7, which was a small breakfast. I'm 5'11". She's 5'1", barely. And she still thinks our appetites should be about the same.

I'm practicing not saying anything to her when she does this sort of stuff. It doesn't matter if I say something or not. Our relationship sometimes finds a gently rhythm, I drop my guard, and she goes in for the kill, usually something about my weight. She can't just leave it alone. I can either choose to pursue it or not. It doesn't matter. Someday, when her memory finally evaporates, I'm going to replace me with another large woman, I will pay her well and I will be happy, in another location. Well, that's the plan I concocted today.

Thankfully Quinn called me and wanted me to pick him up from school. It only took 10 more minutes to disentangle myself from her web of unsolicited advice. She briefly had me cornered in my dad's study when I went back to say my goodbyes.

Do I ever get to be an adult in her presence?

Hunting for my passion

Last night I watched an episode from the PBS show Life (Part 2).  The series is in the format of a panel discussion and concerns itself with issues surrounding the second half of life, like finding oneself in the Sandwich Generation, aging and fear, sex after 50, etc. The show is now in its second season.

The episode I watched last night was entitled "Boomer Dating". During the course of the show, author Gail Sheehy, who has recently published Sex and the Seasoned Woman: Pursuing the Passionate Life, talked about moving forward as a woman through the second stage of adulthood.

Watching this episode got my brain shifting gears, which led me to another sleepless night...so I'm writing under the influence of heavy dosages of caffeine at the moment. (Forgive me if I sound a little scattered.) I considered how my adult life has been a struggle between doing for others and doing things for myself. I never seem to be at peace straddling those seemingly divergent courses, but I think they're divergent because I'm approaching them without purpose. This has led me to the conclusion that I need to pin down my purpose in this life, to find my passion, and to make peace with the fact that I have responsibilities, some of which I gladly tend to, and some with great reluctance.

In my late-night research, I Googled. I found an excerpt from Gail Sheehy's latest book. She relates a lot of anecdotes from women who, compared to me, seem highly sexualized. Is that what I'm shooting for? I had a problem with that for this time in my life. I'm not feeling very sexual at all. Not that I'm not capable of experiencing and participating in my own sex life. It just feels like the desire for it has been beaten out of me for now. I finally came to the understanding that when I feel more settled and centered in my self-identity, my sexual side will re-emerge, and I will be the one to enjoy the benefit!

So, now I need to pin down my passion in life. Really tough, because my passions are varied and divergent at times, and flare up in the moment only to flame out shortly thereafter. I'll take a little time here to list some items that I feel strongly about right now, in no particular order.

1. I want to build my own home, a sanctuary of my own where I can be comfortable with being myself, that supports my pursuits and passions of the moment. In that home I will be able to entertain guests adequately, from one close friend to a house full of spontaneous revelry. I will have a lovely yard which will seamlessly flow from the house. I will have a space dedicated to my health and welfare, and another that nurtures my creative pursuits. I envision a lot of windows, natural elements. I don't know exactly where this home will be, but I want it in town, in an older residential neighborhood. I want to take an existing structure, preserve some of its elements and update others. I'm thinking mid-century modern meets Bali style. And I see a 1954 Citroen, black, with cream leather interior in the garage. And a handsome young driver/mechanic to chauffeur me around and maintain the vehicle. (I'm already gaining peace from envisioning this home. I think I'll devote a portion of my time designing it.)
2. I want to achieve good health and sense of well-being. For me, that requires losing weight, getting physically fit plus resolving sleep apnea, borderline type 2 diabetes and high-blood pressure. I want to feel good, vibrant enough to indulge my healthy whims of the moment. I will be hiking, biking, snow shoeing, fly fishing, sailing and traveling all over the world. I have to be in shape for that!
3. I want to raise my sons well, equipped to embrace their adult lives, full of confidence, knowing they are loved, unfettered by trauma and guilt.
4. I want to finish college, completing my degrees, up to MFA in creative writing.
5. I want to write great books and plays, and see my plays produced.
6. Eventually I want to find a great life partner, one who is not at all intimidated by me and my passions and ideas. I don't have to marry him. We don't have to be joined at the hip and listen to all the same music. I just want to have him in my life, someone who I truly love, and passionately so, who also truly loves the real me as I am. I am a faithful woman. That's got to mean something to somebody.

That's enough for now. It felt good to write it all down. I'm starting to get a vision.

I need back-up

I recently went to a wonderful retreat to rebuild some inner strength, something I've been slowly leeched of over the last two or three (or 25) years. You can read all about it on my other blog. (Yes, yet another one, but it's all about health stuff.)

(I told you, I have a lot to say!)

Since returning from the retreat I’ve been managing my emotions well…well, maybe. Today I had a moment of sadness and I was missing having a spouse on whom I can lean on. That’s what I miss about being married, having someone who I can fall apart with on occasion. I don’t miss the ex, and frankly, he really was ill-equipped for providing emotional support. But just believing I had someone to watch my back was good, comforting.

