Millhauser

You can't just read a Stephen Millhauser book in your favorite chair or in bed before you go to sleep. You have to put a hammock in an unused corner of your yard, take the book on a trip, or at least — at the very least — turn your reading chair around to face another wall. Millhauser will always take you on a journey of imagination, playing tricks on you, making you believe in things that aren't so or look at a common object diagonally. He is a conqueror of that moment in space between wakefulness and dreams, shuffling and confusing the two. When you've finished a story you need a moment to "return" and it's too special a moment to be wasted on your blank TV set or your bureau — you need to be able to look up and sigh and be able to focus on something unexpected there in front of you. Ah, Stephen, Stephen...

I hooked up with an old friend on Facebook about a year ago. Someone I knew in high school and for a couple of years after that. Then, as friends do, we drifted apart. And if Facebook hadn't come along, who knows if we ever would have gotten back together.

Now, I'm not talking about an old flame — though in the day, the "group" dating thing was where it was at. So we were all True Loves in some way or another. No, this friend of mine was just sort of always there. Beloved and funny and smart and such a good friend. And getting to know him again through Facebook has been enlightening. I never realized how much of "me" was formed during that friendship. I wonder if he can read some of my posts and "Likes" and notes and see some of himself in there. I know that I can look at his bio and say "he likes that because of me. He may not realize it, or remember it, but I know I introduced that to him or discovered that with him." It's amazing how much this person will always be a huge part of the intricately crafted soul of me.

So thank you my friend, for reminding me who I am and why I am and how I got here. ♥

Pregnant Morning Gripe from 2001

I found this old note that I wrote in my 4th or 5th month of pregnancy and it gave me a chuckle, so I thought I'd pass it along. Ah, memories...
I’ve been having a hard time getting to sleep at night — merely adjusting for a comfortable position has been, literally, a pain. Then I read for a while, then I finally turn off the light and try to sleep when I realize I have to pee “like a racehorse” (never did understand that one). So I totally wake myself up to do that. Now I’m feeling dehydrated, so, against my better judgment, I have a glass of water. Then I try to go to bed which means I stare at the clock for an hour. Then I fall asleep only to have Sassy jump up into my face, purring. Well, who can resist that? So I have to pet her for a little while. Finally I fall asleep. Three hours later hubby’s alarm goes off and startles me into full-wakefulness. I don’t think that’s a word. But THEN he hits the snooze button. Not once. Not twice. But SIX FREAKING TIMES. So now I am awake-awake. That’s a word, believe me. Finally, he gets up and I try to go back to sleep, but once he leaves for work I realize that not only is the “sleep” thing not gonna happen, but now I have to pee again pretty badly and my stomach is rumbling because god forbid I don’t stuff something into my mouth every half hour to keep this baby happy. So I get up and have breakfast. But I think, “Good — I’ve gotten an early jump on my day.” So I start making all sorts of plans for things to do with my whole big day and then at around ten o’clock I hit the wall and crash-land into a full snore on the couch. But, of course, since my at-home-office hours begin at ten, that’s when the phone starts ringing. Odd, though, it’s never a customer that early — which would be worthwhile. But guilt at ignoring the ringing phone drags me up again from a fitful nap. Knowing full well that I haven’t had a full six hours of sleep, much less a needed eight or nine, I see my day dwindling into a few tired hours before another afternoon nap elbows its way into my life.

I have come to the conclusion that sleep has way too much control on our lives.

That’s today’s gripe. Tune in next time for “Sneezing While Pregnant and other fun ways to wet your pants as a grown-up.”

Sharing Those Family Recipes

I was asked recently what my best go-to dishes were for Potlucks. Well, I'm never the one to answer that. Though I can cook, I'm not the most confident cooker, so my dishes are simple: sweet gherkins wrapped in very thin salami and stuck on a toothpick; pasta salad — stuff I don't have to cook. Then I heard one person answer "I have a great dish, but the recipe is a family secret!"

Really? A family secret? That always brings back memories of a few years ago at a neighbor's party. They had invited some of their coworkers and friends from outside of the neighborhood, so there were lots of new faces there. One of her coworkers had brought a carrot cake and everyone who knew her oohed and ahhed over it, saying "Lisa brought her carrot cake! Oh, you have to try it! I love it when she brings that famous carrot cake of hers!" Now I had never made a carrot cake from scratch, and have always wanted to since it is my favorite kind of cake. Hers was yummy and I thought to myself "what a great way to learn to make one, and I might get a new friend out of it!"

So I found a piece of paper and a pen in the kitchen, then sought out Lisa. We'd only just met that evening, but had joined in various conversations together and so we already had a connection.

"Lisa, can I get your email address so that I can get your carrot cake recipe?"

She smiled and said "oh, it's my grandmother's recipe and so it's an old family secret! I just can't give it out."

"Oh... no problem!" And that was where we left it. She never did give me her email because that would have been awkward, so that was that. No new friendship was forged. I have to wonder: what did she gain from that?

I guess I can understand it if you plan to make yourself rich with the recipe, but usually the Keepers Of The Secret do not have those kinds of plans. Even if they do, think of Mrs. Fields and the infamous cookie recipe — giving that out did NOT put Mrs. Fields out of business! On top of it all, I ended up feeling spitefully bad about that woman. I fantasized about finding out where she lived and sneaking in one day just to take a quick picture of the recipe she was protecting so fiercely (insert evil laugh here)!

It's just so silly. Share your damn recipes, people! (Now if only Universal Studios will give up their secrets about "Butterbeer"!)