Relax! Now!

When I was getting treated for my headaches, I visited a psychologist who taught me biofeedback. The first day he hooked me up to a machine and made me count back from a thousand by sevens. After I was good and stressed, he stopped and wrote down the number. Then he told me to do whatever I could to bring it down. Have you ever tried this – to relax yourself under pressure? It’s interesting. The first time I did OK, but on the second visit he upped the ante: I had to watch my progress on a screen and listen to a high-pitched whine on headphones that got louder when I became more stressed. Over the course of six sessions I got very good at this – one of the best he’d seen, actually.

You can tell the biofeedback is working when your hands get really warm. Some people do this by visualizing hot things, but I was never able to get into the whole “you’re on a warm beach...” kind of thing.

This all made me feel like I was some loser who can’t handle stress, but my doctor said the science behind it is that migraine sufferers’ blood vessels don’t contract as readily after stress as other people.

I’ve always wanted a stupid human trick. I can’t wiggle my ears or dislocate my elbow or sneeze on command. But I guess I can make my hands really warm really fast. I’m sure David Letterman will be calling me up to see that one.

Salad days

I keep wanting to have a food blog like those that I admire, but this always deters me: Either Husband or I make some gorgeous dish, and I think, "I should get the camera!" But then I think about what I'd be doing: Taking a picture of my dinner and posting it on the Internet. That stops me every time.

I think recipes and anecdotes are still permissible, though. Here's a really good reliable vinaigrette recipe from Rue Tatin author Susan Loomis:
1 T balsamic vinegar; sea salt; 1 shallot, sliced paper thin; 1/4 cup olive oil; freshly ground black pepper. Whisk vinegar, large pinch of salt, and shallot in a small bowl. Slowly whisk in oil. Add pepper to taste. Toss slowly and thoroughly into mixed field greens. Let rest a few minutes before eating to tire the greens.

I'll let you imagine how gorgeous it looks.

The time I tied myself up with rope

Like boarding schools, I always wanted to go to camp. I finally went during high school, and while it had the camaraderie and inside jokes, we didn't actually spend much time at camp (we went on extended excursions). I made up for it all by being a counselor and then co-camp director during college. It was a small girls camp, so we had a lot of flexibility in programming. So if we wanted to make candles, we made candles. If we wanted to swim a lot, we swam a lot.

Sometimes we took this flexibility too far. My second year there we got a hold of this book in the camp library (which doubled as the staff lounge and nurse's office, if that tells you anything about the size) that described all sorts of fun jokes and ruses you could do. Inspired by the book, we attempted our first prank. The girls cooked all their meals over the fire, and they'd come to the program center before meals to pick up their food. One night we pretended that someone had stolen their food. Laying the blame on a certain counselor, we led the girls on a hunt around camp, complete with clues. The clues finally led them back to the program center, where a lasagna dinner awaited them. We figured they'd love a break from cooking dinner, but they were pissed. Apparently we were too convincing.

Unfortunately our first effort didn't deter us from trying another, more complex ruse. We chose a session with an older group of girls, thinking they'd enjoy the joke more. The prank consisted of pretending that a counselor (me, in this case) had been kidnapped. We did this activity after dinner, when the girls assembled for evening activities. I'd written a cheesy lipsticked note on a bathroom mirror (something like "help! back trai.....") and the other counselors pretended to find it and got the girls involved and they took off down the back trail, finding shreds of this ugly lost-and-found sweater vest I'd donned earlier along the way. Finally they arrived as a wooden platform where I'd tied myself up with rope. As the girls approached I quickly grasped that this prank had gone even more awry than the first. The girls were petrified. I shot a quick look at the other counselors and tried to let them gently know that is was a joke so that they didn't feel too embarrassed and to get them to laugh about the whole thing. They got there, but not after us swearing off pranks forever. But the laughs we had planning and recapping it were certainly worth any of the trauma the girls experienced.

Their cuteness obscures the evil that lurks within

Wrestling on the couch...


