I Miss You, I'm Not Gonna Crack

Inspiration on a lamp post

You would think some time off of work to recover from an injury would be a dream.  Turns out, like all joy, fun is elusive.  The rest of the time, you are in pain and fighting self-defeating thoughts.  Like, will you ever get better?  Why does this part of my body hurt now?  Am I falling apart?  Did I hit my head?  Can I form a thought or am I permanently broken?  

A trip to the local diner was the first social endeavour. Even in a catatonic state, I would probably know how to order fries.  

A trip to the park at the beginning of spring is humbling and automatically puts you in a meditative state. A perfect reminder to calm your arse down and remember what is important, which isn't much. 

Also, in a blink of an eye, these trees will be filled with brilliant green leaves and I will be back to work and life will go on, or it won't. 

Come As You Are

Freddy's Food Truck tacos along with my homemade mexican rice.  I met my local vendor halfway by providing the side to a great lunch.  

Mike's Coffee Shop Counter Breakfast

For breakfast, we graduated to counter eating at the local diner.  This is an honor you feel comfortable accepting once you've patronized the establishment a number of times and have made nice with the waiters.  There we witnessed a very New York racist-esque banter between a fellow counter eater and the busboy in the humorous way that can only be funny when you witness it first hand.  New York must remember that which made it so very special was the ability for each individual of any race to speak to another in a brutally frank way with humor and slightly muffled love, in order to release a bit of the steam building in the melting pot, enough to relax and live with each other.  Trusting, a bit of rubbing will not break the other. This is of course most common in the blue collar working communities where we are put together in trains, work environments, and eateries.

Come As You Are, As You Were

Mexican Shake and Bake Chicken Thighs

We found these tortilla chips that are so freshly deep fried tasting that I couldn't waste even the last 1/2 cup of broken pieces.  

Vista Hermosa, the best Chips!

I crushed them up, mixed in corn meal flour, cumin, paprika, cayenne, garlic, onion powder and lots of salt and pepper,  for a very crispy coating. I dipped them in egg first before rolling in the crumbs and spices and baked at 450 for 25 minutes.  I'm calling this a win.

Victories come in teeny, tiny moments.  Last week I finally got my wish; an ability to use my nickname officially at work.  It may be trivial to some but for several reasons, I hate seeing and hearing my gov'mint name, as the kids say.  It's printed in bold letters on my badge, it pops up in giant font on the computer and customers will often read it aloud, as if they now have permission to ask loads of personal questions.  I immediately correct them, yet it's left me feeling they've taken something from me.  Of course I know their complete information, including address, phone number and email but I don't care, nor retain any of it and never call them by their name. There is some part of me, that feels so strongly about these things, perhaps its the American Indian in me.  

In my mind, people are something I cannot assign to words.  They're an energy blob of light and darkness, a liquefied essence, they are neurons firing in my gut. Designating a title to them masks their true identity.  I understand why we must be named, but I don't like it.  Like some gaudy jewelry you must wear forever that your folks thought was cool.  At least with a nickname you can tone down the awkwardness. 

Plus, when you name something, it takes away all of it's mystery and puts it in a box.  I wonder if we squash the imaginations of children by too quickly teaching them to define incredible miracles like flowers and animals.  This is a cat.  It goes meow.  In reality what we call common house cats are zen masters and mystical creatures beyond interpretation.   I wonder how differently a child would consider a peacock before it became imprisoned by definition? 

Regardless, I was thrilled that most likely due to our LGBTQ+ community, I finally got my wish.  

Tender Age in Bloom

Stuffed Spaghetti Squash

Fresh tomatoes, spinach, mushrooms and ground turkey sauteed in olive oil, oregano and garlic before being plopped on top of this roasted squash.  I fluffed the 'spaghetti' with a fork, added salt and pepper, a dusting of Parmesan, and a pat of butter before adding the vegetables.  Sauced squash is great but this chunky dish allows all the individual, unique flavors to pop from the vegetables, then the juice from the tomatoes becomes an exaggerated, rainbow of delight in your mouth. 

