What Passover Means To Me

It may shock you to discover that I have some, erm, issues with my religious upbringing. Not shocked? Oh, well, I guess I don't do a good job of hiding it, what with my references to Zionist Summer Camp and the like. But I do enjoy a good Passover. For only some of the right reasons. It was a holiday that both my parents always got really into and, during my early childhood, one they shared with their friends, Jewish and non-Jewish alike. As we children got older and my parents made friends at synagogue, the seders became more a gathering of the people we saw every Saturday. This made my father happy because he didn't feel like he needed to explain things to the assembled crowd, but it made, and continues to make, me a little sad.

Let me examplify: for years, my parents had a crudely written handbook for our non-Hebrew speaking friends. It was a detailed transliteration of the songs so that our repeat guests could learn to sing along without learning Hebrew. I have such immensely fond memories of seeing their friends sing along with us because they could. It was an incredibly inclusive pair of evenings. I also remember how colossally pissed off my father was when the rabbi of our synagogue said that Passover shouldn't include non-Jews; livid, actually, would be how I would describe my father's response. But then, somewhere along the line, our seders, year after year, were composed of only Jews. And in all honesty, I think we lost something.

Now we split the seders. My parents do one and devoted partner and I do the other. My cousin and her four children have been coming for many years, and it is their only exposure to Jewish tradition. I imagine it can be boring. Because in those years when the seder was all synagogue people, we upped the Hebrew, upped our religiosity, and lost those little transliterated songbooks. Yes, the kids remember a little bit from year to year, but I must remember to ask my parents why they haven't resuscitated the books. For my teenage cousins, it might be just the thing to make them more active participants.

Our seder is a little different. It is almost entirely in English and I think that reflects our family of two, one who can read Hebrew and one who can't, far better. We read the story in its entirety, but I skip most of the singing. Devoted partner knows the blessing for the wine and has, over these many years, picked up a bit of song here and there, but I would say that out seder is more about assembly and less about ritual. I'm not doing a fish course this year because a) I hate making fish but also b) it's not part of our personal repertoire.

But why do I like Passover. It's not the text which I find simultaneously simplistic and deeply resentful; it's not the commemoration which, after years of indoctrination regarding All The Bad Things That Have Ever Happened To Jews And Which Will Happen Again Especially If You Marry Outside The Faith, has about as much import as a Nicolas Cage movie; and frankly, it's not the food - dietary restrictions based on uncorroborated mythology strike me as especially non-essential in my post-religious world. No. For me, Passover has always been about our family and our extended family of friends. About making and sharing a meal together.

Judaism is not an inclusive religion, just try to join up and you'll see. While eradication of a people based on the stuff they think is never the answer, and while Jews and the passover text make copious mention of how everyone was always out to get them, you have to remember that until the 20th century, Jews were the fundamentalist Mormons of the world: weird habits, cloistered, unfriendly to outsiders. I don't think that's reason enough to want to dispose of them, but it's not like 15th century Jewish communities were ever, "hey, we're having funny flat bread dinner tonight, wanna come over?" Also, when in conversation religion comes up, no one likes to hear you bragging about being God's chosen. Just saying.

So I try to ignore all that crap. I try very mightily to ignore the text that, in the face of current Jewish political practices, is so hypocritical as to make me wonder why no one else is mentioning it. I try to ignore the pages upon pages of sucking up to God. And instead I like to think of it as Stuff Jews Do: An Open House. Come one, come all, and let's sit around a table together and read a story. I'd probably also enjoy an evening of grape leaves, ouzo, and spanakopita while we read D'aulaires Greek Myths (no, I'd definitely enjoy that).

We have two first-time attendees to our seder and that makes me happy. I like that devoted partner and I have created a tradition where our guests don't have to pay to play. I don't know what we'll do if we make small ones (it occurred to me last night that I have no intention of wasting their neurons on learning a language as relatively useless as Hebrew, but that means I'll need to write up some of those transliteration songbooks), but I do know that I grew up in an environment where everyone was welcome at the Passover table and I'm immensely pleased that devoted partner and I continue that admirable tradition.

Xmas Dinner, Take 1

Despite the years of hebrew school and zionist summer camp, there once was a time when our family celebrated Christmas. In grandma and grandpa's brick house on the corner lot. With a tree and lights and seasonally colored Hershey's Kisses in glass container's and carolers outside and chocolate mousse pie and aunts and an uncle and cousins. While my dates may be spotty, I think we did this yearly until a year or two after my grandfather died. We have pictures to prove it including one I wish I had to share of me in a pink cashmere sweater, pink and grey tartan skirt, with a pink wand - I was 6ish. Yes, our family also brought a menorah when the holidays overlapped and we were certainly not chomping down on bacon in the morning, but there was Christmas and I liked it.

Then there were the non-Christmas years. The stay in New York and see a movie on Christmas day years.

Then there were the in-law years. I went to church. Two years ago I fell asleep in church. After that I chose not to go to church (jewish folks: church is a lot like synagogue except in English and there's slightly less getting up and sitting back down).

But Christmas never recaptured those early years for me. Perhaps it's that devoted partner's family wasn't my family. And there are no small children which, though I despair of spending time with them in general, do add to the Christmaseyness of Christmas.

So this year, now that our families are soon to be joined officially, I requested that we host the Christmas meal. And by requested, I think I said something like, "that's it - I want US to do Christmas this year." But, you know, nicely. Not like some crazed shrew harpy. Honest.

