Finding My Way Back
The reality of what I was doing didn’t dawn on me until I was winding my way down the California Coast, in pitch black, with no wireless connection, hence no Google map on my phone to guide me.
A book about a girl who’d returned to her home in Carmel by the Sea after her father’s death, inspired me to try being a writer in the first place. I’d read it while, like the heroine, I was back home at my grandparent's house in Watsonville, facing major life changes/decisions.
That life-changing book isn't in any literary cannon. It was an inexpensive, paperback Harlequin Romance with a man & woman embracing on the cover.
My friend Theresa's mom (with her hair set in pin-curls, which she'd take out just before five when her husband return home from work) would drive us to the library where "checking out" Harlequin Romance's meant filling a grocery sack with all the titles we didn't think we'd read before, taking them home and reading one in an afternoon while Elton, Rod or Bread played in the background.
To admit I have forgotten the title, is not to say I have, or will ever forget that book. It made me who I. . . was.
And now, some 28 years later I’m retracing my steps so to speak. And this time, I’ve traveled even farther distance-wise, if not time-wise. My last trip back to find myself had been via car, with 2 small children in tow—a much weightier journey on so many levels.
To get to where I am now, on the eve of the Big Sur Writing Workshop, I flew from Port of Spain to Houston to San Francisco and drove the 137, 3-hour trip down. I could have flown into Monterey Airport instead. That drive would have been less than an hour. And—or is it “but”—
. . . I would have skipped the drive down highway 101 through San Jose to Gilroy and up and over Hecker Pass to Watsonville.
When I was a kid, the twisty-turney, bumpy, hot drive over Hecker Pass made me queasy. Subconciously, is that what drove me to drive it this time? Is this part of my Hero’s Journey? Is making the drive without urping one of my quests?
If I had flown into Monterey instead of San Francisco, I wouldn't have had an opportunity to stop in Watsonville to check out the town, drive past my grandparent's house on Oregon Street and peek over the fence, past my Aunt Evelyn and Uncle Joe's house in the next block, or The Miramar--my mom's favorite place to eat back in the day (best garlic bread and mastaccioli in the whole world)--or drive through the old shopping center, with The Coffee Shop, where we’d go for lunch at least once a week, and Bud’s Barber Shop, where my brother Joe, and later my boy Max, got the “traditional boy cut” and a sucker. Or the Elks Lodge where we’d go for the Friday Night Fish Fry, and to the cemetery to visit my grandparents.
. . . Or have dinner with my cousins Jodi and Amy until Sunday night after the Workshop.
Last Saturday, rain and more rain, kept Curtis and I from our regular walk. Instead we watched movies. One was Music and Lyrics with Hugh Grant and Drew Barrymore.
In WAR of ART, Steven Pressfield draws attention to THE ODYSSEY how, when Homer was within sight of the shore—of home—rather than remaining vigilant, got lazy, cocky, and went to sleep. While he slept, his crew, believing his bag was full of treasure, untied it and released the unfavorable winds.
. . . If I hadn't stopped for dinner I wouldn't have been driving south on Highway One at close to 9pm, even though the instructions to the Workshop and Big Sur Lodge clearly stated the park closed at 9pm.
. . . I would not have been driving in the pitch black of night on that narrow, windy, empty highway winding down the coast, not sure where I was going or how much longer it would take me to get there.
“
We’re always attracted to the edges of what we are, out by the edges where it’s a little raw and nervy.”
“
Planning to write is not writing. Outlining, researching, talking to people about what you’re doing, none of that is writing. Writing is writing.
”
I signed up for the Big Sur Workshop quite a while back. Back when I thought I was staying the course.
Did I subconsciously know I had strayed far, super far, and finding my way back wouldn’t be so easy?
You Procrastinate Your Way, I Procrastinate Mine
**Note: This entry was supposed to be posted Sunday, but I put it off until today. Sorry
Heck yeah, I've got loads to do! Tis the season, isn't it? Gifts to wrap. Suitcases to pack. Messages to return. Cards to send. Oh yeah, and writing . . .
In 2 days I'm leaving Trinidad for the month. First to California for the Big Sur Writing Workshop. Workshop means preparation. Make copies of projects to focus on. Decide which projects those are. Gather my tools. Instead . . .
After the workshop, I'll fly to Reno to visit my mom and brother's family. Reno means cold, not Trinidad tropical. After Reno, I'll fly to Westhampton Beach, more cold. I need to dig out my woolies. Instead . . .
We'll spend the holidays in Westhampton Beach with M&M, L&R and Baby B.
Holidays means sorting out gifts I've already bought. Wrapping for folks here. Thank you envelopes. Cards. Packing my suitcases. Instead . . .
I could have, should have, tackled this To-do List last week--or at least made a stab at it. But last week was Thanksgiving. And cooking a Thanksgiving Feast seemed more pressing. And more in keeping with my 2013 resolution "Live in the Moment" which I haven't been especially good at keeping.
My post Thanksgiving Feast plans has been for us to continue eating our way through the leftovers while I sorted, wrapped, packed today & tomorrow. (No hardship; "leftovers" is our favorite part of Thanksgiving.) Post dinner, Tuesday, I'd sort the fridge, freeze, repackage whatever remained of the feast.
