To say that I have been obsessing over my apartment make-over would be putting it mildly. Since deciding to stay in my apartment, I have been consumed with measuring, scheming, and list-making. I am determined to turn my 300-some odd sqft apartment into a picture of efficiency. I want a living room that doubles as a dining room for 6-8 and a guest room. I want my bedroom to double as an office. I want my kitchen to be a workspace perfectly capable of housing dinnerware and cookery devices, as well as a convenient workspace. And, above all, I want it to look clean, uncluttered and perfectly styled in mid-century modern decor. Yes, all this in around 300 sqft. Oh, and I have a very limited budget due to my mid-level employment and location in central Manhattan.
What can I say? I love a challenge. Well, actually, I would love to have a huge budget and a massive downtown loft to work with, but I have found the key to happiness is working with what you got!
I spent hours starring at my space from all angles and doing price comparison shopping online. I began with the easy stuff, purchasing decorative touches and a few towel racks from The Container Store and Bed, Bath and Beyond on 6th Avenue, but I knew to complete my mission I would have to venture out farther. I had to make the dreaded journey to Ikea.
Ikea is a magical place, full of cheap contemporary solutions, I truly love it. Unfortunately, it is off in a corner of Brooklyn and driving is not an option for me. I google-mapped it, and tried to find a way to minimize my walking, knowing full well that I would have to carry my booty home. Finally, I decided to make the trip yesterday.
Getting there was obnoxious, with the F line running on the A line and creating something of a transportation scavenger hunt for me. I didn't mind, I wasn't carrying anything heavy. I finally arrived at the massive retail store.
Going to Ikea is a bit of an out-of-body experience for me. It starts off well enough, leisurely taking in the sights and writing down item numbers. By the time I reached the Kitchen area, close to the end of the loop, I was getting a bit crazed. I had to run back downstairs for a cart because the shelving unit I found was so heavy I felt like I was dragging a dead body (it turns out, that in my haste I grabbed a bundle of 6 shelves). This was when the anxiety started. A voice in the back of my head was taunting me, asking me how the hell I thought I was going to get this shit home if I couldn't even get it through the store. Down in home-goods, as my cart began to overflow with dishes and wine glasses, the anxiety worsened as I strained to push the cart.
I finally made it down to the warehouse to find my coat-rack. I was quite crazed at this point, frantically looking for the aisle and bin that was to house my rack. It wasn't there! This item suddenly became the most important purchase of my trip, I dashed up and down the aisle looking for it. I saw a Hispanic man who was clearly doing the same. Then, under a pile of other boxes, I found it! The Tjung Rack! As I triumphantly pulled down the box, all the polls fell out. The box was open on not one side, but both! As I put the pieces back in the box, I knew it was probably a bad idea to purchase this piece, considering the fact that there were probably pieces missing. I was not to be detoured though, I had to have this rack!
At this point I was getting close to hyperventilating, probably in part due to the massive cart I was pushing. I found an empty cart to dump my unwanted purchases into. I knew that I could not likely carry all this shit and I did not want to break the bank either. I tend to black-out in Ikea, I just can't say no to the super deals and delightful finds, and being alone, there was no-one to rope me in. After much agonizing, I pushed my new, lighter cart to the checkout line.
I was in-budget, but it took me a good 20 minutes to strategically stuff to humongous Ikea bags with my finds. I decided to do the unthinkable and take the free water taxi to the Financial District and get a cab from there. I knew if I could just make it the 50 feet onto the boat, and then from the dock to the street, I might just be able to get this stuff home.
As you may remember from a previous post, I get quite sea sick, and after the uber-stressful three hour marathon in Ikea, I did not relish the idea of getting on a boat. There were a few dicey moments on that 20 minute sail, but I made it to land no worse for wear. Trying to carry the two mondo bags, one containing the open-ended rack box with the poles flying out at every step, made that 100 foot trek to the street a long one! I made it, and a cab was right there waiting for me.