And that brought me to the next obvious question: what to cook? But not really. I've known what I want to cook for Christmas dinner since 2005 when, in the john at Ed's house I paged through the December issue of Food and Wine magazine. There it was: the perfect Christmas dinner. My mouth watered reading about it. So when we started planning, the Food and Wine website was the first stop. Here, in fact. Do you not want to start eating this immediately?!?

I cut back on some of the three million dishes both for expediency and the simple fact that our Christmas dinner will be serving 8 (9? Stupid Kate), not 20. Also, my dad won't be eating a lot of this because of his dietary restrictions. I've ordered my roast and I know it will not be cheap, so we didn't want to leave its preparation to chance. Also, while I'm confident I can whip sweet potatoes on the fly, I was less confident with creamed carrots. So last night I made a single rib and some creamed vegetables. And I'm so glad I did.

My meat was delicious but decidedly medium - and we're a rare to medium rare kind of group. So now I can adjust cooking times. The vegetables were good, but our tastes run to the more intense, so I'll be adding more ginger and more horseradish and, in a nod to having something without heavy cream, I think we're going to saute the mushrooms in sherry vinegar instead. It was also useful from a timing perspective. Anyone who was at our inaugural Passover dinner may remember that we ate in the round because the meat took way longer than expected and I spent most of the meal in the kitchen with The Boy finishing the lamb on the stovetop. Now I know what can be made ahead of time (all initial vegetable cooking for example - if they get finished with the cream sauce, they will heat up again, and that cream sauce need not be made a la minute). And I just bought a chafing dish which will help immensely since I despise serving lukewarm food.

I'll give credit where credit is due, though, and the credit belongs to devoted partner. I absolutely tend to wing it on cooking, figuring stuff will be good enough, and it drives devoted partner crazy because sometimes I fail. Mightily. And while for some dinners, I think the pre-cooking is unnecessary, for this, our first Christmas meal, it made a lot of sense and I think it will prevent me from overcooking 200 dollars worth of cow.

Now if only he'd tell me what time his family is showing up, we'd be golden!

Anticipation

Far be it from me to give Carly Simon any more airtime, but she seems to have cornered the meme-o-sphere on this word, and sadly, the word is apt.

Gift giving is tough in our family. Not because we don't want things, more because we don't want things that fall within the gift giving budget. My mental wish list has several sub $20 things - that new nail polish color, 12" circular knitting needles - and expensive things - furniture, electronics, trips to Thailand. In the middle there's not much.

So we've gotten in the habit of pooling financial gifts to come up with the thing we wanted - even when that means, like this year, my brother and I will be exchanging envelopes with the exact same amount of cash in them. And, in the spirit of making sure the thing I wanted wasn't sold out, I pre-ordered it and picked it up last night.

And now, like the adult I am, will stare at it in its packaging, until we open gifts on Christmas (the day we'll also be celebrating a very late Chanukah). Which will be very very difficult to do and draw on the reserve of willpower I am currently using to not eat.

Because the gift is a colornook.

That I want to open and play with and customize and mess with like the gearnerd I am.

But I will not, for I has adulthood. And I will spend the next (oh my god) month thinking about how much fun I will have with it in January. But if you have spent any time in a Barnes & Noble recently playing with the nook, you will know how much fun it is RIGHT NOW. My salesperson, Erika, helped me a great deal by refusing to open the packaging to put my anti-glare plastic thingy on the screen, saying that once the box was open, temptation would prove to great, but then she put the whole kit and kaboodle in a bag with photographs of the colornook in action on the outside.

So now I have a very compelling bagvertisement in my house that contains the very item the bag is bagvertising.

Fine. I'm going back to thinking about food and how much I'd like to eat some that isn't composed of finn crsips and chicken breast.

Other Places

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Food issues aside, one of my favorite things to do in new places is stop by the supermarket. The world's travel writers have a million and one ways that visitors can dig on local vibe, but I have yet to see one emphatically suggest a sampling of local supermarkets - sure, they'll all tell you to hit the farmer's markets and bazaars, but I'm talking about the super pedestrian, industrial lighting, devoid of aesthetics supermarkets. I love them! I truly cannot go to a new place without stopping by a supermarket. When my parents were recently in Paris, my shopping list for them could be 95% dealt with at the Monoprix - a supermarket. Please bring sea salt and reusable shoppers.

I think you can tell a lot about a place from its supermarkets. Even in New York, the difference between shopping uptown and shopping downtown can alert the newcomer to micro-regional tastes (witness the tamarind vs. the dairy- gluten- taste-free crackers). So when we pulled off the road Sunday to grab coffee and carrots, I was thrilled to be taking in a little bit of the Pennsylvania/Maryland border culture as witnessed through the prism of the MegaMart.

And rewarded I was. For at the Halloween candy display, which we last-minute availed ourselves of for potential trick or treaters, I was overjoyed to discover Jesus Harvest Seeds.

It is important to note that the above package was ACTUALLY in the store. I did not mail away for this from some gag company. This is a product. People can buy it. At least at the Giant Supermarket somewhere in lower Pennsylvania.

And, as promised by the packaging, each snack-sized gem does, indeed, contain some scripture. I would have honestly crapped my pants had I ever received this as a child at Halloween! But apparently, not everyone in the country is as potentially bowel-incontinent as I.

I have oft been accused of having a warped view of The Rest of the Country, and some of that may be true. I enjoyed our time in the Carolinas greatly and could well see myself living there, but it cannot be argued that some cultural mores have varied levels of acceptance. And in Places Not New York, love of el Jefe, is an acceptable thing to shout from the rafters and plaster on your bumper.

I would venture to assert that ignoring these differences is just as dangerous as pretending they don't exist. But I will not lie: this sort of shit tickles me in all the right places!

