Breath is Music Enough: Saturday Morning at Fat Straw

Breath is music enough 

One day my dear friend KT texted me a list of things "I believe" -- If you type your name and then the word "believes" into the Google Machine in quotes, you find snippets from the interwebs of things that you, or She With Same Name, "believe."  It is quite fun and I was delighted to get blasted with a bunch of messages that was a compiled list of these believes. They are rather surprising and, often, uncannily accurate.

Paige believes:

• godless heathens should stop ripping Tim Tebow

• in a higher standard of service

• that being beautiful can turn a bad day into a good one 

• we are all born with the ability to tell stories

All of these are ridiculously true.  Especially the 3rd and 4th ones.  

So, I couldn't NOT reciprocate.

KT believes:

• in what the members call “karmic-synergy”

• that packaging and presentation is everything

• that movement is one of the great joys of life, however we choose to experience it

• that breath is music enough 

• prenatal yoga will encourage women to be more present with their pregnancy

And that one -- breath is music enough -- struck me so poignantly I haven't been able to shake it since.  And I don't think I should.  I don't know where it came from or who wrote it, and I am by no means saying it belongs to me, but simply a wonderful phrase I feel compelled to spread around.

The ambient grooves at Fat Straw have me lost in a buzzy trance.

The cup of Stumptown helps, too. 

Going through my sketchbook and finding fun tidbits I'd long forgotten.

...

     Does art happen spontaneously?
     Or is it calculated?
     Or both?


I miss Matthew.
As a friend, as an artist, as a bearer of ideas and brainstorming.
Something tells me he’d appreciate my left-handed adventures.
…
And then he called me a few days later, when we haven’t spoken in months.
I told him of my left-handed adventures and he liked them.
He also wants pictures.
Eek . . .



     Does your own reflection ever startle you?
     Even if you know it’s there?

 

The only thing that is reliably permanent is impermanency.

     You can’t help when you feel creative.  Just like you can’t help gravity.

No fat
No preservatives
No cholesterol
No fun


A:  You like Rob Thomas?
B:  So?
A:  Nothin’.  I just didn’t know anyone liked him anymore.
B:  I have a Rob Thomas shaped hole in my music heart.


The Ultimate Death Match:

     Sagittarius Male vs. Cancer Female GO.

Things to Attain Awesomeness:
leather handbag …..................... pending
skin tight jeans …......................... check 

brown boots ….......................... pending
leather bomber jacket …............ pending
rockin’ ass ….............................. check 

bespoke; verb
a simple past tense and past participle of bespeak  

bespeak; verb
1. to ask for in advance; to bespeak the reader’s patience
2. to reserve beforehand, engage in advance, make arrangement for; to bespeak a seat in a theatre
3. to show, indicate; this bespeaks a kindly heart

Solo Saturday: Part I

As my mother would say, it was a bloodless coup.  It didn't stand a chance, not one bit of chance against my ferocious kitchening skills.  What, you ask?  What didn't stand a chance?

DINNER.

I'm not one to toot my own horn, but tonight I'm feeling generous so I will make an exception.  I am a total badass in the kitchen.  .....sometimes.  Tonight happens to be one of those Sometimes.  I took that dinner and I wrangled it to the ground.  I took it by the neck and whirled it around until there was no pulp left to beat out of it.

It happened like this.  (Yes, for me to make a nice dinner, something does in fact have to happen.)

I went into the Wal in search of the face lotion I like.  Upon entering the store, I was very dismayed that a Demolition Durby was taking place and I did not have fair warning.  If you didn't already know, the new thing now is putting full grocery departments into Wal Marts and Targets, but to do so they have to demolish the part of the store that they're not replacing, keep it like that for just long enough so you get used to it, and then they change everything back when they put it back together again.  This means everything gets moved around, which really annoys me.

So the Cosmetics and Toothpaste sections are now at the far end where the Random Holiday Crap used to be, the Eyeballs and Pills sections are smashed up against a very strange wall that did not used to exist, and the Bicycle section is completely missing.  When I got all the way to the far end, it was dark and creepy.  Not the kind of place I want to shop for makeup or face lotion.  But I was willing to take the hit.  This lotion is THAT good.

