PMS - or - Why I Could Eat a Horse

Warning: To anyone for which the subject of PMS makes them uncomfortable - this BLOG is not for you.

I started my day with the usual dash-to-work. Throwing my gourmet, instant-lunch into my satchel and running to my car. Today was a step-up from the usual cup-o-soup: it was some shmancy peanut-noodle dish. It required a full 2 minutes of microwaving. When it came time to eat ( I was starving by 11:00, and I'd had an egg and toast for breakfast around 8:00), I began reading the instructions on the wrapping of my entree'. You're absolutely right. The word "entree' " and the word "wrapping" should probably never be together in a sentance. I digress. I knew this was gourmet, because it had more than two directions. I had to "...dump the entire contents of the bowl - out - place the vegetables and a tablespoon of water in the bottom of said bowl, add noodles and sauce, heat for two minutes - and then add the crumbled peanut topping." I read the directions three, count em', three times. Just to make sure I wouldn't screw up any part of my fine dining experience. About right now you're probably wondering how this relates to PMS. I'm getting to that. It ties in quite nicely, in fact. Because where I'm headed - in a three-legged-mule sort of way, is that although I successfully, and with the help of the microwave oven that is so old it sometimes shorts-out the upstairs electrical system, made a bowl of exotic, peanut-esque noodles with vegetables (what a laugh - they were cut to exactly the miniscule size perfect for getting stuck between ones' teeth), I did not come anywhere near my PMS-required amount of protein.
After work, I went straight to the grocery store, and proceded to procure these ingredients (see if you notice any patterns or theme): Maple-port sausage, celery, juice, Turkey dogs, a small but luscious looking Sirloin Beef Roast, and Extra-Sharp White Cheddar Cheese. I think I had the roast and all the veggies cut, seasoned, and under foil in aprox. 10 minutes flat. Apparently, I am PMS-ing. And I am a very hungry woman. For the next two weeks I will consume mostly protein-based foods, be cranky, and write BLOGS about "being so hungry I could eat a horse!" Where did we get that saying, anyway?

Best,

Deborah

debora-bora

rotting


i do the same damn thing every year: i buy the pumpkins because
otherwise i'm a bad mom. we have to carve the pumpkins. and inevitably i get
invited to the same pumpkin carving party every year, and drag 3 to 8 lbs. of orange squash
with me and my son.

and eventually - after the amazing yellow-squash soup and the wine and the small talk,
we carve the pumpkins.

it has got to be the messiest tradition ever. i mean, you make a sane choice to open the top
of a large gourd, and scoop out its innards: slime-covered seeds...by the frickin' hundereds. it's so annoying. really.
this part...the obligatory part of the pumpkin carving tradition, puts me in a slightly foul mood every year.

even when i didn't have a kid, and i was "foot-loose and fancy-free" i still went to pumpkin carving parties.
i can't explain this. it must stem from some deep sense of self-hatred, or something.

you're right - it's WAY passed Halloween. passed the carving of squash and dressing up and eating too
much candy. it's the tail-end of November. so why am i ranting about pumpkins NOW????

BECAUSE: one of my pumpkins - the 15 pounder that i picked out because i liked it's odd shape - that one...it's
still sitting outside my door.
except now it's growly face is sagging, and it's orange skin is covered in black-mildew blemishes. and it's oozing
something worse than the slime that once covered its seeds. it's just a time bomb mocking me. "hah! that's what
you get for skewing my innards!!! that'll teach you!!!! ah....sweet revenge...!!!!!!"

every year. it's the same thing. i let too much time pass, and i inevitably have to slurp-launch the festering
orange heap as carefully, and without any touch of femininity, into a large garbage bag.

every year.
happy thanksgiving. post.

deborah

poem: season's change

Season’s Change


Winter’s berries replace Spring’s;
White, where red hung.
Silence, where birds sung.
Poison not pies…
And the rot where death and life over-lap
begins to fill the air.

What purpose the Snow Berry?
A string of pearls strung to distract
The eyes and hearts’ mourning…
Days longer-lit, sweeter, warmer?

There is an ache inside’
Love, where once pain.
Loss, and yet gain.
Pushing my heart…
And the joy where death and life over-lap
begins to fill my soul.

I will hang the Snow Berry boughs
Upon my door…
To remind me of the beauty of change –
Allowing myself to feel, deeper, sweeter, warmer.

d.l. –

2005

What We Are

"What you are is God's gift to you;
what you do with yourself is your gift to God."