Holiday Weekend

Dear Only Cause I Would Give My Life For (see, you didn't think I was a patriot),

Thank you for creating a barbecue/beach/pool holiday risen from the ashes of all the people who died creating you and spending days in airless, probably humid, rooms writing the rules by which you would be governed. I know this isn't the place to judge you for being vague enough that lots of idiots could read you years later and decide that what you really meant to say was no Mexicans and no gays and especially no gay Mexicans, but next time, try to put in a clause or something that says blowhards of the future should not try to craft their ridiculous messages on top of yours.

Thank you for letting me mouth off about a lot of nonsense like cellphones on trains and inefficient cable television providers. Thank you for letting other people mouth off about gay Mexicans. It provides humor and also ensures that I may continue to mouth off about whatever strikes my fancy. And thanks for letting the gay Mexicans that do live have things like due process.

Thanks for fireworks. I guess they are meant to remind us of cannons and other things that go bang, but they're really pretty and they let me hold devoted partner's hand as we look up into the sky and see pretty colors. It's kind of romantic and also kind of nostalgic, remembering the fireworks of past years.

Thanks for the day off. Devoted partner could use it and he's really always quite happy when it comes around. It's true, sometimes I get a little antsy about receiving important mail a day late (catalogs, magazines, bills, mail addressed to other people), but then I remember that if the mailman isn't working, neither am I.

Thanks for my passport that allows me to visit other places and then come back home. I like being away, but I like knowing this is the place I get to come back to. Sure, I could spend some time living elsewhere, but this is home and I wouldn't trade it.

And thanks for giving us a work in progress. Grand experiment indeed. It's nice to know you people didn't think you had all the answers and trusted us, albeit at times naively, to work out the kinks as they cropped up. The outline you provided makes me fairly certain that things will work out in the end, cable news notwithstanding. And planning for evolution of a society is pretty unconventional; admitting you don't, right this second, have all the answers for all time...that's revolutionary.

So while I might not be thinking all of this as I wipe burger grease from my chin, I'm thinking about it now, and I think about it more often than you might imagine. Thinking outside the box, you proved, isn't a vice, and I think the result of your hard work proved it can be most virtuous. You weren't perfect, and neither are we, but I like to think we're all trying.

Love,

Yelena

I Am A Pretty Pretty Princess

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Or so I feel when, in the course of a hellaciously busy couple of weeks for devoted partner, he finds time, at 6:30am on a Sunday, before going into work for 5 hours before Easter brunch, which is merely a 3 hour respite from more office time, to hide Easter eggs around the house for me.

But let's backtrack a little. In January, we discussed vacation plans for the year. Devoted partner is going to be participating in a year-long project and said he was pretty sure we wouldn't be able to do anything until Q3.

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We had, in the past, discussed going to Turkey so I set about pre-planning a 2.5 week trip to Turkey and Northern Syria for September. In my way I started spreadsheets, downloaded itinerary information, tracked plane fares, investigated hotels, dive operators, visa requirements, etc. I also took out books from the library so we could look at pictures. Meanwhile, it turns out that this is not going to be a good year for a 2+ week vacation because the timetable for devoted partner's project changed. This was mid-February.

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No problem, I am a roll with the punches kind of girl (sometimes). And I love to travel plan. Yes, I love it more when it results in actual travel, but even when it doesn't I have a good time. So we were looking for a plan B. Devoted partner has a conference in Miami in May. Originally, I was going to go down with him, spend the conference days lounging by the pool, and then we would take the weekend and go to the Keys or something. Now that we were looking at Plan Bs, I thought this conference might provide the perfect launchpad for a shorter vacation. And since we were already at the bottom of our continent, I started looking for locations in Central and South America.

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My first thought was Buenos Aires until I realized it wouldn't be exactly warm. My next thought was Colombia. And I'll explain. The trip to Turkey would have been a nice combination of sightseeing and attractive nature/beach time; having been on a number of mostly beach vacations recently, I was looking for something a little more adventurous. Colombia might just fit the bill. So I took a look at flights to Cartagena and then, for giggles, googled Colombia and scuba diving to see what came up. The result that caught my eye was for a teeny tiny island far closer to Nicaragua than Colombia that had only 6000 residents, was inaccessible from every airport save the one on the next island over, shared the barrier reef system of Honduras and Belize, and had exactly no large hotels and pretty white sandy beaches. We are big big fans of deserted beach.

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And now we were rolling again. Plane fares were being tracked, hotels being contacted, dive specifics determined. That is, until last week. Last week one of the vendors alerted devoted partner to the reality that it might not make the deadline by which we planned this trip. Devoted partner was not amused. On the bright side, we hadn't bought our plane tickers yet; on the dark side, we had been looking forward to getting away. So devoted partner did what he does: started working to fix the problem. His already long hours got longer as he tried to shore up all potential leak points so that a delay by the vendor wouldn't push the deadline any more than was absolutely necessary and, possibly, allowing us to still take the vacation time.

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Of course, this schedule left little time for Planning Wednesdays and Date Night Thursdays and any of the weekday moments we spend in between. While the rest of his company had Good Friday off, devoted partner worked from 8am until 1am. We had company coming on Saturday evening, so devoted partner worked from 9am until 5pm and then came home and was a wonderful and gracious host. And of course Easter Sunday he was back at the office. But not before setting up the Easter surprise I have cataloged here. Despite all his stress and sleeplessness and irritability, he made a little egg hunt for me in our house. When I saw the first egg, I assumed it was the only one and called him at the office to tell him how cute it was; then he told me there was one in every room of our upstairs. I spent the next five minutes on the phone with him finding the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th eggs, and the next 30 minutes on my own finally finding eggs 5 and 6.

