NaBloWriMo–a Mo late

I came home from this weekend’s Write in the Harbor conference determined to start writing again.

I don’t mean Facebook post writing; I mean sweat-it-out-straight-from-the-heart-blood-sweat-and-tears-head-down writing, like I used to do here.
What better time to re-dedicate myself to writing, I thought as I left the conference, than right at the beginning of November - National Blog Writing Month. It’s perfect! How inspiring!
Then I got home and looked up NaBloWriMo and came to realize that things have changed since the last time I undertook this endeavor. It turns out that November is now NaNOWriMo – National Novel Writing Month! I missed NaBLOWriMo by, well, a month. It was in October.
I can handle some self-imposed pressure to blog every day, but the pressure to write a novel is exactly what’s paralyzing me – and it’s what brought me to the conference to begin with.
I promised my father before he died that I would tell his story. He wrote for his children and grandchildren but didn’t want his story “out there” while he was still alive. After he was gone, I came across numerous files and documents with “directions” for me, things like “Carol: you’ll want to use this for the book.”
No pressure. Right, Dad?
No one who knows me would call me a procrastinator. In fact, I’m normally quite the opposite. There’s often a fire under my butt, but moss doesn’t stand a chance with me. If I can think it, I can do it – and there’s usually very little time between the two.
Except with this book. I simply can’t seem to get started.
I don’t know if it’s Dad’s voice, telling me just how he’d like the book written or if it’s my own voice, insisting that I could never meet his expectations. But the voice is persistent, and insistent, and I am obedient – and paralyzed.
One of the sessions at the writing conference today was titled “Overcoming Obstacles.” We were asked to complete two sentences regarding our writing. The first was “If I fail…” The second was “If I succeed…” My answers show just how paralyzed I feel:
“If I fail… my father will be disappointed – from the grave!”
“If I succeed… everyone will know my father’s story – and what if he didn’t actually want that?!”
The instructor pointed out that I saw even success as failure. No wonder I’m paralyzed!
Later in the class, the instructor asked us to imagine the most terrible thing that might happen if we were unsuccessful in our writing goal – and not to be afraid to “get dramatic.” My answer to this question was even more distressing. I wrote, “If I finish the book and it’s terrible or if it’s never even published, those who thought I couldn’t tell Dad’s story would be proven correct. I would die without doing the one thing I promised Dad I would do. ‘Never forget’ would be true because first-hand memories of the Holocaust would be a thing of the past – and I’d be partially responsible.”
Then I got really dramatic (per the instructor’s direction) and wrote, “’Those who forget history are doomed to repeat it.’ Now we all have to repeat the Holocaust… and it’s all my fault!”
At that point, I had to go back to my notes from the session of the workshop called “Creating Your Writing Persona.” In that session, the instructor quoted Barbara Kingsolver, author of The Poisonwood Bible: “Don’t try to figure out what the other people want you to say; figure out what you have to say. It’s the only thing you have to offer.” 
And that is exactly what I’m going to have to do.
But first, I need to get back into the practice of daily writing, so Facebook notifications will be turned off for a month while I remind myself to do what I love (and remember how to do it).

Kat’s pre-Mother’s Day dinner

So this article says something about this menu being “Giada’s Mother Day Dinner,” but this evening at our house it was most definitely Kat’s pre-Mother’s Day dinner, made especially for me (and shared by all, of course)!  And how delicious it was!

Here’s the menu:

Appetizer: Mushroom Pesto Crostini

Main Dish: Chicken Saltimbocca

Side Dish: Penne with Treviso and Goat Cheese

Dessert: Raspberry Tiramisu

And here’s the proof:

Appetizer - Mushroom Pesto Crostina:

Kat knows me well.  She knows that I loooove mushrooms, and the blend of tastes in this appetizer is absolutely perfect!  It’s not pesto of the basil-and-pine nut variety (which I like, but don’t love). Instead, this flavor is much more delicate and light.  In fact, it’s probably even a Weight Watchers compliant food.  (And it was to be the last such food on this evening’s menu.)