Considering that I had wine glasses, dishes and heavy shelving units, all in the same bags, it is nothing short of a miracle that everything made it home in one piece. Hell, it is a miracle I made it home in one piece! I felt like Rocky as I climbed my stairs. I think I even started quietly singing Eye of the Tiger as I approached my door. I fell into the apartment, my entire body shaking from the strain, and victoriously unpacked my bags.
The rack had all it's pieces, the glassware was in one piece and my plan to turn my little apartment into a luxurious entertaining space was one step closer to fruition. One small step for those with cars, one large step for this Manhattanite!
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Saturday, November 21, 2009
The City of Giants
Riding through New York last night, gazing up at the passing brownstones, churches and skyscrapers, I realized that New York is a city of giants. Some people would feel intimidated by the dwarfing structures surrounding them, but I think that the people here, those of us who love this city, are inspired by them. My friendly giants tower over me, rising up to the sky, some containing massive mosaics of saints gazing back down. I politely nod to them, taking in their grandness, feeding off of their enormity. All I feel is a rush, a drive to get to the top of these giants and gaze across this beautiful city from their shoulders.
I mean this literally and figuratively! I do want to climb, I want to become successful enough to own a piece of this brick and mortar, a piece with a view of the entire kingdom. I want to climb and claw my way to a corner office overlooking the sea of monuments that make-up Manhattan. I suppose this must be one of the many things that make New Yorkers so special, in the face of giants we charge ahead, fueled by the challenge and monuments to past glories, we do not cower in our own small stature.
These friendly giants are alive with the ghosts of the past, throbbing with history and both accomplished dreams and shattered ones. This entire city is alive, a creature with it's own pulse and energy. It is as if I will never be alone in New York, because the city itself absorbs me into it's flow and life. This embrace further drives me forward, unafraid.
How could a place capture my heart so completely? Is there any other location on earth like it? Perhaps, but I certainly have not found one, so like a love sick teenager I will continue to let myself be surprised and enthralled and hopelessly in love with my city.
Holidays and Family Portraits
This is a beautiful time of the year; the approaching holidays filled with sentiment and tradition, the New Year on their heels bringing hope and new life. The actual holidays are much less important to me than the season they reside in. Appropriately, in this time of looking back, I received a note from my mother. It contained two articles about my Grandfather, written when he retired as CEO of Security Life.
Unfortunaty, I know my Grandparents more in theory than reality, through the stories my mother tells and childhood memories. Over the past couple years, my once brilliant and mysterious Grandpa began to fade away. His body remained healthy and strong, but his mind was crumbling under the crule (and undiagnosed) onset of alzheimers. During the past year it became too severe to ignore; he was offically diagnosed and sent to live in an inpatient facility.
Something else was crumbling with his mind, the family portrait my mother had painted and I had come to know. My grandparents, the madly in-love couple who adored one another and said "to hell with the rest of the world". The brilliance of my quiet grandfather and the fiesty vigor of my wild grandmother. The picture perfect love that spanned six decades. My mother idolized and adored them.
As my Grandfather's mind began to go, so did the affection of my Grandmother. She became so angry at her abandonment, at losing her best friend and provider. The cruelty my mother saw from her seemed to open an emotional pandora's box. The new picture painted was not that of an evil woman, but a cold one. The fun-loving Grandma was becoming more clearly the narcassistic one. It seems that this was always the case, but we have a way of painting the past in colors that suite us. Grandpa became the loveable old fool, unable to really relate, but at least happy and taken care of.
The emotional toll this took on my mother was significant, I only experienced it through her stories and tears. But, amazing woman that she is, she took everything in stride and made the most of it. We have all fallen into a state of acceptance, acknowledging the new family portrait as a basic reality.
She told me that she had ripped apart her home looking for an article, then miraculously found the original when visiting her mother. Until I read it, I did not understant the importance of these clippings.
