Cheesehead in Paradise

Last night spouse and I were out to eat at a fairly casual, noisy ribs place. Over our margaritas, the following conversation ensued:

Spouse: Man, those are huge!

Since he is looking at my chest, I fire back with:

Me: I beg your pardon, they are the same size they were yesterday.

Spouse: Um...okay. If you say so.

Spouse gets an oddly puzzled look on his face

Turns out he was talking about the buttons on my cute cropped denim jacket.

These:


That's a nickel in the photo for comparison.

Spouse walks in this evening (8:30-ish--he works for a hedge fund, and its been crazy the last two weeks!) carrying a bouquet of flowers. He hands them to me.

Me: "Please tell me you don't have a brain tumor."

And scene!

Okay, so it's not so much of a conversation as I set it up to be.

Fall brings out my inner Rachael Ray--without the irritating voice or the random "YUMM-O"s.

I feel like cooking tonight. On the menu:

Orange Roughy sauteed in a little olive oil with caramelized red onion, diced tomato, and tarragon.

Roasted beets and sweet potato (dice them up small for speed!)

Fresh green beans with a smidge of bacon grease from today's lunch BLT.

Doesn't that sound yummy? Dinner's at 6:30. Y'all come!

Erm...metaphorically, that is. Since I can't literally do that yet.

I pulled a muscle in my shoulder yesterday (the trapezius, if you were wondering.) And it had me awake a large portion of the night. When you pull your trapezius, as I have done before, and you try to shift any part of your body while it is prone, it hurts. Seriously. Wiggling the toes hurts like a demon spawn. That particular muscle group is where I carry stress and tension, along with the lumbar region of my back, according to my former Reiki practitioner. Actually the back stress carries in the top edge of my gluteus muscles.

Yes. You read that right. I'm a pain in my own ass. Go figure.

Anyhoo...I was really in a world of hurt last night, and unable to get comfortable in any position, so I was up most of the night.

Its like the trouble is shifting. I get one part of my body more or less under control, and something else freaks out. I've had enough Reiki to know what that means.

The message is clear: no more bragging about a full night's sleep after only four or five.

If you need me for the rest of the day I'll be over here in the corner applying copious amounts of heated counter-pressure to my shoulder. When I'm not doing my TMJ exercises, that is.

This is what we call the Body Eclectic.

Or as a college friend used to say when she was discouraged about some physical feature: "the body eclectic."

I've been thinking about the connection in the whole mind-body thing lately, ever since the dentist told me I had been schlepping around an abscess for about 18 months. He told me that I would likely experience a whole new surge of energy after I was healed of this latest dental drama. What has happened so far is that I sleep like a log. Except for the first several nights when I woke every four hours in pain to take my meds, I have slept through the night for the first time in years.

People who do this every night (or even most nights) do not know what an extraordinary statement this is. I had not had a good night's sleep for at least two years, but now I've had, like, four in a row! Four. in. a. row.

I'll never get back those 700+ days and nights I missed out on, but I am embracing the ones I am getting now. For now it means that except for the days that I have early morning commitments (like Sundays) I am not setting my alarm. I am sleeping as late as I need to because I need to know how much sleep I really need. Then I will go back to the drawing board and decide how early to go to bed to meet that need.

It feels like learning to walk or talk all over again. I wonder what I will be capable of truly achieving if I can actually achieve sleeping an appropriate number of hours on most nights? I had some professional and personal goals I set for this year, back in January that I just could not meet because I could not sustain a thought process long enough to see them through.

I don't think I have that excuse anymore, and I couldn't be happier.

Tonight I am hosting the "Not Really Newbies Anymore" Newbie Clergy Group. I am very excited to be hosting this group, finally after a ten month period spent meeting monthly at the home of a clergy couple with a small child. It made a lot of sense to meet at their home while the mom was nursing,and we were all very glad to help out in this manner, but eventually(I'd say about four months ago) it became nearly impossible to have any kind of meaningful conversation that was not about how the baby was either screaming or climbing all over us. Plus at 7:00, both parents excused themselves from the living room for the 45-minute bath and bedtime ritual, which made their full participation nearly impossible.