It really was the sweetest thing. Made all the sweeter because it came in the midst of adversity. We still don't know if we'll make it on vacation in May, but I've already started brainstorming alternatives. In the meantime, though, I've left the eggs where they were found as a reminder to myself of how lucky I am.

On Not Being Disappointed With Dinner

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I cry "Uncle!" Thomas Keller, for all of his persnickety OCD, has won my heart once and for all, and while I climb on the bandwagon rather late, I like to think I do so because I have permitted myself to be skeptical before jumping. It is true, I have only ever eaten at the Bouchon in Las Vegas, but I own three of the man's cookbooks and I am here to say:

I have yet to make something bad from any of them.

Now, it is true, the cake in the photograph was my creation, not his, but I didn't manage to photograph anything else we ate Tuesday night because I was in the kitchen making it. The entire main course of Hebrewpalooza 2010 was from Keller's Ad Hoc at Home and, if I may be so immodest, it was all delicious.

This is the fourth iteration of Hebrewpalooza chez nous and the years have experienced varying degrees of success: Year 1's rack of lamb - utter fail; some people didn't get their food until others had long since finished. Years 2 and 3 tried to arrest that problem by featuring braised and stewed meats that do not have time sensitive components. But stew is kinda unfestive and I wanted to do something different this year. Originally I was going to roast chickens until I realized that roasting multiple chickens sounded time-complicated especially if I wanted people to eat warm food. So I paged through the book (which had already been used for a weeknight chicken paillard that won high marks and a cod which, if I could bring myself to enjoy fish, would have been excellent as well) and hit upon duck breast.

Cool. I like duck. In fact, duck is one of my favorites. Yet, somehow, I had never made duck breast before. I very ambitiously (and using Keller's recipe from his Bouchon cookbook) tries my hand at confit, but I had never gotten around to making duck breast. So, a week before the guests arrived I bought two duck breasts and tried them out.

They were good, even as they were a trifle overcooked. They were good enough and frankly simple enough to prepare, that I decided we would have duck for everyone. So I searched for some side dishes to go with my duck. Being the feast of You Can't Eat Anything, many delightful side dishes were ruled out, but I settled on the Rainbow chard with wine soaked raisins and pine nuts (no one ever said Keller wasn't, frequently, a trifle precious) and garlic potato puree. So I had to make a couple of adjustments to keep with the spirit of the holiday, and this necessitated exchanging butter and cream in the potato recipe for delightful, super nutritious, duck fat. Come on everyone, say it with me: "mmmmmm....duck fat."

I am frequently super judgmental when it comes to my cooking because most of the time I know I could have done better, but this time, I am safe in saying I did well enough. While there was certainly room for improvement (I'm looking at you duck breast that for some strange reason didn't cook through while some of your brethren were a touch past medium rare even though I moved you throughout the pan during cooking so you would be evenly done), I may have been more pleased about the complete package than I have been at any other meal.

And while Keller can be a little fussy, this book is really really accessible. And I fought myself on whether or not to buy it, thinking I already had his two other books, what did I really need with this one. No. I needed this book and if you like cooking you might need it too.

Busy Bees

Devoted partner is having a bit of a work meltdown. After several months of buildup, his project has officially commenced. This neatly coincides with the Passover/Easter holidays, friends visiting from out of town, and spring cleaning.

So, naturally, I helped out by arranging for us to pick up a bed in Manhattan on Saturday kindly donated by Ariane.

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We needed a bed, she needed to not have to worry about this one. It was perfect, really. So, yet another item was roped down to the top of the trusty Subaru and transported back to our manse (after Chinese for lunch, natch). Upon reassembling the bed, devoted partner took off for the office and did not return until long past nightfall, though happily as he was able to get much work done in an empty office. I decided to use the motivating forces swirling around our new acquisition to go to the store and buy those items necessary to dress the bed. As you see, the (what I've christened) Amy Guest Bed is now fully operational. It is also housing two cherished childhood stuffed animals which, before this, were in a closet. You may all commence making your reservations.

Sunday, I was far kinder. Devoted partner left the house early for the office while I did the parts of spring cleaning he hates: deciding what on the floor is garbage and what is not, and finding a home for the nots. This was before Kim arrived for our cake decorating date. We'd been planning this for ages and I had prepped by making several cake layers Saturday night, and outfitting the house with a dizzying assortment of gel food colors.

Much butter lost life in the creation of these two cakes:

Mine

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And her, much better

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Would you believe she'd never done it before???

I was really quite impressed as someone who finds coloring within the lines challenging. I mean, look at her leaves!!!

And now comes the Overpass part. Devoted partner cleaned like a champion while I was at my parents' last night, leaving me to, well, feed people. The food has been bought, the necessary wine is chilling; all that remains is for me to get off the damn computer and go cook something!

Praying to the Great Hallmark Gods

If you know us, you know we have spent all but one Day of the Valentine in sweats, eating Chinese food out of the containers, and watching a movie, most likely Dune. The other Day of the Valentine was spent at a restaurant using the reservation a friend couldn't because he had already broken up with his Valentine and didn't want the reservation to go to waste.

Now before you accuse us of being woefully unromantic, there are some reasons. The primary reason always was that our anniversary is in March and, were we going to blow money celebrating our love, we would prefer to do so on a day that is unique to our love and not have to share loving each other with the rest of the world (ok, that came out way icky, I hope you know what I meant). This made a lot of sense back in the college days, and the rootless 20s. After all, much like New Year's, restaurants and other facilities that cater to the Valentine crowd, jack up prices and crowd as many people into their spaces as possible leading to a very unromantic atmosphere; booking travel over V-Day is also distressing as it either coincides with the public school holiday/president's day or is price-inflated solely due to Herr Cupid. We just kind of hated being taken advantage of like that. So we happily ate chicken with peanuts, exchanged $25 gifts, and waited to do the fun things in March.

