4 Days: Butter is best

Just made luscious pasta.  So scrummy.  We eat far too much pasta, I think, but if there are enough veggies and flavor, it should be OK.  The secret?  Butter.  Butter is always the secret.  Why?  Nobody wants to know it’s there.  But if your food tastes extra-amazing at a restaurant…it’s because of the butter piled on as a finisher.  You can count on it.  It’s my secret, too.

Pasta is my sisterly tradition.  I have two sisters.  When we’re together, one of us very often hops into the kitchen and whips up some pasta.  When one of them does it, it’s pretty plain.  A can of tomato pasta sauce, maybe some extra garlic, salt, and pepper.  When I do it, I usually make my own sauce.  Veg, of course onion, tons of garlic, tomato, olive oil, sometimes zucchini, bell peppers, greens, ginger, mushrooms, and so much more.  I like my pasta spicy.  I throw in a ton of chili.  Cayenne.  Hot paprika.  I’m fond of Vietnamese fish sauce instead of salt (don’t tell my sisters!), and sometimes, I throw in butter at the end.  Oregano, basil, rosemary, thyme, cilantro.

Then we sit, each with a deep Asian soup-cereal type bowl, and watch sappy cable TV.  Sometimes it’s America’s Next Top Model.  Sometimes it’s a a wildlife documentary like Big Cat Diary, which my youngest sister, Indiana Jones Jr, loves so damned much.  And my personal favorite — British Murder Mysteries – Dalziel and Pascoe, Inspector Linley, Miss Marple, Midsommer Murders.  These days if we’re lucky there are some great Gordon Ramsey shows.  It’s fab that he has so many damned ventures, because he’s on in some capacity all the time…and usually fantastic entertainment.  I dream of being on Hell’s Kitchen these days.  I have the skills and training.  Wouldn’t it be cool to be screamed down by that blond monster?

But these days, our middle sister is stateside.  We miss her.  Jones Jr and I are boiling and sweating in our skins, watching Finding Neverland, after a slew of boring modeling, wedding, and other ridiculous reality TV shows didn’t make the grade.

Pasta.  Spaghetti.  Al dente.  Cooking in water as salty as the sea.  Tonight served with zucchini.  And butter.  Always finished with butter.  It’s best that way.  Warmed with memories.

114 Days: Plain ole exhaustion

I am plain tuckered out.  Was, maybe 8 hours ago, too.  I haven’t worked this hard in a long while.  Sucks that I’m barely making any money, and that in this holiday season, I’m spending more than I’m making, easily.  But it’s nice to have a full schedule.  There’s something refreshing about feeling my body totally exhausted.  From the soles of my feel to the scalp on my head.

Today, I got up at 7:30 am (after less than 5 hours of sleep) in order to get to my psychiatrist at 9:30 am.  For the first time in a long while, he was super attentive, focused, and really seemed to listen to me.  He agreed with me that we’d better switch up my meds, and we considered a few options.  For the second time, by a second psychiatrist, I was offered Lithium.  And for the second time, I refused.  There is such stigma attached to it.  And I don’t want to gain hundreds of pounds.  Lithium screams “bipolar and proud of it” to me, and I just don’t want to go there.  When it was first suggested, nearly a year ago, I did a lot of research…including all the art inspired by Lithium…the Sting song…the Nirvana song…plenty of other stuff.  I wonder if someone as talented and respectable as Sting is, is still on Lithium.  And whether it was the right choice.  Because Lithium seems like I’d have to admit to myself that I’ve somehow lost it.  So, I’m going to start on something called Cymbalta (sp?), and I won’t have time to research tonight, as I’m literally falling asleep as I type.  Good Lord…know what this means?  Time for major, and I mean major withdrawal this week.  Thank you Lexapro, thank you terror, thank you disillusionment…you see where I’m going?  I don’t.  I’m drunk with fatigue.  And starting to jones.

So, after the doc, went to my sisters to help her frantically pack for Italy (I’m meeting her there is just under two weeks), then had a strained lunch with my grandmother where I found myself having to apologize for everything and anything including my mere existence.  And then.  And then.  Wine!