A pasta lover can eat this and get the full satisfaction of spaghetti without all the carbs and guilt. If you don't over roast the squash, it does have the right consistency. 

During a walk around the neighborhood today, I passed by a young father and small girl.  I overheard their conversation briefly.  Spell it, he said to her. B-i-l-e-s, she said.  That's right, now again.  B-i-l-e-s.  That's correct, that's how you spell your last name. That's probably an important lesson for a city kid for all kinds of practical reasons.   I thought about how children learn who they are, right or wrong, and wondered if she identifies with that name or if her young brain has yet to notice she has an inner nature and a separate idea of herself.   If I had a child I might tell them, you have been given a name but that's not who you are. I'd teach them about their spirit self and how it perfectly guides us. That it is connected to a vast collective energy that is pure and is as real as anything we know.  How it is much different than the voice that comes from our mind.  I'd explain early what we call our ego and how it can affect how you act in the world.  How you should remain an observer, even of yourself, maybe mainly of yourself.  I'd plant the seed that feelings are not who we are and sadness, fear or anxiety are only thoughts that if we notice them, we'll see we are not them therefore they hold no power over us.  I'd point out that your mind is noisy and can try to interrupt your inner peace but that it's not your enemy, it just needs to be managed.  That is it an important tool.  I'd show them the world, how it's completely alive and incredible and then speak of the other world that we can also live in, that's unseen and equally brilliant, that is stillness.   Saying this, I realize, I learned all of that from being a child so I'd imagine I wouldn't be telling them anything they didn't know but it could be important to reinforce these realities early on so that they continue to nourish and bloom and never forget what is real.   

Stay, Stay Away!

Cooking post-COVID requires more effort that doesn't seem to be in abundance right now.  I'm not taking it personally because the folks that i know that have fought the battle and returned are claiming the same.  One pot meals or this wok bowl are the doable kind.  Fresh tomatoes went in last with kale, Cannellini beans, cabbage and turkey kielbasa.  Just the clean flavors coming through. 

Retail is having a tough time too.  It's very changed, sad or scary depending on where you sit.  Brooklyn speaks its mind and due to limited resources I often feel I'm in an ungoverned town.  There are more confrontations that easily feel they could go dark quickly.  People are on edge, yet shopping? My coworkers yell at customers to put back on their mask or they'll call security regularly, loudly, angrily.  We're only letting in 25% of normal capacity but even that amount feels too much.  The bathroom sinks have caution tape to ensure 6 foot distance.  There are feet stenciled all over the floor to help.  Hand sanitizer is everywhere in bottles, and fixtures on the wall and giant stand alone units.  We're being fed for free and bottled water or canned drinks are limitless all day. That somehow instills the sense we're still in an emergency state, that things are not normal.   The store hours have changed and are now going to reduce down further.  A 3rd of the crew calls out on the regular, so no one does their own job, instead we're moved around like chess pieces and spread thin to barely get by each day.  Customers can't hear as well with these masks and now we're behind plexiglass, some wearing additional face shields over the masks.  Darting eyes are everywhere.  There is something so big in just that one detail.  Breathing into a mask for 8 hours, like a spaceman, hearing only your own breath, feeling so much more internal, using only your peepers to portray emotion.  You try not to touch or be touched and all of us have learned to do the step dance. Customers draw closer, we move back, careful not to get near another person as if we're all radioactive.  A very strange waltz.  And in my head I'm screaming 'stay away!'  

All in All Is All We Are

Always a simple favorite, roasted chicken with chickpeas and any other vegetable.  It satisfies and gives a feeling of effort when there is very little.  Season and slide in oven.

Marriage is not like baked chicken.  However, when everything is running smoothly it does look as though you have mastered the craft. And there are learned techniques I suppose. Mostly I think people wing it but if you work it, it works just like the 12 step program.  In my head, the best relationship was always imagined as laughing a lot, and sharing all the things I loved like eating, music, movies.  Also experiencing all the small moments of everyday life together basically as the introvert weirdo that I am.  And I have all of that.

