Hospital

I have spent a week in the hospital trying different medications. It surely sucked. I hope that I won't have to do it that way again! Although, some of it was interesting, and I got the message drilled into my head that I must take care of myself.

Which is true.

Pizza...

So, totally out of the blue, a lot of things have happened, and it calls for a celebratory Pizza.

Dough is easy to make. Any cookbook will tell you how, but it generally tastes best if you put in a lot of love in your kneading, until it is as soft and supple as a newborn's bottom. I'm not sure how it would work to try using a gluten-free flour, but there's got to be a way to use some sort of non-wheat product that will still produce a thin crusted tasty dough, right?

Sauce is also easy. I steal some Prego sauce and add a ton of garlic to it, some pepper, and other seasonings to taste.

Mozzarella is decidedly delicious. Shred as much as you want on it. I like more, opposed to less.

Spread any tasty vegetables on top that you want. Sauteed onions, yum. Fresh tomatoes and green pepper, my favorite. Olives....absolutely the best!

Happy Cooking.

A Perfect Day...

If I could have a perfect day, I know it would begin in the soft gold of the rising of the sun. There would be a slight breeze coming in from the open window. My alarm would go off, but not with the irritating buzzing that most alarms do. It would be music welcoming me back into the real world. I'd stretch and slowly open my eyes to the soft colors in the bedroom: greens the color of new buds, ivory paint on the walls, and the solid warm browns of my wooden furniture. The woven grass rug under my feet prickles just a bit, forcing an awakening to begin throughout my body, and the sleep to lift itself away.

I'd walk into the bathroom, and after relieving myself, step into the shower. If I could have the perfect shower, it would be a rather large thing that I had constructed tile by tile. The edges wouldn't be cut at all, as most tiles are to fit the form of the room they inhabit. I would take pieces of broken ceramics and build the puzzle into the corners. I think I'd tile the whole room except for the ceiling, merely because it would be consistent and waterproof. The floors would be a tan, the walls a transition between gold and cerulean, and the ceiling a soft white. For shelving, I'd make recessed alcoves in the walls. My sink would be a faucet and a simple bowl. Most of the water that generally pours into the sewer system I'd divert for my own usage, to water the grass and the garden outside.

After breakfast in the small kitchen that's more like an afterthought than the center of my home, I enter my studio. I do some yoga, and open the windows. This studio space is the biggest part of my home, but it doesn't seem cluttered. The shelving that I built to store my supplies goes all the way up to the wall, and covered with clean white doors with simple grooves routed into their edges for handles. When you close them all up, it's like a wall. My furniture is very simple. I splurged on an Ikea sleeper sofa and two loungechairs. Underneat them is an array of colorful carpet squars from Flor. There is one piece of art on the wall behind the sofa, and it is enormous. There are several sources of lighting around the room, mostly functional, some translucent and one, another piece of art. I turn to the easel, and paint for a few hours before I hear another alarm, signaling that I have to get myself out and off to work in the real world. Ironically, I have no idea what this work will be, since right now at this point in my life, I am unemployed and undergoing soul-searching to see what would be a good option for an artist with an open mind like myself. For the meantime, it is good to think on it.

I have a lot of patience, and would probably be a fair teacher, but at the same time I doubt myself as an authority figure. And also, I can imagine what it would be like trying to share my excitement about art to unenthused students who would rather be doing anything else.

I could go a totally different route, and aim to become an art therapist. However, anything involving therapy also involves pain that causes an individual to seek treatment, and I don't know if I have the courage to empathize with emotional distress on a daily basis. I don't know how to react to anger, and generally when confronted, I freeze. I get quiet. I run away. It would require a lot of growth on my part to resolve my own past and heal before I could even try to heal someone else with art and self-expression.

I could do the commercial art routine, which also concerns me. Would creating someone else's vision blur my enthusiasm for expressing my own?

Or, I could do something totally different from all of those things and become a massage therapist. I like to rub people. Physical pains I can handle, and overcome. I could teach yoga, like a lot of people do. I think I've been subconsciously doing it for a long time, maybe even since I was a kid. I could do something in the healthcare industry, like sterilizing medical tools.