It was so chaotic in the store I was placed in today that the manager asked that I not do any tastings (until perhaps the end), and just represent the winery in the aisles and help people with their choices.  My first thought was bloody hell…I got into this business for the tasting itself…wanting to teach…to converse about an actual product…not be a salesperson in the most direct and annoying fashion.  But you know what?  I did better business today than I did on any other day in the last two weeks.  Why?  When you’re leading a tasting, you’re kind of stuck to your station.  You can walk around, but then the wines aren’t being watched over.  And if you’re helping some people with a tasting, you miss customers walking in behind them and around the store.  Sure, people would have preferred a tasting, I think.  But you know what?  I learned that it’s me, the “expert,” the winery rep, the salesperson, who decides what to sell the customer.  If I sound assured, and I consciously choose what to present them, they will buy it.  More times than not.  Amazing.  Just the power of mere suggestion.  Nothing pushy.  Even helping with other products, other wines, beers, spirits…and they trust you.  It’s scary what an art sales really is.  And kind of disgusting.  Because when you think about it, we’re all prey.  If we’re not selling, we’re being sold to.  All the time.  But hey, today, I was really proud of myself.  I got people to change their minds after they went to the register with bottles they had been convinced to buy.  And I wasn’t the least bit pushy or rude.  How could I be?  I’m me.  Miss American Manners.  In Hellish Tel Aviv.

And then, and then, we’re talking 9 pm, I walked half a mile, got a bus home, went to the pharmacy to get my new meds, and the went to my uncle’s with a chicken and four premium bottles of wine, and I proceeded to cook…for the last three or more hours.  Chicken soup (with carrots, onions, garlic, celery, celeriac, parsley root, and leek…and of course the obligatory bay leaves and allspice) is done…as is the ridiculously complicated quinoa salad that I have become famous for this year.  It takes a ton of chopping and peeling and minute work.  It’s not difficult.  Just time consuming.  Tomorrow the matzah balls, tsimmes, and roast beef will have to find themselves being made somehow or other.  I hope.  Because at 9 am I need to be out the door to my last holiday tasting, all the freaking way on the other side of the city…until 3 pm, when I rush to my uncle’s to finish cooking.  Good Lord!

And now, I’m going to hop in the shower.  Oh how I’ve needed to shower.  For like three days.  Please don’t think me gross.  I’ve had other priorities, for the first time in months.  A “feels good to be dirty” kind of high?  Not really.  But it should be at least somewhat satisfying.  And Thursday!  Thursday!  I’m off to the Ashram in the Desert for 5 full days!

Happy Passover to All!  And Happy Easter (whenever it falls this year…sorry, it’s the first time I have no idea)!

192 Days: Glistening traif and shiny happy Jews

You want to hear about my first huge kick-ass professional catering experience?  Well, you’re gonna.  I served traif to Israelis, and they lapped it up like tiny kittens tasting cream for the very first time.  (Insert evil laugh here).  Traif, for all you non-Jews out there, means non-kosher food.  And in this case, oh boy, oh boy did I go all out!  The timing was perfect.  Perfect!  A different tray of hot food came out every ten or fifteen minutes or so.  There was just enough food.  Not too much left over.  Nobody went hungry.  And people were raving.  I’m thrilled.  The menu, for your reading and salivary pleasure:

Bacon wrapped shrimp smothered with Roquefort cheese

Crisp filo triangles of 5 types of wild mushroom sauteed in red wine

Baked prosciutto-wrapped medjoul dates stuffed with almonds (THE hit of the evening)

“Gourmet” deviled eggs, complete with capers, dijon mustard, anchovy paste, and fresh chive

Smoked salmon on garlic dill creme fraiche mousse with fresh thyme

Veal liver and goose fat pate (yes, I made this by myself, from scratch) with homemade fig and onion compote (b-day boy loves figs)

A vegetable platter to end all vegetable platters (carrot, fennel, baby cornichon-style cucumbers, celery, tri-colored peppers, vine-ripened cherry tomatoes) with three homemade dips: slow-roasted sesames in fresh goat labaneh cheese, fried garlic and fresh chive in a creamy farmer’s cheese, and a killer thousand island (don’t ask me why, but Israelis are gaga for 1000 island.  It’s like their ranch)

