Sun Chasers

It's Sunday, ten days till the Solstice, a brilliant blue sky sunny day on San Juan Island.  Half the town of Friday Harbor is in shade, the other half in full sun.  It's three pm, just less than two hours till sundown.  Question:  why?  Time for a Sunday drive.

I hop in my car and Fergie comes with. Starting in the shade near the library, we drive down Guard toward the sun. I can see it down by Tucker street, turning the corner onto Second Street. Why is it there, and not where I live? Where I live must be in the shadow of something this time of day.

We drive through town, looking at shadows, and at the sunny places. The sunny places are warm and happy, the shady places downright cold. Quite the contrast. We head up Spring Street and find the sun is shining on Spring Street. The sun shines in the window and Fergie lays on the front seat smiling.

So we drive on out of town on Spring, take a left onto Douglas Road to follow the sun. Douglas turns into Bailor Hill Road. Soon we're approaching the westside of San Juan Island, and guess what? It's still sunny! So We drove up the west side, coming back to town on Beaverton Valley Road.

This is what we learned. San Juan Island is very sunny, even in winter, if you go to the right places.

The Curtain Falls or what it's like up here in the boonies in the middle of winter.

So, let's talk about Daylight Savings Time.  Or rather, the end of it.  I find it odd to never have noticed before that the end of DST feels exactly like a curtain falling.  Going from light at 5:00 pm to dark at 5:00 pm this year was kind of a surprise, which is pretty weird since it's happened every year for a very long time.  Or so I thought, but we'll get to that in a minute.  Here's another odd thing; DST does not resume until March 11, 2012.  That means DST ends six and a half weeks BEFORE the winter solstice, but doesn't go back into effect until eleven and a half weeks AFTER the solstice.  To a person who loves symmetry, that is disturbing.  Who made that call, and why wasn't I consulted?

It turns out that's a very interesting question.  I mean the "who made that call?" part.  So interesting, in fact, that David Prerau wrote a whole book about it called Seize the Daylight.  Apparently, Daylight Savings Time has been quite a bone of contention since it's inception just after the turn of the twentieth century.  And contrary to what I thought, DST has not been in use continuously since then.  Not at all.  People have been turning it on and off like a child with a light switch pretty much since it was invented.

The study of the dark, cold, wet season on San Juan Island continues.  Now we are past the rude slap in the face that is the end of Daylight Savings Time, where are we on the timeline of winter?  It's three weeks till the solstice, this year it's December 21st.  I know the solstice is the beginning of winter, but I've always thought December 21st should be the middle of winter.  Officially, winter lasts from December 21 to March 21, but that just seems wrong, since December 21st is the shortest day of the year.  Shouldn't THAT be the middle of winter?  Again, a plea for symmetry here.

The harshest winter weather definitely comes in January and February even though the days increase in length after December 21st.  This is not splitting hairs.  It's all in the cause of surviving winter at 48 degrees latitude.  Psychologically as well as physically.  We know there is a lag time before the days begin to grow warmer.  The land and everything on it has been losing heat and it takes time for that to turn around, even after the hours of daylight are increasing each day.  But it seems to me light in the sky is the important thing isn't it?  Isn't it the lack of light, not the lack of warmth that leads to Seasonal Affective Disorder?  Yes it's warmer on September 21st than on March 21st usually, that's true.  I'm a bit ashamed to say this, but some of us avoid going out in the cold anyway, so shouldn't it really be about the light?

I'd like to make a case for at least psychologically sticking a flag in December 21st and calling it the middle of winter.  Then when March 21st comes around and it's wet and cold, at least we can say, "yes, but it's light!"  Take a stand and refuse to let winter be nine months long here.  So many of our experiences just come down to what we believe about them anyway.  September is often glorious here.  Follow that by just three months until the solstice, declare the solstice the middle of winter, tack on another three months of holing up with good books and hot chocolate, declare the spring equinox to be the end of winter, buy a ticket to a warm place for a week and come back looking for signs of spring.

Speaking of changing what we experience, for me, the studying of winter is definitely making winter less oppressive this year.  And part of my study is looking at the joys of winter in Friday Harbor.  So far the inventory includes woodstoves, waterproof boots and dry socks, knitting homemade socks to wear in waterproof boots, adding eggnog to a cup of coffee and sipping slowly, early nights with a good book, electric blankets (or whatever more eco-friendly substitute you choose - I recommend chihuahuas over rocks heated on a woodstove, chihuahuas like to sleep under the covers and provide a surprising supply of non-electric warmth), hats, scarves, gloves, parkas.  Anything WARM!  I'm a bit reclusive as you can tell, but I'll agree potlucks and hot toddies with friends are good too.