The articles described a briliant man defined by unwaivering integrity. They described a man who came from nothing to become the CEO of a company, yet maintained the humility of the young army band leader he once was. They contained photographs of the quiet smiling face of the man I never fully knew, but always loved. And they showed a happy, fun-loving couple facing the great whells of their lives with a sparking humor in their eyes. This couple, in a room of executives, looked as though they had an inside joke, as though everthing around them was inconsiquential, just senery in the set of their lives that contained only the two of them and their adventures.
After reading the articles and looking at the pictures, I heard a familiar humming. A bum bum bum, the quiet drumline my Grandfather was always singing to himself as he walked through his home. This sound embodies the mysterious band leader and genious my Gradpa was to me. I could see him walking past me humming, with my happy Grandmother making me and my brother noodles in the kitchen behind him. I saw the old family portrait in a new light. The picture my mother painted me was real, if not complete. They were all the wonderful things she described, but they were in their own world built for two, we were just fortunant enough to be close enough to bear witness to it.
As the seasons change we remeber the past and bravely look toward the future. The memories we carry into the new season act both armor and compass, comforting us and pointing us toward (or away from) future possibilities. Perhaps this is why we have the holidays before the New Year, we must look back to look forward. Family is at the core of this reality, giving us a history and ideal to live-up to or surpass. In my tiny family I am so unbeleivably grateful for my mother's stories. She is the keeper of her parents' history and she passionatly gave that gift to me. No matter how much things change, and they always do change, the family portrait she gave me will live in my heart and mind, as my comfort and compass, forever.
Unfortunaty, I know my Grandparents more in theory than reality, through the stories my mother tells and childhood memories. Over the past couple years, my once brilliant and mysterious Grandpa began to fade away. His body remained healthy and strong, but his mind was crumbling under the crule (and undiagnosed) onset of alzheimers. During the past year it became too severe to ignore; he was offically diagnosed and sent to live in an inpatient facility.
Something else was crumbling with his mind, the family portrait my mother had painted and I had come to know. My grandparents, the madly in-love couple who adored one another and said "to hell with the rest of the world". The brilliance of my quiet grandfather and the fiesty vigor of my wild grandmother. The picture perfect love that spanned six decades. My mother idolized and adored them.
As my Grandfather's mind began to go, so did the affection of my Grandmother. She became so angry at her abandonment, at losing her best friend and provider. The cruelty my mother saw from her seemed to open an emotional pandora's box. The new picture painted was not that of an evil woman, but a cold one. The fun-loving Grandma was becoming more clearly the narcassistic one. It seems that this was always the case, but we have a way of painting the past in colors that suite us. Grandpa became the loveable old fool, unable to really relate, but at least happy and taken care of.
The emotional toll this took on my mother was significant, I only experienced it through her stories and tears. But, amazing woman that she is, she took everything in stride and made the most of it. We have all fallen into a state of acceptance, acknowledging the new family portrait as a basic reality.
She told me that she had ripped apart her home looking for an article, then miraculously found the original when visiting her mother. Until I read it, I did not understant the importance of these clippings.
The articles described a briliant man defined by unwaivering integrity. They described a man who came from nothing to become the CEO of a company, yet maintained the humility of the young army band leader he once was. They contained photographs of the quiet smiling face of the man I never fully knew, but always loved. And they showed a happy, fun-loving couple facing the great whells of their lives with a sparking humor in their eyes. This couple, in a room of executives, looked as though they had an inside joke, as though everthing around them was inconsiquential, just senery in the set of their lives that contained only the two of them and their adventures.
After reading the articles and looking at the pictures, I heard a familiar humming. A bum bum bum, the quiet drumline my Grandfather was always singing to himself as he walked through his home. This sound embodies the mysterious band leader and genious my Gradpa was to me. I could see him walking past me humming, with my happy Grandmother making me and my brother noodles in the kitchen behind him. I saw the old family portrait in a new light. The picture my mother painted me was real, if not complete. They were all the wonderful things she described, but they were in their own world built for two, we were just fortunant enough to be close enough to bear witness to it.
