Whole Foods is a frightening place. Not only is it enormous, it lulls you into thinking that NOW is the time to buy pears, crab legs, and a set of rechargeable batteries. At least, that is what I was holding when I got out of there, and that is how they parted me with over $40. I’ll admit I also bought pumpkin ravioli and crab bisque, but who in the crap *wouldn’t* buy pumpkin ravioli and crab bisque, given the opportunity?

I saw lots of folks I knew there, colleagues and friends, and I overheard ten conversations as I wandered the many aisles. Everyone, to a person, was talking about the same thing: the prices. That store is insanely expensive, and yet, all of us had arms and baskets full of *stuff*, glossy-eyed with our treasure troves, sticky from the strawberry samples, slowly wandering and filled with awe that so metropolitan a place could be found in our little town.

Trader Joe’s is next door, where I bought a week’s worth of staples for about $20. I know I’ll still spend the bulk of my time at Joe’s, but whenever I need to buy petrale sole stuffed with crab and shrimp, dolmas, and an organic, free trade cotton sweater all at the same time, I’m afraid that Whole Foods will once again tempt me inside.

I now need to be alone with my pumpkin ravioli.

I’ve been feeling excessively emotional lately. Yesterday morning, I started leaking tears during shivasana at the end of my yoga class; yesterday evening I accidentally watched the end of Titanic, one of the Movies I Think Are So Bad They Make Me Angry, and yet, that made me bawl too. I’ve been missing my family terribly, and I’ve also been having that flight impulse that I had so much this past late fall and early winter- a desperate drive to flee the life I’ve built here. I think it’s mostly due to job-related stress, but that stress is enough, I think, to make anyone want to permanently check out. Every now and then, in my darkest moments, I wish for some calamitous but not permanent thing to happen to me, something outside of my control that will mean I can be released from the stress of my work, so I can start over again. That sounds utterly horrible, and to be clear, dear universe, I don’t actually want that to happen. But I’ve never lived anywhere as long as I’ve lived here, and I’ve never stuck out something so difficult as the job I have now, not to these lengths. I’m accustomed to being able to pick up and start over, and I don’t really want to do that now, but I’m having trouble finding ways to release my anxiety, and my stress level cannot be good for my long-term health.

But rather than write further about my stress level, anxiety, and emotional state, I have a recommendation:

I first experienced Grimbergen beer in a little restaurant in Bruges, Belgium, during a trip to Europe with my mom about eight or nine years ago. We sat down, ordered this beer because it was the only thing on the menu I could sort of pronounce, and upon having our first sips, decided that dinner- or other sustenance- was not necessary. For two days, we had this beer with every meal. It is that good. The blonde is crisp and slightly honeyed; the Optimo Bruno is dark, lush, and almost sweet.

Four years later, I was at the Astoria Beer Garden with my brother Sean and about twenty friends. At the time, I was living in Hollywood, but visiting NY for my birthday. I went to order a beer- and there it was- my sweet Grimbergen, available by the pitcher. It was 2 AM. I called my roommate Hayley, back in Hollywood, and suggested we move to NY. Three weeks later, we did.

Tonight, I went to my local wine shop. It’s a huge warehouse of a place, with terrific bargains as well as old-growth Burgundies. It also has a refrigerator full of imported beers. There, waiting for me, was a Grimbergen blonde. So, years later, here I am, living in Napa, once again, enjoying this nectar, and thinking about is how my life has changed since I first discovered it. Nothing, absolutely nothing, has happened as I expected it to. When I think about the current stress in my life, I wonder if, in five years, I’ll look back and be able to confidently say that I defeated the latest bout of dragons in my life. I hope so. I mean, I’ve gotten this far, and I’ve had a helluva lot of dragons to slay in the past four years. But I feel like now I’m facing some of my most difficult foes, and I’m doing so largely alone. I’ve got coaches and supporters and friends and a therapist, but at the end of the day, it’s just me.

So, to prepare for the week ahead, I’m sipping a Grimbergen, drawing a bath, and going to bed early, though that by no means being able to fall asleep early. But I’m doing the best I can.