Ceviche of Dennis fish (a local fatty fish), and as the birthday boy cannot stand cilantro (aka fresh leafy coriander), this was made with parsley, ginger, chive, green onion, shallots, lemon zest, lemon juice (of course, to “cook” the fish in), olive oil, salt, pepper, and a dab of chilli (I served them in tiny little cups, like rectangular shot glasses, with adorable wee forks.  Gone like hot cakes)

Baked Brie: a lovely creamy brie cheese, raspberry preserves, and slivered almonds, all melted inside the golden loveliness of a buttery puff pastry (the Israelis went orgasmic on this one)

AND

The Main Course

Two Moroccan Tagines:

Beef stewed with onion, garlic, dried apricots, figs, prunes, and dates, seasoned with cinnamon, ginger, allspice, and course black pepper

Eggplant, zucchini, onion, garlic, fresh vine tomatoes, and chick peas, stewed with a bottle of red wine, bay leaves, and a touch of chilli

Both served over couscous

AND

Three salads, of various compositions, the most interesting of which was the fresh baby leaves, red onion, anjou pear, and roasted walnut salad (funny story  – totally forgot to make salad dressed and rushed at the very last second, dumping a ton of freshly squeezed lemon juice that I had on hand into some olive oil, and then added a few spoons of the fig jam from the pate, whisked a bit, salt and peppered, and dumped over a couple of the salads, and then used the 1000 island on another one.  Well, my lemony concoction apparently went over so well, people were scraping the last bits of salad from those two bowls…1000 island went almost untouched…)

AND

Punch: fresh mint lemonade with ginger, spiked with vodka. Hit the spot.

It was a very ambitious menu.  I only realized this after I presented it to the family, them oohing and aahing.  It took every bit of effort over the course of the week not to have a panic attack over this.  See, the difficulty was this.  It was a surprise party.  Which meant, this ambitious menu could not be cooked in the house in which it was going to be served.  No, oh no.  It was arranged that I could use the kitchen of an aunt in the same neighborhood, and then transport all of the food 2 hours before the party was to begin.  Right.  But this was going to take more than cooking some things on the same day.  My uncle very generously offered me his kitchen earlier in the week (my kitchen is less than a galley with absolutely no counter space), and I took him up on it.  I was there for about 10 hours on Friday, making as many preparations as possible so that I wouldn’t have a heart attack the following day.  The pate was made there.  All of the veg for the platter was chopped up there.  All of the dips were made.  The mushrooms were sauteed there, so they could be rolled into filo the next day.  Etc. etc.

I haven’t worked this hard in ages.  Maybe ever.  And you know what?  As hard as this life may be.  As strenuous physically as this was and may continue to be.  I am still glad I left my high tech job.  I’m still over the moon I’m out.  I have no regrets.  When my finances crash, I may think differently, but I am really OK now.  I was really proud of the job I did.  The food was very pretty, as stressed as I was.  I almost lost it on a few occasions (would you believe that early arrival guests, sitting next to the kitchen, started eating raw shrimp and raw bacon they found on parchment paper on a baking sheet, and managed to eat half of this particular batch before I found them and nearly started fuming and scolding them!  How crazy do you have to be to eat that shit raw!  They were in the kitchen, for goodness sake…it wasn’t my fault they were butting their noses into my domain!  Ee gad!).  But I ultimately survived, appeared professional, passed out a couple dozen business cards, and hopefully, hopefully, will get a few jobs out of this.  Because this was for family friends.  Not exactly a profitable gig.  But seeing as it was my first, I proved to myself I could do it.  And do it impressively.  Score!

196 Days: Surprise Success

It’s just one of those “world conspiring to do me a huge favor” kind of days. I cannot friggin believe it. I just got back from my writing seminar, and they drop dead loved my book. All the worry. All the absolute convincing-of-myself that I did that the manuscript was just glorified toilet paper. Gone. People really do think it’s something special. Four talented, professional writers think it’s really good. And funny. The leader of the group, the professional writing instructor, told me he laughed out loud several times, and that that never ever happens to him. Ever. And he even read it twice. Twice! And laughed out loud the second time, too, anticipating the funny moments. I am in shock. I am not a failure. What I create may actually have merit. One day I, too, may become a published author, big time. Because the other manuscript we critiqued today, while it was quite good, didn’t receive the all-around, “this was so fun-unique-hilarious-true, etc, etc” that mine did.