- Danish Proverb

Some days, I wake up with the wings of a gnat. Others, the wings of an Eagle. "Under it all," some days, and above it, the others. The consistency is in the in-consistency. It is the wave of emotions that can seem to direct our paths...that is the same wave we sometimes feel we may drown in. This is why I truly believe that I make a lousy guide for myself. This is what makes me humbly call out to God for direction.

I find that it is just as easy to lose ones' self in a field, as it is in a forest. And what I mean by that, is that unless you are seeking a direction, it doesn't matter where you are...you will be no less lost or found if you are not looking. Unless you get quiet enough to hear God speaking to you...unless you take the time...you will walk aimless no matter where you walk.

Years ago - in the midst of one of the busiest cities in the world (new york), I got really quiet. I prayed with every cell in my being, that God would show me the direction for my life. And in that cramped apartment, in the middle of the night, in the city that doesn't sleep, when I myself wasn't sleeping - but desperately praying - I heard God. And what he told me was this: That I would use my music to help others. That was my gift. That was my purpose.

And so today, when I read the Danish proverb written above, I was reminded of my gifts. Reminded of my direction. Reminded of how blessed I am to have heard God's speaking. And where ever it is I find myself - no matter how chaotic my days get - I know my purpose. I encourage you to get very quiet...And pray...and listen...

Best,
Deborah

the moral of the mom and the guinnea pig

Some days are more hectic than others. The other day, for example, was a particularly hectic day as hectic days go: Get up at 6:30 to catch up on homework before I have to get nine year old ready for school: Koala Krisps - check. Brush your teeth? Check. Clothing from clean pile? Check. Packed lunch? Check. Combed hair? Maybe. Clean guinnea-pig cage and feed fresh food. Check. Make sure fish are fed and air-pump turned on. Check. 8:15: Made it to the bus-stop without having to do the 75 yard dash. Check. Hobble back home to finish getting self ready. Sort of. 9:30: Work until 12:30. Take bus to school for 1:00 class. Leave for home at 3:00. Scrounge ride from class-mate. Make it home by 3:15 ish. The day's only 2/3's of the way over, when I take a moment to pause...And realize that I took better care of the guinnea pig today, than I did myself. So, the moral of The Mom and the Guinnea Pig is this: If you're a parent - especially a single parent - you have to treat yourself better than the household pets. Period. Really. End of story. End of moral; Or there won't be anyone to take care of the kid, to go to the job, to go to school, to feed the fish and the guinnea pig, or write blogs, etc. So - Eat, rest, pray, take hot baths and have a glass of red wine. And talk to the guinnea pig.

(They're wiser than you'd think).

All for now -

Deborah

Insomnia

I'm not sure if it's the berometric pressure, new medication, or just whacked-out hormones - but I've had insomnia for three nights in a row now.

Most everyone has had insomnia. So you can relate...

Day 1 (post-insomnia): Slightly blurred vision, cursing at alarm clock, drink two caffeinated beverages before 8:30 a.m. Grab third caffeinated beverage on the way to work. Make it through the day without any major blunders. Pathetically optomistic thought goes through your mind: "Tonight I'll get a good night's sleep...I'm soooo tired - how could I not???"
Day2 (post insomnia): Damn! Vision's screwed. Alarmn clock is still going off somewhere on the floor where I accidentally knocked it. Forget to have breakfast. Have extreme difficulty making even the smallest decisions: Which deoderant do I wear today? Why do I own more than one type of deoderant? Can't pack son's school lunch - he'll have to eat crap due to my incompetance. Make it to work - only three minutes late. That night, get smart and take half a sleeping pill...Aaahhhh, that'll do it.
Day 3 (post insomnia): Double damn!!! Who needs a frickin alarm clock when you've been awake since 4 am? Stumble into kitchen, make tea. Eat something. Happy you remembered to eat something today. Send kid off to school with healthy, hand-packed lunch. Find comfortable clothing. Only realize much later in the day that your socks sorely DO NOT match rest of outfit. Don't care. Curse life in general. Accidentally make self cup of non-caffeinated, sleep-inducing chamomile tea. Suffer through longer-than-usual work day, due to the fact that you said you'd cover co-workers' butt. Eat Cup-O-Noodle soup with dwindling enthusiasm...Am just happy to get the fork to my mouth. Start new blog in state of delerium...


More soon -
Your sleep-deprived friend,

Deborah