The Dainty Macaron: Queen-Bee Confection Extraordinaire

Wandering into one of my favorite local shops (Sift Cupcakery) to pick up some sweets, I was taken aback when behind the glass wall, intermingling amongst the cupcakes, was a strange yet tantalizing new treat. It was large and colorful. Like a whoopie-pie on crack. They came in an assortment of colors: pink, deep red, pale beige, deep chocolate brown, and yellow. When I asked what they were, I was shocked.

"They're macarons." the girl behind the counter said.

...as in *French macarons*?!? OMFG they have macarons the size of your head here! Hello AMERICA! Land of the free, home of the obese -where if it's worth doing...it's worth doing 10x the size of the original! :) "I'll take one!" I blurted out immediately. I chose the one that was the macaron cousin of my favorite Sift cupcake, the "Ooh La La". It's a red velvet cupcake with a simple cream cheese frosting. The macaron was delicious. It was so big it made me want to vomit when I was done. But it was still good.

A few weeks go by and I am craving macarons again. I now no longer have to go all the way to Sebastopol to Patisserie Angelica, for a Parisien (by far and away my favorite cake in all the land!). The Parisien is essentially one big macaron cake. There are three layers of almond macaron with a praline buttercream filling and it is to die for!

I also don't have to go to Berkeley to stop by Masse's Pastries for an assortment of the best local macarons money can buy. 

This place is also a culinary *must*. They are mix-masters of different world culinary styles. Incorporating unusual and divine flavors (for a macaron at least) such as the Asian Yuzu (it' a citrus fruit. Think: the lovechild of a mandarin and a grapefruit...on their sexy vacation to Paris.) Anyhoo... I don't have to go there either because now there's Sift. Making French macarons in my own backyard. 

Or so I thought, until I returned weeks later to find their macarons had evolved even more so. They were now peitie -the size they should be. And daintily packaged in a cellophane bag, in clusters of four. Excitedly, I took home my new prize and tried the other flavors in the bag. They were...terrible. Visually they were appealing. Beautiful even. But the flavors had none of the subtlety or complexity of Masse's confections or Patisserie Angelica. The pink one, tasted like Easter candy. Bright, overpoweringly sweet, and artificial. It was an assault on the senses. The only so-so one was the chocolate flavor. The rest, including the rouge Ooh La La had to be rejected. Before the proportions had been all off...but the flavors were good. Now, the size was correct, and the macaron it's self was still palatable, however, the filling had been replaced with a cheap sugary icing, a cheap sugary icing that hadn't been mixed well...so the powdered sugar was still gristly on the tongue. ICING!!?! WTF! There is no ICING in a MF macaron! What are you doing here Sift!? I expected more from you. :p

Zion National Park

Back for a minute from a long road trip to Zion National Park. For those of you who are like: "Huh? Where's that?" and you're not feeling like Googling it...it's in the Southwestern corner of Utah.

Beautiful country. "God's country." -Geeze when I say that...some part of me squirms and thinks: "Man...this feels like the adult version of believing in the Easter Bunny or Santa." Does he exist? I'm not sure. What I'm pretty sure of is, I don't know...and you don't know...but I guess we'll all find out one day. But I digress...

I went with my little cousins, Jenna (13), and Daniel (10). For a long time, I had been wanting to do something nice for both them and their parents. So, I called them up and invited them. Luckily, everyone was up to the impromptu adventure. :) And it was a blast!

The drive down took FOREVER! Practically 24 hours! Primarily because of some heinous pockets of traffic that we hit on I-5. It seemed to get worse the closer to the L.A. area we got. There were two spots where we spent about 3 hours (in each spot) going about 5 miles an hour. :p But by the time we got into Zion...it was all worth it!

We spent most of our time there cycling through a few activities. The average day was an amalgamation of: sleep until you're sweaty and hot, get up and go swimming in the river, play, laugh, talk, relax, then when we're cooled down...at some point we'd notice that we were hungry...so we'd head back to camp, make some food, eat our meal (usually with s'mores), wash up, get our heads cool by running them under cold water, then take a nap from the food coma. :) Rinse and repeat. It was a good time.

