Characters

As I sat backstage yesterday at my school's final showing of "The Wiz," I couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. This was the last time I would be performing as The Wiz. For five months, I wasn't just Megan Lovely. By day, yes. But as soon as I stepped through those auditorium doors, I was someone different. I was sassy. I was smooth. I was strong. I was confident, and this confidence started to become a part of me. So I couldn't help but feel like I was saying goodbye to an old friend last night, as I stepped on that stage for the last time in my gold heels, beehive hairdo, and "emerald wizard ring" (which bore a striking resemblance to a green Ring Pop). I hesitated as I held the makeup remover wipe in my hand, and stared at my reflection in the mirror for an extra moment. This was it; it was time to say goodbye to Ms. Wiz.

Unless you've been in theatre, I'm not sure if what I'm saying makes sense. But it's true. I spent five months with this character, polishing her and trying to figure out who she was. There was only the rare day that passed when I didn't go over my lines or songs, and it's hard to imagine that I no longer have to do that. Tuesday we have auditions for "Les Miserables" and I have to focus my attention on another character. Such is life; you move on. "But they're never really gone," a fellow cast member said last night. "If you do it right, every character becomes a part of you. Like I know whenever I tell someone off, I'll remember this role. Every character teaches you something." Like a friend. Every friend has something different to offer.

It's time to pack away the gold heels and prepare for the next audition. Ms. Wiz was my first lead, and I'll always remember her for that. She helped me be confident. She made me realize once again that the theatre is where I belong. And with that I took the makeup wipe and cleaned my face.

Three cups of tea, two scones, and a muffin...

...that was how I got through my day today. It is that time of the semester when my life is consumed by homework. I knew it was a bad sign last week when I actually dreamt about working on my music project in my sleep. If only the work I produced in my head could somehow have transferred on paper, but alas, that is not how the world works.

It is so easy to get caught up with homework. I find I am the type of person who does better on a stricter schedule because if I have three hours, I will take the three hours to do a one-hour assignment thanks to my annoying meticulousness for detail and wandering teenage mind. It is easy to become consumed with work, especially because there is always something to get ahead on and always something you could be doing. But could, my friends, is very different than should.

Especially on days like today, I have to remind myself to stay balanced. Of course, I could have gotten up earlier and started right away on homework, but I have a play coming up and I need my sleep. I could have opted out for the run and swim this morning––yes, an outdoor swim in 40º weather! I'll admit we had wetsuits though :) ––but I know I am much more productive when I have moved during the day. Then there's friends to talk to and family to catch up with and chores to do...the list goes on and on. It is nearly impossible we will ever be able to accomplish everything on our to-do list for the day. (If you do, please share your secret!) And that's okay. There's always tomorrow. Whatever doesn't get accomplished today just gets pushed to the top of tomorrow's to-do list.

Our lives will be made up of many phases. There will be times in our life when we are skinnier or heavier, more social, sleep more, read more, whatever it is...and that's okay too. We're still the same person.

I don't want you to think I'm preaching, and I know what I'm saying isn't new. But I know I sometimes find it helpful when I read something or talk to someone who tells me things like this, or tells me about their quirks, because it reassures me I'm not alone. So just one more thing before I sign off for the night (I'm feeling my mind and my writing start to drift). We don't always have to be productive. I know this is something I struggle with. I often stress about making the most of every minute I have to get ahead on homework, send an e-mail, or read even a few sentences in my book. What I'm working on is being okay with sometimes just doing nothing. It is often during these times when we notice the small details like the peculiar roof of a house or the clever Tostitos® logo (seriously...check it out!). What I'm realizing is that these moments of "non-productivity" are equally, if not more important than the "productive" ones, because it is often during these moments of "non-productivity" that we create memories. For me, it is during these moments that I often receive inspiration for writing. So I guess what I'm saying is, take a break. Do nothing. You deserve it.

Sweet dreams!

The Little Blender That Could

Who needs a Cuisinart food processor when you have a $5 yard sale blender? I'll admit I had my doubts. This little blender had made many the standard smoothie and even pesto, but could it possibly grind hard peanuts?

