Sunday, March 22, 2009

Pay Attention To The Carrots





Mia and her best friend, Denali, as photographed by his Pop, the scientist. Sometimes the things you love most in the world are a little rough. They grab you by the neck and don't let go. What can you do? But grab back.


I tried, but I couldn't. I tried to stop writing.

Told myself work was too stressful, I was too exhausted, other demands were more, well...demanding. This little hobby of mine would have to go by the wayside. I couldn't even bear the relentless prodding of Facebook with all that poking, and gifting and grabbing by the lapels. The pressure of having to refresh a one-liner on my status (in the 3rd person, for Godsake) sent me over the edge. So I bowed out. Completely.

Then I realized, when I lose touch with my fictionalizing, my words, this abstract hunger to "say something" I lose my connection with everything else. Friends. Books. Art. Humor. My favorite slippers. Even food. Yet strangely, not liquor. Gin truly is the drink of writers not writing. Explains why the Lost Generation was so lost.

I can't remember the last time I cooked a meal I was truly proud of. In fact, last night, while trying to respond to a hoard of work-related emails AND glaze carrots, the emails won and the Ranger's shouting brought me back to the kitchen as black smoke billowed and the smell of defeat dug in its boot heels. Those poor little carrots now resemble turds. Angry turds. And my favorite pan is crusted with charcoal.

Speaking of ashes. Recently, my father and sister-in-law, separately, but thankfully in agreement explained why my brother's ashes would soon be interred in the Santa Fe National Cemetery, next to war vets, with a sweeping view of a shopping mall and a Radisson Hotel.

"Dad, this isn't exactly what he wanted," I suggested softly, not wanting to pick too hard at the scab.

"I know, mijita," he said. "But he's dead now. And he doesn't get a vote."

So the moral of that story...while it may be true the dead DO in fact get to vote in Northern New Mexico, apparently only during presidential elections. Yet a more resounding truth settled in here at the Treehouse...speak up while you still can.

So yeah...I'm back. And just as cranky.

8 comments:

Mich said...

It was a nice break from the real world for a while wasn't it? All that cooking, writing & shagging. But, now you've re-joined the world of stressing and being too tired to shag. Too bad. We were all living vicarously through you.

Jeff said...

In the cookie of life, your blog postings were the chocolate chips. So nice to have you back.

John said...

welcome back, remind me to tell you about the beef stock I reduced down to 1 table spoon of syrup....

Flutephobia said...

welcome back. and screw the carrot turds. there are much more exciting things to do with carrots than glaze them.

nick tauro jr. said...

keep going, my friend.

AussieGirl said...

Thank god you are back!! My mornings are not complete until I can see through to your heart and I know all is well in our little soggy corner of the world.

Kylita said...

Oh SisSTAR! you have made this pained body, apathetic mindset, emotionally dulled sister into someone who gives a shit again! I loved your photos! I wish I could do that with one of my best friends (you know, act vicious and all) ... and I sure missed you. I love gin, too...why haven't I thought of that? Just been drinking tonic!? I can say I not-so-proudly boiled eggs to the point of ruining a stove, a pot, and naaaasty smell forever, and them hanging like angry snot from the ceiling!
GROWLLLLLLL! Good to read you agin!

Erin said...

Hola Chica. Me alegro de verte aquĆ­ de nuevo.