As the seasons change we remeber the past and bravely look toward the future. The memories we carry into the new season act both armor and compass, comforting us and pointing us toward (or away from) future possibilities. Perhaps this is why we have the holidays before the New Year, we must look back to look forward. Family is at the core of this reality, giving us a history and ideal to live-up to or surpass. In my tiny family I am so unbeleivably grateful for my mother's stories. She is the keeper of her parents' history and she passionatly gave that gift to me. No matter how much things change, and they always do change, the family portrait she gave me will live in my heart and mind, as my comfort and compass, forever.
Closing Doors and Open Horizons
Well, it was my last week at RRA. I had a mild case of the flu, I only worked-out once and I barely touched my stove! It was a good week though. As one chapter closes, the next is taking form. I am going to miss seeing M. and G at work everyday, but I am determined to keep them in my life. I am going to keep working for RRA a few hours a week to make some extra money, and because I am a sucker who can't let go! My crazy boss was gracious and her outpouring of support and appreciation really touched me. I feel my greatest success during my crazy time there was the fact that I was able to maintain positive relationships with everyone there. I did not let the crazy change me. Or maybe it did. I am able to see my oppressive and offensive boss for the woman behind the tyranny, and I have no ill will toward her at all. That's pretty cool. My last day was celebrated with a big salad lunch, wine at the end of the day and my special gift to them: a detailed (very sarcastic) "how-to" Manuel on my insane job!
The festivities continued at Momofuku Fried Chicken Dinner with DeShon, Gus and Hen, Kaitlin and her brother and Kyung. The food was ok, but the dinner was a blast! It was so wonderful to share a meal and celebrate with a few of my favorite people in New York. To me, that is what the good life is. Simple, yet sometimes so hard to attain.
Beard on Books on Wednesday gave me a renewed sense of excitement at the thought of joining the ranks at NYU's Food Studies Program. The book, Gastropolis, was written by a collection of professors there, and there were several current students in the audience. The girls told me that the program was phenomenal and that spring semester admissions decisions were being made this week! Hopefully I will hear something next week. These people speak my language; seeing food as more than caloric necessities for life, but as the most intimate picture of who we are as a culture. I still have my hesitations, but they are slowly fading away in the bright light of my excitement. We will see what the future holds for me.
I had a dream last night, likely spurred-on by my new job starting on Monday (and the fact I still don't know what I am going to be doing!) and my ponderings about the future. I had arrived at a large, crowded building for my first day of work and was searching for my supervisor. The head of marketing at Food Network stepped out of the crowd and excitedly said, "You must be Felicia! I am so glad to finally meet you in person." then she exclaimed, "You are so thin! Much thinner than most of the new arrivals!" She began to lead me through the offices, chatting with me about new cookbooks and recipes I had tried, and I could not stop smiling. I could not wait to see what came next. Then I woke-up. It was the sort of dream that makes you squeeze your eyes back shut, desperately trying to get back to it. How amazing if I could find a life that made me feel that way, that made me never want to shut my eyes again.
I feel like I am getting there, on my way to that place. Until then, I have bread baking in Brooklyn on Sunday, a Tapas party on Monday and a Post-Thanksgiving fete next Friday! All that and a new job next week! I may still want to curl-up and close my eyes from time to time, but I have a pretty great life, punctuated by a store of hopes and dreams.
The festivities continued at Momofuku Fried Chicken Dinner with DeShon, Gus and Hen, Kaitlin and her brother and Kyung. The food was ok, but the dinner was a blast! It was so wonderful to share a meal and celebrate with a few of my favorite people in New York. To me, that is what the good life is. Simple, yet sometimes so hard to attain.