Finally, last month I knew that I would either have to suggest moving the meeting once in a while, or we would be meeting there for the rest of our run (one more year) and it would get increasingly more difficult as creeping, climbing baby morphs into running toddler.

So, we are meeting at Chez Cheese tonight, and I am very excited. So excited, in fact, that I am cooking what I hope will be a very delicious early-fall meal. On the menu:


My cake is baked, the peaches are "compoting"in the slow cooker, the root veggies are chopped, the walnuts are glazed, the dip is ready for the oven, and the shallots are sliced. Now to attend to some phone calls and worship planning, then at about 3:00, commence to finishing dinner.

I wish y'all could come!

Spouse (Blue Eyes) got his private pilot's license today. It looks rather like a receipt from the dog groomer or some such sundry print-out.

But he's legal in all 50 states.

That's one off his bucket list.

not for long!

In less than twelve hours I will be in Synod City (like Sin-City, but not). I will be tending to most sober and important church business, largely unbloggable. I am switching over suitcases as we speak!

TTFN

What follows in italics is an archived post from my old blog (no longer in service). It is from almost exactly two years ago:

While I was on my way back from Church Camp For Grownups (and kids) yesterday, when we were about to approach Hiptastic Capitol City, I called home to give an ETA to my waiting family. The following conversation took place:

Other Equal Half: "Guess what I just did?"

Me: "I can't guess. What did you just do?"

OEH: "A guy came through the neighborhood with a truck selling meat. I bought some."

Me: "I'm sorry, I must have lost the signal for a second there. What did you say?"

OEH: "I said I just bought some meat from a guy with a truck."

Me: (Fighting off a mental picture of a guy in a trenchcoat driving a rusty flatbed) "You bought meat from a guy in a truck????? Ha ha. Very funny."

OEH: "No really. I did."

Me: "How much truck meat did you buy?"(laughter in the background, as my traveling companion cannot resist listening in)

OEH: "$167 worth."

Me: "Let me get this straight. A guy drives in to Lake Park with a truck, hauling meat, and you spend a whole week of grocery money on it. Truck meat???? You expect me to eat meat from a truck???"

OEH goes one to explain that it was a refrigerated truck, individually frozen meat, and there was a glossy, full-color brochure from the company, should we run out of truck meat and need to order more.

He did go on to mention that the peculiar thing to him was that the man asked him to write the check not to the company, but to him personally.

Me: "Gee, I hope the meat isn't stolen. Check CNN for an APB for stolen meat, and a guy posing as a truck meat salesman."

OEH: "Are you making fun of me?"

For dinner tonight: bacon-wrapped trucksteaks. I'll let you know how they taste.


I am repeating this little gem because my doorbell rang ten minutes ago, and I looked out to find the MEAT TRUCK parked in my driveway. When I recovered from my spastic laughing fit, I called Spouse to tell him:

CH: Guess who just came to my door?

SP: I don't know, who?

CH: The TRUCK MEAT man.

SP: You didn't buy any, did you?

CH: Are you kidding me?

SP: I hope not. I just ate the last trucksteak last week.

CH: OMG! That stuff is two years old!!!!!

Sp: It was a little chewy, now that I think about it...

I saw "Dark Knight" today, since I had not been to a movie with Spouse in a ridiculously long time. It is not the kind of movie I like, but sometimes to make another person happy you do things that are not your first choice.

Heath Ledger is scary. crazy. in this movie. I am very sad that he is not alive to see how people react to his work. What a waste. I was sad just watching him. Really.

Spouse agrees with me that the ratio of "stuff gettin' blowed up" to actual plot is so skewed, that now he must see "Sex and The City" with me AND one period movie about a dead woman author.

That'll teach him.

Fully recovered form yesterday's Ocular Migraine, which for the first time ever morphed into a real, live headache that lasted until about 2:00 am this morning, despite mucho Aleve, (I think it might qualify as a traditional migraine. Crap.) I went out to day for some "therapeutic retail" as my gay boyfriend loves for me to describe it.