Main dish – Chicken Saltimbocca:

Kat left the prosciutto out of this, which was just fine with me.  The lemon, Parmesan, spinach, and fresh basil leaves gave such a fabulous flavor to this dish-delish!  Nicely done!

Side dish – Penne with Traviso and Goat Cheese:

Kat altered this recipe quite a bit – and it was fabulous!  She left out the radicchio (I think she couldn’t find any at the store) and substituted an Italian cheese nix for the goat cheese.  We gobbled it down! 

Dessert – Fresh Raspberry Tiramisu…

…which we have yet to eat because we are all SO full!  But LOOK at this!  I don’t think this dessert is exactly Weight Watchers-friendly --though fortunately I can eat anything on WW as long as I plan for it.  “The problem” is that Elisabeth is apparently coming home in the morning to make brunch with, I assume, the other kids and there’s talk of a “massively mimosa morning.” 

AND Peter has declared that he wants to make Wiener schnitzel for Mother’s Day dinner from a recipe from this German cookbook that arrived in the mail this morning from my dear, dear friend Kathy:

The book is copyrighted in 1952 – the same year my parents immigrated to America from Germany!

Thank you, Kathy!

I was surprised to see a true recipe for Kaiserschmarrn because when I was young that was what we called “messed up” German pancakes that ripped while trying to turn them carefully over in the pan.  “Guess it’ll have to be Kaiserschmarrn,” mom would say.  (I love that there’s this reminder of my mom on Mother’s Day!)

 

And look!  It’s a real recipe, with directions to intentionally rip the pancake with a fork!  Gasp!

Thank you Kat and thank you, Kathy!  It’s not even Mother’s Day yet and I already feel spoiled!

Inspired -- and really tired!

So, I did it.

Actually, I did even more than I had intended. Instead of biking 6 miles, I biked slightly over 7. Instead of walking 1.5 miles, I walked 1.75 miles. And instead of swimming 18 laps (a quarter mile), I swam 20 laps.

(Yes Aleks, I do, in fact, feel pretty dang good. Or, as you call it, “pumped”!)

I didn’t mean to go beyond what I’d set out to do and, in fact, when I read the sign on the front door of the gym I congratulated myself just for showing up and gave myself permission to “just do something” because I had, after all, “just shown up.”

Then I remembered that yesterday after a vigorous Boot Camp class that he taught (and insisted strongly suggested I attend), Chris, my personal torturer trainer, mentioned that next time I come to the gym there’d a be a book in his office that I should read.

I’m scared of Chris (his boyish face can’t fool me!), so I picked up the book in his office, hopped on a treadmill, and began to read the book, Master Your Metabolism by Jillian Michaels.

When I read the section on stress I just about stopped in my tracks – literally.

“Stress is like kryptonite for your hormones — even just a bit of it can throw them entirely out of whack. If you remain a stress case for a long time, you could do some major damage to many parts of your body, including your glands. One of the biggest causes and symptoms of hormonal shutdown from stress is when people start cutting into their hours of quality sleep.”

Remember my last job? The one that worked me morning, noon, and night for two full years? The job in which worked with our production team in India at night, then got online for a few hours again very early in the morning to make sure everything was done correctly (and scrambled like crazy when it wasn’t), and then worked with clients at Microsoft all day?

Remember that job?

(Yeah, I’d like to forget it too.)

It was a year into that job that I broke my ankle, at which point I continued to lead my very stressful life -- except now I was completely sedentary. Stressed, sleep-deprived, injured and sedentary.

Oh, and menopausal.

Kryptonite is right.

I was so immersed in the book that I’d walked over a mile and a half before I knew it! Then, as I biked, I continued to read about the vital role that hormones play in fitness (or lack of it) and in eating. I read about my increased risk of many cancers since I am both menopausal and overweight, not to mention that Mom’s death from ovarian cancer means that I might have a genetic predisposition to certain cancers as well.

What I was reading both scared and inspired me. I think it was the fear, though, and not the inspiration, that got my feet peddling faster and faster, and before I knew it I had biked seven miles, a full mile more than I’d intended to.

I make no promises, to myself or to anyone else, because I’ve done that before and it backfired, and everyone was let down and disappointed. But I am now on a road toward something and I’m beginning to not hate it quite as much as I did when I started all this, signing up for both a personal trainer and for the Danskin Triathlon.

