The Wifester and I had dinner guests last night. I know, I know...we're becoming regular socialites. Now that I've moved my easel and paint supplies out of the dining room and into the back bedroom/makeshift "studio", we have a full dining room to enjoy again. So I called up my friend, Mountain Girl and invited her and her hubby, California Boy to join us for the first dinner in our new dining room. I know the Wifester's answer any time I ask "So what should I make for dinner?" is always going to be "ENCHILADAS!" So I don't even bother asking her anymore, unless I happen to be in the mood for enchiladas as well. Since we recently had enchiladas when our soon-to-be married friends came over *waves atrobin_nash and her boo * so this time, I wanted something different. I also wanted to make something that I haven't made before. I poked around on the foodchannel.com and about a thousand recipe sites, but didn't really see anything that tickled my fancy. I knew I wanted to make something with the nice plump chicken breasts I had just bought, and remembered that I had some goat cheese... I marinated my breasts, well, not my breasts, but the chicken's breasts in olive oil, rosemary, oregano, thyme, marjoram, and sage for a few hours in the fridge. Then I took them out, covered them with a sheet of saran wrap and beat the hell out of them with a meat tenderizer until they were flat like pancakes, maybe 1 1/2" thick...I donno. At that point, I placed them back in the marinade and made my stuffing. For the stuffing, I cooked 5 slices of bacon, and set them aside to cool, then I chopped them up to tiny bits in my handy food chopper. I love that damned little gadget. Then, I took my little package of goat cheese, which had been sitting on the counter while the bacon cooked to let the cheese soften a bit, a couple handfuls of Italian bread crumbs, some minced garlic, some more oregano, thyme, marjoram, sage, and some salt and pepper and a little steamed, chopped spinach. I mixed this all up until it was completely incorporated together, then covered and placed it back in the fridge to let all the flavors come out. I let that set in the fridge for about two hours. I kept my bacon grease in the skillet. I'll tell you why in a few. After the stuffing set and the flavors were peaking, I took the chicken breasts, laid them out flat, and spooned the stuffing mixture into them, then rolled them up and dipped them in Italian bread crumbs. Once all the breasts were dipped I pan seared them in that bacon grease, then set them in a glass casserole dish and baked at 350 for about 20 min. I checked the temp and my thermometer read 180 so I felt safe that we would not be suffering salmonella poisoning with this meal, and at that, I covered the dish and let the breasts rest for about 10 min while my brussel sprouts cooked. For them, I did a twist on Guy Fieri's "Bumped up Brussel Sprouts." I didn't have all the ingredients, but I worked with what I did have, and they came out great. I cut the sprouts in half, used some of those bacon pieces from earlier, some minced garlic, a few spoons of capers and some of the bacon drippings. When the sprouts were tender, I splashed some balsamic vinaigrette and viola, yummy, yummy sprouts! The chicken, though... the chicken was so good! I've never made it before, but I guarantee, I'll be making it again! And if you like Italian spices and chicken that is tender and juicy and stuffed with yummy, yummy goodness, then I encourage you to try it too! One day, when I win the lottery and open my own restaurant...this chicken dish will definitely be on the menu!
"You'd better come see the TV." "What?" "One of the Twin Towers just got hit by a plane or something...you better come down here and look at this." I pulled the covers away from my face and wiped the sleep from my eyes, letting the information marinate a bit. I was stunned and I think in shock a little. "What do you mean a plane hit the Twin Towers? That can't even happ..." "It did, or something did. Come see!" I rolled out of bed and descended the stairs to find Liliana and her youngest son huddled around the television, with a look of shock and terror on their faces. I knew instantly why she was more mortified than anyone else, her oldest son was out of the country, visiting their family in Italy, and at a time like this, you just want your family by your side, and she certainly wanted her son to be safely home, with her. My own family was 3000 miles away, and on rocky ground with me, and I wanted nothing more than to run to their side and hug them.