When I couldn't find it I became unbelievably annoyed.  I know what the box looks like.  I know the brand.  Where is it?  WHERE. IS. IT?!?!?  I kept standing in the Face Stuff aisle, frantically searching for the lotion because sometimes I don't see things that are right in front of me, so I had to check every single bottle on the shelf just to make sure.  The lady stocking and straightening the bottles looked at me funny.  I looked at her funny back, and she put her head down and kept straightening the bottles.  My rage became exponentially worse as the minutes ticked on.  How can they not have this lotion??  Freddy's has it.  Target has it.  Why the hell doesn't Wal Mart have it?!  How am I supposed to get a good deal if it's not at Wal Mart?!?!?  RAAAAAAAAGE.

I know my story was originally about dinner.  Don't worry, I'm getting there.

I decided to walk off my anger attack in the soup aisle and got even more mad that the soups I like are a buck eighty-eight a can.  A buck eighty-eight!  Unacceptable!  What happened to soup being a buck a can?  Back in the day soup was less than a dollar a can.  When did that stop being the case?  Why are the prices of everything skyrocketing?  No, I will not pay four dollars a pound for chicken, either.  It only costs that much because now we're giving chickens beds and privacy and social lives and well-balanced, wholesome lives that don't have anything to do with the fact that that chicken will eventually end up in my belly no matter what.  That, my friends, is a little thing we call "extortion."

And when the hell did I turn into an old codger, anyway?  There is a blog I follow by this young funny lady and one of her recent posts is about being an 80-year-old woman in a 22-year-old's body.  I think we might be twin sisters.

Moving on.  After I got mad about the soups I wandered around huffing and puffing for a while looking for any other overpriced items I might need for home and/or my stomach.  It occurred to me in the pasta aisle (I will note the pasta aisle in Wally World seemed particularly dismal today -- don't go there for pasta.  They only had four different kinds and none of them were whole wheat, so it's a BIG FAT WASTE OF TIME) that I should make a delicious dinner tonight.  And it also occurred to me that this dinner should be none other than: fettucini tossed with olive oil, salt and pepper, with a summer vegetable sautee and garlic lemon shrimp.  Why this particular meal?  I have no idea.  It popped in my head like a light, so I wasn't about to question it.  And, I discovered I was much less mad about the lotion after I decided to eat something delicious.  I'm not sure how that works because they are about as unrelated as stuff can get, but whatever.

I would not find such yummy ingredients at this awful place with bombs going off and piles of rubble everywhere, so I went to Freddy's for supplies.  I found everything quickly and efficiently and came home straight away to cook.  YAY!  Mission salvaged!

So the REASON I am such a badass is NOT ONLY because of this beautiful meal I just devoured maniacally

but because I cooked it expertly: everything was done all at the right times and all the parts were hot and delicious all at the same time.  If you don't cook, this is perhaps the most difficult part.  Well, for me anyway.  Most of the time the main dish is hot and awesome (that's what he said?) but the vegetables and whatever else sit around for a while and end up cold and impatient.  

But not today!  I was fantastic!  I was a savage!  I took that dinner and said BOOM, DINNER!  You're DONE!

Some things I learned:

• Shrimp is no longer mysterious to me.  If you buy frozen, buy it raw.  Defrost in cold water and sautee in butter and minced garlic with lemon juice.  And that's IT.  Easy peasy.  Way better than Red Lobster.
• I really did miss summer vegetables during the winter, no matter how much I tried to deny it.
• Having four arms really would be much better than two.

And this is what it amounted to:

• Yellow squash, zucchini, asparagus sauteed in olive oil, shallot, ground mustard and cider vinegar, topped with fresh cracked black pepper
• Whole wheat fettucini with olive oil, salt and pepper
• Jumbo shrimp, sauteed in butter, fresh minced garlic, lemon juice

If you make this, eat everything happily and with passion.  And be glad your kitchen skillz are almost as good as mine.  BOO-YAH.

Time and Space: A Brief Journey

A few nights ago the Boy and I were discussing astrology, time, the metaphysical, culture, and other heady topics.  We lounged about on a very pretty well-made bed (courtesy of moi) and got lost in an elaborate web of exchange that stirred something up in my brain.  For the next few days, all I could think about was this mysterious concept of time: events, past and future, and how they are connected.

Specifically, the strange event that occurs when we have a thought about something or someone (more often someone), and then a day, a few days, a week, or months later that thought manifests in reality.  Say, you have a sudden thought of an old coworker or friend, one with whom you haven't spoken in months or years, seemingly "out of nowhere."  Then soon after, you bump into that person in the grocery store, at your job, on the street, and this occurrence feels uncanny.  It feels like you predicted the future.  