To add to my list of obsessions...PEANUT BUTTER. Anything and everything peanut butter. It is no exaggeration when I say I have peanut butter at least once a day. This evening I was dismayed to find our cabinets devoid of peanut butter, and my mom, unwilling to make a special trip to the grocery story (it is times like this I wish I already had my license), suggested instead I try making my own with the bag of shelled peanuts that had been sitting on top of our refrigerator since June. With no school tomorrow because of Hurricane Sandy warnings, I figured I would give it a shot. 

There were a LOT of peanuts to shell...

We got the recipe off of this website: 

12 ounces roasted, unsalted peanuts, plus ½ cup if you want a crunchy consistency

¼ cup plus 1 tablespoon peanut oil, or more if needed

½ teaspoon salt, or to taste

1 tablespoon honey (optional)

Of course I didn't follow the recipe, but it was a good base. Foods like peanut butter you really just have to experiment with. It's all a matter of taste and texture preference. First of all, we didn't have peanut oil in the house, so I had to substitute it for extra virgin olive oil with a splash of sesame oil. (I figured the sesame oil would give it a "nuttier" taste, but the sesame oil was strong so I recommend  being conservative with it.) Unsure of how olive oil would taste with it and if the little blender would stand the test, I started with a small batch. And it worked! 

I found the best way to make the peanut butter was to gradually add more olive oil, honey, and sesame oil, stirring frequently. As I added more peanuts, it became harder for the blade to spin, so making the peanut butter in small batches is best. The peanuts I used were stale, so the honey helped sweeten it (I can tell you I used a LOT more than a tablespoon of honey), and the salt made it more flavorful. I also added flaxseed to the peanut butter, and tomorrow morning I'm thinking of stirring in chia seeds too!

I can't say the peanut butter tasted like what you buy in the store, but it still had an impressive flavor. Next time I make it, I'll be sure to use peanut oil and fresh peanuts; my guess is the stale peanuts are the major reason the peanut butter lacked a bit of the, well, standard "peanut-buttery" taste. 

I never should have doubted my little $5 yard sale blender. It might've been noisy and taken a little longer, and perhaps my peanut butter is not as smooth as Teddy's, but it still sticks to a spoon and I can spread it on toast and pour it into an old Tostitos salsa jar and tie it with a cute ribbon. The blender believed it could blend it and it did. 

For those of you on Hurricane Sandy patrol, stay safe!

P.S. "Did you notice?" is updated.

Notes and Cookies

http://www.landolakes.com/recipe/3007/lunch-box-oatmeal-cookies

"Hey, Mom," my little cousin says, his voice barely a whisper. He leans over her shoulder where she sits at the kitchen table, going over the week's to-do list and researching a new apple crisp recipe to make with the boys later that week. "I have a girlfriend." He smiles, lets the words resonate in the air. He's in 6th grade.

"Really, now?" she says, trying not to act too interested for fear of scaring him away. "What's her name?"

"Tanner," he says, suddenly shy. His mom nods; she knows who she is. A skinny little string bean with a Red Sox cap and dark hair down to her waist, which she tucks behind her ears. She looks like a tomboy, but doesn't play any sports. She's brainy, though. A real scholar. We always knew my cousin would find someone smart. Smart girls don't overlook his irresistible charm and manners, his big goofy grin and excited brown eyes.

He takes out a carefully folded piece of looseleaf paper from his pocket. The worn creases are evidence of how many times it's been opened." She likes me," he says, sliding the note across the table so it covers the grocery list for the week. In swirly cursive letters it reads, "I think you're cute" with hearts in place of every apostrophe and quotation mark and on top of the 'i'.

His mom stifles the "Aw" in her throat. "Well, why don't you have her and few other friends over for pumpkin carving? That way it doesn't feel awkward with just the two of you."

My cousin shuffles his feet. "Well, I don't know, Mom. I think we were just going to volunteer at the Fall Festival together at school." He suddenly looks up, afraid he hurt her feelings. "Is that alright?"