As I poured my coffee and staggered my way toward the TV, I heard Liliana saying "Oh! My GOD, look at..." That's when I saw it. The second plane hit. My knees buckled and my head spun. Did I just see what I think I just saw? I did. I had to set my coffee down and wipe my eyes, trying to discern if I was dreaming or hallucinating or, if this was in fact actually happening. From that moment on, my life has forever been changed. There's a pre 9/11 America, and a post 9/11 America. That's a given, but what isn't often talked about is how our individual lives changed on that day. I know mine did. My outlook, my thought process, my appreciation for those I love and for those who I don't even know has grown more than I can possibly measure or express with mere words. Before September 11, 2001, I never thought that I would live to see an attack of that magnitude on our own soil, with our own machinery even. Before September 11, 2001, I never thought that my country would return to such paranoia, discrimination, and prejudice as that which we fought so hard to overcome in the 60's. I saw people mistaking Hispanics for Arabs and yelling foul, disgusting and obscene things at them. I saw some of the worst behavior I've ever witnessed in my lifetime. I also saw some of the most beautiful displays of humanity. The pendulum swung fully both ways in the days following the attacks. On the day after, September 12, 2001, my then girlfriend, the Wanderer and I rode around Sacramento and saw people standing on every corner holding candlelight vigils. Strangers holding hands and holding candles and waving flags and blotting tears.
I saw children collect water, canned goods, supplies of all sorts to send to the rescue crews.
This was indeed, a day that will stay in my memory and always illicit those thick, rigid goosebumps when ever mentioned. It is a single day, a horrific event that has helped to shape who I am and who I will be for the rest of my life.
How did September 11th change you?
self evident ~Ani Difranco
yes, us people are just poems we're 90% metaphor with a leanness of meaning approaching hyper-distillation and once upon a time we were moonshine rushing down the throat of a giraffe yes, rushing down the long hallway despite what the p.a. announcement says yes, rushing down the long stairs with the whiskey of eternity fermented and distilled to eighteen minutes burning down our throats down the hall down the stairs in a building so tall that it will always be there yes, it's part of a pair there on the bow of noah's ark the most prestigious couple just kickin back parked against a perfectly blue sky on a morning beatific in its indian summer breeze on the day that america fell to its knees after strutting around for a century without saying thank you or please
and the shock was subsonic and the smoke was deafening between the setup and the punch line cuz we were all on time for work that day we all boarded that plane for to fly and then while the fires were raging we all climbed up on the windowsill and then we all held hands and jumped into the sky
and every borough looked up when it heard the first blast and then every dumb action movie was summarily surpassed and the exodus uptown by foot and motorcar looked more like war than anything i've seen so far so far so far so fierce and ingenious a poetic specter so far gone that every jackass newscaster was struck dumb and stumbling over 'oh my god' and 'this is unbelievable' and on and on and i'll tell you what, while we're at it you can keep the pentagon keep the propaganda keep each and every tv that's been trying to convince me to participate in some prep school punk's plan to perpetuate retribution perpetuate retribution even as the blue toxic smoke of our lesson in retribution is still hanging in the air and there's ash on our shoes and there's ash in our hair and there's a fine silt on every mantle from hell's kitchen to brooklyn and the streets are full of stories sudden twists and near misses and soon every open bar is crammed to the rafters with tales of narrowly averted disasters and the whiskey is flowin like never before as all over the country folks just shake their heads and pour
so here's a toast to all the folks who live in palestine afghanistan iraq
el salvador
here's a toast to the folks living on the pine ridge reservation under the stone cold gaze of mt. rushmore
here's a toast to all those nurses and doctors who daily provide women with a choice who stand down a threat the size of oklahoma city just to listen to a young woman's voice
here's a toast to all the folks on death row right now awaiting the executioner's guillotine who are shackled there with dread and can only escape into their heads to find peace in the form of a dream
cuz take away our playstations and we are a third world nation under the thumb of some blue blood royal son who stole the oval office and that phony election i mean it don't take a weatherman to look around and see the weather jeb said he'd deliver florida, folks and boy did he ever