I had a really tough day today. Three job interviews (I was doing the interviewing, not being the interviewee), a meeting at the county government, a meeting at the county office of education, therapy, a late community meeting, and a thousand tasks to do that I couldn’t begin to accomplish, topped off by too little sleep, no time to exercise, and the continuing maddening problems of some of the people in my work. I am so tired of being treated as if I don’t know what the hell I’m doing; I’m so tired of the patronizing, the “gentle” suggestions, and the sometimes blatant statements that in essence say, “You are incompetent. Allow me to show you the way.” Most of these trolls I’ve dealt with, but I have a few left to slay, and sometimes, sometimes, I just don’t have the goddamn energy. I know this will be a battle I’ll have to fight for the rest of my professional life, but it makes me want to punch people in the mouth.

I’m packing for a short trip- a conference in Monterey- and as tempted as I am to punch folks in the mouth via email, I find it much more satisfying in person, so I’ll have to wait a few days.

But there are times, after a day like this, a day that starts at 8 and ends at 7:30, a day that is a rollercoaster of exhaustion, a day when two of my colleagues at my last meeting say they are going home to dinner cooked by their significant others, that I just want to go home and crawl into bed and never get out again. Sometimes, I swear to God, the best accomplishment of my day is simply putting my feet on the floor after I wake up. The rest, sometimes, is gravy.

I know it wouldn’t be such a far leap from posting recipes, but no, this will never turn into a knitting blog. However, I should have taken some pics of the fifty or so cloth bags I made this Christmas to replace all of the wrapping paper. Ian and Tessa asked if we had creative ideas as to how to reduce waste this Christmas, and I came up with the idea of sewing cloth bags- large and small, and made of Christmassy material and pretty bows, that could be used again and again. It became my big pre-trip project, and then an ongoing project once I got to Queens, since my mom had a never-ending supply of gifts that needed bags. So Jordi and I sewed, and sewed, and sewed, me on my mom’s workhorse of a sewing machine, Jordi delicately by hand. I loved every minute of it, particularly mom’s insistence that every bag I made wasn’t quite big enough, and the joy of easily slipping the prezzies in each bag, proving her wrong, to her endless delight.

Anyway, all of those bags are in a plastic bin in the barn at the farmhouse in upstate New York, far far away from here. But we’ll get to break them out next year, and probably sew fifty more, since our family is ever-expanding. But as tempting as it may be, this will not become my “I totally love all crafts” blog. Except every now and then.

And, I made these cookies on Sunday:

http://www.joyofbaking.com/PeanutBlossomCookies.html

Double the salt; other than that, follow the recipe, and have neighbors knocking on your door to ask for second helpings. These cookies are truly amazing. I love baking.

What I really wanted to write about tonight is reconnections. I decided in early December that I was going to reconnect with a few dear people who I’d not talked to in ages. So from New York to San Francisco to Chicago to New Jersey, I reached out, beginning with an apology for being so terrible about being in touch, and ending with a promise to try to do better. Almost everyone welcomed my missives; one even called it “a hug from an old friend”. It meant the world to me to still have the friendship of all of these folks, and to have been blessed with their patience over the last couple of years as I’ve been working so hard to simply find out where in this world I belong. I’ve got a much better sense of that now, and, I think, much stronger friendship skills. At least, I hope so. I’m grateful for all my reconnections, those solicited, and those that have found me.

I don’t know if any of those dear friends read this blog, but it doesn’t matter; I’ve told them what it means to me to still have them in my life. It’s one of Ian’s skills I’ve always admired and envied: he holds on to people, no matter how far away, no matter how much time has passed. I’ve coasted through the states I’ve lived, hanging on to almost nobody, for a hundred reasons probably best left to my therapist. But I’m working to reverse that trend, because it’s not that I haven’t had terrific friendships. It’s that I didn’t know how to keep loving and trusting people when they weren’t right in front of me. But I think I can do that now.

If they lived near me, I’d bake for them. Alas, I’ll have to keep baking for my coworkers. But maybe someday.

Okay, so, we’ve already established that given the choice, I’ll stay home, or come home, at basically any time of the day, forsaking the world outside to sew, or cook, or take a bath, or sit and stare out the window and drool. But tonight I made a dinner that really deserves some public knowledge. It was ridiculous. Maple-glazed salmon, salad with avocado, parm, and toasted pine nuts. Sonoma Coast pinot noir.

If you aren’t already snoring, here’s the recipe:

Preheat oven to 400

Whisk:
1/4 cup pure maple syrup
2 tablespoons soy sauce
big fat squeeze of fresh lemon juice
1 or 2 smashed and minced cloves of garlic
sea salt
pepper

Marinate the salmon in all of the above, covered, in the fridge for up to half an hour. Then, wrap it in foil so it makes a little boat (so lots of the flesh sits in the marinade) but keep it open and pop it in the oven. 15 minutes or so if you like med-rare, longer if you go toward medium- just keep an eye on it.

