My Grannablog: Three Notes On The Staff.: February 9, 2013. Just a few minutes ago, I looked out the front door to see what kind of day it might be. The Saturday Ad paper had been …
Lovely Grannapost from a few days ago!!! Know the song “Two Birds” by Regina Spektor? Grannamae, look this up on youtube. It’s as if you both had the same thought…
Working in a gym has taught me quite a bit about individual confidence. You would think after all this time I’d have come to some personal consensus on the maintenance of my physical health, but, no, clearly, I’m still as bi-polar as an instant read thermometer. Like my moods, my belief systems have fluctuated extensively from season to season, year to year, and I find myself detesting books, foods, and dogmas that six months earlier I swore by.
Is this just another symptom of our information overloaded generation, or am I genetically predisposed to crazy juice? I think it’s both, but as I am trying to do what’s best for me, I’m going to go ahead and say that it’s a personal flaw. Universe: 1, Melanie: 0. You got me again, God.
Of course, I want to believe that I am wonderful. Don’t we all want to feel good about ourselves? Surely. But for me, feeling good about myself most commonly comes in the form of viewing myself through the skin of another, instead of seeing what is truly there: I am in a room that’s pitch black and all I can do is convince myself the hand in front of my face does not exist. But logically, and truthfully, I know that it does, whether I will it or no. That hand is there.
So it is with every appendage, every flaw, every mental state that exists in my person. It is there, whether I will it or no. It is there. Yet we are surprisingly different from the rocks in that, a rock is a rock is a rock. It cannot change. But a person is a person, and yet within that person is the remarkable capacity to stretch, flex, bend, and twist. We are pliable. We are clay, are we not? Water may freeze, become steam, and melt again, yet its very essence is still its own self. We have an incredible capacity for growth and extension.
“People grow, they don’t change” said Elisabeth Bard. I firmly believe that. Yet growth has all the potential in the world. And like the dirt, for us to grow, we require cultivation, nurturing, air, breath, and sunlight. Definitely not a cage or a box. We are not so different from the dirt. What grows from us can never be identical to another, because our very essences are individual, singular. Therefore, the next time I pass a runner, perspiring, determined, athletic, I will think “Good for you. I hope you get there.” And then I will probably gnaw at my gut and clench my teeth in momentary rage, but then immediately after that I will remember that I would much rather skip home and dance like a fool, because that is simply what I love to do. I think we would all be much better off if we never apologized for being the unique fools that we are. Of course, it takes practice, time, patience, and much skill to get to such a point.
Now, let’s stretch!
By the way, the pictures are of settlement after a storm. See? Everything works out.
Dear family and friends,
In life, there are few constants. In fact, you could make the argument that life in and of itself is the inconstant. Don’t worry: I won’t make that argument tonight. I’m not that eloquent.
What I will do is provide you with a little sugar…okay, four cups of sugar, powdered. In my neurosis, I ended up with about a half pound of lemon buttercream icing and have no shame in admitting that it tastes delicious as is. But please, don’t be like me, and use it for cupcakes or sandwich it between cookies. Had I not run out of sugar making this concoction, I would have had cupcakes to show for it. But presently, this will just remain the most delicious thing you’ve ever tasted.
Lemon Buttercream:
Adapted from How to Cook Everything
Four cups powdered sugar, divided
1/2 stick (four ounces) unsalted butter at room temperature
4 ounces neufchatel cream cheese at room temperature
1 egg yolk
zest and juice of one large lemon
Combine the neufchatel and butter in a bowl. Add about 1/4 cup sugar at a time, beating well after each addition. After two whole cups have been added, add the egg yolk and beat to combine. Continue with the remaining sugar, then add the juice, then the zest.
This will keep indeterminably in the freezer, and for several weeks in the fridge, because, let’s face it, it’s practically pure sugar. This also makes a tremendous glaze for scones, muffins, etc–you can spread it on baked goods hot out of the oven and it will melt and make you feel all warm and fuzzy 🙂
To my moms, grandmothers, aunts, pseudo-aunts, friends who are moms, and friends with moms…
Thanks for giving us life. Now that I’m starting to grow up I realize that you didn’t have to do it. You could have lived your whole life for yourself. You didn’t have to raise kids, take us to baseball games and dance classes, cook us barley and bananas as babies and spaghetti with tomato sauce (only the smooth kind) for ten years, listen to us whine (how did you handle THAT?!) and watch us make horrible, horrible decisions.
But you did. And somehow we turned out alright. My biggest hope for my future is that I can be a good, loving mom one day, like you all.
Maybe some of you will rub off on me, now that I know you don’t have cooties.
Another Adventure 