Whatever it takes people!  The curtain that is the end of Daylight Savings Time has fallen.  This spring I'm going to ignore the late date Daylight Savings Time begins as being a sign of anything, and simply declare someone somewhere has it wrong.  Cheers, and take heart, winter on the island is fast approaching it's midpoint which I declare to be the solstice.  And just in time, as we approach the darkest day, lights are coming on all over the island. Add to the list of joys of winter here the coming of the lighted boat parade and Santa riding in on the sheriff's boat.  The lighted snow flakes are up on the light poles downtown, and soon Memorial Park will be aglow with lights as well.  I'm determined to find a way to love winter here, in part by celebrating the solstice as the turning point, as a way of psychologically flipping the switch that starts the motor that lifts the curtain.

Touchdown For Autumn

Driving up Spring Street the other day, a wonderful realization occurred, it was a sign we are half way through autumn.  It's now easy to find a place to park in the good section where the parallel parking allows one to glide in, then glide out, not having to do the Spring Street, angle-parking, back up into traffic-exiting-a-full-ferry, thing.  Sitting for a moment behind the wheel after parking, I breathed out a long breath and smiled with a warm feeling of contentment.  A happy surprise.  The visitors are gone.

"The visitors are gone" does not apply to family and friends, who come to the island to break up the mild monotony of the bucolic life.  It only applies to strangers.  And although life changes in the islands each year with the departure of the visitors, life here does, in fact, depend on the kindness of strangers.  Tourists pad the revenue stream here, of course, but also, there's the vitality a boatload of happy vacationers brings with it.  The flux in population is part of what make the San Juan Islands what they are, and for the most part, visitors are happy people.  So when they arrive it's good, and when they depart it's good as well.

The study of autumn continues, and as the last of the visitors watch wistfully from the rear deck of the ferry as it detaches itself from the dock and chugs away, other signs of the season reveal themselves.  Leaves of yellow, orange, and red now litter the streets, a good kind of litter.  The air has gone from crisp to brittle.  It's cold.  34 degrees this morning with eight weeks to go until the equinox.  The amount of daylight is still quite tolerable.  Equinox to equinox is twenty six weeks.  That means it's been eighteen weeks since June 23rd with enough light in the sky to say hooray!  Looking at a year, that's 36-16, a reasonable showing for any sport, and the game's not over yet.

Speaking of sports, for many, they are an enjoyable, or exciting, or even ecstatic element of the fall season.  For me, not so much.  Scratch that, make that not at all.  I did not force my child who preferred picking daisies on the soccer field to persist until the all American competitive bug bit.  One season of freezing my own buns off on the sidelines was enough for me.  I'm a sit by the fire, have another cup of cocoa kind of cold weather aficionado.   I do however, relish a good analogy, and keeping score of how autumn is doing on the scoreboard of the seasons quite appeals.

So let's look and see how the game's progressing.  The end of Daylight Savings Time is just around the corner which means less light for the commute home.  Technically another shift into winter.  My commute home is exactly ninety seconds, so not a biggie there.  Besides, "Spring forward, Fall back" is the better end of the deal; it's the one time each year we get an extra hour of sleep.  How could anyone not like that?  And the end of Daylight Savings Time means more light in the morning for a little longer.  It also does the opposite of what the beginning of Daylight Savings Time does, it shifts the daily schedule back an hour.  Much easier for the body to adapt to than getting up an hour earlier in spring.  Another point on the score board for autumn.  But finding a place to park on Spring Street?  That's a touchdown for Autumn.  That's six points for autumn, I believe.

Look Out Winter

If you live near the Canadian border and do not know what S. A. D. (Seasonal Affective Disorder) is, or do not believe in S. A. D., please go read someone else's blog about pink ponies and have a nice day. Last winter I had S. A. D. I was sad, but I also had S. A. D. I was taking a cancer prevention drug that makes one more prone to S. A. D.

Then, mid winter, my mom died. Not sure exactly what caused it, but now I know what it's like to have it. It passed and now I am much better. However, not wanting to go through that again, with the recent passing of the Fall Equinox, I've been studying daylight with much more interest this year, monitoring my mood as we here up north begin our plunge toward the very short days of the third week in December.