Why do our brains do this?

Why does this happen more often than many folks would like to admit?

Because it DOES happen quite often, doesn't it?

Are we predicting the future?  Or, are we making the future happen just by having the very thought itself?

I have a theory.

*ahem*

We tend to think of time -- the measure of "finite duration" by which we measure "sequential relations" -- in terms of specific events or places, either in the past or future, on a timeline, distinct and disconnected from other moments at different times and places.

Two years ago, I was living in ____ and doing ____.

Yesterday, I did ____.

Tomorrow at 2:00 I will be ______.

Right now, later, two days ago, in a week, etc. I will be _____, was going to _____, wanted to be _____, etc.

Yesterday at 2:00 is somehow different, separate, and apart from five years ago at 6:00, as if these two moments exist independently of one another.  However, these two moments in time are actually connected by an infinite number of other moments, hooked in a big long chain, directly linking one moment to the other.  A simple concept in geometry illustrates this very well: two points on a plane are connected by one line, while the line is actually an infinite number of points.  The points are distant and distinct, but directly connected on the same plane.

Also, like water molecules in a pond. A molecule at one side of the pond is a different molecule than one at the other side, each separate and distinct.  But, these two events are not separated by nothingness and void.  Rather, they are linked continuously by many chains of other molecules creating a stream, a blanket of continuity. Distinct and different, but not disconnected.

Time behaves in the same way.  All moments at different times and places are but an infinite number of interconnected moments with no gaps or holes, simultaneously existing independently and dependent upon one another.  Thus, "past" and "future" are indistinguishable. 

Future events are seamlessly connected to the present, to the past, to the distant past.  Future events are not made of something different than current or past events, but are merely further out on the “chain” of time’s continuum -- opposite, or "further from," past events.  Whether or not the time is now, yesterday, or tomorrow is irrelevant. 

If this is the case, that the very construction of tomorrow's moments and yesterday's moments are the same, then it doesn't matter much that tomorrow's events have not happened yet.  They will, certainly, just as yesterday's moments have, but we merely have not experienced them yet.

Returning to the original idea of uncanny occurrences, I am inclined to think we are not experiencing a premonitory event, that the thought of a person or event does not cause that person or event to materialize later.  Nor are we predicting the future, saying with certainty that an event is going to occur.

Instead, the future event -- bumping into the person we were just thinking about, experiencing a moment that we had a very distinct dream about a few days prior, receiving an email or text message from someone we thought about months ago and then forgot -- has already occurred in time and space before we experience it.  Because the event has already occurred even at the moment of its inception, having the sudden thought "pop into our heads out of nowhere," we are experiencing a memory of this event from the future.  Our future selves know of this encounter, moment, thought, manifestation in reality, and we reference the memory of the occurrence before we experience it in present time.  The event hearkens "back" to us a reference that travels through the continuous stream of interconnected moments between then and now, like traveling on a road between two faraway cities. It seems uncanny because the referenced event hasn’t occurred yet, but in reality it has already occurred and we feel its ripple.

Like I said, a theory.  But it delights me.

A Painted Process, Courtesy of Micheline

There is a wonderful blog I look at from time to time full of art and paintings and beautiful stuff.  It's the kind of blog that makes me feel bad about myself for a minute or two, but then I quickly begin to feel inspired and want to make things.  Even with that, though, it is obvious this lady is hogging all the Awesome.

The other day I was nosing around on her site and she periodically posts photos of her paintings in process, start to finish, and talks about them and the process a bit.  It's really fun and I enjoy so much getting to see everything from the beginning.  

Though people always say they like my "style," I don't feel much like I have a style.  And while I don't know what my style is, I know that this lady's style is very, very different from mine.  But because I can look at each step of the painting all the way through and she talks about each phase, I got a real sense for some of the techniques she uses.  And her paintings are beautiful -- bright colors, lots of contrast, interesting and gorgeous and fun.

I got to thinking.  

Well, I don't paint landscapes, but I can use some of these techniques painting portraits.  Why can't I paint portraits using some of these techniques?  Will it work?  Can I make it work?

I decided to make it work.  I spend 7 hours painting yesterday and 3 today, and I still have a lot more to go.  Two paintings are finished, two are in process, and I still have one blank canvas waiting.

