My last post went on and on in such a selfish way about just my own very self. Ended in a trivial thing about filling the gap that my lost tooth left behind. Today I just feel ridiculous. It has been little more than 24 hours since I found out that my friend Melissa died and I'm diving into waters full of tears, anger, frustration and guilt. It just isn't fair. Not damned fair that she doesn't get to fall in love, be married, buy a wedding dress, fight with the love of her life. I feel guilty that I have laughed countless times in the past day. I have been allowed to hug. I have held my friends' child, I have fed him. I have chosen not to walk the dogs. I have been cold. I have eaten cake. I have felt good about wearing a size 4 for the first time in more than a decade. I have wondered which shoes to wear. I have shared slippers. I have eaten cake. I have been fortunate enough to eat at all. I have drunk copious amounts of wine. I have chosen to smoke cigarettes. I have talked about how Mel removed Echo's stitches. I have talked about her as if I had a right to remember her. I have showered. I have felt warm in that shower. I have sobbed in that shower. I have picked music on Itunes that I hope she likes. I have wallowed in my own self pity. I have met and enjoyed new people. I have discussed trivial things like meatloaf and the first time I had it. I have had unkind thoughts. Thoughts that she would not have had. I have looked at pictures of her. I have giggled at mustaches worn when they ought not to have. I had tea. I ate a really good omelet for breakfast. I thought about masturbating. I wasted the day playing stupid games on the computer. I told one of my best friends that I love and value him. I have cried when I thought about all my most favorite people.
None of it brought her back. None of it made any one of her friends or family feel any better. It still isn't fair. I'm still fucking pissed. I'm still crying. I still don't understand. And I will get up tomorrow and do this again and again and again until one day I don't. I hope on that day she smiles at me and finds a way to tell me she understands.
I thank you for the time we did have Mel. Your soul is one I hope I am worthy of running into again. Perhaps we can eat sushi and sing show tunes or maybe I will finally buy pointe shoes in my size and you can watch me do the routines I have put off for no good reason. Thank you for being you.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
Dear myself
Dear Mitra,
I'm writing this to you from the ripe old age of 36. Remember a few short years ago when you were convinced you were going to die at 30? I just want to let you know that you will be happy you didn't. I know it doesn't seem that way right now though. I know things for you right now are mostly pain. You spend a majority of your time alone, scared that this is how it will always be, crying silently late at night when no one else is up. Sometimes you find yourself so incredibly happy and full of energy that you can't contain it and you are afraid you will explode but all you get are strange looks and admonitions to calm down. Notes sent home saying that you would be a better student if you could stop talking. Full of frustration at the fact that they don't realize you simply can't stop talking. It isn't within your powers to control this thing. It's a part of you but it isn't you. I wish I could hold you and tell you that one day, some one will finally realize that you are manic depressive and that after a lot of trial and error, you will get on the right medication and you will feel better. I wish there was a way to let you know that you are pretty awesome the way you are and that you don't need to try to change to please everyone around you. I'm not sure that knowing these things will make it any better though. You don't have patience and it does take a lot of work and many years. I promise, a day comes that you don't need medications at all anymore and you manage to see the grey areas of life finally. You do however, still tend to live black and white but you understand that the grey exists and that other people live in it. I wish that knowing all this would help ease the scary years. I wish you would learn sooner that the emotional pain will go away and that you don't need to hurt yourself physically to get through the immediate.
Here are some of the things you will go through that perhaps you might want to try to avoid but then again, maybe you had to go through them to come out the other side as me. And honestly, being me is pretty rad!
So, I would suggest you skip getting married at 21. It doesn't work out and you end up feeling pretty foolish for a lot of years about the big wedding and all the trouble everyone went to for you. You do get to spend some time overseas and see some pretty cool stuff but you are also in the thickest part of your depression and it is really hard to be without support. Actually, you should skip most of the relationships you have over the next decade and a half. Most of them aren't worth your time and you end up making these guys your entire life and losing out on a lot of time with friends and family which in the end, do turn out to be there for you. (they actually always were but you don't get that for a while) Except your mom, don't waste so much time trying to get her to like you, it won't happen. You will never be the daughter she hoped for and it will cause you a lot of stress trying to figure that out. Just try to go with the flow as far as she is concerned. It really isn't her fault. She had a ridiculous family life and after three miscarriages, really really wanted you. That explains the whole smothering thing that both your parents do most of your life. I know it is very confusing for you to think that you aren't liked but still forced to be around all the time. Honestly, I've only just started to figure that part out.
Don't move to Alaska. It doesn't end well and you spend all your savings in the process. You do learn a valuable life lesson about changing the scenery not changing what is inside but in the end, you would really rather have the money.
