52

What, is it spring all of a sudden?

At FedEx this morning, the clear pouches that hold the address forms were all messed up and driving me crazy, and the woman who works there on Mondays when I am there–every week basically–she and I were laughing at how ridiculous the whole scene was.  I see her walking with who I presume to be her granddaughter in a baby stroller around the neighborhood sometimes.  I waved at her from inside a cafe the other day and I think she was a little confused.  Today I mentioned it and she acted like she didn’t remember–or maybe she actually didn’t remember.  So just so you know, not everyone remembers everything that you do.

I’ve been thinking about this weird thing about raising children.  How you sort of expect them to be their own person, and they are, right away they come out the person they are.  And so you have this feeling that you will help them come to understand the world as they see it.  But what you don’t really know until they are actually here in the world is that they look to you for every kind of understanding about the world.  I’m typing this after two Sazeracs so it’s not making much sense maybe.

Yesterday we watched the episode of America’s Test Kitchen where they made Mahogany Chicken Thighs, and then of course I had some duck legs at home so I figured I’d try the basically same recipe with the duck.  The legs got a little overdone, but they looked and tasted beautiful.  You make a skillet full of braising liquid with water, soy sauce, sherry (I didn’t have any,) ginger, garlic, and a little sugar–then braise the meat skin side down for a bit, reduce the de-fatted cooking liquid with some corn starch to make a sauce, and while you’re doing that, you run the legs skin side up under the broiler to get it crispy.  Next time I will try it to the letter with the chicken and I’m sure it will turn out even better.

We got a new Casper mattress today, too.  Stay tuned for updates on how that goes.

Try stuff, you guys.  Just, like, try stuff.


One Comment on “52”

  1. jelizabeth says:

    So much here that either comforts or prompts me, to either be more self accepting OR self fashioning. (Oh, I haven’t used self fashioning in a long time, and now I am remembering the friend I learned the term from.)

    While I am sometimes forlorn when someone doesn’t remember a shared moment, I’m actually relieved that it may be possible that “not everyone remembers everything you do.” To not always matter that much would be a break — I can check out temporarily or even make a major error and the world keeps going, or might even go in a better way, because how do I know that any of my actions or even my presence is a cause that leads to an effect?

    I would like to hear more what you think about raising children, as an observer of children being raised, and as a former child yourself. My children are not really children anymore — one even lives in Queens, with other 23 year olds! — so I’m not sure if they continuously are looking to us for every kind of understanding about the world. In fact, sometimes my kids open my eyes to new understanding, like when my daughter Lydia, then 18, said to me after I worried aloud about a conversation: “Mom, you know, you can’t really anticipate everything someone is going to feel by what you say. And you’re not really responsible for those feelings, so you don’t have to talk to them in a way that prevents them from feeling something.”

    Today I taught an old class (old topic) in a new way. I’ve been fretting for four days. I even wondered if I’m really cut out for my job. It went great. And now, in contrast, I feel triumphant.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s