Beard on Books on Wednesday gave me a renewed sense of excitement at the thought of joining the ranks at NYU's Food Studies Program. The book, Gastropolis, was written by a collection of professors there, and there were several current students in the audience. The girls told me that the program was phenomenal and that spring semester admissions decisions were being made this week! Hopefully I will hear something next week. These people speak my language; seeing food as more than caloric necessities for life, but as the most intimate picture of who we are as a culture. I still have my hesitations, but they are slowly fading away in the bright light of my excitement. We will see what the future holds for me.
I had a dream last night, likely spurred-on by my new job starting on Monday (and the fact I still don't know what I am going to be doing!) and my ponderings about the future. I had arrived at a large, crowded building for my first day of work and was searching for my supervisor. The head of marketing at Food Network stepped out of the crowd and excitedly said, "You must be Felicia! I am so glad to finally meet you in person." then she exclaimed, "You are so thin! Much thinner than most of the new arrivals!" She began to lead me through the offices, chatting with me about new cookbooks and recipes I had tried, and I could not stop smiling. I could not wait to see what came next. Then I woke-up. It was the sort of dream that makes you squeeze your eyes back shut, desperately trying to get back to it. How amazing if I could find a life that made me feel that way, that made me never want to shut my eyes again.
I feel like I am getting there, on my way to that place. Until then, I have bread baking in Brooklyn on Sunday, a Tapas party on Monday and a Post-Thanksgiving fete next Friday! All that and a new job next week! I may still want to curl-up and close my eyes from time to time, but I have a pretty great life, punctuated by a store of hopes and dreams.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
EWI New Member's Event Recap
Well, after looking over my blog I realized that I made the egrigious error of not commenting on the New Member's Gala.
Every month I try to put together a new member mixer to give other people the opportunity to come meet the group and see if it is something they would like to be a part of. Thus far the events have had modest turn-outs, usually around 5 new members. Well, this month the response was tremendous. My thread got so many hits on seriouseats.com that it was featured on the home page of Eater. The responses kept rolling in, in fact they are still trickling in! My list of yes's, no's and maybe's kept growing. In total I had almost 100 responses, 58 of which ended-up rsvping for the event. It got to the point where I dreaded opening my email. I was somewhat terrified!
Where could we possible have an event of this size? I thought about contacting the James Beard Foundation about borrowing a space, but then I realized that I worked in a potential location already. I asked The Boss if I could use our office for "a little meeting of my culinary club", she agreed.
By the end of the week I had submitted all fifty-some-odd names to security and sent out the final instructions to the group. The magnitude of the response made me realize how special this group of mine is and how many people are out there in New York, seaking connections with people who share their special passion. The core members were a bit concerned about growing at such a rapid pace, not wanting the group to become impersonal. We scheduled a core members meeting for the following Tuesday to discuss.
As the event appoached, my nerves were on fire. I was so nervous! I have never conducted an event of this magnitude by myself.
I prepared a dish of stuffed mushrooms-bacon, cheese, marsala wine,which were fabulous, gathered two bottles of wine and ran out the door with my heart beating a mile a minute. I was flustered and finally stumbled into a cab. I arrived, checked in with security and headed up to the office. Upon walking into the office I saw a light had been left on, then someone came around the corner. I nearly had a heart attack! My coworker was there working overtime, after I composed myself, I invited her to join the party. One of my dear group members arrived shortly and helped me set-up.
I arranged food in the conference room, overlooking the east side of Manhattan, and set-up the bar in the reception area. Then they began to arrive. Thirty people came in all. I greeted and mingled and drank and drank and drank! I met an amazing group of people and five hours later stumbled home with a few of them in tow. They were so enthusiastic, and they liked me, they really liked me!
I added 20 names to our permanent roster, sadly one of them requested to be removed as she already had a club of her own which conflicted with our events (I am such a pussy, this really bummed me out!).