And we've done some fun things in March. Nepotism aside, do you know how much easier it was to get reservations at Daniel for the middle of March as opposed to the 14th of February? See also boutique hotel in Montreal; vacation rental in the Abacos; oh, and yeah, last year we went to Egypt. Now, it is true, aside from Montreal, we would have gone to those places anniversary or no anniversary, but it is nice to schedule a trip during an already lovey time of year. So, while I have not been the recipient of $12 teddybears holding wilted flowers and chocolate flavored candy...yeah, I can't complain.

But I kinda did this year. Which I guess means I suck. Here's the thing: I just kind of wanted to do something other than hand over sock-monkey figurines and eat chinese food. And I hope that doesn't make me a bad person. (Notice I did not say anything about watching Dune because I'm secretly hoping we'll do that too.) I wanted a little commercial romance (when I reveal to you next week what I bought devoted partner as a gift, this will seem really really funny), I wanted to have to wear pants for at least part of Valentine's Day.

So for the first time, we have our own Valentine's Day reservation; I have spent more than $25 on a gift and I have bought really loud wrapping paper and a card with hearts on it. And I'm having an uncharacteristic inner giddiness vis a vis doing what it seems everyone else does. Though I did make devoted partner promise he would not buy roses (the apex of V-Day price gouging), and he wouldn't buy me chocolates, as a) we're not eating these days and b) well, duh, I make chocolates and 99 out of 100 times mine are better than what can be bought, so perhaps I'm not that great at preserving Valentine's traditions.

Therefore, let me wish all of you a Happy Valentine's Day and say that, had I gotten my shit together (this idea just came to me), I would have very much enjoyed making construction paper heart cards and sending them to you. Maybe next year. Although, it is equally possible that next year we'll be back in front of Kyle McLaughlin noshing on scallion pancakes, having learned we're just not those traditional Valentine's Day people.

The Other New Year's Resolutions

Everyone is back to the grind today along with all the resolutions for the new year: "I will lose 100 pounds while working out every day, quitting smoking and white flour, finding a man to marry, and getting serious about recycling."

Admirable. But not the whole story. What about the minor resolutions? Why do they get such short shrift? Sure, remembering to call your grandmother once a month might not be as momentous as dropping six dress sizes, but if you make it the whole year having remembered, once a month, to see if your grandmother is still alive (hi, Grandma, I call you at least once every 2-3 weeks because I love you! note: Grandma does not use the internet), that's worthy of the happy feeling of a job well done.

In this spirit, I would like to share with you my other New Year's resolutions:

1. I will wash my face. Every day. At least once.
   
2. I will make a really good stab at flossing regularly (is weekly considered regularly?).
   
3. I will (a)handwash my unmentionables when I take them off at night so that I may (b)wear the emergency Hanes Her Way cotton jobs less frequently which will enable me to (c)throw out the Hanes Her Way cotton jobs that really should not be worn by a person without a medical condition.
   
4. I will realize that even though the temperature feels like 10 degrees outside, this is not carte blanche to leave my house looking homeless.
   
5. I will not consider floss the enemy.
   
6. I will not, throughout 2010, eat a loaf of bread in one sitting and consider it a meal.
   
7. I will take the $400 I would have blown at the Manolo Blahnik winter sale and put it into the vacation savings account.
   
8. I will consider doing likewise at the Manolo Blahnik summer sale.
   
9. I will get up at least two days a month and go take pictures of something. I will attempt to improve my skills (z?). This will be my dedicated taking pictures of stuff time, but will not preclude me from taking pictures other times.
   
10. I will stock more than one roll of floss at a time so that when one roll is finished, I can not use my lack of floss as an excuse to not floss.
    
11. I will change the polish on my toes more frequently than every time I either (a)go on vacation or (b)go to a wedding.
    
12. I will use my new hair dryer at least once a week. This will help me to look not homeless even as it means I have to spend more time "doing myself up."
    
13. I will throw out papers on my desk once their usefulness has expired - I'm looking at you car payment reminder from September.
    
14. I will schedule an appointment to go to the dentist even as this means I will be chastised for my lack of flossing. I will remind the dentist that I am resolved to change this.
    
15. I will throw out the plastic shoe boxes that I bought at The Container Store six years ago that I hated from the start and which now stand empty because I have two double-door closets in which I may store my shoes, on a dedicated ledge, covered by their shoe bags to prevent dustiness. This will let me see that I do not expressly need to visit the Manolo Blahnik winter or summer sales as I already own a satisfactory number of shoes.
    
16. I will further remind myself that my calves are currently too "shapely" to fit into the pair of knee-high Manolo Blahnik boots I already own and that even were they on sale, I do not need a similar pair in brown. Not until they would, you know, fit.
    
17. I will get the battery in my watch changed. It's been about five years. It might be time.
    
18. I will understand that healthy teeth are important and that I would look really really bad without my teeth. This will help me understand the importance of flossing and, studies show, would decrease the amount of blood I spit out when I brush.
    
19. I will not pick my nose while seated at my desk and consider any paper product "close enough" to a tissue. I will walk my fat ass to the bathroom for actual tissue.
    
20. I will remember that, based on the number of packages shipped to our house during the holidays, my Amazon Prime membership has, already, paid for itself. This should help me to avoid purchasing things from Amazon multiple times per week (day) simply because I have Amazon Prime. I will deposit the savings into the vacation savings account.
    