Never one to leave anything of interest not completely examined, I got to wondering about what I missed while daydreaming in astrology class. What causes the earth to have seasons? Time for a visit to Youtube in search of an explanation:  Sun Earth Seasons. Oh, that's why it gets dark at 4:00 pm. Okay, not so terrible. No big mystery. I like science, it is much less scary than the alternative.

This year I'm being proactive. I'm armed with no more cancer prevention, estrogen neutralizing drugs on board, yay! Also in the arsenal are a "happy light", 5000 units of Vitamin D a day (yeah, yeah, yeah, I saw that report too but I'm not ready to give it up), walking, more fruits and vegetables (no, really), less alcohol (not sure about that one), a full size Lazy Boy couch, a big screen TV, a stack of good books, a gargantuan knitting project, permission to get in bed at nine pm (never thought that would sound good), and enough money in the bank to buy a ticket to Mexico if all of the above mentioned do not work.

Winter, prepare to have your ass kicked.

Stress reduction is another weapon in the arsenal this year, so I'm walking. Walking early in the morning and immediately after work is illuminating. One becomes instantly aware of how much light is in the sky at 7:00 am and again at 7:00 pm, the time the evening walk usually ends. You see, it's all about paying attention.

Already I've learned a couple of things by talking about the quality of light... to others and by simply observing Autumn. First observation? Sometimes it's sunny in the Fall. That's a good thing, a very good thing. Second observation? The trees here really do change color in the Fall, something to be celebrated as apposed to the alternative of not noticing and walking around in a "head down, here comes winter again, life sucks" funk.

You see, that's the other thing I'm armed with this year as we head into winter. An attitude adjustment. The panacea everyone likes to talk about that often is not enough on it's own. But mingled with many other tools? It really can make a difference. Just look, I only used the word "suck" once in this post. Now that's progress. See you around, and try not to be S. A. D.

Autumn

Crisp air, ghostly ground fog, clear, bright, long shadow sun, school bound children, flocks of geese headed south, leaves of yellow, orange, red.  What's the common thread?  They're all signs autumn's on it's way.  Less than three weeks to the equinox, but all the signs are beginning to appear.  We are about to begin the transition to winter, and I'm looking for proof this place has four seasons.

Two months ago in early July, with this year's summer's late start, a fearful thought crept in, "What if this is all there is, a few months of summer, sometimes not even a very good summer, followed by nine months of winter?"  Nine months of winter?  Please say it isn't so.  Upon reflection I can see our spring was wet and cold, summer cloudier than usual, but for the most part dry and sunny.  There was a distinct difference between the two.  Now the signs of autumn are showing themselves.  I'm looking to see if autumn is markedly different from winter in the San Juans.

This idea there are four seasons, each with it's unique rituals, activities, and beauty, has suddenly become very important.  The darkness of winter is, it seems to me, the reason so many people in this place have a connection to either Mexico, Arizona, or Palm Springs.  Practically EVERYONE, not just the wealthy.  Island people are resourceful, and when it comes to escaping oppressive, cold, greyness, creativity abounds.

It's good to learn from the locals.  Here's a recent personal fantasy, soon to appear on a post-it stuck to the bathroom mirror, ready for winter, in case one's power of imagination is chased away by nearly sixteen hours of dark out of every twenty four.  Take the ferry to the mainland, hop on the shuttle bus, and board the closest Amtrak headed south.  Winter weather sometimes delays the train, but eventually they have to get you there.

Lightly packed backpack, for the coach riding senior hobo, the affordable choice.  Call ahead and buy two seats, a frugal traveler's possible alternative to paying for a bed.  Soft pillow, warm blanket, sleep.  As the train travels south, passengers slumber, incubating, waiting to awake to the revitalizing sun, bringing with it jubilation, then ecstasy.  Light, light, light.  Yes!  Yes!  Yes!  New meaning to the word "fantasy".

Crisp air, ghostly ground fog, clear, bright, long shadow sun, school bound children, flocks of geese, leaves of yellow, orange, red.  What's the common thread?   It's autumn in the San Juans, a chance to look around and observe this place and all it's many facets yet again.  Questing to become another barnacle here.  Knowing that to "cling to the rock", sometimes means prying oneself loose for a bit and traveling south, like the geese, remembering that technically, winter is after all, only three months long.

Saving Money in Hard Times.