We are off and running again! We will mix and come together and some will become core members as well. The group has decided to stop the monthly new member events until we see how it goes at our current size. I agree. Tonight is our first event since the mixer, an Afghani tasting in Kips Bay. I am already scheming on a Tamale Demo event for next weekend with E. demonstraiting and one of our new members SY hosting, I'll discuss it with them tonight. Ah, the Great Equalizer does it again! Who knew that bringing people together could be as easy as offering a place to meet.
Oh, and I still am going to talk to the James Beard House, I happen to be going to another event there on Wednesday. Who knows, maybe they have a soft spot for young broke culinarians!
Every month I try to put together a new member mixer to give other people the opportunity to come meet the group and see if it is something they would like to be a part of. Thus far the events have had modest turn-outs, usually around 5 new members. Well, this month the response was tremendous. My thread got so many hits on seriouseats.com that it was featured on the home page of Eater. The responses kept rolling in, in fact they are still trickling in! My list of yes's, no's and maybe's kept growing. In total I had almost 100 responses, 58 of which ended-up rsvping for the event. It got to the point where I dreaded opening my email. I was somewhat terrified!
Where could we possible have an event of this size? I thought about contacting the James Beard Foundation about borrowing a space, but then I realized that I worked in a potential location already. I asked The Boss if I could use our office for "a little meeting of my culinary club", she agreed.
By the end of the week I had submitted all fifty-some-odd names to security and sent out the final instructions to the group. The magnitude of the response made me realize how special this group of mine is and how many people are out there in New York, seaking connections with people who share their special passion. The core members were a bit concerned about growing at such a rapid pace, not wanting the group to become impersonal. We scheduled a core members meeting for the following Tuesday to discuss.
As the event appoached, my nerves were on fire. I was so nervous! I have never conducted an event of this magnitude by myself.
I prepared a dish of stuffed mushrooms-bacon, cheese, marsala wine,which were fabulous, gathered two bottles of wine and ran out the door with my heart beating a mile a minute. I was flustered and finally stumbled into a cab. I arrived, checked in with security and headed up to the office. Upon walking into the office I saw a light had been left on, then someone came around the corner. I nearly had a heart attack! My coworker was there working overtime, after I composed myself, I invited her to join the party. One of my dear group members arrived shortly and helped me set-up.
I arranged food in the conference room, overlooking the east side of Manhattan, and set-up the bar in the reception area. Then they began to arrive. Thirty people came in all. I greeted and mingled and drank and drank and drank! I met an amazing group of people and five hours later stumbled home with a few of them in tow. They were so enthusiastic, and they liked me, they really liked me!
I added 20 names to our permanent roster, sadly one of them requested to be removed as she already had a club of her own which conflicted with our events (I am such a pussy, this really bummed me out!).
We are off and running again! We will mix and come together and some will become core members as well. The group has decided to stop the monthly new member events until we see how it goes at our current size. I agree. Tonight is our first event since the mixer, an Afghani tasting in Kips Bay. I am already scheming on a Tamale Demo event for next weekend with E. demonstraiting and one of our new members SY hosting, I'll discuss it with them tonight. Ah, the Great Equalizer does it again! Who knew that bringing people together could be as easy as offering a place to meet.
Oh, and I still am going to talk to the James Beard House, I happen to be going to another event there on Wednesday. Who knows, maybe they have a soft spot for young broke culinarians!
Rhythm of Life
I have fallen into a nice rhythm of life. My weekly goals have become more of a checklist, a way to schedule my time, almost effortless. EWI has blossomed into an organization that needs to be nurtured, but is relatively self sustaining. It is my imagination and desires that determine the direction, as megalomaniac as that sound, it seems that people want or need someone to lead the charge. I push myself in the kitchen and in the gym, but not obsessively. I have learned to cut myself some slack. The longer I ponder my future, the brighter it becomes. Passion is my north star, and as unpredictable as it may seem, it has been my constant. My applications are all in, my third step in the FSO process is complete, and all I have to do is wait. Wait and enjoy.