And now I’m off to cook for two whole days, starting in about an hour, after I can get my stuff together and over to my uncle’s house who has graciously donated his kitchen for my cause today. Friends will be popping around periodically, and I’m hoping it will be a Martha Stewart meets Mr Rogers meets the cast of Friends kind of day, yet totally productive. Geez, this is even one of the plotlines, when Monica has her won catering company. Actually, it’s the exact plotline, when she takes one of her friends to be the waitress and friends of the family are the first ones to hire her. Wow. Life mimicking art. Naw. That would be going to far. Not that Friends isn’t art…I mean, how silly would it be to think I have a life…ha, ha, ha. Now let’s get to frenzied work! Pate to be made! AHHHHH! Wish me luck!

197 Days: Time to freak the hell out

OK, I’ve been too calm.  Or too lazy.  Or too “pretend grown-up” this week.  The numbers for the party I am “catering” have risen from “maybe 30″ to “at least 50,” and I haven’t even done most of the grocery shopping yet.  OMG!!!  The plan was to do the groceries tonight, have them delivered to my uncle’s house where I’ll be cooking on Friday (tomorrow, OMG), do at least 50%, but hopefully closer to 70% or 80% of the prep while there, and then transfer the food, etc, to the suburban kitchen where I’ll be working all day Saturday. What you all might not realize is that because I’m in Israel, the grocery stores CLOSE at around 3 pm at the latest on Fridays because of Shabbat.  Which means, better have more than enough beforehand because there is very little you can do otherwise.

Breathe.  It’s going to be OK.  What’s an extra 20 people.  Just buy more stuff and cook in bigger batches.  And it’s OK if your budget is a good 30-40% bigger, because, hey, the numbers increased.  My worry is that I underestimated my ability to acquire the specialty items…it’s hard to get pork products and seafood here, as they’re not kosher.  But hey, I bought a food processor yesterday!  Pate should be a cinch.  And I KNOW that I have enough couscous to feed an army.   So just get to one of the non-kosher places today, and buy them out.  Shrimp and bacon are not that unique.

I guess what’s really bothering me is that I am spending the day with the lovely boy, something that I am so excited about, seeing him on a weekday, in the daylight, and doing something real, in nature, etc.  We’re going on a minor hike in the Jerusalem hills and then hopefully find a fun place to stop for refreshments and lunch.  And I don’t want to have all of this on my mind.  Ugh.  AND I haven’t read and analysed the first third of my colleague’s book for tomorrow.  Which, honestly, shouldn’t take more than an hour.  But I still haven’t done it!  AND I finally have my business card design, but I have to take it to print today!!!  OMG.

OK, calm.  Just get out of the house now.  NOW.  You’re in PJs.  No need to shower, you took an hour-long bath yesterday.  You can get to the printer now, and then maybe even hop over to the local uber-expensive specialty butcher’s and buy all of their bacon and shrimp…and do it all before your 10 am deadline!  Yes!  That way, I won’t have to be so antsy while hiking.  It will be OK.  It will be OK.

199 Days: A broken mirror and a cat in the crook

Under 200 days until 30.  Not sure how I feel about that.  It has been an eventful 5.5 months, however. Best not to dwell.  I’m doing OK today.

Fischer and Cassie-O

My male cat, Fischer, broke a really big heavy glass mirror this morning.  He did it by somehow ricocheting off of my leg as he sort of sped, a la Tom and Jerry, through the apartment on a craze of some sort.  So, I’m wondering if I’m partially responsible for it.    And although I shouldn’t and don’t believe in luck, you never know, and it’s sort of always hanging there.  Not really.  But I’ve never broken a mirror or aided and abetted in the breaking of a mirror.  I mean, I was the silly girl who in high school kissed the ceiling of her car when she passed through a yellow light and held her breath when driving past a cemetery.  We used to say, seven years bad sex for anyone who didn’t.  But do we believe it?  What are your thoughts about superstition?  I mean, even if you don’t believe in this stuff, who goes around breaking huge mirrors, you know?