What you don't think about when you're considering sacred union is who is going to do the dishes everyday?  Who takes care of the laundry? Someone has to make sure we have food in the house.  Who will scrub the toilet, change the litter box, dust, vacuum, do the taxes, pay the bills, talk to the landlord, handle the fuse box, etc, etc.  Even pulling out from all of that, who will manage the state of the merger itself?  Who knew just how many decisions need to be made ongoing for years on end.  Who decides if we could use new pillows or worse, need to talk about something important?  And for so many of those questions, the answer is you.  And all the rest is the other person. There are two choices only.  Mass effort is put in annually but it's in small doses, not all at once, but certainly ongoing.  And so the whole machine just churns away.  If you're lucky I mean.  These are all luxuries that many people hope for in their lives.  We strive for strong, healthy human connections.  So I know my struggles are minimal in comparison to real problems.  It's sort of a miracle that things run as smoothly as they do actually and I love doing a lot of stuff around the house.  But once in a while out of the blue, I burn out and question why people put each other through this process.  So many compromises.  I want a thriller movie and he wants action or comedy.  I do 20 things and he does 5.  I care, he doesn't. Millions of tiny clean individual living cubicles maybe in store for the future generations of women. Your friends and mates can visit and then take they smelly ass home.

What Else Should I Be? All Apologies

I'm confused, is it weak to need people? Before I reach out to anyone lately I think first, what do I really want from them and am I right to ask?  Usually I don't bother because it feels all letchy and feeble to be in a position of vulnerability.  I tire out before I even begin to understand my inclinations.  I was taught not to ask for support. My mom and dad had a real thing with not bothering people, leaving people alone was sort of the most charitable thing you could do.  I try to just join the humans when I can be cool.  Usually I believe you have everything necessary inside yourself or you should anyway.

But if you test that same theory it doesn't work with food.  I need a beef steak once in a while, no apologies.  This is fact.  I desire pasta but white flour products proved to be like a bad boyfriend, toxic to the gut, so now I suppress that urge but in my heart I know I could get down with a huge heaping bowl.  Pizza makes me happy.  Tacos are gifts from God.  All of this doctrine is tight.  I never have to question my stomach.  But your mind is another animal all together.

I felt the need to find something to do with Thanksgiving leftovers incorporating a pound of ground pork that I had thawed.  Homemade pork meatballs with turkey gravy hit mountains higher than my expectations and the cranberry relish mixed in with the brown rice made the perfect bite.

These pork meatballs hit the spot.  In place of bread crumbs I used the residual pumpkin corn bread stuffing with all the built in magic.

Something in the Way, Yeah, Mmmmm

There's this creepy kid that has his locker above mine at work. One of the overnight crew.  He always looks like he's up to something with those shifty eyes and says way inappropriate things when I see him.  I'm not someone who is easily offended and tend to like off color people so I've never thought to report him.  If he crosses my line, then you can be sure it's pretty bad.  But he's shown enough of himself to put me on guard at this point.  I'm not scared of him but I wouldn't at all be surprised if they found him guilty of some heinous crime. Lately I get all Allison Dubois feeling around him.

Today I walked up as he was telling this young Asian girl that she looks like she 'really knows some kung-fu'.  The way he said it all sexual and got all up in her personal space. Didn't even make sense yet I felt the slime from a yard away.  Not to mention it was that stupid racist crap. She quickly told him that was really offensive to her and wasn't sure what he meant by it.  He began jumping around and singing the word bite over and over, really loud, like as if he was getting bit.  I could tell he felt shamed. This lasted so long that I had to shoot him my mom's death stare that usually works to shut nonsense down quickly.  Instead he took it as an invite to tell me the story.  He didn't understand how she could be so offended.  That's what's scary about this kid. It's like he has no filter but yet he's capable of getting pissed at you for reacting to his bullshit.  A bad cocktail.  These are the kind of guys that do bad things to women. As I write I guess I do fear him a bit.  I've suspected he was the one ripping off lockers in the area.  Security told us to be on guard, probably someone near us.  

I don't have an end to this story, I'm just sharing in the case I'm found face down in the Gowanus. And although this bleu cheese turkey burger was good with these thin sliced roasted potatoes and waffle fries, it is void of an accompanying tale.