For the first time in my life waiting is not rot with nauseating impatience and anxiety. I feel only curiosity, excitement and, dare I say, hope. The vague picture of the future I have is like a Monet: beautiful, recognizable, but with soft details. I feel that this is where God works best. Let him workout the details!
Life is not perfect, but it is good. My apartment, for example, I looked for something better and found that it was by far the best I could afford right now. This made me appreciate it more, and I am happily obsessing over re-designs, my mind aflutter with midcentury modern accents and nods to the style and feeling I want to evoke. I can't afford it all, but I am doing a fine job working with what I have. Perhaps this is what contentment is.
I have an exciting week ahead of me. Tonight I am hosting an Afghani tasting, I am attending another Beard on Books on Wednesday where I hope to speak with someone about using the space, I have Momofuku chicken dinner on Friday, I am trying to plan a Tamale demo for EWI at a new member's loft for Saturday and it is my last full time week at RRA. My job itself is sure to be completely insane this week due to my impending departure, but what a joy that my life outside of those 40-someodd hours is enough to color my experience. Who knows, perhaps my brother will get his rehab date and I will get an acceptance letter this week as well!
I am about to start my Korean cooking for tomorrow's dinner, something I have been putting off for a few weeks! At this rate my "Eating/Cooking around the World" project will take me the next 25 years! Se La Vi. I know this Serene calm, this quiet contentment will not last, life is a stormy journey, but the place I have arrived makes even this thought unaffecting. Through it all, the love, the loss, the adventure and the pain, I have survived. Better than survived, I have lived. At the end of the day, what more can anyone really ask for?
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
The Culinary Adventures of Katie and Keith
It was a busy week last week; I decided to keep my apartment after working out a killer deal with my landlord (and seeing the bullshit that is on the market right now), I threw a successful EWI event at the Empire State Building for 30 guest and I have begun planning a complete overhaul of my apartment. I have an EWI meeting tonight to discuss the future of the group, but through all that the one thing that remains in the forefront of my mind is my brother, Keith.
This boy (really a 6'2" ex-marine) has always been the baby of the family. Despite his anger and behavioral problems, all I have ever been able to see is this mysterious, sensitive, amazing creature. We have a very close bond, but I don't really know him all that well. Looking through his Facebook pictures, I see an adventurer. Pictures from Japan, Mexico, Iraq, Florida, California.... I want to get to know this man.
He is going through a fucked-up time right now. A diagnosed alcoholic, dropped out of college this semester and on his way to rehab in the (hopefully not too distant) future. When he talks to me about his drinking, I am grateful for his honesty. He is really letting it all out. But today was different. I was angry. I hid it from him, I don't want to push him away, but I really just wanted to kick his ass.
When we are not talking about his drinking we talk about food. Like me, it is a passion for him. He sees places as culinary destinations and he indulges duelly. As I hear his stories and tell him mine, I feel that I am getting to know this mysterious man. I look forward to his Christmas visit to New York, where we can create an adventure of our very own.
I want to hear his stories, tell his stories and create new ones with him. Reverting back to my childhood name, I want to begin a journey into my brother's history, into his experience, the culinary adventures of Katie and Keith. Perhaps through "The Great Equalizer" we can become adult versions of the two children who once played in forts made of cardboard boxes. I don't want to lose him and I want to get to know him now, before the memories fade into the sunset of the past.
This boy (really a 6'2" ex-marine) has always been the baby of the family. Despite his anger and behavioral problems, all I have ever been able to see is this mysterious, sensitive, amazing creature. We have a very close bond, but I don't really know him all that well. Looking through his Facebook pictures, I see an adventurer. Pictures from Japan, Mexico, Iraq, Florida, California.... I want to get to know this man.