Anyway, it was a messy cleanup, and as I’m messy anyway, it wasn’t fun.  This mirror turned into sparkly fairy dust-like powder in some areas.  I mean, the microscopic mirror fragments we’re talking about here will make it impossible to walk around without shoes for months.   It mixed in with the random kitty litter which was scattered on the floor, and it got in the cracks in the tiles on the floor…ugh.

Cassie-O, dear sweet Cassie-O (Fischer’s little sister, my nickname for Cassiopeia, and a nice take on “Jackie O,” if I do say so myself) has taken to sitting in the crook of my knees when I’m lying down on my side.  She, unlike Fischer, the in-your-face ham, doesn’t like to be confined or held in any way, as affectionate as she can be.  She needs to feel she has her escape route.  It’s just about the cutest thing you can imagine, as she gets right up in there, making a great legwarmer in our cold winter days and nights.

This week is all about planning this party I’m catering on Saturday night.  Amazing to have a task this huge and fun.  But a lot of logistics.  A f-load of logistics.  And I may venture forth in to South Tel Aviv, cheapy-ville, for a cut-price food processor today.  Making pate for 40 is not fun if you have to do it by hand, that’s for sure.  But for now…I’m tres sleepy, having slept over at my lovely guy’s place (where we dealt with a crisis of no water in his apartment, calling the neighbors, the landlord, threatening the landlord, etc, etc), and I want to take a nap before:

1. Dealing with finally finishing business cards
2. Reading the first third of a colleague’s novel and critiquing it for my writing workshop
3. Creating a very very detailed plan of action for all the shopping and cooking that has to happen in the next 3 days
4. Going to downtown post office to collect (and pay taxes on) belated Hanukkah gifts one of my sisters sent from the States

That all sounds reasonable, right?  Right.  Good.  Now, let’s snuggle with some cats, now shall I?

201 Days: Life, as it is

Mornings may always be slow for me.    Cats wake me up scratching incessantly at my door and crying to be fed.  The just don’t get it.  I’ve tried to ignore them.  You know, teach them that they can’t get to me, so they’ll eventually stop.  Not so, not so.  It went on for over an hour.  Screaming at them helped.  But it wasn’t nice.  So every day I have to get up at 6 or 7 or so, and I have to feed my cats  Then I get back in bed, and I go back to sleep for a couple more hours.

But back to life.  I have things to do today.  Yes, I do.  And it feels good.  My house in more of a shambles than it’s ever been.  Cats have torn up ever available piece of napkin, paper towel, toilet paper, etc.  They are just pissed.  Or maybe they think this is their playground.  Who knows.  So it exists for me to clean up.

But my day, oh my day.  This week, as opposed to last week, is dominated by my very first personal chef/catering gig.  I’m nervous ans confident.  Which is a good place to be.  Why?  It’s a party like any party I have throw for my parents in the last ten or so years.  The hors d’oeuvres I proposed went over like a dream, and I know how to make all of the food on the menu with my eyes shut.  It’s all OK.  And it’s family friends that are helping me out.  I’m psyched.  But still, it’s for 40 people, and it will be  lot of work, seeing as I don’t have a car, and it’s a surprise party so I can’t use their kitchen except for three hours before.  Which means, 80% of the food and all the prep has to be done before I even set foot in their house.  OMG.

And I’m going to my shrink today.  And I’ve got stuff to discuss, seeing as I had a breakthough last week, and I encountered some difficulty communicating over the weekend in a way that made me quite uncomfortable.  I wish I knew how to deal with men.  But really, it’s me.  Amazing how you can be around a person you love and respect, and yet have problems.  It’s like silence is so infinitely heavy.  I want to be a better person.  I  want to be able to express myself and not be afraid that people will reject me or hate me or be offended, whichwould be the worst.  Luckily, I don’t think this is a big deal.  I’ve really been taking care of myself far more effectively than ever before.  I’m thinking of the moment more than the long term, which, smart as it isn’t forever, it needs to be done now.  So, I’m taking things a week at a time, at the most.  Period.