and we hold these truths to be self evident: #1 george w. bush is not president #2 america is not a true democracy #3 the media is not fooling me cuz i am a poem heeding hyper-distillation i've got no room for a lie so verbose i'm looking out over my whole human family and i'm raising my glass in a toast
here's to our last drink of fossil fuels let us vow to get off of this sauce shoo away the swarms of commuter planes and find that train ticket we lost cuz once upon a time the line followed the river and peeked into all the backyards and the laundry was waving the graffiti was teasing us from brick walls and bridges we were rolling over ridges through valleys under stars i dream of touring like duke ellington in my own railroad car i dream of waiting on the tall blonde wooden benches in a grand station aglow with grace and then standing out on the platform and feeling the air on my face
give back the night its distant whistle give the darkness back its soul give the big oil companies the finger finally and relearn how to rock-n-roll yes, the lessons are all around us and a change is waiting there so it's time to pick through the rubble, clean the streets and clear the air get our government to pull its big dick out of the sand of someone else's desert put it back in its pants and quit the hypocritical chants of freedom forever
cuz when one lone phone rang in two thousand and one at ten after nine on nine one one which is the number we all called when that lone phone rang right off the wall right off our desk and down the long hall down the long stairs in a building so tall that the whole world turned just to watch it fall
and while we're at it remember the first time around? the bomb? the ryder truck? the parking garage? the princess that didn't even feel the pea? remember joking around in our apartment on avenue D?
can you imagine how many paper coffee cups would have to change their design following a fantastical reversal of the new york skyline?!
it was a joke, of course it was a joke at the time and that was just a few years ago so let the record show that the FBI was all over that case that the plot was obvious and in everybody's face and scoping that scene religiously the CIA or is it KGB? committing countless crimes against humanity with this kind of eventuality as its excuse for abuse after expensive abuse and it didn't have a clue look, another window to see through way up here on the 104th floor look another key another door 10% literal 90% metaphor 3000 some poems disguised as people on an almost too perfect day should be more than pawns in some asshole's passion play so now it's your job and it's my job to make it that way to make sure they didn't die in vain sshhhhhh.... baby listen hear the train?
Amy slunk into homeroom late that morning after missing first period altogether. Her usually perfectly tousled and teased hair was disheveled and matted from the pillow's friction and I was pretty sure she still had on yesterday's clothes. Her eyes were red and puffy and she looked completely lost. "Chopper's dead." The words rolled off her tongue so softly that it took a moment to sink in. I turned my full attention to her, noticing that her shoulders were slumped and face was solemn. "What? How? Oh my god, Amy, OH MY GOD!" The finality of what she had just told me was sinking in, and I wanted no part of this knowledge. Instantly, flashes of Chopper ran through my mind. Chopper and Amy and I were a threesome during summer school. We stuck tight, hiding in Amy's car to smoke our parent's cigarettes and make fun of the kids who were there not because they skipped too much school, but because they just couldn't pass. The three of us were alike. We showed up on test day and aced it. Why bother showing up the rest of the week? And that's the attitude that landed us together that summer with all the kids who hated us for who we were. The outcasts. The strangely dressed, strange acting and hard to understand Others. That was us. We had each other's backs in that crowd of football players and cheerleaders, basketball stars and future wrestling coaches. We had to, kids like us were open targets.
"Shot himself. This morning. His mom called me. He gave me this last night..." She shoved her hand my way, which cradled a pewter dragon and wizard, Chopper's favorites. "He told me he wanted me to have them. But I didn't know...I didn't know..."
The rest of that day was a blur. More information came in about how Chopper died. He picked a beautiful spot by the pond in the park and then blew his brains out, leaving his mutilated corpse there for some poor lady to find on her early morning jog. I wonder if she still jogs.
I was perpetually grounded in those days, for one thing or another, and never allowed to use the phone, leave my room, have company, or do anything. I left a note on the kitchen table for my parents, asking for permission to go to the funeral, and was surprised that permission was granted.