The dogs. Kaiya is an amazing idea. She is kind and sweet and wonderful and keeps you warm. Echo is pretty special after the first two years. He does manage to destroy the interior of two cars, a digital camera, and a screen door so perhaps you should consider keeping those things out of reach somehow. You could try a little more forceful training with him and I bet he would be pretty close to perfect though. Monkey...I'm not sure what to tell you about him. A lot of me thinks that you should not even bother to get the third dog. I think things would have been much easier that way. I know that I personally won't ever have three again and mainly because of Monkey. I'm sitting here trying to decide if the good outweighs the bad with him. He does make you laugh, a lot. But the majority of the time he makes you crazy and in the end he goes kind of nuts and you wage a huge battle with yourself over whether or not to put him to sleep. He also ends up costing you a lot of money between jumping through the window, being allergic to everything on earth, and digging up the yard. And yet, I still don't know if I wouldn't do it all over again.
When it comes to love, you do finally find it. You two end up with a relationship that reflects the way your whole life has been, black or white, but you do love each other very much no matter what. That is the important part. Try not to get too flustered during the explosive fights you have, in a few days things will cool down and you will get a big stupid grin on your face every time you think of him.
Now I come to the part that started this whole letter. The tattoos and piercings. Shockingly, the tattoos are not something you come to regret. At least not at this point. The piercings are what get you into trouble. As with most things in your life, you go all out when you have decided to do it. You end up getting two piercings in all your spots instead of just one. And no, don't worry, you never get weird enough to go below the waist. I'm just hoping that if you take nothing away from all this advice, you at least listen to me when I tell you NOT TO GET YOUR TONGUE PIERCED! You end up with two and you have them for just about long enough to wreck your two front teeth. A few years after you take them out, you end up with an infection (that you ignore for a while) and then you end up having one of your bottom front teeth removed. Stolen. Looted. Pinched. You feel a keen sense of loss. You walk around with a gap that cannot be filled no matter how hard your tongue and lower lip fight to do so. You end up spending way too much money to have an implant and the damned thing fucking hurts all the time. Eventually you will have to lose the other front tooth as well and get another implant. Please, I'm begging you, don't get the stupid piercing. You are plenty sexy and weird without it.
I'm writing this to you from the ripe old age of 36. Remember a few short years ago when you were convinced you were going to die at 30? I just want to let you know that you will be happy you didn't. I know it doesn't seem that way right now though. I know things for you right now are mostly pain. You spend a majority of your time alone, scared that this is how it will always be, crying silently late at night when no one else is up. Sometimes you find yourself so incredibly happy and full of energy that you can't contain it and you are afraid you will explode but all you get are strange looks and admonitions to calm down. Notes sent home saying that you would be a better student if you could stop talking. Full of frustration at the fact that they don't realize you simply can't stop talking. It isn't within your powers to control this thing. It's a part of you but it isn't you. I wish I could hold you and tell you that one day, some one will finally realize that you are manic depressive and that after a lot of trial and error, you will get on the right medication and you will feel better. I wish there was a way to let you know that you are pretty awesome the way you are and that you don't need to try to change to please everyone around you. I'm not sure that knowing these things will make it any better though. You don't have patience and it does take a lot of work and many years. I promise, a day comes that you don't need medications at all anymore and you manage to see the grey areas of life finally. You do however, still tend to live black and white but you understand that the grey exists and that other people live in it. I wish that knowing all this would help ease the scary years. I wish you would learn sooner that the emotional pain will go away and that you don't need to hurt yourself physically to get through the immediate.
Here are some of the things you will go through that perhaps you might want to try to avoid but then again, maybe you had to go through them to come out the other side as me. And honestly, being me is pretty rad!
So, I would suggest you skip getting married at 21. It doesn't work out and you end up feeling pretty foolish for a lot of years about the big wedding and all the trouble everyone went to for you. You do get to spend some time overseas and see some pretty cool stuff but you are also in the thickest part of your depression and it is really hard to be without support. Actually, you should skip most of the relationships you have over the next decade and a half. Most of them aren't worth your time and you end up making these guys your entire life and losing out on a lot of time with friends and family which in the end, do turn out to be there for you. (they actually always were but you don't get that for a while) Except your mom, don't waste so much time trying to get her to like you, it won't happen. You will never be the daughter she hoped for and it will cause you a lot of stress trying to figure that out. Just try to go with the flow as far as she is concerned. It really isn't her fault. She had a ridiculous family life and after three miscarriages, really really wanted you. That explains the whole smothering thing that both your parents do most of your life. I know it is very confusing for you to think that you aren't liked but still forced to be around all the time. Honestly, I've only just started to figure that part out.
Don't move to Alaska. It doesn't end well and you spend all your savings in the process. You do learn a valuable life lesson about changing the scenery not changing what is inside but in the end, you would really rather have the money.
