I wanted a cookie.
It was 10:00 on Tuesday night. I'd had dinner a few hours ago and I wasn't hungry, per se, just desiring of something sweet. I peered in my pantry. No cookies. Nothing even resembling dessert. I looked in the fridge: vegetables, goat cheese, tortillas, salmon, milk--nothing sweet. I opened the pantry again. I had oatmeal. Did I want oatmeal? No, not really. I had bread. Could I have toast? Nope. Not interested. I was about to put on shoes and head to 7-11 when it hit me:
I have peanut butter.
I remembered a recipe I'd made several months ago. They weren't cookies exactly, but they were close. Gooey balls of peanut butter, oats, honey, raisins, cinnamon and cocoa powder--a great cookie stand-in. I added coconut, sesame seeds and crushed almonds and made a small batch--just enough for a snack--and had them with a cup of chamomile tea.
It is very good feeling to satisfy a craving using your own resources. I suspect that principle extends beyond cookies.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
Crime Scene Investigation
I find crime shows like Law and Order and CSI soothing.
After a long day of working and traffic and looking for parking and chaos, there is something weirdly relaxing about watching a team of detectives or crime scene investigators encounter a crime, consider the evidence, ask the hard questions, solve the mystery and then get the bad guy. It's like they're restoring order in the world, right on my TV screen...or something like that.
Sometimes when things get hectic I wish, just a tiny bit, for Benson and Stabler or Grissom or even Mulder and Scully to swoop in and deconstruct the evidence and make sense of things for me.
But then I remember that I'm actually kind of a good detective.
After a long day of working and traffic and looking for parking and chaos, there is something weirdly relaxing about watching a team of detectives or crime scene investigators encounter a crime, consider the evidence, ask the hard questions, solve the mystery and then get the bad guy. It's like they're restoring order in the world, right on my TV screen...or something like that.
Sometimes when things get hectic I wish, just a tiny bit, for Benson and Stabler or Grissom or even Mulder and Scully to swoop in and deconstruct the evidence and make sense of things for me.
But then I remember that I'm actually kind of a good detective.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Jumpstart
It's not like I was in love or anything. It was a crush--that's it. A big one, sure, but a crush nonetheless.
And it was distracting. In a fun way...but also in an anxiety-producing, do-I-look-OK-maybe-I-should-change-outfits kind of way.
There were a few dates and then there was a talk. And during the talk he let me know that he liked me a lot--he found me attractive and enjoyed spending time with me, but he wanted to be my friend. I stayed silent as he spoke, but I was filled with exasperation. My friend? I have way too many friends already, I don't need another one! I wasn't looking for friendship when I agreed to go out with you.
But I didn't say that. I said it was fine.
But of course it wasn't fine. I thought about it throughout the weeks that followed. What did I do wrong? Did I talk too much? Should I have worn more makeup?
And then one Thursday night, he asked me to give him a jumpstart. His car battery had died and he had to move it the following day because there was street cleaning where it was parked. I told him that if he had cables and knew how to do it, I'd be happy to help. He said yes to both.
I said I'd come over.
When I pulled my Prius up next to his Honda, he popped my hood, peered in and furrowed his brow.
"Um...where's your battery?"
"I don't know...it's different from most cars. It's a hybrid."
"Right. I don't see one...wait, maybe that's it?"
"Maybe."
We stared together at my car's inner workings, mystified, for a good five minutes.
"You know, I think that maybe I should get someone else to jumpstart my battery. I'm afraid to touch anything in your car--the last thing I want to do is screw it up."
"Yeah, that's probably a good call."
"You want to get a drink anyway?"
"Yes."
It turned out to be a nice evening. We sipped wine and then bought ice cream cones and walked around his sleepy neighborhood.
As I drove home later, the symbolism of the evening's events struck me hard--I literally couldn't start his battery. And it wasn't because there was anything wrong with my car. It didn't matter that he had cables or generally knew how to use them; my battery was intrinsically the wrong one to jumpstart his, and there was nothing that either of us could do about it. And he's a nice guy, so he didn't want to risk causing damage to my car.
But it didn't mean we couldn't enjoy a nice walk and some ice cream.
And it was distracting. In a fun way...but also in an anxiety-producing, do-I-look-OK-maybe-I-should-change-outfits kind of way.
There were a few dates and then there was a talk. And during the talk he let me know that he liked me a lot--he found me attractive and enjoyed spending time with me, but he wanted to be my friend. I stayed silent as he spoke, but I was filled with exasperation. My friend? I have way too many friends already, I don't need another one! I wasn't looking for friendship when I agreed to go out with you.
But I didn't say that. I said it was fine.
But of course it wasn't fine. I thought about it throughout the weeks that followed. What did I do wrong? Did I talk too much? Should I have worn more makeup?
And then one Thursday night, he asked me to give him a jumpstart. His car battery had died and he had to move it the following day because there was street cleaning where it was parked. I told him that if he had cables and knew how to do it, I'd be happy to help. He said yes to both.
I said I'd come over.
When I pulled my Prius up next to his Honda, he popped my hood, peered in and furrowed his brow.
"Um...where's your battery?"
"I don't know...it's different from most cars. It's a hybrid."
"Right. I don't see one...wait, maybe that's it?"
"Maybe."
We stared together at my car's inner workings, mystified, for a good five minutes.
"You know, I think that maybe I should get someone else to jumpstart my battery. I'm afraid to touch anything in your car--the last thing I want to do is screw it up."
"Yeah, that's probably a good call."
"You want to get a drink anyway?"
"Yes."
It turned out to be a nice evening. We sipped wine and then bought ice cream cones and walked around his sleepy neighborhood.
As I drove home later, the symbolism of the evening's events struck me hard--I literally couldn't start his battery. And it wasn't because there was anything wrong with my car. It didn't matter that he had cables or generally knew how to use them; my battery was intrinsically the wrong one to jumpstart his, and there was nothing that either of us could do about it. And he's a nice guy, so he didn't want to risk causing damage to my car.
But it didn't mean we couldn't enjoy a nice walk and some ice cream.
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