Well, the report's in on the economy and it's all bad, very bad, so I'm going to offer a few thoughts on the current state of the economy and how we can all save even more money in these hard times.  First, you have to think locally, not globally.  Where I live, sharing meals is not only a custom, it's a necessity.  Those of us on San Juan Island who work for a living or live on the meager interest of once large, now small, bank accounts,  have found that one cannot eat out on a regular basis, it's too expensive.  Cooking for other people is fun and saves money.  Also, it gives more time for commiserating and bitching about the current state of the economy.  Bitch therapy I call it.  Bringing a bottle of wine definitely adds to the quality of the experience of shared moaning.

On that topic, here's another money saving tip.  Next time you go for dinner at a friend's house, instead of bringing the customary bottle of wine, let's face it, once you go below ten bucks for a bottle...  Well, actually that would be acceptable here, but I think I can get us down quite a bit more when it comes to host and hostess gifts.  Next time you go to dinner at a friend's house, consider bringing something else.  My personal favorite is a roll of clandestine Costco toilet paper.  Wink as you hand it over to add to the bonding experience of the shared meal.  Nobody here is supposed to be going off island to buy anything, right?  Your host or hostess will thank you later, probably in kind next time they come over to eat.  But be careful, you wouldn't want too much of that stuff, it's hard enough finding empty space for your own stash.  In fact, if you entertain frequently, I suggest you opt for one of my other cost saving thank yous.

How about this, bring your own leftovers to add to the meal.  I for one can never make it through the taco salad at Haley's, likewise the combo meal at Mi Cacita.  I figure, since I eat there because it's fairly cheap, why not double the savings.  Won't your host be surprised when they open the door to find you standing there, your arm outstretched with an eco-friendly container of leftover salad or Mexican food?  Watch out though, there's a caveat here as well.  Since the ban on Styrofoam here on the island, a ban I fully embrace and support by the way, container development is still in the early stages.  You might want to sacrifice one of those valuable plastic grocery sacks you normally use for trash bags.  (If that money saver's new to yo, you may be in trouble, the rest of us started doing that long before the economy tanked, you may need to do some catching up).  But anyway, my point here is those drippy cardboard take home containers might be the cause of embarrassment if you hand over your gift, (especially if it's been a couple of days since you carried it home), in anything less than a plastic bag from Kings.

And speaking of King's, next time you're dropping off your King's receipts at the library, why not try my third suggestion for creative host and hostess gifts.  Nothing says, "thank you" like a library book.  I mean really, how better to let your friends know you really care than to trust them to return a library book you've checked out in your own name?  I for one never get my books back on time, and those are books I've checked out myself.  If the meal is expected to be really good, you may want to choose a video or an audio book.  Use your own best judgment, no one's written the book on poverty etiquette yet, at least I don't think so.  Perhaps I should look into that.  Anyway, do what you think is best.  

In the meantime, I want you to remember the basics of surviving a tough economy.  Make food for family and friends, bring an out of the box hostess gift, and most important of all?  As Winston Churchill so famously said, "Never, never, never, never, never... lose your sense of humor."

Happy Tabs

The other day, checking my email, it occurred to me the tabs open in my browser were almost all downright gloomy.  Every tab had either to do with insurance claims, bills of some kind, was work related, or was a link someone else cared about, not me.  It suddenly occurred, I'd created the "tabs of doom".  It was no longer fun coming to the computer.  This should not be.  Computer time at home, away from the office, should be just for fun.  Time for an overhaul.  Only fun tabs I told myself.  And what would those be? That was the question.  Time to close, close, close, and start all over again.

Well, blogging is pure fun, so first thing, this blog tab got moved to its rightful place all the way over on the left.  Facebook is fun.  Now we're cookin', much better already.  Netflix, forgot about that one.  Movies are always fun.  Now, what else? YouTube!  How about a little online shopping?  Even window shopping is good for the spirits, and you never know when an extra dollar or two will come along, it's good to be prepared.  Now for a confession.  Nerd fun.  Weight Watchers online.  That one's slightly embarrassing, but it is fun to me and that is all that counts.  A couple of favorite blogs, and suddenly we've gone from the "tabs of doom" to, "Oh boy, can't wait to get to the computer."