I don’t love it yet and I wonder if I ever will. But today I at least don’t hate it and I am proud of myself for finishing the mini-est of triathlons.

I think Mom might even have been proud of me today.

Autumn splendor

It’s beautiful and blustery outside these days and everything is basked in an orange autumn glow.  My mundane drive to and from work was anything but gray and colorless today, in spite of the rain. 

Just look at this!

     

There was plenty of rain and wind today, interspersed with brief batches of sunshine – or should I say lightshine?  It was the sort of day that makes me want to light a fire, get in cozy jammies, make some hot cocoa, and read a good book.

Speaking of which – know any?

My own PostSecret

I submitted one for this book, which comes out tomorrow.  I think I’ll stop by Barnes & Noble on the way home from work to see if it made it to publication.

Der Struwwelpeter made personal

I grew up a first generation American of German parents.  This meant that the bedtime stories read to me were decidedly German.

And I’m not talking about Grimm’s fairy tales.

If you think Grimm’s fairy tales are violent and disturbing, you’ll be shocked at the bedtime stories my brothers and I listened to – and, oddly enough, loved!

This is Der Stuwwelpeter (or, as I pronounced it, “Shtroo-bel-payter”). 

According to Wikipedia, “Der Struwwelpeter (1845) is a popular German children's book by Heinrich Hoffmann. It’s comprised of ten illustrated and rhymed stories about children. Each has a clear moral that demonstrates the disastrous consequences of misbehavior in an exaggerated way.”

I found this book at the Bavarian Meat Market at Pike Place Market.  I was shocked to see it there and enthusiastically explained to the store keeper that I’d grown up hearing the oh-so-violent stories in it.  That launched me into a rhyme that my parents recited to us while bouncing us on their knee:

“Hoppe, hoppe Reiter,
Wenn er fällt, dann schreit er.
Fällt er in den Graben,
fressen ihn die Raben.
Fällt er in den Sumpf -
macht der Reiter PLUMPS!”

…which means something like:

“Chop-chop rider,
when he falls, he is screaming.
When he falls into the ditch
the ravens eat him.
When he falls into the swamp,
the rider makes plop.”

Incredibly, the storekeeper joined in and we sang together!  I’ve never known anyone who knows that rhyme except my brothers, cousins and me!  As we recited it together I got a huge lump in my throat!  (Then we ordered semmel rolls and gelbwurst, gobbled them up, and left!)

But I digress.

Der Stuwwelpeter had a story for each of my three brothers and me.  Aren’t we lucky!

My oldest brother’s story is Die Geschichte von Hans Guck-in-die-Luft  or The Story of Johnny Head-in-Air.  Poor Johnny drowns because he’s a day-dreamer.

Lesson to Michael?  Do not daydream!  Hilarious, considering that Michael became a film producer, among the daydreamiest of professions!

Stephan’s story was Die Geschichte vom Suppen-Kaspar (The Story of Kaspar who did not have any Soup). Kaspar, a healthy, strong boy, declares that he will no longer eat his soup.  Over the next five days he wastes away and dies. 

Stephan is still as skinny as a rail!

And then there’s Christopher’s story.  Oh, my poor baby brother, Christopher!  He sucked his thumb.  His story – poor child – was Die Geschichte vom Daumenlutscher  or The Story of Little Suck-a-Thumb in which a tailor cuts of the thumbs of a little boy who shares my brother’s habit.

Curiously, Chris is about as normal as they come.  Phew!

My story?  Well, my story was really the only story that featured a girl (because not only were the stories violent, they were apparently chauvinistic), Die gar traurige Geschichte mit dem Feuerzeug or The Dreadful Story of Pauline and the Matches.  In this delightful (cough) story, a girl burns to death because she played with matches.

 

So the message for me is… um – that it’s a good thing that I’m not smokin’ hot?  That I can’t die because my kitties would miss me?  Hell, I have no idea, but my memories are definitely filled with both fear and curiosity.

In our next Violent German Stories post, we’ll explore Max und Moritz… or why bread with lots of fiber isn’t always a great thing.