I didn't have time to do the hiking that I had planned on. An executive decision was made to forgo the hikes this trip. After running it by Jenna and Daniel, it became apparent that they were much more interested in going swimming rather than the *awesome* hike through The Narrows.

So...I made the decision to go do things that we would all enjoy and just relax. I made the right call. We had so much fun. And on the ride home, we stopped in Las Vegas for lunch! Ahhhh Las Vegas....how I love you for your amazingly clean public restrooms. Casino's and Mormons...they have the cleanest restrooms. :) (It's the little things in life that make it all worth it.) ;)

We took a different route home, and cut through the Nevada desert. Meandering through one horse towns like Beatty, Goldfield, and Tonopah. The drive home went much faster, due in large part to the overwhelming *nothingness* that is the Nevada countryside. No SoCal traffic! :)

We stopped to get gas, sandwiches and of course try on hats. :)

Lookin' good Daniel! 

So...I'm definitely going back to Zion. Next time, I will pack lighter -take waaaaay less clothes. Jenna and I agreed that one pretty much only needs to take their swimsuit, PJ's, and a pair of shorts. (the shorts are optional) :) As well as the PJ's....OK...so you only need to take a swimsuit. :D And I'll slot more time to enjoy the scenery once I'm there.

George Is Missing

Last Sunday, I spoke with George in the evening. His foot hadn't been healing (he's diabetic), and the doctor told him to stay off of it. Then he told me that his vision had faded out to black in one eye, which *really* worried me. "Um...George? Do you want me to take you to the emergency room?"

"No, no. I'm going to make an emergency appointment with my specialist on Monday. I'll call first thing tomorrow morning and get in. I'll call you on Monday or Tuesday to let you know how it goes." -He didn't want to go to the emergency room because he figured that they wouldn't be of much use. That they probably wouldn't know what was up with his vision and that they wouldn't have a specialist on hand over the weekend. After thinking about the many times that I took my mom to the hospital, and how frustrating it would be having to explain and get the emergency room staff up on my mothers condition, I thought about it and decided that George was probably right.

George is a very practical man. When you call him, and get his answering machine (and yes...he has an *actual* machine in his apartment) the recording that you get says: "Leave your message after the beep." That's it. Straight forward. Simple. Clear. He's the kind of man who calls when he says he will call. Shows up when he says he will be there. He's steadfast and reliable. So when he didn't call me on Monday or Tuesday to let me know how he was, I began calling him. It's now Saturday. And I still haven't heard from him. On Friday I called the hospital that he usually goes to. This morning, when I still hadn't heard from him, I called all of the other hospitals in the city as well. Then I called the police department to do a welfare check. My friend Katy, who is a social worker advised this. She told me exactly what to say to make sure that someone actually does go down and do a check. She told me things that I wouldn't think to emphasize. Wouldn't *know* to emphasize...how would I really? I've never done this sort of thing before. She told me to tell them that he's old, the last time I spoke with him he was sick and was going to go to the hospital, that he has no family, no one to make sure he's OK, and that this is very unusual behavior. That I speak to him *all the time* and that I haven't been able to get a hold of him since Sunday. That he would call. That he always calls.