And then, and then!  My uncle calls up yesterday saying he’s got friends who want to improve their spoken English in a hurry.  Would I be willing to teach?  Well, why not?  Seing as they are two of the most interesting people I’ve heard of in a long while.  A famous journalist who had her own TV show, and her husband the former cinema professor who is going to Finland next week to present his new documentary, or something like that.  Um.  No brainer.  I’d do it without being paid.  But they money would be nice.  Minimal fee.  Maybe 20 bucks a session.  Why on earth not?

So, honey child, get out of your PJs, tidy up a tiny bit, go get yourself some scrummy breakfast over which you can make your ingredient list, then hop over to the grocery store to get prices for everything so you can send in your estimate per head, and then go home to prep for teaching English, which I have barely done and haven’t done for years.  Good day.  Very good day.  And I will not think about my communication problems or about anything negative.  So there.  And I will put away the jar of Nutella right now!

Good day to you all!

Oh, and I discovered a kick ass blog.  Really smart and witty.  And oh so amusing and true.  Please go visit Unemployed Dad.  It really made my evening last night.  And hey, he’s an unemplyed dad…the least we could do is take a look, right?

246 Days: Reality, Stress, and Hair

I can feel the wind on my neck for the first time in two years.  I am slowly becoming me again.  Shortish, layered, stylist, curly bob.  Me.

The huge terrorist upset in Mumbai is difficult to deal with.  I have always known there is terrorist activity in India.  But being an Israeli, being a realist, I’ve always been rather fearless about visiting less-than-safe locations.  Still, it’s bothering me.  I feel horrible for those people.  For the city.  For the people still being held hostage.  Yet. I’m going.  I’m going.

Still no hotel reservation.  Still no activities planned.  Still have no idea which cities I’m visiting.  My place of work just sent out an announcement that I’m leaving the company, and it mentioned that I’ll be traveling in India…so I’ve gotten some emails from some contributors from there.  Maybe they can give me more complete insight on stuff off the beaten path.  Assam, maybe.  Punjab, maybe.  I just can’t wait to get there.  To eat good Indian food.

I have to cook a Thanksgiving dinner tonight and tomorrow.  I have no menu, still.  I have no shopping done.

Oh lord!  My day won’t stop.  I so want to go to sleep.  No, it will be OK.  It will be OK.  One step at a time.

250 Days: Layoffs, Fatigue, and Love Again

Four people were laid off at my work. An office of 50 people. Now, closer to 43, as two quit (including me), one was fired last week. And 4 were laid off as a consequence of the economy’s effect on the company. It’s pretty somber here. One person who was let go is weighing on me particularly. I wonderful caring man. Early middle age, if I can even say that. Probably early forties. Three kids. Was always at work early. Worked hard. Very hard. Had brilliant ideas. Was a model of the kind of person that a startup should have. Gone. Where is the logic? We keep maybe 10 very young programmers whose jobs are ridiculously elusive to me, and this nice fellow has to go.

I feel extremely tired and empty today. Yes, severe lack of sleep over the weekend, really lovely, pleasant, fun lack of sleep it was. But I have so much to do this week, I want to cry. It’s still all fun. It’s still somehow manageable. But I still don’t have a visa to India. So…who knows if I can go…and whether I should even book any activities or hotels. And I have an article to finish for tonight/tomorrow-ish. An article I love to write. All about food and culture and Israel and recipes. But some time consuming concentration for a few hours is certainly required. And I have no energy.

And then there is Thanksgiving. Which I’m doing Friday instead of Thursday. Which I’m doing in a kosher kitchen in Jerusalem, a very close friend’s house. And I’ve invited some good friends and my sister, all from Tel Aviv. Not only is there the worrying about the food, the shopping, the cooking, the number of people….there’s the stress of it being in Jerusalem on a Friday! How do we all get there? Or, they, as I’ll have to be there from the crack of dawn and that’s OK. But when the buses and trains all shut down…how will I responsibly get my friends there? And will we ALL stay the night? Will they want to? Will it be OK? Will there be room? I wish I could just give them the time and the address, let them figure it out themselves, and just leave the cooking to me. Maybe it is that simple, who knows? And…it’s about 2.5 days before I leave the country (!!!) that is, if my visa comes through.