So, here we go.  The fruits of my labor, process included.

Jamie Redeaux
Acrylic on canvas
March 2012

I was so high while I painted this.  Okay, not literally high, but I felt high for hours and hours.  I found an entrance to the Zone and stayed there ALL DAY LONG.  For anyone who has trouble getting in the Zone or finding that sweet, buzzy head space required to make things, you probably know

a)  how hard it is to find, and

b)  how hard it is to freakin' STAY there

The fact that I was in the Zone for about seven straight hours is kind of unbelievable.  I am as mystified about it now as I was yesterday.  I won't ask questions.

Peej Redeaux
Acrylic on canvas
March 2012

These two days have been kind of a breakthrough for me.  Things I could never understand before suddenly make sense.  Things that freaked me out or I felt like I couldn't utilize in my paintings I suddenly felt totally capable of doing.  And this feeling, the one that has carried over into today and will last for days, is one of the best, most accomplished and most euphoric feelings I know.

A Week of NOMM

The Boyfriend's mom was in town last week visiting from the midwest-ish.  I like when she's in town because it's the perfect excuse to eat out a lot and delight in the company of others.  (Not that I need much of an excuse to do so normally, but the spending money part is the usual hurdle.  If it's in the name of visiting out-of-towners, then how can I NOT oblige?)

We went to Ringside Steakhouse in the middle of the week.  I'd never been there before, and neither had my accompaniment, so I was unexpectedly astonished by the prices on the menu.  Without getting too gritty, I ate the most expensive steak I've ever eaten in my life -- and you better believe it was the tastiest, too! -- that cost what I might consider spending on a one-way plane ticket.  A 6-ounce filet mignon with roasted brussell (how the eff do you spell brussel anyway?! Brussell brussel brussels brussells Brussell's Brussel's No matter how I spell it, the red squiggly line says "No, bitch."  YARRRGGGHHH THE MADNESS) sprouts and cauliflower, an enchanting glass of pinot gris, LOBSTER MASHED POTATOES -- yes, they were ri-freaking-diculous, a salad with the most amazing balsamic I've ever tasted (THIS is what balsamic tastes like?!?), and not one but TWO desserts to top off my feeling like a raging food-a-holic.  

(Which I most certainly did.)

It didn't take a genius, a mathematician, a priest, or a small psychic child to figure out that I have rather the penchant for high-quality -- dare I say, bourgy -- fine cuisine.  The feasting event made me feel high as a kite, happy for hours and hours and into the following day.  How is this possible?  It's just FOOD, right?!

No.

It's an experience.

And it was mine . . . 

What a snob I've turned into.

Anyway, the next night we got down and durrrty at an Ethiopian restaurant by my house.  If you've never eaten Ethiopian food, you MUST.  And if you've got children, this place is awesome because you eat with your hands and stuff your face and drink awesome tasty beverages and leave smelling like spices and jalapenos and it's just marvelous.  This was much less catastrophic to the budget, so don't worry.

On our final afternoon, we found ourselves at Prost! on North Mississippi.  A German pub, they have lots of yummy German beers on tap that I can't pronounce and a menu composed primarily of meats and sour things.  I can't wait until the warmer months arrive.  They've got a fatty garage door inside that opens out to a spectacular deck, nestled under bright sunshine and the hum of the street.  

Note to self . . . 

Cucumber salad.  

Ho-hum, you say?  NO. FREAKING DELICIOUS.

Apples and some sort of liver pate that I forgot the name of with some rye bread.

I didn't actually try it, because the Boy -- He With Stomach of Steel -- 

had a difficult time making his tummy agree.  Yeahnothanks.

A sausage thing with more rye and two mustards.

YUMMM.

Bavarian Pretzel hot from the oven with salt and more mustards.

Beware the sweet one -- it'll punch you in the throat riiiiight at the end.

We also had Bratwurst, another something-wurst, sauerkraut, and more rye.  I walked out of the beautiful building feeling (still) like an angry aholic wishing I'd paced myself better on the gigantic sausages and mountains of bread and kraut.

Ohhh, regret . . . 

No, I take that back.  No regret here.  Maybe for a minute, but HOT DAMN I've had some good food in the last week and it helped me remember how freakin' awesome this silly town is.  Funny how it takes visitors from other cities and states to help us remember why we live here in the first place.

Prost!