After I get doing whatever it is that I do for a living, I return home. I'd like to live in an area where I do not need to own a car, either because the public transit system is so good, or because all areas I need to go to on a daily basis are accessible on a bicycle. I'd also like this place to be more of a dry climate than a humid one, near mountains, if possible. It doesn't have to be a big city, but it would be nice if it had a lot of sidewalks. I don't like it when sidewalks disappear abruptly, only to reappear on the other side of the street. It is the silliest thing I've ever come across, and very inconsiderate to pedestrians...

I don't know who will be waiting for me at home. Perhaps I'll still be married at this time, or perhaps we'll recognize that our paths went their separate ways awhile ago...who knows. I don't know if I'll keep a pet. I'd like to, but they also take the same type of commitment to nurture. Right now, there's a lot of things that I want to experience, and I feel stuck in a place and a routine that just doesn't reflect who I am. I don't feel the connection to the land I once did, and I am very dissatisfied. He knows how I feel, and it seems that our financial burdens/obligations are preventing us from creating an actual plan to move past this swamp. I don't know what we're waiting for, to be honest. Godot, maybe. A sign of which way we should go.

Someday, things will be different. I want them to change for the better. I want to live for myself, and not to be the enabler that I am. It sure feels like I'm all alone out here, unemployed and nearing the end of my benefits. It's hard to wait...and I have been keeping busy in between bouts of temporary work. I like work. I'd love work if it stimulated my creative senses. I love to learn new skills. I love getting to know interesting, intelligent individuals. I miss my social outlet that existed in my old job, even though I knew that it was the wrong career for me to pursue. I was working in a small cafe, and because of a complaint, I feel that I was made an example out of not to be 'rude' to new customers. However, in my defense, I feel that my manager was totally incapable of handling that situation with a rational mind, seeing as she had had three hours of sleep that day and was attempting to work a 12 hour shift.

Anyone who knows me knows that I have a lot of character, and if I say something that sounds slightly sarcastic, it's my sense of humor. It sure didn't translate in that situation.

There were two things I took away from that job. I learned the value of hospitality that leaves a customer feeling uplifted and refreshed, which may be a useful skill in the future. I learned that a witty one-line opener can startle people out of their shells, and coax a smile out of their busy lives.

My favorite will always be: "Would you like a double entendre with that?"

Perogies!

I had the wonderful opportunity last year to visit Poland, where my husband was born and where most of his extended family still lives. His grandmother is a phenomenal cook, and while I was there for about about a month, I was her eager sous chef. One of my absolute favorite things that she made were perogies, which are those little dumplings which are most well known for being filled with potatoes and cheese. Every recipe that I've seen is a little different, and some of the ingredients that a typical polish housewife has access to are hard to find in the states.

Here is the filling recipe that I think she followed the first time she made them:

Peel and boil 6 potatoes, and finely mash when done. Mince 1 onion, and gently saute until translucent; stir into hot potatoes. Add about 1 to 2 cups of farmer's cheese. Season with salt, pepper, and any fresh herbs at your disposal. Eat some of it if you want. It's SO GOOD.

At that point, she put the filling into the fridge and let it sit until the next day. I didn't see how she made the dough, but I'm guessing any recipe for ravioli dough would work just as well.

Farmer's cheese has been notoriously difficult to find in the U.S. I've found it in Weaver's Street Market, in Carrboro, NC, and that's about it. As far as I know, it's very similar to a dry curd cottage cheese, but with a very soft texture. Cream cheese is comparable, however, it has a higher fat content than farmer's cheese. I've tried both kinds in making my own perogies, and you definitely notice the difference of textures between the two.

I made perogie filling yesterday, and spent maybe an hour today stuffing them. They're a little different than how Babcza made them, but also very tasty.

Peel and boil 5 potatoes, til soft, then mash with half a package of cream cheese. Saute 1 minced onion til it turns crispy and golden. Stir into potato mixture, along with a hefty tablespoon of minced chives. Season with salt and pepper.

For my dough, I just used a recipe I found online for perogie dough that looked like it would make enough for my filling as well. 2 cups flour, 1 tsp salt, 1/2 tsp baking powder, 2 tbsp oil, and 3/4 cup chilled water. I had to use a little extra water when kneading it out, because I like a softer dough...it's less stressful on my wrists to roll out.