21. I will wear my existing pairs of Manolo Blahnik shoes more often, even in winter, because, by doing so, I will be reminded that it would not be a tragedy if 2010 was a year without a new pair.
    
22. I have lived in Greenwich for five months. I will finally get a parking pass and stop paying daily. I will deposit the difference in price into the vacation savings account.
    
23. I will make recipes from the cookbooks I already have before buying new cookbooks simply because I "like the pictures."
    
24. I will realize that it is better to have the gross "floss gunk" on my fingers than where it was before, stuck between my teeth.
    
25. In an effort to look less homeless, I will wear at least a tiny bit of makeup when I go to work.
    
26. I will not purchase the Crest Pro-Health toothpaste again because the tube does not close and leaks all over the bathroom.
    
27. I will no longer anthropomorphize my muffin top. No one is laughing.
    
28. I will attempt to be at peace with Cablevision, even as they, without warning, took away FoodTV and HGTV. I will cease all thoughts of violent retribution and remind myself that FoodTV sucks, HGTV was fast becoming a dangerous obsession, and that living with privation is a part of life. (I will continue to hope that Time Warner Cable comes to my town.)
    
29. I will get my car washed every 4-6 weeks. It costs 10 bucks and it makes the car look so nice and well taken care of.
    
30. I will stop looking at pictures of people my age on Facebook and commenting on the sorry state of their skin. It is not a nice habit. I should be happy that I inherited good skin genes and not look at others and say, "what, they don't have sunscreen where you live?" Other people's wrinkles in no way ameliorate my fat.
    
31. I will not have 50 pounds of citrus shipped to me this winter. I have enough citrus zest in my freezer to last a lifetime and I will never use it. I will buy citrus when I need it. They stock the same brand in the stores now, I don't need to order from the source.
    
32. I will stop thinking of activities like flossing, face washing, hair drying, and makeup application as time stealers. After all, now that I no longer have HGTV, I have some extra time on my hands.
    
33. I will pack the books I clearly am not taking to be donated in a box and put them in the attic. That is what attics are for, and they look ugly just stacked on top of my shelves.
    
34. I will do the hand laundry backlog, frightening though it is, in shifts, if needs be.
    
35. I will wear my perfume more often. It was a gift and, as I discovered, will go bad after five or so years if not used so that using it is less of a waste than not using it.
    
36. I will seriously consider liking a less expensive brand of perfume.
    
37. I will get Kate her Christmas presents before the boy's birthday. That gives me 6 weeks.
    
38. I will round up all the shot, but undeveloped film from, presumably 2000-2002, and have it developed. I will hope there is nothing incriminating on any of the rolls.
    
39. When I get home today I will make lemon curd before the lemons go bad. Because Meyer lemons are expensive and waste is stupid.
    
40. Likewise, I will waste less produce overall. If this means more frequent trips to the store to buy fewer things, so be it.
    
41. I will throw out the white chocolate that is so stale as to make it nearly impossible to work with. I will treat this as a learning experience and stop buying white chocolate, which I use infrequently, in 22lb. sacks.
    
42. I will throw out clothing that has holes in it. So that I may look less homeless.
    
43. I will throw out devoted partner's clothing that has holes in it (while he is not looking and with one or two notable sentimental exceptions). So that I may look less like a person who dates homeless people.
    
44. I will impulse shop less at whole foods (marinated peppers), and when I do, I will make sure I use the impulsively shopped item before it goes bad (marinated peppers).
    
45. Similarly, I will empty the fridge of items that have gone bad. Even when it is not garbage day. I will simply haul my ass downstairs and deposit the bag in the can. Which is outside. Where I cannot smell it.
    
46. I will have a fridge that has only edible products in it. And weed. No. I did not write that.
    
47. I will remember to put the coupon my mother lovingly clipped for me for $1.00 off jello pudding into my wallet, so that I will have it when I get to the store to buy yet more sugar-free jello cinnamon rice pudding, and will then be able to save $1.00.
    
48. I will buy some sriracha - many fridges I have looked into recently have it and I feel left out.
    
49. I will endeavor to floss my teeth regularly (at least every other day) and definitely after ingesting something that has poppy seeds in it, or similar.
    
50. I will not blog another list for at least two weeks as I think I've pretty well mined the genre for the time being.

I Wasn't Nearly Drunk Enough

The suburbs really do put a damper on serious stress drinking. After all, if you can't tie one on at Christmas, what other good excuse does a functioning adult member of society have?

Christmas Eve. A nice if noisy restaurant with lots of starchy Italian food. Ordinarily, this would be a great excuse to chug down cheap red table wine. And most years, I would have. But this year I was able to excuse myself from church services because I had my own car and lived nearby. Though, having one's own car means one must be sober to drive it. And judging by the number of police officers I encountered on the 15 minute drive home, Christmas Eve is a big drinking night in Fairfield County.

Christmas Day started really really early. There were good reasons for this, but I was at mother-in-law's by 10 minutes past 9AM - so it would have been indelicate to commence boozing - though there was bloody mary mixtures available. But what if devoted partner, a devoted bloody mary enthusiast, wanted to drink. One of us should stay sober to drive us away from mother-in-law's and back to our house so we could exchange gifts with one another.

The day after Christmas Day, I came into Manhattan (yes, I know I was supposed to slothfully enjoy wii all weekend lone) to spend time with best friend. So I had to drive to the train station (no morning drinking) and be sober enough to drive back (no evening drinking).

The first holiday drink I had was at about 8:00pm last night - a single glass of red wine to finish up the bottle I had opened earlier in the day to make a braise with.