To the credit of the San Francisco Police Department, they listened. From the initial officer who took the non-emergency call that I placed, to the street cop who called me back shortly thereafter. They followed up promptly. They contacted the owner of the building, and unfortunately, everyone who has a key to George's apartment is in L.A. this weekend. :p But they also spoke with his neighbors, and they said that he usually leaves his shoes outside of his apartment door. The officer said that there was a pair of Crocs (oh George...Crocs? :)) outside of his door, but that his neighbor said that he wears other shoes when he goes out and that they were missing. "That's a good sign right?" I said. The officer wasn't sure and asked me if I wanted them to break down his door. I really am not sure. I don't want to make the wrong call on this one. He very well could be in a diabetic coma in his apartment, slowly dying. That thought has crossed my mind. Or he could be in a hospital somewhere...and maybe through some clerical error or perhaps the person not hearing me clearly, when I called to see if they had a patient with his name...he didn't show up? But was actually there??? Or maybe he's dead, which is *why* they don't *currently* have a patient by his name? Or maybe he's at a friend's house, being taken care of because he was too sick to care for himself? I honestly don't know. Or he could be just fine (fingers crossed) and in a very out of character manner has simply forgone checking his answering machine or calling me like he usually does? -Yeah...that last one is not likely...but I hope it's what has happened. The police officer told me that if I wanted them to break down his door, that someone would have to be there to take responsibility and secure his apartment. -makes sense. Glad to see that they won't just break down a door and leave it unlocked. :p I'm waiting a bit longer. If I don't hear from George today, then I will do it. The logical part of me says so many things. I'm not sure what to do really. I don't want to break George's door down and have him come wandering back home. But I *really* don't want to do nothing when he needs me. ...And what if I already have? What if I should have broken his door down on Wednesday? I have a horrible feeling inside of me. ...Of "What if?" What if...George is dead? How am I going to handle it? How am I going to reconcile myself with that, knowing that I may have acted too late? What if...we break down his door and actually find him?

Please George...Just be OK?

Letting Go A Little More...

So we (MacArthur and I) went out to the ocean today and scattered some of my mother's ashes. We hiked down to a beautiful small cove and said a few words. It was a strange combination of heavy, painful, and freeing. Such a weight was lifted when it was all done.

On the drive out to the beach, I was quiet. First, I got a call from Noreen (FHA president). She asked me how I was doing, and was actually very nice. I was glad I got a chance to connect with her, specifically *not* as her employee. For so many years, I worked for her, in such fear because of the things that my supervisor would say. She created an atmosphere of fear. I never really got to see Noreen as a whole person. As a human. I remember the guidance that I got from Niki was to keep under her radar. She made it seem like Noreen was a fire breathing dragon. When in fact, she's actually a very nice person. I mean she's just a normal human being. Powerful -yes. But that is *not* a bad thing. It's encouraging. I am always inspired when I get to see a strong woman in action. It's empowering *to me*. It helps me see that "I can do that too"! That I can develop those leadership qualities in me and help empower others (both women *and* men) in the world.

The next call I got on the way out... was from a gentleman from the cemetery. He told me that they had gotten the permit in sooner than anticipated, for my mother's burial, and that we could do it on Monday. So we moved it up a day.

The sooner the better is now my attitude. I realize that I have been carrying this enormous weight this last year. So much grief. So much seriousness and sadness. I feel like I have been dying slowly. On Monday, when we lay to rest, the remainder of my mother's ashes, I anticipate that it will not only feel like a relief and give my heart some peace and rest; but that it will also be somewhat like a symbolic death and burial of the last vestiges of the me that was before. The last of the old me. The child that could never imagine this kind of tragedy, or living past it alone. It's time to live. To embrace *living* -with joy. -Even without my mother. I'm kind of like a begrudging little caterpillar...that didn't really want to shed it's cocoon and blossom. I really didn't. I wanted to stay a caterpillar. Comfortable and loved by all of my caterpillar friends and family. But that's not how life worked out. I keep telling myself though that: this is a great opportunity to forge my life into whatever my heart desires. I'm casting off everything that I've ever known. Losing everything. Having my heart and family torn away. But having the space and opportunity to build a new life. Develop deeper relationships with distant family members and making them *not so distant*. -Close even. And I am so grateful for all of the people who have loved me through my darkness. And through my sadness. George, my mother's best friend, has always been a source of encouragement, strength, and laughter; which in my opinion is completely necessary for surviving the Spanish Inquisition. "No one *expects* The Spanish Inquisition" they say...but it happens to us all at one time or another in life. Heartbreak is part of being human. It's part of loving. And I guess it's worth it.

I felt so close to MacArthur today. So lucky that he is my love. And so sheltered from the storm by his love. Jodi put it well, when she said "I'm not the kind of person who believes in God. But if I *was* I would find it amazing that just as one great love of your life leaves...another one arrives." Truer words were never said. And I am so grateful for the grace that God, The Universe, or what-have-you has bestowed upon me.