Preparing to walk on the keyboard and delete e-mail

The kittens are so naughty that Husband and I have dog-eared the section on discipline in Kittens for Dummies. The two biggest problems we have are fighting on us while we're asleep (surprisingly not charming) and putting their noses (and tongues, if we'd let them) in our food. Cadbury is particularly incessant about anything dairy, and also enjoys iced tea. Although Husband has a really good alpha dog voice, yelling, clapping, etc. generally has not be very effective, particularly at night if the other is somehow managing to sleep through the nightly WWF match. So we've been testing two other techniques: the reliable water spray bottle (which is somewhat effective), and hissing. I admit, I'm not a very good hisser. It doesn't feel very natural. But Husband made me jump nearly off the bed last night when his deep convincing "HISSSSSSSSSSS!" jarred me from semi-doze.
If you have any ideas, send them my way. Please.

Pie corruptions

Why do I want to turn all fruit into an alcoholic beverage? What happened to pie? After the success of the rhubarb slush, my first thought after picking a bowl of raspberries at Husband’s family cabin was to puree them, strain them, and mix them with something lemon- or lime-y and vodka. I think it’s all about the texture – the smoothness of a drink is nicer than the many-seeded berries or stringy rhubarb. And the heat of summer seems to justify an icy beverage.

Another pie corruption: the Dream Pie Blizzard. I reluctancy agreed to ordering one after Husband extolled the expected virtues of the pie crust bits in ice cream... and damn, he was right. It was amazing.

As our two-week vacation is less than two weeks away... my thoughts are consumed with vacation prep. Newspaper to cancel. Haircuts to get. Books to reserve. Provisions to lay in. I haven’t had a two-week vacation since... I can't remember... so this feels rather sinful.

I haven’t read anything good lately except listening to Tomorrow When the War Began, which besides a few nagging faults was really engaging. I really like Aussie voices... I should have made it a priority to date an Aussie man. But thinking about it, the Aussie guys I’ve met were more pasty milquetoast than Crocodile Hunter.

MR not puppies

The kittens must learn that it is not charming to use me as a prop in their half-hour-long fighting games at 3:30 a.m. “At least they’re not puppies,” Husband said. “At least they don’t fight on you,” I thought.*

We visited some friends last night who have a pool in their backyard. I have never wanted a pool until I saw this pool and thought I WANT A POOL IN MY BACKYARD. Refreshing evening dips to cool off, days off spent on loungers with stacks of magazines... mmm. But really, better than having a pool in your backyard is having a friend with a pool in their backyard. So I’m safe. Nevermind the fact that our backyard would hardly accommodate a hot tub. As a kid I had a fantasy with the neighbor kids that our families would install a pool that would span the length of all three of our lawns. I must have seen it so clearly that part of me actually thought it could happen. Around this same time my parents asked us “What would you like best: a pool, a cabin, or something-else-that-I-can’t-remember-because-it-didn't-make-the-cut.” “A pool! A pool!" We shouted excitedly. As my parents are generally people of their word, we began telling our friends that we were getting a pool. We got a cabin instead – which, to their credit, was a much, much better idea.

*In the spirit of truth, he did save me by taking them downstairs and playing with them.

MR puppies
MR not puppies
OSAR
CMPN?

Mais oui

Husband speaks French exclusively to the kittens. “Les petit chatons, qu’est que ce, ca,” he patters. I wonder if he’ll do the same with our kids. I once asked Husband to say "You are so sexy" in every accent that I could think of. My favorites were the Norwegian, which sounded jolly, and the German, which sounded gay because in his impressions all Germans are gay.

I’ve been reading lots of young adult nostalgic novels lately, including the incredibly violent Wolves of Willoughby Chase that my fourth grade teacher read us, so I’ll mention two books I read previously that I really enjoyed and could not help but tell others all about: Deep Survival: Who lives, who dies, and why by Laurence Gonzalez, which is a fascinating exploration of the assumptions and social rules we work under when threatened (particularly in the wilderness, but he also uses examples from 9/11, etc.) and why they help or hinder us. I also really enjoyed What Einstein Told His Cook: Kitchen Science Explained by Robert L. Wolke. This book that has prompted me to share with others annoying facts such as that onions cannot technically caramelize and that adding salt to boiling water and a potato to salty soup doesn’t help.