That's plenty.  Don't want to suffer from "tab overload", another affliction that creeps up if you're not careful.  Well, that's about all for this week.  The weather has been glorious, and being outside, the time just flies this time of year, not much left for blogging.  That's a good thing.  This is the third summer in the islands for Fergie and me.  Winter will come around soon enough up here in the hinterland.  A nice contrast to the long days of summer.  Something I'm learning to appreciate.  Contrast and compare.  Summer, short blogs, winter, long blogs.  And no more "tabs of doom".  Until next week...

On the Weigh to Love

A while back, my boyfriend said to me, "I've gained seven pounds since we met." Hmmm.....  Inside my brain all kinds of synapses immediately fired off.  Is he saying I'm making him fat?  Should I tell him I've gained four pounds since we met?  Is it safe to discuss food, body image, the hundred diets I've been on in my life?  Should I tell him I now adhere to the Roseanne Barr weight management program which is simply to "move more, eat less"?  Don't most people think Roseanne Barr is still fat?  Is it safe to admit I enjoyed watching Joy Behar interview Roseanne a few weeks ago?  How about the interview with Michael Moore I watched on Piers Morgan?  Is it safe to admit Roseanne Barr and Michael Moore are two of my favorite people right now, the people I find the most sane in the world?  Both of them fat and thought to be insane by many, many people?  Then I realized something, my mind is in serious need of a leash.  

Here's my real question.  Is love fattening?  Love for the most part makes me happy, and being happy makes me want to eat (and drink).  Love also makes me anxious, and being anxious makes me want to eat (and drink).  Love brings me into contact with lots of opportunities to imbibe in all my favorite foods (and drink), and makes me want to lie around all day and... read sonnets to one another.  And that always makes me very hungry.  For me the road to love does seem to be leading me down the dangerous road toward the land of "eat, drink, and be merry".  Perhaps what I need are a few road signs on the road to love.  You know, signs like, "Curves Ahead".  Or "Danger, Chocolate Crossing!"  Or "Slow Down! Your Speed is 2 Pizzas a Week."  Or perhaps more appropriately, a simple "STOP!"  For me anyway, love does appear to be, in fact, fattening.  

Is all this emotional and opportunistic eating nature or nurture, one might ask.  In my family, one grandmother was quite plump, the other quite small.  My dad loved to eat and enjoyed life, except perhaps for the times my mom put him on a diet, which happened every ten years or so.  My mother was trim most of her life, just like her own mother, but she had to work at it all the time.  I remember her being in her sixties and saying, "I can only eat 1000 calories a day or I gain weight."  Ee gods.  For being a woman who claimed to despise all things shallow, my own mother was quite vain, especially about her weight.  And the weights of her daughters, too.  After all, she wanted us to be happy, and isn't part of being happy weighing less?  For my mom, it was, although I can't say as a person she was all that happy.  (In her defense, she had her moments.  But that's another story.)  Having a mother who says things like "you're too heavy to wear a skirt that short" as you're exiting the car, already at some family destination that wasn't your first choice anyway, does not contribute to a healthy, happy outlook on one's appearance and one's relationship to food.  So anyway, it is all my mother's fault.  Well not all her fault, I also blame society.  

It's impossible for me to think about society, food, weight, and love without also thinking of Kate Middleton and how rail thin she was in that Alexander McQueen dress on her wedding day at the end of April.  Watching hour after hour of coverage of the fairy tale wedding, I kept thinking, "I wonder which diet she went on, no one is naturally that thin".  Kate beamed through the whole thing, mouthing to William as they sat in the carriage after the ceremony, "I'm so happy".  Let's hope it was that she's so happy to be married to such a wonderful guy, or perhaps she's so happy about the part where he said, "share all my worldly possessions", but I'm pretty sure, and I could be wrong here, but I'm pretty sure at least a little bit of that "I'm so happy" was, "thank God, now I can finally eat".  

Now any sane woman, or insane for that matter, knows exactly what I'm talking about. The topics of women and food and weight and body image and especially love are on display everywhere in our society, particularly on TV, and unless you never watch TV, it's bound to be in your face a good part of the time.  Last month, Oprah Winfrey finally got what she's always wanted, a whole hour of just her talking.  Seriously, this was the final Oprah show, a whole hour of Oprah talking, I mean nobody else, not even one word.  And yes, I watched the whole thing.  I've been with Oprah from the time she started her show twenty five years ago, with a lot of time off, it's true, but it just seemed right to watch the final show.  One thing I have to say though is, during that very long hour there was a lot of mind wandering happening on my part, and with all the images flashing across the screen behind the talking Oprah, and occasional cuts to Stedman sitting smiling at her from the audience, one couldn't help but think at least a little about Oprah and food and weight and body image and yes, love.  Oprah seems pretty happy these days, her relationship solid as ever, as is she.  It was a lot like watching Kirstie Alley on Dancing with the stars, who also seems to be doing very well, despite the extra poundage.  More power to them!