This morning, pouring rain stopped me from keeping my other 2013 resolution "Exercise Regularly," too.
Maybe if I had said "yes" when Curtis asked if I'd like some coffee, I would have stuck to my plan.
Maybe if freibor, Brian, hadn't sent those recipes on ways to use Thanksgiving leftovers, it wouldn't have been on my mind.
But somehow, when I opened the fridge to pour milk into my coffee, the bowls and platters of leftovers called to me.
"Take us out!"
"Don't leave us like this!"
"We want to be used!"
"Mixed!
Blended!
Baked!
Transform us . . . PLEASE!"
And so, leftover mashed potatoes, chopped onion & parsley, butter & fresh grated Parmesan became "Potato Puffs"
Leftover marinated mushrooms, picky-platter pickles & olives and a couple of cans of beans--kidney, garbanzo & pinto--became "Bean Salad".
Leftover turkey, green beans, broth, gravy and the rest of the mashed potatoes became "Turkey Shepherd's Pie"
Leftover cranberry sauce, chopped pecans, and milky whipped cream became batter for "Cranberry Pecan Oat & Buckwheat Muffins", some of which I dropped into mini-muffin tins for now, the rest of which--thanks to a quick Internet surfing and instructions from Heavenly Homemakers.com, I froze for later.
And everything else that remained of our Thanksgiving 2013 feast was sorted into tidy plastic containers.
Then, because all the freezing muffin batter postings--I did say Internet Surfing as in ongoing activity and instructions, plural--suggested freezing them as muffin blogs, either in cupcake papers or directly in the tin, and I got to thinking "wouldn't it work to freeze the batter en mass?" I decided an experiment was in order. I spooned half the leftover muffin batter into a greased tin, as directed, and poured the rest into a small contain and froze it that way. My thought is semi-thawed I should work just fine. Procrastination? Ney, I have another work for it: Experimentation.
Oh yeah! And then, because I was so excited to share this brilliant frozen muffin batter idea here, I left the heaps of crusty feast dishes, pans, bowls, mixing and measuring utensils--not soaking--and raced over to my computer to type up this blog entry. I'll wash the dishes later. Right now, I better get started on that to-do list . . .
You procrastinate your way; I'll procrastinate mine. . . .
Thanks for the Memories
Thanksgiving, for me, begins with pie. P-I-E, pie. Not so much for the eating, as for the making of pies. For with the pie making come the memories.
The memories begin creeping in while I’m writing my grocery list: apples, pecans, cranberries, canned pumpkin, corn syrup, pie spices, sugar, flour, shortening. . . American Thanksgiving is a feast in celebration of North American foods gathered at the first harvest. So it follows that American Thanksgiving foods are cooked from ingredients grown, produced, and readily available in North America.
How many hours did I spend going store to store in Indonesia searching for those same unheard of items? Explaining cranberry sauce and pecans to the Indonesian custom officers; baking my first fresh pumpkin pie; the barrage of text messages heralding “Ranch Market has Crisco!”
How I would have welcomed that text as I drove from shop to shop, round and round Port-of-Spain and surrounds, Tuesday. Trinidad stores are well-stocked and carry all manner of imported goods. I’d worried some, about finding a nice turkey, but never dreamed I’d spend hours searching for ground cloves and shortening, lard, or TT equivalent.
From the time I was big enough to stand with my chin over the edge of the table, I helped. (Before that, the story goes, Nanny plopped me in the highchair with a blob of pie dough. I’d merrily mush and masticate while she rolled & baked.) She who capitalized the "P" in perfectionist, didn't allow anyone to interfere with the making of her pie. However, when the last pie was in the oven, training time--fun time--began. Nanny'd turn the rolling pin over to me.
Mimi, my neifrie (upstairs neighbor & friend) came over yesterday while I baked pies. Not to “get in my way” she assured me, but more to watch and keep me company. Before Mimi arrived, I was kind-of, sort-of . . . a lot nervous. Even with several batches of my secret weapon, Nanny’s Never Fail Pie Crust, chilling in the fridge, things could go wrong. I prefer to “make corrections” without witnesses. . .
We made a grand pie making adventure of it yesterday, Mimi and me. Mimi measured and mixed, stirred and washed while I rolled and crimped and fussed over each crust. Into each pie, along with the sugar and spice, fruit, flour and TT shortening substitute, we stirred memories—wisps of every holiday past and every person of them: my nanny, her mom and mine, our kids, our friends, our lives.
Thanks for the memories!
Sunday “Morn’n Morn’n” Trini-Style
How quickly new becomes norm. . . Our Sunday morning routine, for example. It came about as a form of penance. One Sunday morning we decided to pay for our night before indulgence with a hike up Lady Chancellor Hill, a long, shady, winding road rising up from the city of Port-of-Spain.