And then there’s leaving work – making sure everything is done, that the torch is passed effectively. It’s the kind, polite, good thing to do. But I’m tired and fed up. Who knows how the last scramble will be…

And then there is the new man. For the first time in a long time, I really feel a click. A nice connection. Some excitement. But because of the very strange aspects of my week and this phase of my life and the very busyness of it all, this excitement feels too sedate. I want to be revved. And of course, right about now my paranoia will kick in. Does he like really like me? Does he really? When did he last call me? Should I call him? How much should I limit my contact with him? Don’t want to appear too clingy and paranoid… And do I really like him? Do I? Is it worth this? Getting excited again? How much of myself should I stake? Is this an inevitable heartbreak…so just have fun with it…or is it actually a good thing…and I should invest as much of myself into it as possible?

But at the end of the day, he is a kind man. Smarter than I expected. More tender and caring than I had expected. And I think he is just beautiful. If he feels a fraction of this for me, perhaps he’ll wait for me to come back from India. If he feels even a fraction of this, perhaps he might have intentions bordering on serious…

Thank goodness I’m too tired to weigh in on this too much. Fatigue has its uses, too. And right now it’s protecting me from myself.

260 Days: MASSIVE CHANGE

I quit my job yesterday.

I bought a ticket to India today.

I leave on December 1st.

When I get back on January 2nd, I immediately begin a 6-month manuscript workshop with an excellent instructor and small group to get my book beaten into shape enough for me to send to agents and publishers.

Also on January 2nd, I begin my life as a full-time freelance writer/food writer and personal chef.  I am already creating a business plan, of sorts, and I at least own the textbook bible how-to of setting up this kind of business (thanks to B).

I am shocked.  I am shocked and stunned and awe-struck because I am achieving my goals.  I wrote them down.  First, here in this blog, and second, on paper this week.  And I’m checking off the list.  I am nowhere near professional success…but I’m not on square one.  And I am much nearer personal success than I had believed.  I have accomplished or am about to accomplish the first four items on my list: finish the book; go to India; get a pet; find career/money/happiness balance.

• One – I’ve signed up for the manuscript workshop, it’s costing a lot, I have to work hard on the thing even before it starts (in the 2.5 weeks I have!), and I’ll be damned if I don’t make something of it with all of this structure I’m creating.
• Two – I got my ticket to India today!  I go for a month.  I wish it could be for two, but a month is a long trip, still.  I am being realistic.  I can’t see all of the country in this amount of time.  But I can focus on three or four regions, have a good time, and learn something.  I’m planning on taking classes on Punjabi and Kerala cuisines, and really try to get an amateur-mastery level before I come back.  Plus — I have number three to worry about…
• Three – I adopted two cats on August 8 of this year.  It was a spur-of-the-moment decision.  And I don’t think I would have done it otherwise and under different circumstances.  My sister asked me.  It was her last day on her archaeological dig, and the all kittens the site manager had brought with him from home to be adopted had been — apart from two.  I suspect they were the runt and the bad egg.  However, Cassiopeia (the runt) and Fischer (the bad egg, aka the tornado) have been wonderful.  After I got used to them.  The first month or two were very hard.  Very hard.  I always thought I was a pet person.  Instant companionship.  I felt invaded.  That my life was taken away from me.  My only safe haven in Israel destroyed.  But apart from keeping them from chewing on precious artwork (I live in my grandfather’s old art studio), and having to empty a litter box, they’re my family now.  I don’t love them like I love people.  But it’s nice not to be alone.
• Four – Figure out the work/life/money/creativity – well, I’m doing it.  I quit the job that was horribly for me in many, many ways.  And I’m going to put in a real, hard-working, 6-month effort at food and writing and food writing.

So, there you have it.  Living my dream.  Still, I’m alone on a Thursday night (like Friday night everywhere else in the world).  But it’s better.  I talked to several friends today, and I have some plans for the weekend.  No dating.  Kind of.  Mr 23 is still loitering in the outside lobby of my social life.  But tonight, I have an iMac, two (thankfully) sleepy cats, an apartment to clean, some old movies, a novel to edit, and a trip to India to plan.

Congratulate me, if you will, if you’ve read this far.  And let me know if you have suggestions for India.  I’m a (nearly) blank slate. You know, you can do it, too.  How simple it is.  Just write it down, and check the items off as you go.

My first blog entry: Just Another Number? Just Another Life.

My List of things to do before 30