"Of course, I don't care," his mom says. He sighs relief and climbs the stairs to finish his math homework.

His little brother, who had been sitting quietly playing with his Power Rangers at the other end of the table, pipes up. "Hey, Mommy," he says.

"Yes?"

"I have a girlfriend, too," he says nonchalantly, while continuing to duel his Power Rangers. He's six.

"You do, do you?" she says, eyebrows raised.

"Mmhmm."

"What's her name?"

"Katie," he says, his tone now with a hint of superiority. "We share snack together."

Oh the days when relationships were as simple as folded up notes and sharing cookies at snack time.

San Diego #4: Hieroglyphics

Mom says they're hieroglyphics. My first thought is, "how can 'Russ+Mari' and 'Ashley M' and 'Sue' and all the other signatures and lover's initials tattooed into the rock possibly be hieroglyphics?" But she's right. 100, 200 years from now, people will visit this spot––archeologists, historians, maybe––and puzzle over these carvings. Study them, wnder who carved them and why. What was going on in their life at that moment? What do all these strange letters mean? Who knows if we will even speak the same language 200 years from now; perhaps these letters will be recognized as no more than symbols. So people will come and and try to put meaning, some significance behind these carvings. Make them out to be more than they are; perhaps a map, or a story, or some sort of code. We will not be around to tell them these symbols and characters they are studying are nothing more than names of the everyday people and lovers, trying to make heir mark. But that's okay, because who are we to ruin their fun?

What will people think, 500 years from now? What will go in their history books? What will children learn in school? What will they think of us, and our styles? Will they think our clothes laughable, appalling, #1 on the DO NOT WEAR list? Will our styles become part of their School Spirit week? At what point will our clothes become vintage? When will our furniture become retro? I laugh to think of the day when I will tell my kids, "I remember back in my day..." My children will be embarrassed looking through my old yearbooks; I'll be embarrassed. But of course at the time I feel "hip" and "in" and "with it."

Looking at the hieroglyphics is like watching a history film. I wish I could be like the book "Gosammer" by Lois Lowry, and flash back to every person who ever entered this cave. Touch the initials and be brought back to that moment. How far back would it bring me? One year marks '78, but there must be ones dating farther back. I would love to see who Russ and Mari were. Were they a young couple on their honeymoon? Or were they two summer lovers, and perhaps this carving is the only proof of their summer fling. But they were here, and they were in love. Looking around, there were lots of people in love. And that is a comforting thing.

The Best

Oddly, this post is inspired by a visit to the dermatologist. Doctor's appointments, orthodontists appointments, dentist appointments...appointments are rarely exciting. But I can honestly say I don't mind going to the dermatologist, and that has to do entirely with my dermatologist. She's always smiling and in a good mood and is the type of person that always looks like she's happy to see you. She doesn't overanalyze. I'm in and I'm out within fifteen minutes, and she has never once made me feel self-conscious about my skin. "We'll take care of it," she always says. (Plus, I found out today she also loves theatre...if I liked her before, I certainly like her now!)

It got me to thinking that you don't have to be famous to be the best. You don't have to be famous or even receive any kind of recognition to make a difference. And I'm not saying my dermatologist has "transformed my life." She just got me to thinking that there is incentive to be the very best you can be. My English teacher this semester is undoubtedly the best teacher I've had in awhile. His passion for literature is infectious, and his intellectual insight and connections are spellbinding. I often find myself laughing in class as he highlights another parallelism in the works of Ernest Hemingway, T.S. Eliot, and F. Scott Fitzgerald.

The definition of "best" is entirely subjective. Our friend Buddy the Elf comically reminds us of this when he barges into a coffee shop in New York City, praising them for their honorable title of "world's best cup of coffee."

Those of you who are familiar with the movie, may remember that he later takes the character Jovie (Zooey Deschanel) to the coffee shop on their date, who puckers her lips at the taste and labels it as just a "crappy cup of coffee." 