I plan to go forward with my life, and live in a manor which would make my mother proud. I will be happy. I will have joy in my heart. And I will develop my abilities and contribute something of worth and value to the world around me. 

Encouragement

February 5th, 2009; 8:47AM
Life for everyone is a struggle against the sufferings of birth, old age, sickness and death. Happiness is not the absence of problems or worries; it is to be undefeated no matter what problems or worries we may face. And this happiness is not solely focused on oneself. Truly happy are those who can help others become happy. 

~Daisaku Ikeda

Facing My Knorr Addiction

On Monday, Mantights sat me down and had a serious talk with me about training, diet, sleep, everything. Since then I have been thinking more about what I eat. And pondering *what* exactly is my downfall? I like food. I like flavor. I like to have fun with my friends...and enjoy a meal together. So there's certainly a social aspect. But there is most definitely also a stress relief aspect too. I have very few vices. But honestly food is one of them. I was talking with some of my girlfriends once, and one of them came up with a very astute observation...which is also partly why food is such a tricky vice to have: Food is not like other vices. It's not like drugs or alcohol or cigarettes. With those things...you can cut them out completely. And although it's hard. There's no need to be a recovering heroin addict who just so happens to keep heroin in the house. Not so with food. You need food. Intimately.  Every day, for the rest of your life. So it's a harder relationship to maintain. You can't get rid of it entirely. You have to be able to have it around and make good choices.

Agh! Such a struggle! 

I love salty, fatty, and delicious. Knorr onion dip with ruffles.
(Also known as: god's perfect food.)

Butter? -Hell yes! 

Cream? -I don't mind if I do. 

And soda! Even diet soda is a no-no. I drink plenty of water...but there's something special about a carbonated ice-cold drink that is just such a nice treat. It's refreshing. Anyhoo...I'm thinking about it. And working on it. I'm scheduling an appointment to talk with a nutritionist, since clearly I am not doing this stuff on my own. 

Good bye heroin. It's been a nice ride. :p It's time to replace you with asparagus apparently. 

Interring My Mother's Ashes

This year has been a year of painful transitions for me. Things which I never thought would happen, have come to pass. And it's been hard on all of us. Next week, I will be laying my mothers ashes to rest. I've purchased a plot, in the same cemetery where my grandparents have been buried. MacArthur and I went there a couple of days ago. I can't exactly remember the last time I went to visit my Grandparents graves. But I remember doing it a lot with my mother. We would go, and bring flowers. Sometimes we would just go and lay on the grass together and look up at the clouds in the sky, and let our hearts do the talking to our ancestors. I feel strange this week. Tense. Kind of like that "deep bone ache" that my podiatrist was warning me about...only it's not in my recently healed bones...it's a feeling that I have in me. Deep down in me. My heart. My mind. The fiber of my being.

 I promised my mom that I would not hold onto her ashes forever. I would like to have them buried before the 1 year anniversary of her death. My Uncle Courtney asked that I wait till August, so that he could be here with me to bury my mom. I've waited. The waiting has been hard on me. It feels like dying slowly. The pressure of all of this unfinished business...grief that hasn't stopped flowing...has been very heavy on me this past year. I'm looking forward to interring her ashes and finishing up her headstone. I think it will give me a small bit more, of that peace which I am searching for. Uncle Courtney can't make it in August. But he will be here in September. By then, the headstone will be cast and in place. In a way, it seems better this way. In a way it seems so much more like what it was like when she was alive. In the end, again, it will be she and I.

I miss you so much mom. And I don't know when my heart will stop hurting. When breathing will become easier. I don't know when the memory of your illness will fade...and all that will be left are the good times. But I want that. I want it so badly. I feel myself grasping at life, trying to come back to life myself. But so far, it still hurts. I still can't believe that you're dead. I can't believe that everything has fallen apart. I don't know what to do. I am afraid of my life. It hurts so much without you. It feels like the center of my heart is missing. I wish you were here. If you exist...where ever you are...I hope that you are happy and loved. I love you, and I will love you forever. 