I'd been to many funerals in my too short life already. Family and friends alike had died in my 16 years, enough that I had a couple of outfits designated for funerals already. I picked one out and headed off with Amy to say goodbye to a bright, intelligent, and extremely humorous young man.
The funeral was surreal. There was a giant photo of Chopper, propped up in the middle of the funeral home, no one needed to see what was left of our friend, no one. We stared at the larger than life photo and reminisced about the events leading up to this. Chopper's mom was distraught beyond belief and I could hardly bare to look her way. After losing her daughter in a car accident the year before, I couldn't imagine what she must have been going through now. When the minister took the podium to conduct the services, I was relieved, hoping for some words of comfort. As I pulled myself out of oblivion and focused in on what he was saying, I was mortified. He told us that our dear friend, her son, would never see the fruits of heaven, and would be eternally burning in hell because he had committed the worst sin of all, suicide. To this, Chopper's mom began to sob hysterically. Someone placed their arms around her to comfort her, but I don't think it was much relief at that moment. I turned back to the minister, who was by now in full exaltation, speaking with a zealotry I'd never before witnessed. He scared me. He told us that we were all sinners and would suffer the same torturous fate as Chopper if we didn't turn our lives over right this very moment to his Christ and if we didn't go out and save others from burning and suffering like Chopper. I couldn't get the image of my friend, a good soul, a sweet, kind, loving person being chained in a lava filled, fire engulfed pit and screaming for help. He was just sad. He was just a sad boy who didn't see any way out. He made a mistake. A very big and final mistake. How can this man stand here and tell us all how horrible and grotesque Chopper was? Did he even know him? Did he know the boy that would stand up for anyone who was being bullied, even if it got his own ass kicked? Did he know the boy who would give his lunch money to homeless guys? Did he know the guy who looked out for everyone else's best interest before his own? I didn't think so. Because if he had known that guy, he would never be able to stand in front of all of us and say these horrible things about our friend, her son, their cousin.
After the thing that they called a service, we got together and took Chopper's ashes to the pond at the park where he ended his life. A fitting place to sprinkle Chopper and set him free. We talked about the good times and remembered Chopper the way he should be remembered and did our very best to eulogize him in a more appropriate way than that which we had just witnessed.
I went home that day angry. Angry at Chopper for dying, angry at god for letting him, angry at that minister for all the things he'd said, angry at everyone who ever made Chopper sad...angry. I'll never forget Chopper's funeral. I try to remember Chopper's smile and quick wit, but following that always comes the memories of Chopper's funeral. I've stopped being mad at Chopper and all the assholes that gave him a hard time. But I must admit, I'm still a little bit teed-off at that insensitive, arrogant minister who made Chopper's funeral one of the most traumatic parts of Chopper's entire, grotesque and sudden death. I hope Chopper found some peace in death that he couldn't find in life. I hope Chopper's mom found some peace and comfort somewhere other than that awful man that presided over his funeral, and I hope that man isn't doing funerals for teens who've committed suicide anymore.
Navigating the labyrinthine entrapment that is Face Book, I've found myself reunited with so many people from my past that I never thought I'd ever see or hear from again. It has been wonderful, scary, exciting and a bit melancholy to walk down those roads and remember these names and faces from what seems to be a lifetime ago. It's a bit funny how time and distance grants a new perspective to everything. I've always heard and said "Hindsight is 20/20" but am now seeing a whole new perspective on what that saying actually means. I wonder about the other friends and classmates of mine who left Tennessee...do they look back at our hometown with the same scrutiny that I do? Do they hold a nostalgia for a home that probably never really was quite what they remember?
I found that most people, when asking about my family, are never at all surprised to hear that I only recently regained communication with them. The most common response being " I remember it was always very strained..." Yeah, to say the least.