I do not have records of holidays' past and how much liquor I consumed, but I do have a very poignant memory of Christmas Eve in, I guess 1996 (or 1997), with Jamie, his college roommate and wayward Irishman Nick, stumbling out of Doc Watson's on 78th and Second and singing Christmas carols and the Spice Girls loudly into the frigid Christmas night. I also remember an earlier Christmas (let's call it 1994) walking across the transverse at 4:00am quite drunk (and for some reason all out of money for the bus or a cab - possibly the money had been spent on drink). More recently, I remember spending a Christmas Eve at Davy Byrne's the Port Chester bar devoted partner and his friends have been frequenting since high school (which is coincidentally walking distance from our current house), almost getting into a fight with a local. Sigh. Memories.

So next Christmas, I hope to be drunker. If our plans come to fruition, this seems to be all but impossible not to achieve, since the family we will spend Christmas with is very into wine and apparently trots out the oversized bottles come Christmas.

I hope you had a sedated Christmas, either naturally or artificially, and that, without knowing it, you raised a glass on my behalf.

Twas the Day Before the Night Before the Day Before We Can Play With the Wii

The gifts are wrapped: under the tree if the recipient is me or devoted partner, under the tv stand table if the recipient is a member of devoted partner's family, and, blissfully, already distributed if the gift was for a member of my family. There is only one more gift arriving today that it is my responsibility to wrap. I therefore, hereby close this shopping season!

Now about that Wii...

We know a Wii is coming - so much so that I instructed my brother to feel free to buy Wii games for devoted partner. I estimate that the Wii will be unwrapped at approximately 10am tomorrow, but we will not be able to use it for many many festive hours. The problem becomes making sure that our small personal gift exchange celebration of the evening does not become co-opted by Wii-time. And let it not be implied that one of our party would be more guilty than the other; considering the Wii is devoted partner's gift, I know he gets first dibs on playing it (and the sooner he gets to play with it the sooner I get to play with it...). But our tree looks so happy with all the wrapped shit underneath it, that I would like to savor the moment of opening, commenting, oohing and ahhing, staring meaningfully at one another, before we need to collect coins and step on birds with turtle shells to kill them once and for all, all the while hoping the trajectory of their shells might go on to harm other turtle birds.

That being said, please, if you have our telephone number, do not call this holiday weekend. We will be locked in our house playing Wii. This goes doubly for family members who would not be content sitting quietly on the couch and watching us play Wii. I have a magical vision of my future Christmas sloth and it is beautiful (ok, in reality, it's making me wish I owned a garment that fell in between comfy pants/dirty t-shirt and full-on dita von teese vampwear - perhaps next year I should invest in some nice menswear-style pyjamas) - furthermore, the house is pretty much out of edible, non-frozen food, which means that if the Wii keeps us suitably entertained, we could lose all the holiday weight in one weekend simply by not eating.

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Xmas lights - woot
Originally uploaded by reallyct

I guess what I'm trying to say is, Merry Christmas. Whether you're just like me and consider this an awesome secular holiday where people are generally nice to complete strangers and smile at them and make donations to charity and stimulate the economy and decorate their houses in a baffling array of ridiculousness, or you're one of the many people who believes we are celebrating the birth of the son of god into his mortal coil complete with virgin births and wise men and myrrh, may the next four days of your life be only as drunk as you need them to be to have a good time. No, that's not festive enough: may the next four days of your life be relaxing whether with family, friends, or on a vision quest. You know where to find me, I'll be with the Wii.

Dear God, How Many Shopping Days Left?

So the perfect presents for my non-biological sister Kate have not yet arrived. Celebration with my family happens on Sunday. I realize that means they have time yet, but I just have a bad feeling about it. The boy and I aren't even bothering with pretense: I told him I wanted money towards the camera I'm buying myself, he said he didn't want anything but would accept Wii games if that made it easier. We're going in together for both gifts for our parents, and my dad still whined on the phone about how he finally knew what he wanted. Too late, sucker. Meanwhile, devoted partner found buying Wii games easy enough, but frankly shopping for my father, in particular, is a nasty chore. And while my mother will, indeed take anything, it's nicer when it's something she'll remotely use.

Fast forward to devoted partner's family. Year in and year out I buy father-in-law books on history. I find this boring. Mother-in-law once asked for 20 pairs of Hanes knee-highs and this year sister-in-law has asked for an assortment of 5 dollar street pashminas.

Is it possible that gift giving among people who are blessed with a decent standard of living is, dare I say it, a bit ridiculous?

Sure, there's stuff I want. A really expensive camera is one thing. And I'm sure there are some pricey things everyone on the list could do with. My brother has been musing over wine storage solutions since he bought his place; devoted partner and I are debating dive watches; and I'm sure the other people in our lives have big ticket items on their wishlists as well. But since none of us is going to pony up that kind of money for the others, what is the true use of all of this gift giving?

It's not that I don't like getting things people like; what I mind is the pressure. Of the gifts I have purchased this year, only one feels good. Now I just have to hope the recipient likes it as much as I hope. The rest are merely trinkets designed to let the people in my life know I thought about them. Except that half of them know what they're getting anyway.

Should we just throw in the towel and start giving gifts to charity? It feels less festive to celebrate without gift exchange, but I'm starting to feel rather jaded about the whole thing. I simply don't need trinkets. And when I do feel the urge for something, for better or worse, I generally just buy it.

Next Christmas will be different in at least one respect. We are planning to not be here for it. My goddaughter will be 3 1/2 and I would like to spend the holiday with her when she is old enough to have a good time with it. So that should be a change. But that's one year out of the rest of our lives.