I finally found something President Obama sucks at!

Love the man, but he really sucked at reading Where the Wild Things Are to a group of children!

He should have sat on the ground with the kids and read with much more intonation, inflection and personality. 

“His mother called him ‘WILD THING’… and Max said, ‘I’LL EAT YOU UP!’  So he was sent to bed without eating anything.”

Is it because I read this book to kids a million times, both as a pre-school teacher and as a parent, that I apparently have really high expectations? 

Because really, I don’t even think this guy did such a great job:

This dad, however, has the right idea, dontcha think?

Today's "B" Words: Bliss, Bath, Book, Beauty, and Boo

I am savoring Eat, Pray, Love and I dread the moment when I will sadly and slowly read the final paragraph and close the book.

When Liz is in Italy, she savors everything about the country, especially the taste, texture and beauty of its delicious food and the seductive cadence of its beautiful language. After finally shedding the guilt of simply feeling good, Liz immerses herself in a variety of hedonistic pleasures in Italy (except sex -- which is a story of its own; read the book!), allowing herself to finally shed some of the destructive self-hate that had been haunting and depressing her for years.

Reading about Liz's decision to discover and hold on to pleasure reminds me of my own pleasant (if not hedonistic) ritual -- my nightly bath.

I have taken a nightly bath since before I can remember (though I do have vague memories of the soapy smell of Johnson's Baby Shampoo and a soft "ducky" towel with a pocket in the corner which served as a cap for wet hair). And although most of my adult days consist of a flurry of activity from dawn to dusk, I have always insisted on my own nightly hedonistic escape. Even when I had four kids under the age of five demanding my constant and uninterrupted attention, I always found a way to indulge my one selfish pleasure -- my evening bath.

These days, Boo keeps me company. The moment he hears the water rushing into the tub he comes running, jumps onto the hamper (upon which I've placed his favorite soft towel), curls up and goes to sleep, his forceful purr replacing the sound of the cascading water as I turn off the faucet and settle into the smooth, silky water.

Unlike years past, when I had to steal an abbreviated moment to myself, I now settle into my bath -- and into my book -- for long periods of time, emerging shriveled, but very, very relaxed. I am reading Eat, Pray Love very slowly, savoring every one of Liz's words, admiring every paragraph she writes, and envying every experience she has -- both as a writer and as a traveler. (Today I read an entire chapter over again, just to repeat the amazingly pleasant experience of reading it.)

Oh, to be able to string words and thoughts and experiences together with such simple, pure perfection! When I read Liz Gilbert's writing, I visualize a thick, velvety smooth ribbon of perfection. Chocolate comes to mind -- dark 70% chocolate (80% if it exists) -- and I savor each drop of it as it permeates every crevasse of my mind. That's how effective her writing is! As she describes the beautiful, flowing Italian language and the simple but succulent Italian food, her words take on exactly those qualities, and I can't help but be there with her in warm, steamy relaxing, bubbly Italy.

See what I mean? I think it's time to get out of this bath.

I'm a Goner. I am SUCH a goner!

On Oprah's recommendation, I bought Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert today, and after reading just three paragraphs I must bid you, dear reader, adieu until I finish this book. (You so know that isn't true, don't you? When have I ever been quiet for more than a day?)

But the point is, I'll be distracted. I'll be devouring this book page by page, paragraph by paragraph, word for word, paying rapt attention to Liz's rapture with eating, praying and loving.

So instead of staying up all night reminiscing about life in Berkeley in the 60's like I did last night, I'll stay up all night tonight reading about a woman's life-altering experiences in Italy (where she eats and nurtures her physical self) and India (where she prays and nurtures her spiritual self) and Bali (where she quite unexpectedly falls in love).

Thing is, I have an interview tomorrow -- an important interview at a company that just might be the perfect fit. I'm hesitant to say much more, except that there's no specific opening. I just found this company, guessed at their contact information, and wrote a letter. The next day the CEO called me and we chatted for an hour, at which point he asked me to come in...

So really, I must get a good night's sleep. Must, must, must. Which I promise I will do. Right after I finish this chapter.