Since my purse now contains nearly nothing (so far, the receipt from my license renewal, new insurance cards, and $20) I’ve taken to going around without it, and it is so freeing. I remember how loath I was to start carrying a purse in the first place – I resisted it until college ended. I do love with a passion not usually reserved for purses my black Kate Spade winter bag, so I’m sure I’ll be back in the swing of things by the time the temps drop to the 50s and the bag can come out of hiding.

Pet peeves du jour: The use of the word “frankly.” The phrase “and more” when detailing the attributes of something. Walking with someone who walks a step or two ahead of me (stupid, I know).

Not a good story

I was robbed last night. It was 8 p.m. and I was sitting outside the neighborhood coffee shop with friend T (who should be renamed the Ms. kick-ass-don’t-mess-with-me-fucker). It was a nice summer evening, the sidewalks were a slow parade of couples getting coffee and walking dogs... and three 17-19 year-old guys ran up and grabbed T’s purse. She took off after them while the other two tried to wrestle mine away... as I screamed one kid poked my hand with something black and plastic-y and the other punched me in the neck and they got it and ran away. A guy from the coffee shop chased after T and the guys, aided by a random guy driving down the street who helped chase them with his car. I called the police (along with about every third house down the streets they ran down) and within a minute police cars were entering the neighborhood and after what felt like forever (maybe fifteen minutes?) T came back and the police came and told us they arrested the guys (two adults, one juvenile). T and I filed a report with a very nice police officer and after another fifteen minutes/half hour, the police and searchers found all of T’s stuff (purse, wallet, cell phone, even cash, all separate and tossed into various bushes) and my purse (minus the wallet and cell phone). Husband, T, and I searched for my stuff by climbing over one of those freeway solid fences and combing in the vast overgrown bushy area that separates the highway from the fence/neighborhood. We recovered the cell phone, but not my wallet.

What I learned:
1. While running after the guys is not necessarily the safest option, I think it’s definitely what allowed us to recover as much of our stuff as we did, so I’m very grateful to T.
2. While being robbed in my own neighborhood isn’t very comforting, the dozens of people who witnessed what happened and came forward with descriptions and stories, the grocery store owner who took a picture of them earlier because they looked suspicious, the people who saw them running and called the police, and the bystanders who gave chase all speak to the goodness and communal concern of my neighborhood.

Trading in the kiddie cocktails for G&Ts

The best weather we’ve ever had at the cabin, good friends we hadn’t seen in awhile, and a cooler full of beer each came together for a wonderful holiday weekend. My family has vacationed with the family that always comes up for the Fourth since I was two and crying because I couldn’t walk out with the big kids in Lake Winnipeg. Between trips to Disney World, summers at a resort, and weekend trips around the state, we have quite a few memories together. And we did our best to make a few new ones... thanks in part to the sneaky dehydrating effects of the sun and the illusion of sobriety promoted by laying around on the dock.

On the drive up my brother got a ticket – on the rez! I comforted him with the fact that it at least it made a good story, with the rez police and all of the in-poor-taste Indian jokes about paying for the fine in trade, etc.

As of mid-morning today, the Brothers K had their manhood taken away from them. Poor dears.
I bought some dill to plant on a whim and have ignored it since, so now it looks like a mini-forest rather than herbs. I cut some down last night and wasn’t very enthused about cooking with it, but I quartered some baby Yukon gold potatoes and stirred in sea salt, ground pepper, a spoonful of sour cream, and all of the dill bits from one of my trees. My god, it was amazing. It was fresh and full, and redolently resplendent with pickle-ness.

For example, the time I went in the ditch driving home after Christmas...

I'm writing from the cabin, and feeling very smug about my connectivity. I just logged in and answered some e-mail that my slacker self had not gotten to when I slinked out of the office at 3:15 yesterday. I came up early with my bro and had some quality time; once my I-want-to-die nauseating headache ceased, we cooked up some burgers and I kicked his butt with my gin-and-tonic power gin rummy skills. We had a good chat - nothing heavy, just a lot of "Oh, here's another story I never told mom and dad...." and the like.
The itinerary for this patriotic holiday weekend is much like last year... so this early morning quiet before the storm is nice.
Well, I'm off to figure out the espresso maker (it's coffee Friday, for heaven's sake) and use my mad towel animal making skills that I learned in Mexico to adore the beds of the arriving guests.