And I like the holidays. I am not one of those grinch types. We got our tree on Monday and I love looking at it. I sprung for the ridiculously expensive, yet hypnotically metallic, Chanukah candles at Whole Foods, and we're batting about .600 on nights we've lit them. But the gift part keeps getting more difficult and I seem to be among the only people willing to dispense with it.

Now I must return to the gift hunt. Wish me luck!

A Lack of Color

Originally, I was going to devote today's meditation to my love for Umberto Eco and similarly objectively unhandsome people, but Christmas shopping got in the way. Specifically intercontinental Christmas shopping.

I have a goddaughter whom I adore even when she's in a bad mood and doesn't want to talk to me on the phone. She's 2 1/2. Now that she is of an age where she has manual dexterity, shopping is way more fun. For her second birthday I got her playdoh!

I discovered that due to my hate and distrust of the United States Postal Service, it was far easier to ask lovely French companies to send her gifts rather than asking lovely American companies to send me gifts which I would then be responsible for sending her. Also, it's good for the environment. See, honey, I care about the future of the earth you will inhabit. And the global marketplace makes it entirely reasonable to find playdoh in France as easily as in America. Generally through the magic of amazon.fr - just like real amazon, but with funny words.

Now my little princess enjoys art, so I want to naturally buy her as many art supplies as she could conceivably use in a lifetime - in fact Martha Stewart turned me on to a colored pencil of the month club that I might enroll her in down the road. For the time being, though, I was content to ship her the de rigueur 64-piece box of crayola crayons. You had them, I had them, if devoted partner is reading, they still make an awesome stocking stuffer (see also colored-pencil-of-the-month club). So naturally, this would be something we Americans would be eager to share with the world. The perfect embodiment of our culture: 64 unique crayons (and yes, I know that the intrepid searcher can find boxes of 96 and dare I believe 128 colors - and yes, devoted partner, these would make even awesomer stocking stuffers). Sure you can live a fulfilling life knowing only one shade of red, but is it really living?

So you can imagine my disappointment at the crypto-socialists running amazon.fr that they do not deem 64 (or 96 or 128) colored crayons to be an item worth stocking! Yes, you can draw a perfectly decent picture with 16 colors, but you can be entertained from the time you are 2 until the time you are, for argument's sake, 32 with 64 colors. How else will she learn about the differences between orange-red and red-orange; the delights of burnt umber and sepia; the surprising wonderfulness of cornflower? While I realize that crayola probably no longer produces Indian Red or Flesh, I feel certain they still have apricot and lilac and sea green - these are important colors.

I've been to France a lot of times and I know that France is made up of far more than 16 colors. So, my darling C, until the next time we meet, when you can be sure I will have packed a true, and correct, box of crayola crayons, you must be satisfied with the sad box of 16 that is being sent to you (and I think we made up for the poor art supply showing with the Duplo); while you wait, allow me to whet your appetite:

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Cheese case, Dijon market
Originally uploaded by reallyct

Midnight Blue is the color of the cheese case at the market

Blue Green is the color of the sea near where Great Grandma lives

Violet Red is the color of the little flowers by the side of the road

Sea Green is the color of the cardigan you wore to your bapteme civile

From Dijon, June 2008

This picture has Yellow Green, Goldenrod, Forest Green, Aquamarine, Green Yellow, and White, and probably a few more.

So while my box of many crayons might be indicative of the conspicuous consumption endemic to my culture, I consider it a part of childhood no philosophy should repress. And a note to mom and dad: don't worry, the markers are Ultra Washable!

The Things We Don't Say

I may come from a long line of contrarians. In all the years we've celebrated together, I don't remember our family taking a moment to verbalize our thanks. It's not that we're not thankful, we just weren't thankful out loud. Or because we were supposed to be on that day at that time. Or maybe we weren't thankful. Maybe we couldn't look past the myriad challenges of our lives to realize that there was a lot positive to acknowledge. But I don't think that's true. I know that I have felt uncomfortable at other people's tables when on non-Thanksgiving days, an ad hoc grace is said. It always seems hokey, or for appearance's sake. And I know that can't be true either.

Thanksgiving does provide a moment, though, to remember what one is thankful for, even if one can't bring one's self to list said things at the dinner table. Since I spend a lot of time ranting and raving like a lunatic - in print and also at the people I love - I'm going to set aside my fears of looking insincere to acknowledge some of the things I'm thankful for.

We're healthy. All of us. For the most part. It's trite and overused, but it's one less thing to worry about.

I have a brother I adore. I see other siblings who are not close and it makes me really and truly sad. I couldn't imagine not having the close relationship I have with my brother. It defines me.

Devoted partner and I made what, for all intents and purposes, was a huge life change in moving from Manhattan to the burbs, and we did it with fewer bumps in the road than I would have imagined. We now have a life that satisfies us more and of which we are prouder.

Our friends are the kinds of people to whom we would not hesitate to give kidneys. It's a good distinction to make. I like surrounding myself with people for whom the offer of an organ requires only slightly more thought than an offer of a cold drink.

I am packed and headed for a week of diving.

This is a short list because a) I think a longer list would devolve into trite and saccharine purple prose and b) these are the important things (ok, the diving is not actually important) and being thankful for a new stainless steel worktable seems petty in comparison.

I guess, in the end, without becoming queen of the saps, I'm thankful that I don't have many things to be unthankful for. Life isn't perfect, nor do I think it ever becomes perfect, but if you can look at your life, as I think I can, and not find something to be truly miserable about, you're doing pretty well.

Thank you for reading this.