I'm not sure how they taste yet, since they all went into the freezer after I pre-boiled them. But I'm bettin' they'll be delicious!

Attachement

I feel a pull from two places. I feel it from my husband, and I feel it from my past. I want to resolve both of these someday, however, it seems that they are diametrically opposed. There's no point in being afraid to do anything. Perhaps the decision should be made, and my goals should reflect this decision.

The fact that I have no goal at this immediate moment is troubling. My personal struggles with resolving the issues I feel and the stress I undergo while finding the answers are essentially, the questions anyone my age will ask when they realize that their life goal has changed. What I feel is a definite need to have a more concrete purpose than just to be an artist, for those are a dime a dozen in my personal opinion. And many artists are just not that good, and think that they are all that. And they really aren't. What a shame it is, that I didn't realize sooner that this path that I am on would diverge away from the art and into something more personal.

I say again and again that I think that therapy is the way to go, yet I haven't had any personal experience in it. All I have done is listen to my friends and attempt to console them, and while I believe that this is a sort of therapy, it poses many questions for me. I am good at listening to people, but finding a solution to their problems while I can't even figure out my own? Is it even tangible that this is the right direction?

Not Knowing

I am 27 years old, and I don't know what I want to do with my life. I grew up thinking that I wanted to be an artist, but now that I see how the artists do it, it doesn't appeal to me. While being creative and making art is great, there are other aspects to it that I don't enjoy, such as marketing and the act of selling. I guess what it comes down to, I'm not a social person when it comes to my personal art, and therefore I will always struggle if I continue to think of myself as an artist. Because I use art as a means to express my inner feelings, it becomes very personal to me.

However, I do know that if I find a path of spirituality within my work, it will fulfill me greatly. I have a great desire to do something to benefit the world, rather than myself. Right now, the thought of being a therapist or a counselor of some sort is very appealing. To find a resolution to my past, to the unfortunate circumstances of my troubled childhood, and grow beyond it and create a beautiful future...isn't it normal to want this?

Whether this translates to being an art therapist, I am uncertain. I think that is definitely the position I witnessed while volunteering, and because of my own insecurities, I did not follow through to the end. While it sucks that I was a flake, I do feel it was necessary to evaluate my topsy-turvy emotions and resolve the pain I was feeling. It took a long time. I doubt that they would want me to volunteer again; and because I was so indecisive during my two months of volunteering, I didn't discover anything about myself. To be honest, most of the kids were fine, but there were a few whose anxious energy made me feel so uncomfortable. What could I say to those children whose anger is visible, to reassure them that this too, will go on?

I think it would be much easier for me to help with physical pain than mental. I can barely figure out myself, how can I expect to help others when I am so confused myself? The question still remains, what should I do with my life?

Thursday Tarot

Thursday was an interesting day. I almost didn't go out to that art show, but decided to see what was up there anyways. While all the art show food had been demolished by the hungry crowd, the people stayed, chatting away, while two musicians did their thing for the event. It was nice. I ended up sharing a table with a lady who had spread tarot cards all over the table, calling it Mahjongg, which has always been to me an Oriental method of gambling. She did a reading for me, since it was what she did. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wonder if this sort of thing is more a matter of perception than actually reading someone's future.

If you can pay attention to the subtle expressions that people make in conversation, you can generally tell what they want out of life and how they feel about the choices they make.

My question for her was, when we move, where would be the best place for us to go? And although I didn't really receive any answers than what I already knew, it did help clarify the options I'd rather do. Montana and California seem peaceful and realistic, while New York seems opportunistic. While the money holds, and the job search continues, I realize that it doesn't take a lot to make a living, and if I am working with good people, the worst job becomes enjoyable.

I've found a vague contentment, yet it is still an uneasy time for me. The hardest thing to do sometimes is finding a way to pass the time, and while there are parts of this town that I enjoy, there are others which drive me to distraction. In a way, this is just a sleepy beach town with high rent and few employment opportunities, and it is probably a good time for a change for us. It's hard to be patient and wait it out, and I'd like to make a decision so we can begin to plan for it. I know we've made some good friends here, and while it will be hard to say goodbye, it will be a necessary thing to advance his art career. I'm ready for a move. I've been here four years now, and now that I've seen how little there is, I'm getting cabin fever!