I’m usually the one who watches other people’s backs these days. I can’t let my kids see me wavering in my strength.  They need to know I’m there for them so they can move forward with their lives. I can’t let my parents see me wavering either. For so many reasons. Partially to support them in a difficult time for them, but also because my mother will swoop in with judgments and unsolicited/inappropriate/misdirected advice, and then I need time to blow that off as well. Like she just did a few minutes ago.

So I'm going to go through an emotional cycle here to workout my angst of the moment. And then I'm free to go to Safeway for a little grocery shopping therapy. I'm not doing this to illicit advice from anyone out there. I'm just working through the pain right now. If you care to let me know how my cycle affected you, you can email me directly at SimplyGeorgious@gmail.com.

1. I feel sadness and anger. I feel sad because I wish I had someone I could go to when I feel overwhelmed with life. I don't really know what to do when I feel like this. I have friends, good friends I know I can go to, but it's not the same as having a spouse. I'm angry because the ex kicked me out of the life I created for myself, the life I helped build for our family. He sent me away from my home, friends and support system, my things. He gave away my dog without asking me! He emotionally abandoned our children and told me he doesn't think they need him any longer. He thinks sending money to them will be enough at this point in their lives, and that a weekly webcam appointment will help them to feel connected with him. I'm doing all the parenting! He lives on the other side of the planet working at a job and having sex that he probably has to pay for.

(And why do some men, a lot of men, think that's okay? Because their lives are all about the orgasms? Is spending cash to get orgasms via complete strangers so worthy as a life pursuit?)

(I'm actually grateful that he's not here - on my behalf, and to protect my sons.)

2. Unrealistic expectations - that I will not be able to comfort myself when I'm feeling down. That somehow crying on my own, feeling sorrow for my situation for myself isn't self-validating, and it's not good enough.

3. Realistic expectations - I can comfort myself, just by using this cycle tool, if I take the time to do it. I am entitled to my sorrow. It is the experience of my situation and it is realistic to expect that I will feel sadness over it. As well as anger.

Well now, this feels like a bit of a grind in...I am entitled to my sorrow.

I am entitled to my sorrow.

I am entitled to my sorrow.

I am entitled to my sorrow.

I am entitled to my sorrow.

I am entitled to my sorrow.

I am entitled to my sorrow.

I am entitled to my sorrow.

I am entitled to my sorrow.

I am entitled to my sorrow.

I am entitled to my sorrow.

3. What do I need right now. I need to accept that I will have sorrow about my situation. As well as anger. I need to accept that I won't be able to ignore it. I need to avoid helping other people in order to avoid experiencing my own emotions. I need to ask for and accept help when I really need it.

4. So, after that exercise, I feel at peace. I feel grateful to have learned this method to manage my emotional states. I feel a little sad that I can't share the intimacy I long for with another person, and that's okay to feel. I feel relieved that I can accept and feel validated by my tears. I am happy to accept that I am entitled to my sorrow.

Now I can go to Safeway! Thank you for listening.

Rodrigo y Gabriela

Just saw this amazing guitar duo on The Late Late Show last night and had to share!

The best part of my gourmet sandwich

I just had one of those deep, pithy talks with my boys. They both are the joys of my life. They make all the crap in life worthwhile.

You can read a little bit about them on my other blog that is sadly behind schedule (by about two years). I plan to backfill anecdotes and photos about their lives soon.

Anyway, my older son, Quinn (he favors his mother, a lot) stopped us suddenly, in the middle of watching a TV show (Flash Forward - we're still debating whether we're going to keep watching it) to talk about how people make life decisions, big and small, and how their consequences ripple out to impact others as well as themselves. We talked about the important differences between reactionary decisions and logically-handled decisions and how managing emotions affects the decision-making process.

I love it that Quinn likes to talk about this stuff. And that Rhyan is around to listen to us talk. He's not so interested in the workings of the inner mind at age 12. He's still in an observation stage, trying to figure everybody out and what his place in the world is at the moment. But what we talk about makes an impact, because sometimes he comes back with his own very deeply-lustrous pearls of wisdom. I feel greatly privileged to watching him grow.

The two-minute take-down

Went for another veggie run last night...I put it off until 7:30 p.m., right after taking my youngest to tae kwon do, for a hair cut, and the market.  I did that on purpose, because my parents go to bed by 8 p.m.  Even in the summer when the sun's not down.

(When I used to come for a visit and had to stay with my parents in previous years before I moved back home, I would turn the TV on at eight to kill time until I got sleepy. My dad would come in to the living room, stare at me in silence, stare at the TV in silence, sigh, then asked when I was going to bed. Mom would come in about an hour later and tell me it was time to go to bed because the TV was disrupting their sleep. Later, the light shining under my bedroom door also disrupted their sleep. Knowing I used a flashlight by which to read magazines while in bed also disrupted their sleep.  And headphones and the mp3 player...)

(I was in my 30s and 40s when I used to disrupt their sleep so much...)

(But Mom would die of embarrassment if I stayed at the Holiday Inn Express and anybody found out about it.)

So, my plan was to dash in, tell them I had milk in the car threatening to curdle, grab the veggies, gush with gratitude and dash out again. Two minutes!

Dad opened the front door. He actually evaluated me as he scanned me from head to toe, scowled a little.

