here are just a few recipes to look forward to:
curried lentil soup
the 17 minute 350 degree chocolate chip cookie
homefry potato soup with prosciutto breadcrumbs, hashbrown & fried egg
for now... Soup on!
There have been way too many comings and goings around here lately. In some cases this is kind of heartbreaking and it's killing me, but in others, well, it's a welcome relief*. But to be honest, I'm completely emotionally depleted from all of it and that does not bode well for the coming endless onslaught of holiday family meshugas, shenanigans and triangulations. It's never awesome to attack this season on an empty emotional stomach, but unfortunately that seems to be my situation this year. I'm so thankful I'm not turning 40 on top of all of it, though the fact that I'm turning 41 does mean I'm really in my 40s now (do I buy the orthopedic shoes and cut my hair off?), so I've got that to remember when I need an emotional appetite suppressant while I'm visiting my family in Texas. Which is good because I'll need it.
Please don't get me wrong, my family is made up of seriously fantastic and totally weird personages and I couldn't love any other human beings on the planet more than them, but for some reason if I go into a situation with all of them all at once I revert into an incredibly petulant twelve year old, almost without exception. And this behavior isn't reserved for just my parents, oh no, it extends a full 100 yards on a multi-generational football field. Like a couple of years ago when I was stuck riding on the hump in the backseat of my brother's family car squished between two child car seats (I love how 40 years later it's still the place I always get relegated to in the car)...I got into a very interesting game of "I-know-you-are-but-what-am-I" with my young nephew that was not happening in the I'm-older-and-pretending-to-be-Pee-Wee-Herman-because-I'm-the-cool-aunt kind of way but more in the you-and-I-are-the-same-emotional-age-and-you're-pissing-me-off-and-I-don't-have-a-rational-argument-for-you kind of way. It ended with me getting so annoyed that I popped his balloon, literally, that he had gotten as a souvenir at a baseball game while my niece tried to feed me cheerios, dropping them onto my white pants with her sticky fingers. My brother had to inject some rationality and break up the ruckus. Yes, I am Auntie of the Year in everyone's book. I fully admit to extreme assholery.
It is true that the Duck Man has a pool. It is also true that I, in a very uncharacteristically brazen and aspirational way, declared to the Girl Whose Name Sounds Better Pronounced as an Indian Food Dish and to the Equestrian to Kids of the Stars at the Duck Man’s holiday party in December that we were going to be lounging by that pool (and grilling and drinking next to it) all summer. I imagined myself ten pounds lighter (with an extra couple inches attached to my legs for good measure) in a chic black bikini perched as the mistress of the pool, doling out invitations and kebabs with a royal, benevolent flourish.
I am an asshole. Once again, I have counted my chickens before they hatched into chicken nuggets and find myself somewhat short of a 3 piece order. I am hanging out in a loft/sauna with one pissed off cat instead of sunning myself next to a mid century oasis.
It is hotter than asphalt, so I am reminded of my great pool loss on this day, the day that it decided to be summer in SoCal. I guess I should count myself lucky; that I somehow managed to circumvent drawing out a “relationship” (if you could see me in person right now you’d witness the air quotes around that word, relationship) that probably wouldn’t have worked out anyway for a panoply of fantastic reasons, but that hasn’t in any way stopped me from bemoaning my pathetic, pool-less and utterly tragic fate.