So what am I really afraid of?  A few extra pounds on our aging bodies?  I think the real operative word here is "aging" not pounds.  Not being loved for who I am?  Well, too late for that, I already am loved for who I am.  Not being as attractive to the opposite sex?  Also too late.  I'm taken.  What then?  Perhaps that old message from my mom that happiness requires  a certain number on the scale?  Also proven wrong by too many people I know to count as a serious question.  Maybe the real thing I am afraid of is love itself, not the pounds it brings with it.  Perhaps the pounds are a diversion from all the other scary questions that go along with newfound love.  Will it last?  How can I do it better this time than I've done it before?  Will we be happy together?  How will we navigate our way down this road, now we qualify for the HOV lane?  What I'm looking for is the sign that tells me how many miles it is to "Happily Ever After".  Well, there is no sign, not yet anyway.  But as long as we don't drive one another crazy, I think there's a very good chance we'll get there.


© M.E. Rollins

The Writer's Cookbook

Coming back to the writer's cook stove after nine months off writing a weekly column, it seemed a good idea to go back and read some of my old columns, dust off the cookbooks so to speak, review the old recipes, look for the ones marked "good", remember what I didn't like about the ones marked "yucky".  It's time to restock the cupboard with staples, get out the favorite sauce pans, experiment with savory and sweet, roll up my sleeves and put on my apron in preparation for cooking up some new food for thought.

As soon as I started reading the old columns, I was reminded of something I heard years ago at the Write On the River writers' conference held in Wenatchee. John Daniel was the keynote speaker that year.  He is a gifted descriptive writer, the author of a book which is currently one of my favorites, Rogue River Journal.  His talk that day was an extended metaphor called "Write Like a River."  I enjoyed listening to the ebb and flow of the words as he spoke, but one particular idea he mentioned has stuck in my head ever since.  The simple suggestion to revisit and rewrite pieces already published.

What brought Daniel's suggestion to mind was this.  When I go back and read the old pieces, it really is a little like thumbing through my old cookbooks.  I'd read a piece, and as I was reading, I couldn't help thinking, "this piece would have been good with a little cilantro", knowing full well I hadn't cooked with cilantro yet then, so I didn't know that was the flavor that was missing.  Or even, "eeuuww, that doesn't taste good".  Why did I ever cook that one up?

On my cookbook shelf I have a three ring binder, recipes I've been collecting for over thirty years.  In there are the classic recipes, like the one for English fruitcake, perfected by others over centuries.  Then there are also recipes, the ones featuring ingredients that have not stood the test of time.  For instance, Monterey Bread.  It consists of french bread split down the middle, slathered with butter, mayonnaise, onion, and cheese, sprinkled with paprika, then put under the broiler.  Delicious yes.  Something I'd serve to people I love in good conscience, now that I know better?  Probably not.

I find that revisiting my own writing is a little like reading those recipes in my "recipes from the past" binder. Some stand the test of time, others do not.  And I think this is what John Daniel was saying.  It is never too late to adjust the recipe.  Reduce the butter of maudlin reflection, use more of the light mayonaise of humor, leave in the good parts, like the flavorful onion of universal human experiences, and sprinkle the whole thing with the seasoning of life's latest lessons.

In his address to a rapt audience, Daniel cited famous authors who have rewritten published, even hugely successful, works.  I was surprised to hear this.  But I shouldn't be. What makes good writers is writing, improvement is a natural byproduct, just like what makes good cooks is cooking.

As I prepare to write again, I feel like a cook firing up the cookstove after a brief hiatus. The ingredients I'm choosing today are different than the ones used a decade ago, or even a year ago.  Publishing is a bit like baking a cake.  In one way, you can not go back and bake that particular cake.  But there is always another cake to be made, based on the experience of all the cakes that came before.  And in another way, for writers, we can go back and rebake our cakes if we want.  Having our cake and eating it too in a way.

Bon Appetit!