"How are you doing, Dad?" He shrugged and grunted as I tried to give him a hug.

"Dear?! Georgia's here!" He scampered back to his bedroom. Mom scampered out, breathing a little heavy.

"Hi! I was on the bike!" She has to tell me every time she rides her exercise bike. She rides it for five minutes, a few times a day. She makes a point of telling me how much time she spends on her bike.

Mom slipped past me into the kitchen. On the floor there are two plastic bags. One has a bag of green beans, two zucchini and a "bag of those keenezika horta you really like."  In Greek, horta is the general term for edible greens, like beet tops, spinach, Swiss chard, etc. The keenezika horta are what my mom calls baby bok choy.  She doesn't eat them, because they're keenezika (Chinese), so these were specifically bought for me.

"The fasolia are too hard for me." Green beans. If she can't cook them until they disintegrate, she can't eat them. "Rhyan likes them." She's constantly on the prowl for vegetables my kids will eat.

"Kera Maria brought me this chard and I can't eat it all. You take it, make spanakorizo." It's a spinach and rice dish, another one that I've loved since childhood. You can also make it with the chard.

"Thanks Mom! Okay, got to go." Kiss, kiss..."Love you!" Reach for the front door knob...and...enter Dad.

"Here...read this." He hands me an envelope that's been opened. "I want it back when you're done with it, so don't lose it."

"What is it?"

"It's from a doctor" (and the term doctor is really suspect in this application) "who tells you how to lose weight." Dad stuffs the envelope in one of the bags of vegetables. I paused, took it out of the bag and handed it back to him.

"Here Dad. I really believe that's probably something I would lose, so you keep it." I kissed him good-bye and left.

Has he not noticed that I've lost 50 lbs in the last couple of years? And that I'm still working at it? No, he doesn't notice these things. He only wants me to buy his colon cleansing vitamins. So I can whistle out my ass too.

In the car, I took a moment to breathe, shake my head, laugh a little and let it all go.  It's all fodder for another blog entry.

Okra for lunch

Last week I responded to a command performance...I was required to go to lunch at my parents' house. I had been avoiding them over the last few weeks, for so many reasons, but I was going to need a few favors from them, so I had to put out. That requires eating my mother's food. It's how she tells people how she feels about them, and how she evaluates how they feel about her.

Every week I get a call..."Come get some vegetables." Mom sends Dad to the market for fresh veggies several times a week. He either over-buys or Mom has him buy food specifically for me. I am required to pick it up in a timely fashion or it becomes a sin of waste I somehow force them to commit. It also means I am rejecting her. If she's already cooked the food, I'm required to go eat it there at lunch. At least once a week. When I don't go...well, you get the picture. If I don't go for several weeks, it's interpreted as there's something evil/bad/wicked going on with me and I'm keeping things from her. Yes, even at 48 and a responsible mother of two, my character is suspect.

She made all my favorite veggies last week in a dish called briam. It's a blend of summer vegetables, roasted until they melt. I truly love it, as a stand alone dish or combined with lamb chops. But sometimes, Mom slides one veggie in there she knows I really don't like...okra.

Greeks don't bother to fry their veggies in batter like American southerners do. Greek children aren't given the opportunity to consider the notion that they can refuse to eat a vegetable, so why bother disguising it with cornmeal and deep-frying. Greek cooks do terrible things to okra. They put it in a stew, with other vegetables possessing odd textures when stewed, like eggplant and fennel tops.  They are accompanied by potatoes, green beans, zucchini, and lots of whole garlic cloves. Tomatoes are added. It's all cooked down until the eggplant practically melts. I don't mind it, but in one's mouth, slimy eggplant is made worse with clumps of fennel tops, which once resembled lovely, feathery herbs but now feel like clumps of someone's hair in my mouth.  And then there's the okra, which when stewed, feels like slimy mucous with bits of boogers. When boogery okra is present, the only thing that saves this dish is the potato. It provides the only real texture that is pleasant.

And so while I'm forced to eat this lunch...because I've been preconditioned to do so since I was a small child...Mom is telling me how Dad got caught on the ladder, while cleaning the gutters, with a bout of serious diarrhea as a result of some new vitamin regime he started that is, once again, cleaning his colon.

(I swear, those people have the cleanest colons on the planet! If you blow through my mother's nose, you'll hear a whistling sound coming out her ass!)

Mom's epic continued, while I was being served a second helping of the briam, and I had to hear about her hazmat cleanup, which included private details about my dad that I really didn't need to know. I felt the need to put my fork down to avoid the okra during the part about the cleanup, but she paused until I picked it up again. I went for a bit of potato instead. Then I had to see The Face, the one she wears when she's waiting for me to validate her martyrdom.

"Oh, wow! That's just awful! It's a good thing Dad didn't fall off the ladder trying to get down in time!"  Classic mistake...I empathized with the precariousness of Dad's urgency, so I was chastised with further minutiae covering the extent of contamination in the bathroom...and another serving of okra.

(If I drink water while the tip of my tongue is touching the roof of my mouth, right behind the front teeth, the gag reflex diminishes.)

Yeah, I had to clean my plate too.