He is going through a fucked-up time right now. A diagnosed alcoholic, dropped out of college this semester and on his way to rehab in the (hopefully not too distant) future. When he talks to me about his drinking, I am grateful for his honesty. He is really letting it all out. But today was different. I was angry. I hid it from him, I don't want to push him away, but I really just wanted to kick his ass.
When we are not talking about his drinking we talk about food. Like me, it is a passion for him. He sees places as culinary destinations and he indulges duelly. As I hear his stories and tell him mine, I feel that I am getting to know this mysterious man. I look forward to his Christmas visit to New York, where we can create an adventure of our very own.
I want to hear his stories, tell his stories and create new ones with him. Reverting back to my childhood name, I want to begin a journey into my brother's history, into his experience, the culinary adventures of Katie and Keith. Perhaps through "The Great Equalizer" we can become adult versions of the two children who once played in forts made of cardboard boxes. I don't want to lose him and I want to get to know him now, before the memories fade into the sunset of the past.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Deja Vu and Impossible Memories
Deja Vu is a fleeting phenomenon for most, a mere moment of familiarity. The haunting I feel is more than a fleeting sense of remembrance, it is almost as though I have memories and a homesickness for a time before I ever existed.
I have always felt a longing for the past, watching films from bygone eras and feeling an uncanny sentimental ache. As I have grown older and begun to seek out vintage clothing and mid century modern decor, the feeling of comfort these items evoke is almost unnerving.
Walking through the booths of fading objects in the flea market I feel as though I am looking at my own belongings from another life. The romance and intensity of the
40's, the class and pride of 50's and the moments quivering between the traditions of the past and the tumultuous future of the early 60's, these are the times I "remember".
I am not lost in the 21st century, I am capable and unafraid, but these "memories", this sense of deja vu, what do they mean?
I don't believe in reincarnation, but the soul is a mysterious thing, unencumbered by the laws of time and space, it gives me reason to pause and wonder.
I have always been so much older, always felt a bit out of place. I wonder if my soul is a bit older than my body, if God in all his infinite wisdom created me before my time. All I know is that this seemingly insane line of reasoning feels like the most authentic explanation I have found for my old soul and my impossible memories. I suppose the only question is, why? As I have stumbled upon my "past" I suppose the answer to that question will present itself in it's own time as well.
Believing that the comfort and belonging I feel as I look at objects of the past is real and not just romantic notions gives me a sense of peace. Perhaps deja vu is merely glimpses of the present, past and future as our souls see them, as God sees them, as simultaneous, as layers rather than one long line. This makes me feel small, and makes me grateful that I have a God bigger than the bounds of this world.
I have always felt a longing for the past, watching films from bygone eras and feeling an uncanny sentimental ache. As I have grown older and begun to seek out vintage clothing and mid century modern decor, the feeling of comfort these items evoke is almost unnerving.
Walking through the booths of fading objects in the flea market I feel as though I am looking at my own belongings from another life. The romance and intensity of the
40's, the class and pride of 50's and the moments quivering between the traditions of the past and the tumultuous future of the early 60's, these are the times I "remember".
I am not lost in the 21st century, I am capable and unafraid, but these "memories", this sense of deja vu, what do they mean?
I don't believe in reincarnation, but the soul is a mysterious thing, unencumbered by the laws of time and space, it gives me reason to pause and wonder.
I have always been so much older, always felt a bit out of place. I wonder if my soul is a bit older than my body, if God in all his infinite wisdom created me before my time. All I know is that this seemingly insane line of reasoning feels like the most authentic explanation I have found for my old soul and my impossible memories. I suppose the only question is, why? As I have stumbled upon my "past" I suppose the answer to that question will present itself in it's own time as well.
Believing that the comfort and belonging I feel as I look at objects of the past is real and not just romantic notions gives me a sense of peace. Perhaps deja vu is merely glimpses of the present, past and future as our souls see them, as God sees them, as simultaneous, as layers rather than one long line. This makes me feel small, and makes me grateful that I have a God bigger than the bounds of this world.
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