Meantime: use a planer to make a nice fluffy pile of parmesan; slice razor-think slices of sweet onions; lightly toast pine nuts in a frying pan, no oil, just a few minutes, stirring a few times. Mix any lettuce (I prefer butter) with parm, onions, pine nuts, and a sliced avocado.

Salad dressing (better than any crap you’ll buy in a store): couple glugs of olive oil, some minced garlic, splash of rice vinegar, tiny splash of balsamic, some kind of awesome sea salt (I love Maldon), pepper, any herbs you have handy, splash lemon juice. Whisk like crazy, toss into salad. Holy good geeze is it good.

Take salmon out of the oven, unfold the boat and pour marinade into warm small frying pan. Let it reduce for just a minute or two- the maple syrup does the job quickly. Once it’s a little thick, put the salmon on the plate, pour the marinade over it.

Plate the salad, garnish the salmon with a little more awesome salt, pop the cork on the pinot noir.

Enjoy.

I was at dinner, at a restaurant in Yountville, reluctantly plopping down $40 for a glass of wine and salad because I had just finished a city council presentation and rather felt like I deserved a treat. I was at the bar, with a couple of friends, and I left early.

Why? Because I wanted to come home and get in my bathtub. Now, granted, I have this big jacuzzi bathtub, and a great thick bath mat, and super glorious sensual smelling candles- seriously, my bathroom belongs in a movie- so it’s not like I was coming home early to a crappy shower. No, I came home to a steamy, wonderful, roomy bathing experience. I listened to NPR streaming on my computer, hearing about my man Obama winning in Iowa, and it was glorious.

But seriously, what single 35-year-old-woman, with a love of wine and conversation, forsakes all to come home to get in the tub? Me, I guess.

I can’t stop talking about how I want a life partner, and a family, and little ones, but as long as my life is still entirely my own, I’m going to take long baths, read until 2 AM, go to work at 7 AM if I want, drink the wine I want, and be as loud or as quiet as I want whenever I can, because all I can do is hope that someday I’ll look longingly back at these days as I’m chasing down my three-year-old who is running with my one-month-old in one arm and a pair of scissors in the other.

I’m not entirely ready to do write a year-end, or a year-beginning blog, but I was going through iPhoto on my new-ish computer and found some pics I’d like to share from the past 4-5 years. No rhyme or reason to them, just wee snapshots of the last few years of my life.

This is a pic, a few summers ago, of my mom, me, and baby Lucy. My mom is so damn cute, not to mention LuLu Beans.

In fall of 2004, I was visiting Iowa when John Kerry’s campaign when through. My brother Kent took me to see John Edwards speak. He was hoarse, but it was good times.

This is from the family reunion of three years ago. My brother Steve, one of the tallest of the tall, holds little baby Lucy.

One of many shots from my time in Louisiana and Alabama after Hurricane Katrina, when I was volunteering for the Red Cross. That’s a massive riverboat casino on the left. I can’t really explain how large it was, and how it had flattened all of the trees and buildings below it. There were several of these, lining the land about 300 yards from the ocean.

Two summers ago, my dad and my Uncle Chuck spent most of the afternoon building a frame to hold an air conditioner in my upstairs apartment window. We turned on the air and left the house for twelve hours. When we returned, it was even hotter in the apartment. To feel the air from the unit, I had to stand directly next to it. It was useless, trying to cool that place, but I got to have lunch with my Uncle Chuck at the local Buttercream Bakery.

Why do I have to be such a tard? Alas, here I am with a wee baby Barnaby, and wee baby Ezre, the daughter of my best friend.

A sweet pic of Tessa and Lucy on Lucy’s birthday this past year. Two unbelievably beautiful creatures.

Me, my friend Mollie, and my friend Elizabeth, and Elizabeth’s “bachelorette party” which consisted of the three of us, pizza, and a great deal of Chardonnay.

Finally, a couple of teaser pics from Peru. I spent almost three weeks there this past summer, and I’ve yet to write about it. Suffice to say I’ve never been so ill- truly, never- but it was extraordinary, and Stace was the best travel partner a girl could ask for.

The two of us at Macchu Pichu:

Stace watching a parade in Cuzco

What does 2008 have to bring? I don’t know. I’m hopeful about a lot of things, and I’m looking forward to this year.