The Dog Officially Hates Me

So the whippet has lost all respect for me. It feels like we are an old married couple. And the resentment and unsaid things and assumptions are seeping into our marriage. It all started with losing my mother. No. Check that. It began before that, with the stress of my mother's illness. Dogs pick up on human emotions. Many a time, when my mother was in the hospital, I would come home to a huge mess on the floor. Not because the dog couldn't hold it or didn't have access to the outside potty. But more as a little doggie post-it note saying: "Hey! Fuck you! I have feelings too ya know. What's going on!?! I've been a wreck over this. Somebody come hold me and give me some treats."

Things admittedly got back on track for a while. For a while, I would hold J-Lo all the time. And then...I got Señor Piccolo. Her new BFF *and* arch rival for my affection. For a while there, I thought that Ms. Lo was going deaf. I would call her, and she wouldn't come. I would call her even louder and with more enthusiasm -even promising her treats...and she *still* wouldn't come. Eventually I realized that this was her way of saying "Piss off!" OK. Ms. Lo. Point taken. I need to spend more one on one time with you. I had no idea that one day I would be getting *attitude* from a dog. :p 


As if life wasn't complicated enough these days...

The Monster In My Brain

I have a monster in my brain. It's been there for a long time. Ever since I was a child. I would say that it takes up a fair amount of my mental space. Perhaps about 90%? Depending on the day...sometimes it's more...sometimes it's less...but it's always there, unfortunately. It's that nasty little voice that tells me that I am going to fail. That one way or another, that things will fall apart. No matter how hard I work to shore up one side of the box..and tape it up...that just as sure as anything, as soon as that's done, the other side of the box will come spilling out. That failure is my path. No matter what the subject is.

Weight loss? -You're fat. You can't do it. Have you ever been successful at that really? (said with a snide piercing voice and a condescending raised eyebrow. -Yes...the voices in my head can even raise their imaginary eyebrows.)

The Perfect Man? -Get real! You don't have what it takes to attract that guy. Let alone keep him happy. Why would anyone love a fat, ugly thing like you?

School? -You're not good enough. Smart enough. You just don't have what it takes. Sorry. -Next!

Keeping The House? -You are just one of many sad sad stories. You won't be able to. Your mother lost the home when she took out that mortgage on it. And that fate was sealed permanently with her death.

It's time to start shrinking those monsters. Take a good look at them and start to see them for what they are. Chip away at them. See that they are not so big and bad after all. I think I'll go into the old office and see my monster face to face. Find out how she's doing. :p Just so that I don't feel so daunted anymore by her. Hopefully she'll be having a bad hair day. :D

Something I Found Out Today About Broken Bones And Scar Tissue...

Well the news is in. Looks like I won't have to have my foot re-broken. Apparently, it's a bunch of scar tissue that's causing the pain. Who knew? When you break a bone, it bleeds into the surrounding tissue, creating scar tissue!?! (really??? -crazy!)  Other than that...I'm a lucky girl. Two weeks of walking on a broken foot with no cast...then taking the boot off early (I know...I'm naughty. Trust me, my boyfriend's already given me the lecture.)...Um...and having it broken in two different places. And I'm still OK! :) HA! Take that universe! In your pie hole! :p

Now I have to get moving and break up that scar tissue. Massage. Gentle stretching. Walking. Swimming. Biking. And even a bit of running. The Dr. said to take it easy and use my best judgement. She said that it *will* hurt, but that I would know the difference between "deep bone pain" and the pain of breaking up the scar tissue. And that I could expect to be fine. She said that some people *never* feel the same after a break or have the same mobility. And it's common for it to hurt for even a year after the break. But the best thing I could do is to gently work on breaking up the scar tissue. Somehow I'm pretty good at working through the pain. I guess that's a good side effect from taking care of my mom all these years. A little physical pain is nothing. Small potatoes. I can totally handle this. Happily even. :)