I think it was a recipe for a perfect storm of familial dysfunction. I was the artistic, agnostic, free spirit, liberal, budding lesbian being raised in an uber-Christian, bordering on fundamentalism, Southern -Republican, sports-centered home. Water and oil.
The Wifester and I watched a documentary last night about Cults in America. They said the number 1 misconception about cults is that people who belong to them always live in compounds. They went on to show many churches, most of which were identical to that of my parents'. They showed families who had left these churches, and entered a rehab for cult survivors. (Which, by the way, did you know that the U.S. has the highest number of religious cults of any country in the world? Many of which call themselves Christian fellowships. These are the "Religious Right" who influence lawmakers in our country and bully our Senate to vote as they deem appropriately. That's a scary prospect. ) As we watched this Sundance Chanel documentary, I was struck by the similarities between the way many of the children were raised, and my upbringing. Finally, I looked to my Wifester and said, half jokingly " Honey, I had those same rules. I had those same punishments. I'm starting to think I may have been raised in a cult!" To which she casually replied, " Duh! I thought that was self evident." "No," I insisted. " Sure, the church they belong to now I do believe is a cult, but I was raised in a Catholic church and Catholic school. I never thought of anything that we were taught or the ways we were punished as being in any way related to cult-like behavior." "But the predisposition was already there, and you experienced it first hand. Later, they simply found a church in which their twisted beliefs were considered to be normal and they felt like they fit in there, that's all. But everything about your upbringing says you were subject to the same things as some of these kids that are in this movie."
Wow.
It was hard for me to reconcile. I remember my parents being fun loving, joking, partying people. But I also remember the strict discipline, the religion and fire and brimstone, the constant reminders of what would send me to hell if I continued to think, act, or say...
I look at Wifester's family. They are Christians. They practice love, tolerance, and patience. They attend church. They work with the poor. But you know what they don't do? They don't abhor Wifester and I for being gay. They don't discount me as some evil demon who's corrupted their daughter, sister, granddaughter. They all welcome and embrace me into the family. That's what Christianity is about, I believe. Not this stuff we hear today from these fundamentalist extremist who preach to kill sinners, to hate those who disagree with them, who teach hatred and intolerance. It makes me sad that there are so many people out there looking for something to hold on to, and instead of finding something good and enlightening, something that fosters real introspection and growth, they find this virulent filth that masks itself as gospel and decays their ability to decipher logic from insanity.
I don't know how I escaped, without becoming a mind-numb lemming, I'm just glad I did. I wish I could save them all, and show them how much happier, truly happier they could be without that fear, hate, and judgment constantly in their hearts. Today, that is my wish to all those people who don't think they are in a cult, only because it is so hard to accept and admit that such a thing could happen to you. I wish you a moment of clarity and an opportunity to heal.
It's so hard to say goodbye to a good neighbor. They are sadly, all too often hard to come by. We've been lucky to have some good neighbors directly on either side of us for about a year now. Then suddenly, we noticed one neighbor packing up and moving out the other day. It makes me sad for many reasons, only one of which is that there are already two houses on the street for sale, one of them abandoned and empty. The little cul-de-sac that is my home is changing. The scary thing is, who knows what kind of neighbor we'll get next. As a couple of gay women living in the South, that is a multifaceted hypothetical that I could work myself up into a panic pondering...
I noticed the fleeing neighbor in the front yard yesterday, and stepped out to talk, say goodbye, and tell him that we've enjoyed living next door to them.
That's when he tells me, "So, did you hear what happened?" Loving to be in on the word, I pounced on that! "NO! What?" "Well, "he says, "We've been renting that house, and we wanted to buy it. " "Oh," I said, "We thought you had bought it." Remembering that it had hosted a sign that said Rent or Sale before he and his wife moved in last year. "Yeah, so did we." he says. What? My confusion surely showed on my face so he elaborated. It seems that when he inquired about the house, the company told him that it was for sale, but he was required to rent it for 6 months, then he could begin the process of buying it. He was cool with that, and signed up. After his 6 months, he went to the company and said he was ready to start the buying process and they told him, Oh, well, actually, at this time that specific house is not for sale, but it will be in 6 months. If you want to continue renting for 6 months, at the end of that time you can buy it. So he went along. Well, this was the end of that 6 months, and guess what? They told him the same story again, except this time, they told him that he'd have to wait a year, and on top of that, his rent was going to increase! He and his wife decided to get a real realtor and are now buying another house. Actually buying it. But they were sad because they liked this house. I was sad because we liked these neighbors.