You can't base your opinions on what others claim as "the best." Likely, half the reviews are bias and most likely paid for by the company. Don't sit around waiting for someone to stick a #1 on your chest; go out and just be the best person you can be. 

"Make the most of yourself, for that is all there is of you." ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Falling into Fall

Fall...I love everything about fall. Apple picking, apple cider, apple donuts...warm. Sweaters and moccasins and boots and cozy pants. Football games, rosy cheeks, dragon's breath.

And pumpkin. Everything pumpkin. Pumpkin ice cream, pumpkin iced coffee at Dunkin's, pumpkin muffins, pumpkin donuts, pumpkin oatmeal. If only I had my license, I would make a special trip to the Oliver Garden for a slice of their pumpkin cheesecake.

Last Sunday, Mom and I had a baking day. It was one of the first real fall-like days we'd had. The thermostat read 60º in the morning, chilly enough for a sweater and chilly enough for baking. You can bake in the spring and you can bake in the summer, and of course you can bake in the winter, but fall is by far my favorite time to bake. Crisps, pies, cakes, breads, all those comfort foods that fill you to the brim with happiness like a steamy cappuccino.

Right now we have more kale in our garden than we know what to do with. The worms decided to take the load off our back and start nibbling away so now our kale leaves look like swiss cheese. Before the worms did any more work, we decided we better take advantage of this super food, especially because we now (thanks to a friend of my grandma) have a copy of The Book of Kale by Sharon Hanna, a recipe book with over 80 different recipes for kale. (You can only make so many salads.)

We started the morning off with Savoury Kale and Pumpkin Scones. I went out to the garden in my slippers and sweatshirt and salvaged what kale I could. In the kitchen I washed the leaves and I didn't even need to put it in a strainer, what with all the holes they practically strained themselves.

In making the scones, one direction that particularly confused me was: Step 3: Blend or sift the flour, salt, soda, baking powder and sugar together. Cut in the butter with a pastry blender or your fingers (Hanna). 

"Cut in the butter?" While we love to experiment, we are only that. Experimentalists. We measure with our hands and our eyes...a little bit of this, a pinch of that, and always a dash more sugar. (Rather, I'm learning to be more like this.) In other words, we are amateurs in the kitchen, and the most high-tech kitchen appliance we have (excluding the standard oven, stove, and microwave) is a blender and a food processor we got at the Free Store that we're not sure even works. Which meant I was just going to have to use my hands. But cut in the butter? I had never heard of the term before. I took it to assume that it meant mix in the butter...cold butter, the recipe specified. After a minute or two of using the fork, I plunged in with my hands...and of course licked every finger clean afterwards. 

Anything you can mold with your hands is so much fun.

Now what to have these scones with? Cream cheese? Butter? Jam? These scones aren't very sweet, but they're very healthy, and have the classic scone consistency. They're delicious with cream cheese, butter, and jam (we tried them all), but even more delicious with soup. Particularly, an orange soup. 

Doesn't it almost look like it has veins? 

A Winter Squash Soup. I won't even both linking this recipe, though, because we hardly followed it. Sure, we steamed and boiled the squash and peeled and tossed in an apple. But we also added the remainder of the canned pumpkin from the scones, a carrot, and the rest of the kale. 

It's a soup with a very thick consistency. It's filling and fulfilling. It's the kind of soup you want to eat curled up on the couch with a book, wearing your biggest, coziest sweater.

Alas, we ate it outside on our deck, but with the birds chirping and the wind blowing, it was still just as satisfying. And of course, I had to take the opportunity to have a little food photo shoot. Seriously...I think at least half the pictures on my phone are of food. 

We're reading T.S. Eliot's poem, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" in English class. In his poem, the narrator says, "I have measured out my life with coffee spoons" (51). Cooking with Mom reminded me of that line. My parents are always telling me not to get hung up over details; to just go with the flow. With their guidance, I am learning to not measure out my life so precisely. I'm learning to be okay with a dash, a pinch, and a splash. 

What's your favorite part of fall? Or, if you don't like fall, what's your favorite season?

Happy fall, everyone!

P.S. "Did you notice?" is updated.