In an Extroverted World:

For anyone who has ever dreaded the “office chit chat” and just wanted to work quietly in peace to get stuff DONE,

for anyone who has ever wanted to lash out in rage at the suggestion of doing “group work” as a kid in school,

for anyone who has ever enjoyed social interaction so very much, but then suddenly the experience becomes inexplicably overwhelming,

for anyone who has had a hard time articulating how they feel to others,

for anyone who has ever needed “some time to process things” while others are left confused by what this even means,

for anyone who has ever been teased for being more “inward” than “outward,”

for anyone who has ever wanted to be completely ALONE for an entire day, because we know this is what it will take to recharge, feel level, and get grounded,

for anyone whose idea has been overlooked because the next person over is more charismatic, fast-talking, and loud,

for anyone who makes decisions slowly because they want all the pieces and parts to be correct and the exact right thing,

for anyone who makes decisions like this: “Ready . . . ready . . . reeeaaaady . . . . . . ready . . . READY . . . . . .  Aim . . . aaaaiiiim . . . aim . . . aim . . . aaaaiiiiim . . . . . . . . . aim . . . . . . . . .  Fire?”

for anyone whose chest has ever tightened at the thought of not having one moment of alone time in a string of several days,

for anyone who has ever had a partner who takes “I need some alone time” personally,

for anyone who doubts their quiet processes, careful ways, and creativity always “bubbling” just under the surface:

http://www.ted.com/talks/susan_cain_the_power_of_introverts.html

Salad as Meditation: A How-To

My Friday nights have turned into a special thing.  I usually have a chiropractic adjustment and massage right after work, so I come home feeling like I’m on a cloud and the house is usually empty.  Just me, alone with my kitchen and lots of random ingredients, pondering life and things and stuff and why things are the way they are.  I started making really delicious salads and I’ve gotten so good at them my boyfriend said, “You make salads that I just want to keep eating.  Like, I’m not just eating it quickly to get to the good stuff.”  The process is really the best part, and I always end up having a blast of a time, more than one would expect from dinking around in the refrigerator and eating something haphazard and accidental.  I feel refreshed and a little bit drunk so cleansed when I’m done and stuffed with ruffage.  Like that dazed feeling you get when you step out of a movie theater on a bright day.  So, this is my Introductory Guide to Salad Meditation.

Start with a clean kitchen

Take everything you might consider putting into a salad out of the fridge and put it on the counter, including some manner of greenery (butter lettuce is divine)

Survey inventory

Have a big cutting board and big knife ready; set aside

Open a bottle of wine, pour a glass, and commence sipping (tonight, we have a lovely 2007 White Merlot)

Ponder what you’d like to include in your salad adventure.  Things to consider or you might already have:

• carrot
• corn
• avocado
• pea
• cucumber
• cheese
• stinky cheese
• garbanzo bean
• black bean
• pinto bean
• chicken
• shrimp
• sausage
• bacon
• pepperoncini
• onion
• pear
• apple
• salami
• tomato
• walnut
• cranberry
• asparagus
• cooked egg
• magic
• orange
• pickle

The more things you put into a salad, the tastier it is.

Begin washing and peeling vegetables and chopping into desired shapes

Stop every so often to take a nibble and observe how it interacts with a sip of your preferred alcoholic beverage

Repeat as necessary

Begin adding vegetables and other items to a big bowl filled with lettuce until everything is in

Sit back for a minute, have another sip, and admire your handiwork

Now, make a dressing from scratch.  I discovered recently I much prefer an easy scratch dressing to anything bottled or jarred.  I like light dressings that do not interfere with the taste of the vegetables.  This one is my favorite:

• hefty splash olive oil
• small splash cider vinegar
• big dollop mayonnaise
• big dash garlic powder
• lots of dill weed
• small sprinkle salt
• small sprinkle rosemary
• lots of fresh-cracked pepper
• splash of pickle juice (if you’re feeling frisky)
• mix passionately
• pour over salad and toss

Improvise dressing as necessary.  Other ingredients to consider:

• sour cream
• lemon juice
• lime juice
• mustard
• barbecue sauce
• honey
• white vinegar
• tarragon
• soy sauce
• sesame oil

Eat the salad.

Drink the wine.

Think about why you like your house, spouse, dog, whatever.  Read something, write something, doodle or sing or talk to yourself.  Revel in this nice moment.

Continue eating and meditating as long as you like.

The end.