When The Wifester arrived home from work and I told her the story, she said, "Wow, that's exactly what happened to the last couple that lived there."
Now, I don't know if it was the same realty company renting to that couple as was to this couple. That's asking for memory to go back further than mine is capable of. But for two different families to have the same wool pulled over their eyes in regards to the prospect of buying the same house and to both end up in an endless rental cycle? That seems to be a bit too much of a coincidence to me. Sounds like someone's rental company is practicing some bad Juju!
The Wifester never knew what a chigger was, that is until last weekend when we spent our wonderful weekend getaway in the cabin in the woods.
She's from Ohio where there's simply no such thing as a chigger. Queen Ann's lace grows rampant up there, and no one gets the joke about it being a "Chigger hotel." When I asked all the Ohio relatives about chiggers, I got the deer-in-headlights stare, usually followed by "Chigger?" with a head tilt. Finally, one aunt said "Oh, yeah, I heard a hunter talk about running into chiggers out on a hunt once, but I think he was in Kentucky..." Yeah, I think the cold, cold winter prevents chiggers from making Ohio a home. Lucky them. Wifester got her first, up close and personal meet and greet with the lovely mites, and is none too happy for it, I must say. She's covered in red, itchy bumps and has a scowell across her face that would tarnish a cherub's mood. "I HATE it here!" she protested last night, while scratching every inch of skin she could reach and simultaneously rubbing her back against the chair she was sitting in. Poor Wifester. I've had my share of chigger bites. I grew up here, with a wooded back yard and camping and hiking my entire life. That's why on our way to the cabin, I bought a can of Deep Woods Off, and I used it before we left the cabin, religiously. Wifester opted not to use it, unsure of its effectiveness, or unagreeable with its odor, or just plain stubborn, I'm not sure which. Either way, she's the one covered in chigger bites, while I'm clean as a whistle. And that is why I say to my darling Wifester, "That's why god made Deep Woods Off"
I awoke Saturday morning in blissful solitude, nestled in the Tennessee wilderness with the Wifester's arm draped across my back and the Sunny-Dog's chin draped across my heel. The early morning sun & birdsong were this day's wake up call. Our original plan was to be in Gatlinburg, but plans change, as they are sometimes want to, especially when the Wifester and I try to be spur-of-the-moment...No problem, we readjusted. And when plans changed again, we took the opportunity and found this beautiful place in The Cedars of Lebanon State Park at the last minute, who were also accommodating of the Sunny Dog. All things work out as they should.
I challenge you to find a more centering, grounding action, than removing yourself from the chaos that can sometimes envelop life around you, for a period of meditation and reflection. With solitude comes a serenity that allows for introspection and peaceful, honest personal inventory that I believe is essential for a healthy, well balanced life. Through this process, we become more comfortable with ourselves and the world around us. We become more comfortable in our own skins and where we exist in this world. The Wifester and I have really learned to embrace that and utilize it in our lives, both individually and together. I like that about us. I wish it for more people.
I like the cosmos, the peace and serenity that naturally coincides with the processes of soul searching and honest self assessment. The road leading here from chaos may be long and uphill, but I will always testify that it is ever so worthy of the journey.
I spent the weekend hiking trails and painting with a new set of watercolors. Toasting marshmallows and snapping photos of giant insects in the act of making little giant insects. I won and lost some Scrabble. I won and lost some Rummy. And I gained a stronger, more solid and beautiful connection to my soul mate.
The only question I have now is, when do we do it again??
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