There is a shopping center here that has our only Trader Joe's. I seldom go there, but I am not sure why. While there I wandered over to the Big and 'Noxious book store, and was looking in the " "home organization" section. I noticed that the "reduce/reuse/recycle--but don't throw anything out" books are crammed right up against the "throw out all your crap and free up your life" volumes. I couldn't decide between the two, so I think I'll see what the Pretentious Village Libarry has instead. It seemed silly to BUY a book to tell me how to do either of those things. I gave up, took myself to lunch, then wandered over to TJ's and bought myself some flowers. Along with some other yummy treats.

Bonus Conversation at the check out:

Young hip, facially pierced Clerk Boy to Bagger Girl: "Did you know that the Little Bears (baseball team south of here) have a song that they play whenever they win?" (He's obviously a LB fan, but there's no accounting for taste.)

Cheesehead to no one in particular: ::Snort:: "Too bad they hardly ever get to play it."

Bagger Girl to Cheesehead (once she catches up): "Snarky! I like it!"

Clerk Boy: "Hey! Juicy Fruit Field is special. Don't be a hater."

Cheesehead, both chastened and oddly flattered that the Pierced One uses "hater" with her, despite her clearly being an old lady, picks up her grocery bags and smiles as she walks past cases of Three Buck Chuck, and out into the warmth of the day.

And Scene!

I love farmer's market day!

WonderGirl stands in the kitchen shaking Tic-Tacs into her mouth. I hold my hand out pleadingly. They are the grapefruit pink-ribbon version, or as we call them in our house, 'b**b savers'.

Me: "C'mon. You can never have too many of your favorite one-calorie breath mint."

Tall Curly Hair Friend: "WonderGirl! Did your mom just quote Juno?"

WG: "Yeah." (can't help but look bored)

TCHF: "Best. Mom. Ever."

WG: "Sad but true."

I don't know how this happened, but somehow I am the only person living in my house who has the part of the brain that registers discomfort at chaos/disorganization/filth in the home environment. Everyone else I've ever lived with since I turned 21 has been the sort of person who could live quite happily in a rat-infested, turbid, festering, roach-overrun, fourth-floor-walk-up tenement. As long as there was cable and wireless. Thankyouverymuch.

I am the one around here who is considered the weirdo who needs help.

The other day I laid down the law about the cabinet--you know the one. The one that probably at least 95% of families living in North America have. The cabinet which holds the plastic containers.

It was so crammed full that it hardly shut properly, yet nobody could ever find a container to put leftovers in. (God forbid we discard of three strands of angel hair pasta that aren't moldy yet.)

So I laid down the law: there are two things I don't have room for in the kitchen
So I dumped the entire contents out on the floor. I matched up container to lid, and all the orphans got thrown into the recycling bin. My family just stood there and watched. Feeling sorry for me, I'm sure. Crazy lady that I am.

I feel better for getting this off my chest.

As you were.

WonderGirl is having her senior portraits done tomorrow morning. We have about a week's worth of outfits picked out.

Plus shoes.

Wish me luck...

between BW and Blondie:
But the most important difference:
~~big sigh of relief~~

Tabbouleh is one of those things that sound marvelous to me, but I always tell myself it is too hard to make. It's not. If you can boil water and wield a knife, you can make this.

And since I'm the only one in my house who will touch it with a ten-foot pole, I'll be eating off of this for days! YUMMY!

It took me four long years, but I finally got on Master Gardener's "okay people" list. For four years I have been watching him bring care packages of his beautiful berries and prolific rhubarb to church, to distribute to his friends. Only certain people get on his list. I was never on this list.

Now I'm on it. I don't know what I did to deserve it, but he called me this morning to ask me if I'd want some treats from his garden. "Sure" I said. "Come on over."

I wish you could smell these wonderful berries. From this bounty, I made this:

from laughing so much. Both kids in the living room at once! Hilarious!

Bonus conversation:

ManChild: Hey,WG, is that one of those Hezbollah bracelets?

~~cue crickets~~

WG: You mean Kaballah?

MC: Yeah.

WG: Um...no. It's an anklet.

Meanwhile Mom nearly pees her pants while silently collapsing into a paroxysm of laughter.