The dogs. Kaiya is an amazing idea. She is kind and sweet and wonderful and keeps you warm. Echo is pretty special after the first two years. He does manage to destroy the interior of two cars, a digital camera, and a screen door so perhaps you should consider keeping those things out of reach somehow. You could try a little more forceful training with him and I bet he would be pretty close to perfect though. Monkey...I'm not sure what to tell you about him. A lot of me thinks that you should not even bother to get the third dog. I think things would have been much easier that way. I know that I personally won't ever have three again and mainly because of Monkey. I'm sitting here trying to decide if the good outweighs the bad with him. He does make you laugh, a lot. But the majority of the time he makes you crazy and in the end he goes kind of nuts and you wage a huge battle with yourself over whether or not to put him to sleep. He also ends up costing you a lot of money between jumping through the window, being allergic to everything on earth, and digging up the yard. And yet, I still don't know if I wouldn't do it all over again.
When it comes to love, you do finally find it. You two end up with a relationship that reflects the way your whole life has been, black or white, but you do love each other very much no matter what. That is the important part. Try not to get too flustered during the explosive fights you have, in a few days things will cool down and you will get a big stupid grin on your face every time you think of him.
Now I come to the part that started this whole letter. The tattoos and piercings. Shockingly, the tattoos are not something you come to regret. At least not at this point. The piercings are what get you into trouble. As with most things in your life, you go all out when you have decided to do it. You end up getting two piercings in all your spots instead of just one. And no, don't worry, you never get weird enough to go below the waist. I'm just hoping that if you take nothing away from all this advice, you at least listen to me when I tell you NOT TO GET YOUR TONGUE PIERCED! You end up with two and you have them for just about long enough to wreck your two front teeth. A few years after you take them out, you end up with an infection (that you ignore for a while) and then you end up having one of your bottom front teeth removed. Stolen. Looted. Pinched. You feel a keen sense of loss. You walk around with a gap that cannot be filled no matter how hard your tongue and lower lip fight to do so. You end up spending way too much money to have an implant and the damned thing fucking hurts all the time. Eventually you will have to lose the other front tooth as well and get another implant. Please, I'm begging you, don't get the stupid piercing. You are plenty sexy and weird without it.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Grandma
Grandmothers are generally associated with food and comfort. Or comfort foods even. Wonderful smells, things baking, breads, cinnamon, cookies, nutmeg, pancakes. All things that as adults we are cautioned to avoid as they will make us fat. Things that we don't often find at the contemporary restaurants that so many of us enjoy eating at. I have a personal love of Alexander's (an amazing steakhouse) but never think to myself 'I miss Grandma, I think I shall eat steak'. These days restaurants are bordering on minimalist while Grandma's kitchen was full of complexity. Whether the complexity came from the ingredients or from the layers of family interaction, rich it was. So many people can find a visual in the word Grandma. And the visuals vary so greatly but for most, it is a warm fuzzy feeling. Some Grandmas had grey hair and wore polyester, others were giant and warm while still others were tiny and made exotic foods that one couldn't always pronounce but still loved to eat. It is rare that the term 'Grandma' (or whatever one calls her) brings on an unpleasant feeling and for those who experience that portion of childhood, I'm sorry. I would have gladly shared mine and she would have gladly shared herself.
As we come near the 2nd anniversary of my Grandmother's death, I decided I'd like to share some of my favorite Grandma meals and moments. This would be my mother's mother, the white side. (yes, I consider my American side to be white while my Persian side is...not) A tiny bit of less long winded history of her is that she grew up in Ohio in a Mason family. For me that sums it all up, please contact me for further explanation if necessary.
I have this deep, almost instinctual, desire to eat what is called 'German' pancakes. I have had moments where I have contemplated giving up vanity and health to eat this thing with abandon. I remember an amalgam of childhood breakfasts at a place called Ken's House of Pancakes on El Camino in Mountain View where everyone had to order this amazing volcano of a pancake. I have had them since at The Original Pancake House but, as always happens with memories, not the same. Giant craters full of butter, lemon juice and powdered sugar. This is something my grandparents took us to but Grandma got the recipe for and made at home. Long before she passed, she gave me her pans and several recipes and I have yet to make one that comes even close to hers.
Pies. She made amazing pies. Pumpkin. Pecan. Berry. All were super yummy. One would think, how is it possible for a pie not to be but as she got older, it became clear that is was possible. There is a fine line between pie that is sweet and pie that tastes like the bottom of the bowl of Grape-Nuts. (I clarify this by pointing out that Grape-Nuts are amazing but in serious need of sugar and dental insurance) Pie should not be crunchy unless nuts are involved and then I have to ask...what and why??
As time went on, her food got weirder. As grand children and (I know this from experience) children, we all started to wonder what was coming next. Her yams were more marshmallow than starchy substance. Cookies began to look like horror movies with beheading. And then the day arrived...the day made me question chicken and eggs but also gave me an opportunity for revenge.