© M.E. Rollins

Healing

It's been a long time since I was this sick. Fever, a wretched sore throat, body aches, no energy, and the feeling it is never going to be over. Yeah, that's pretty sick alright. A real exercise in patience. And humility. There's a bad flu bug circulating in these here islands, and it's a real bugger. The little Pollyanna in me thinks there's a lesson in everything, and this is no exception. Being someone who too often likes to think I can function without people thank you very much, being sick is a reminder that having other people to lean on once in a while is a good thing. Like the boyfriend who brings me a grocery bag of juice, over the counter drugs, herbal tea bags, and sweet navel oranges, and gets me laughing before he leaves. The friend who emails with me about her experience with the same virus. The manager who insists I stay home and rest until the fever is down. I'd heard from others that San Juan Island is a caring place, and I've found that to be true. But it's not just the place. Being sick makes me realize it's also an adjustment in how I am living my life.


The kind of TLC mentioned above is especially meaningful to me since I had a mother who, although very smart, creative, funny, and self sacrificing, did not have much of the warm and fuzzy gene when it came to sick kids. Earlier this year, that same mother, whom I loved very much in spite of her shortcomings, made her leave of this earthly dwelling place. Or as that same very English mother would have put it, she "popped off". According to synonyms.net, synonyms for "pop off" are:  go, perish, conk, croak, pass away, cash in one's chips, kick the bucket, give-up the ghost, drop dead, exit, buy the farm, die, choke, pass, expire, snuff it, decease. But I like "popped off" the best. No nonsense and English, that was my mom. She's on my mind a lot these days, and being sick brings back memories of her, not all pleasant.


When I asked my sweetie what he remembers about being sick as a child, he told me of a concoction made for him by his mother called "milk toast". I never had that as a child, and although my mom was pretty bad at taking care of sick children, she did feed us, and I think we would have had it if that had been an English comfort food. I think it might be uniquely American, or handed down from some other country. The idea is very simple. Toast, buttered, then drowned in warm milk and sprinkled with sugar. Mmmmmm. Really? Sounds pretty awful to me, but I think it is the feeling of being cared for that makes this dish a fond memory, not the actual dish itself. The other thing my honey remembered about childhood sick days was that his mother drew the curtains so the room was darkened. But there was always a sliver of light that made it's way across the room as the day progressed. I could almost feel the quiet, peaceful, if somewhat boring, ambiance in that childhood sick room brought from the recesses of his memory. And I borrow for a moment the feelings that went along with it. The feeling of being properly nurtured. And let go of the feeling I've always associated with being sick, the feeling that I've done something terribly wrong.


Now before you say, "Talking about your childhood again? Get over it already", let me say I've heard that more than once from well meaning people. And for the most part I agree with them. At some point we all have to move on. But certain experiences are evocative of past times and the feelings that went along with those times. I view those experiences, as opportunities for healing. I agree with whoever said, "It's never too late to have a happy childhood." So this week, I've gone all out. Lots of liquids, staying in bed, moving to the couch to watch a movie, followed by more time in bed. The hardest day was day two, the day my fever was the highest. The body aches, restlessness, and inability to focus on anything more than bad daytime TV, that was really miserable. Having my dear one come by with medicine and things to eat and drink on that day was especially helpful.


Here's what I've learned. I can't go back and make my mother any more sympathetic than she was when I was a child, but I can do things in the here and now that may be outside my comfort zone, but if I'm willing to do them, I can take care of me now. Like taking someone up on the offer of assistance. Like reaching out and letting others know I am sick. Like letting go of those old messages that if I'm sick I must have done something terribly wrong. It may sound odd, but now my mom has passed over, I'm finding it easier to forgive and forget all those long ago infractions on my mother's part. She was human just as I am human. A mixture of traits, some useful, some not so useful. These days I have pictures on my bookshelves of my mother as a young woman . When I see her at her brightest and best, it's easier to let go of her less than stellar moments and remember her good traits. And take care of myself the way she would have had she had it in her.


Reflections on my own childhood would be incomplete and not quite honest if I did not think at least a little about my own performance as a parent. In lots of ways I was a pretty bad parent. I can say this now because I have a good relationship with my child, who is a wonderful person, and because I know that I, just like my own mother, did the best I could at the time. And my reactions to the sickness of my own child were pretty dysfunctional. A lot of out of perspective fear drove me in those days of raising my child and that included managing the myriad illnesses that populate a normal childhood. In the coming weeks, I'll tell you more about how out of perspective fear has impacted my life and what I am finally doing about it. Thank you for reading and have a wonderful week.