It’s named for Lady Sylvia Chancellor who “was born the year Queen Victoria died”, 1901. From what I could dig up, Lady Sylvia was a philanthropist who lived and died in England, so I have no clue why the hill is named for her, except that her obituary said she was a “tough” old bird and her hill, 3.2 k long with an ascent of 600 feet from base to look-out, is a “tough” old hill.
On the drive to "the Hill"—either to fortify himself and/or postpone the impending punishment—Curtis pulled up beside a road-side stand in St. James selling “doubles.”
Doubles is? are?* hands down and dripping with sauce, the most popular Trinidadian street food. A "doubles" is a curried chickpea sandwich, really, but so much more: a shot-put sized round of flat bread, called “bara” is topped with a dollop of curried chick peas, splashed with sauces, and a second “bara” is placed on top.
According to Wikipedia (my go-to source for quick info) “Doubles was invented in Princes Town, Trinidad by “Emamool Deen (a.k.a. Mamoodeen) and his wife Rasulan in 1936.” They started by topping a single round of bara with curried chickpeas. However, customers would ask them to “double the bara, hence the name ‘doubles’ evolved”
We bought a couple of doubles (2 for $8, about $1.30 U.S.) drove part-way up the hill to the Horticulture Society parking lot, sat on the edge of a planter, gobbled down our doubles, then hiked the hill.
The next Sunday we did it again. And now it’s “what we do.”
While we walk/climb/creep up Lady Chancellor, because "Trinis", Trinidadians, we pass, regardless of age or how winded, calls out “Morn’n Morn’n!” or “Guh-day! Guh-day” always two times—doubles—we do that too.
“Morn’n Morn’n!
* Is they is or is they are? My friebor Brian pointed out that doubles singular or plural is still doubles
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October 25th Friday
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October 27th Sunday
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October 28th Monday
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Vampire Baby: Silly Story Hour “Masks” & Chance to Win Books
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HERE'S THE 9-1-1 from Curious City!
Vampire Baby Halloween Reveal
So I lied...
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Translation: Chances of winning are super good. . .
It's Halloween. Go for it. Take a Chance. You could win a treat!
But first . . .
We like Halloween!
We dress up. We Trick or Treat. We like it so much that one year, we had Halloween in July.
We were trick-or-treating along in our huge dice boxes when a couple of pranksters pushed us over and sent us flailing ala Scout in her ham costume.
Believe you, me, if I'd been fast enough, I would have happily sunk my teeth into those no-good-nicks...
HAPPY HALLOWEENING!!!!!
“TRICK OR TREAT”
#16 Vampire Baby's Movie Playlist for Halloween
Vampire Baby’s Movie Play List
Okay, so Vampire Baby isn’t old enough to have watched many movies. Nor would she be allowed to at her age—no matter how hard she bit. (For that matter, neither would her big brother.) But, when Vampire Baby is old enough to watch movies on Halloween these will definitely be on her list.*
Archie and the Riverdale Vampires (1999) Archie gets a supernatural makeover in these episodes from the Archie's Weird Mysteries TV series.
Bite the Bullet (1979) A group of ex-rough riders, an ex-prostitute and a gunfighter enter a horse race in the desert.
Bite of the Living Dead (2011) World-renowned herpetologist Joe Slowinski is bitten by a juvenile krait while on expedition in Burma. Rani has also been bitten by a krait in a rural Indian village
Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1992) A teenage girl learns that she is her generation's destined battler of vampires.
Count Duckula, TV Series (1988-1993) The misadventures of a vegetarian vampire duck and his servants.
Let the Right One In (2008) Oskar, an overlooked and bullied boy, finds love and revenge through Eli, a beautiful but peculiar girl who turns out to be a vampire.
The Little Vampire (2000)
A lonely boy becomes best friends with a vampire.
Little Shop of Horrors (1986)
A nerdish florist finds his chance for success and romance with the help of a giant man-eating plant who demands to be fed.
Love Bite (2012) School is over and summer has begun in the dead-end seaside town of Rainmouth. While Jamie's friends seem to be happy working in the local pie factory by day and looking for sex by night,
Love at First Bite (1979) Vampire spoof has Count Dracula moving to New York to find his Bride, after being forced to move out of his Transylvanian castle.
Man Bites Dog (1992) In this dark satire, a film crew follows a ruthless thief and heartless killer as he goes about his daily routines. But complications set in when the film crew loses their abjectness and begin lending a hand.
Once Bitten (1985) A vampire Countess needs to drink the blood of a virgin in order to keep her eternal beauty.
Bunnicula, the Vampire Rabbit, Cartoon (1982) Bunnicula the Vampire Rabbit is a supernatural rabbit whose weakness for draining vegetables of their juices.
Reality Bites (1994) Generation X Graduates face life after college with a filmmaker looking for work and love in Houston.
The Bite (1989) After a guy is bitten on the hand by a radioactive snake, his hand changes into a lethal snake head, which attacks everyone he comes into contact with
Some Dogs Bite (2010) It's a Crime to Steal a Baby! But What if it's Your Brother
More Suggestions, anyone?
*Disclaimer: Movie descriptions are cut-n-pasted from the internet. The list is not, and should, not, in any way, be consider recommendations. Watch at your own discretion.
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