My Aunt Paget and I had made a lunch appointment to see Grandma. It was planned. In Advance. No getting out of this. We figured there was strength in numbers. Keep one another entertained and the day will end soon enough. On the 40 minute drive there (at 11:00 am) we contemplated whether or not to stop and eat, knowing Grandam was making lunch. We even laughed while we tried to conjure up what would be on the menu. What simple fools we became. Nothing we could have imagined compared to what confronted us when we arrived. Hugs were given. Love was expressed. Then Grandma announced that she had made Hot Chicken Salad. For some of you, I don't know who and why, this may be something you have heard of but for us, No. Even my Aunt, her daughter, wasn't sure what was in store for us. The horror that ended up on our plates cannot be described except by my taste buds. They, to this day, with they could exit my tongue and move on. I know what this 'dish' was but I choose to let my taste buds give you the recipe as they see it.
Enjoy.
Take 1 whole sort of large chicken with bones and skin and all and put it into a large pot. Add enough mayonnaise to submerge the chicken. Boil the shit out of it.
Take the chicken out of the mayonnaise and remove the bones and skin but keep the mayo (god forbid that should be lost)
Put the chicken and mayo gook in a casserole dish and add several boiled eggs. Cover with a crust of crushed Ruffles potato chips.
Bake until totally gross.
Serve with sliced (untoasted) Wonder bread.
Puke and repeat.
The revenge was that both my Aunt and I said we had a large breakfast and to save the leftovers for my mom!! Take that!! I win!
As we come near the 2nd anniversary of my Grandmother's death, I decided I'd like to share some of my favorite Grandma meals and moments. This would be my mother's mother, the white side. (yes, I consider my American side to be white while my Persian side is...not) A tiny bit of less long winded history of her is that she grew up in Ohio in a Mason family. For me that sums it all up, please contact me for further explanation if necessary.
I have this deep, almost instinctual, desire to eat what is called 'German' pancakes. I have had moments where I have contemplated giving up vanity and health to eat this thing with abandon. I remember an amalgam of childhood breakfasts at a place called Ken's House of Pancakes on El Camino in Mountain View where everyone had to order this amazing volcano of a pancake. I have had them since at The Original Pancake House but, as always happens with memories, not the same. Giant craters full of butter, lemon juice and powdered sugar. This is something my grandparents took us to but Grandma got the recipe for and made at home. Long before she passed, she gave me her pans and several recipes and I have yet to make one that comes even close to hers.
Pies. She made amazing pies. Pumpkin. Pecan. Berry. All were super yummy. One would think, how is it possible for a pie not to be but as she got older, it became clear that is was possible. There is a fine line between pie that is sweet and pie that tastes like the bottom of the bowl of Grape-Nuts. (I clarify this by pointing out that Grape-Nuts are amazing but in serious need of sugar and dental insurance) Pie should not be crunchy unless nuts are involved and then I have to ask...what and why??
As time went on, her food got weirder. As grand children and (I know this from experience) children, we all started to wonder what was coming next. Her yams were more marshmallow than starchy substance. Cookies began to look like horror movies with beheading. And then the day arrived...the day made me question chicken and eggs but also gave me an opportunity for revenge.
My Aunt Paget and I had made a lunch appointment to see Grandma. It was planned. In Advance. No getting out of this. We figured there was strength in numbers. Keep one another entertained and the day will end soon enough. On the 40 minute drive there (at 11:00 am) we contemplated whether or not to stop and eat, knowing Grandam was making lunch. We even laughed while we tried to conjure up what would be on the menu. What simple fools we became. Nothing we could have imagined compared to what confronted us when we arrived. Hugs were given. Love was expressed. Then Grandma announced that she had made Hot Chicken Salad. For some of you, I don't know who and why, this may be something you have heard of but for us, No. Even my Aunt, her daughter, wasn't sure what was in store for us. The horror that ended up on our plates cannot be described except by my taste buds. They, to this day, with they could exit my tongue and move on. I know what this 'dish' was but I choose to let my taste buds give you the recipe as they see it.
Enjoy.
Take 1 whole sort of large chicken with bones and skin and all and put it into a large pot. Add enough mayonnaise to submerge the chicken. Boil the shit out of it.
Take the chicken out of the mayonnaise and remove the bones and skin but keep the mayo (god forbid that should be lost)
Put the chicken and mayo gook in a casserole dish and add several boiled eggs. Cover with a crust of crushed Ruffles potato chips.
Bake until totally gross.
Serve with sliced (untoasted) Wonder bread.
Puke and repeat.
The revenge was that both my Aunt and I said we had a large breakfast and to save the leftovers for my mom!! Take that!! I win!
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