© M.E. Rollins

Getting Smart

Well, it must have seemed like I was never going to write another post.  But the writer's itch is always there in the background, so I'm ready to scratch again.  And I've been busy.  Hopefully you'll understand the reason for the delay.  I've been out getting a new job,  finding a very special boyfriend I highly esteem, and acquiring a new smart phone (not necessarily in that order).  Ah, and a new crown on molar number three.  In fact, postponed body maintenance in general has been underway since I last wrote.  All this, it would seem, would be just the way to get some much needed new material. 

I can just see you rubbing your greedy hands together saying, "Details, details, let's get to the details!"  (You know who you are).  But as Joyce Maynard learned the hard way, divulging the wrong details, especially about a relationship, can be the death knell of said relationship.  Likewise with the new job.  I would be more than happy to divulge details about my new crown, (thank you Dr. Bo), but that, I'm sure, would not be nearly as interesting.  So that just leaves the smart phone.  I'll see if I can make that sexy enough to keep you reading.

Having postponed as long as humanly possible... well that's a little dramatic, let's say my old phone was,  a.) so old it had no camera and,  b.) was virtually impossible to text on.  So about three years old... ancient, I decided to get a new phone.  Walking into a phone store at the start of my quest nearly blew me over with a blast of new terminology and options.  Choices of providers, choices of plans, choices of phones (many, many phones), and a daunting list of everything each phone allows you to do.  I hoped there was a phone that would cook me dinner, but that is still in the works.  I'm sure there'll be one soon.

Just going in the store was enough for the first foray into the world of what I now know as "smart phones".  I think they're called that because you have to have a PhD to use one.  For a minute I went to that place that occasionally tells me my brain is too old for this.  But then I remembered the only way to keep my brain from actually being too old for anything is to use it.  I took a break, bought myself a nice Starbuck's Frappucino, something you only need a master's degree to order, and renewed my resolve for the challenge.

A few days later, I hit Costco.  I heard they sell phones and plans.  At Costco I learned  there are three options, a smart phone, a regular phone, and something in between.  Now we're getting somewhere.  But still it was almost completely overwhelming, so I backed away from the kiosk and stopped for a frozen yogurt sundae, leaving the store empty handed, except for the sundae, but slightly less daunted.  I also learned Costco can't sell iPhones for some reason.  Those still sounded super cool to me, so I pressed on to find a place I could get one.  It's part of the "just buy the coolest sounding thing and go with it" approach that sometimes works.

Here on the island, there are really only two highly functional carriers, AT&T and Verizon.  I'd heard early on that only AT&T has the iPhone, but Verizon is the carrier of choice here.  So I thought, Hmmm... maybe I can live without an iPhone, those Droid things sound pretty good.  Feeling proud I'd learned the word Droid, I headed out to find a Verizon store.  That was easy.  After picking one by spinning around and throwing the rest of my frozen yogurt sundae with my eyes closed, it was there I met a nice young salesman who explained to me the one million combinations there are of phones and plans.  My eyes glazed over at number two hundred.  I stumbled from the store, and after wiping the blood dripping from my ears, went next door to Subway, to order a turkey sandwich, which only requires a bachelors degree to order.  Yes, I'll admit it, I was on the mainland.

Back at home, late one night, armed with a whole new vocabulary, "iPhone", "Droid", "smartphone", "data package", I decided it was time to go online.  And it was there, finally, in the quiet of the night I took the plunge.  Make it easy and I will do it.  And it was pretty easy.  I'd narrowed it down to which carrier, which narrowed down my choice of phone, which told me which plans to buy, and, most importantly, I was able to get a local number online.  That's really all there was to it.  That and a little thing called a credit card.  They make that super easy too.  They've figured me out.

So, now, here I am, my earbuds in, listening to my favorite music for free (less the cost of the phone, or "device" to use the proper terminology, and the plans of course, gulp).  But hey, we only go round once that I know of, so why not?  Besides it's a bargain when you get a local-to-Friday-Harbor smart phone number and get rid of your land line.  I know, I know, that's a stretch, but if we want to stay smart, we have to get smart... phones that is.  And that's all there is to say about that.  What, still no details about the boyfriend?  Well, if you know me or if you know anyone in Friday Harbor, you'll know soon enough.  And if I'm really smart, that's all I'm going to say.

© M.E. Rollins