Losing It, Occasionally

crabapplemusings

So today, yeah. It’s a beautiful, sunny day here in Washington…a Sunday, and the whole day stretched before me this morning like a blessing. It started off so well; I slept in until 7:30, my husband brought me a cup of coffee in bed, I finished a book, and it was one of those reads that ended well, with satisfaction and the knowing that some of the words in the book would give my mind reason to reflect for the days to come.

But then, a lot of little things. I arose to the dogs whining at the door because they needed to go out and had not been released or fed yet. The cats climbing all over me while I’m trying to finish that book and enjoy my coffee. The knowledge that the “freedom” of the day is cluttered up with all the things that I “have” to do, and the tug between these and the things that I “want” to do, and the overwhelming knowledge that there is no way that I can do them all, and which to focus on? A disappointment from yesterday that I can’t quite release. The knowledge that a long work week stretches before me. And then, the culmination. The dog does something simple, stealing the empty recycling egg carton and almond milk carton and chewed them to bits (as well as happily ingesting some) before I’ve had the chance to empty the bin. I become completely overwhelmed and enraged, screaming like a banshee that she should, “Drop it and get on your woobie!!!” and she, terrified of this wild-eyed, shrill-voiced shrew, wonders where her human has gone and runs away from me (hiding behind the table) and will not approach.

The realization that I have lost my temper to such a degree and shouted at my dog to the point where she will not approach me (and no — I did not touch a hair on her dear head other than to later kiss her and explain that I love her so much that it would kill me if she gets an intestinal blockage from this constant and irritating habit of thieving and eating these types of things) causes the flaring temper to crash and to be replaced with guilt and a hopeless feeling that I will never be that person that I aspire to. While this does not happen often, when it does, it’s as if another creature takes over me, and all the rage and frustration and sadness I have felt come exploding out, over something silly and minor (ok – well to be fair – if the dog has to go to the emergency vet, that’s kind of a big deal), and I realize that I’m overreacting, but at the same time I’m just at the very end of my rope. And, on top of the guilt, and sadness (because now I’m crying and miserable about everything I can possibly conjure in my head to justify my feeling this way), there is the underlying question reverberating through me…,”Why?” Why am I so enraged by this? Why did I lose it now? Why do I feel like I’m at the end of my rope?

This anger almost never comes flooding out around any other person; most often it is when I’m alone (or with only the dogs as witness) that I lose it. The truth is that I know perfectly well that my anger had very little to do with the dog chewing up the cartons (ok, I DO really worry about intestinal blockage, seriously…but, I don’t think she ingested that much actually). The anger had everything to do with those other things. I feel overwhelmed by all the chores I have to do, when I really wish I could be doing those other things I’d rather do on my weekend. (Hello, adulting! and so we meet again!) I feel frustrated that many of them (the heavy cleaning, the shopping, the cooking) most often (feel as if they) fall upon me. I feel exceptionally sad about some things beyond my control; and while, most often, I am able to “look at the bright side” and “count my blessings,” there are times when it all just comes crashing down. The piles of laundry to fold, the house to clean, the peas to plant, the longing to connect with your teenager, the 12-mile run (with your favorite chewing up cartons creature) that is fun but also tiring, the knowledge that you are the only one thinking about buying the half and half or what to cook for dinner, well…it’s overwhelming. Maybe it isn’t on most days, but on this particular day it is.

This is what I’ve learned about treating myself with grace. I am not perfect. I never am going to be. I’m disappointed in myself that I lost my temper and shouted at my dog, but it’s also imperative to take a minute to recognize the why in order to prevent it in the future. The little and big things that built up inside me only to come tumbling out this morning needed to find a release. Ultimately, it’s about learning to recognize these feelings and release them in healthy ways before they build up. Facing and acknowledging the why forces me to confront uncomfortable feelings and conversations that may need to happen. It forces me to look deeper into myself to acknowledge where I can improve, to recognize the pressures that I am putting on myself, and to look at my priorities and responses. It is also about allowing yourself to admit that something that you are going through is hard, or sad, or unfair. Then, it’s about accepting the fact that you are not perfect, but that you can continue to work and try to do better. And when I feel alone in facing my faults (or having a temper) I turn to Lousia May Alcott’s Little Women, written in 1868-1869. In the chapter “Jo Meets Apollyon,” she writes of Marmee & Jo (Marmee having admitted to Jo that she also struggles with losing her temper at times):

“The patience and humility of the face she loved so well was a better lesson to Jo than the wisest lecture, the sharpest reproof. She felt comforted at once by the sympathy and confidence given her; the knowledge that her mother had a fault like hers, and tried to mend it, made her own easier to bear and strengthened her resolution to cure it, though forty years seemed rather a long time to watch and pray to a girl of fifteen.”

So now, time to take the canine for a run, and try to find the more appropriate, healthy release for those pent-up feelings.

 

 

A Cooking Ditty For Today

crabapplemusings

Tomato, Asparagus, and Salmon SaladIf I worked in a restaurant (or owned one), I would call this creation:

Tomato, Asparagus, and Salmon Salad

And I would describe it thus: Summer fresh tomatoes are covered with Copper River pesto-baked salmon and topped with lightly salted roasted asparagus. Add in some crumbled herb-infused goat cheese and a small amount of basil, drizzle with a balsamic reduction, and voila! perfection on a plate.

Making up these types of descriptions makes cooking more fun. Try it. Really. And furthermore, who says all those years of waitressing in restaurants to put myself through college went to waste? That’s pretty much how I learned to appreciate fine food, the people who create it, and the economic principles about using up what’s in your pantry.

And, of course, the reality is exactly that I am trying to bring our food costs down. The salmon needed to be eaten (dinner leftovers). The tomatoes were originally planned for a tomato mozzarella basil salad when I discovered some mold on the mozzarella (I don’t do mold on fresh mozzarella…not even a little bit). In desperation I found the small bit of goat cheese I had left and thought…why not? Let’s give it a go. The basil was because I picked it out of the garden for that other salad I was going to make and it seemed a shame to waste that effort.

And yeah, the balsamic reduction? I lied about that. I just drizzled some regular balsamic vinegar over it…but it sounded tasty and it really added to the description so I put it in there. If you have similar type ingredients lying around your pantry, give it a try. Personally, I’m always struggling to figure out ways to use up cooked salmon, because leftover fish is not always my favorite. Salmon is probably the easiest for me to repurpose, which is probably why it’s my go-to seafood dish. Oh yeah, and because it’s pretty easy to find fresh in Washington.

And then there is my other favorite part – waiting to see what my husband says about this new item on the menu…if anything. I’ll let you know.

Confessions of a Wannabe Marathoner

crabapplemusings

Full disclosure: I have been a solid 3 mile runner for a loooooong time. I’ve ratcheted that distance up to 5 miles every so often, but in terms of longer distances they didn’t really exist. And if you had asked me a year ago if I thought I’d ever run a marathon, the answer would have been a no. I didn’t have anything against the idea, but taking the time to train, hearing about friends who have had to ice their legs after long runs, and quite frankly, the sheer thought of 26.2 miles seemed a little bit…well…unnecessary.

At age 39 and at the end of last August, I turned up pregnant. It was a good surprise. However, knowing I was “elderly primigravida” we waited to tell our many friends and family about my condition. After the obligatory and endless 12 weeks, we started sharing the news and I started to really let the reality sink in that I would be having a baby May 2016. And then in mid-November, I miscarried at about 15 weeks.

Working through those emotions was not easy. On top of raging hormones, I had gained more weight than I would have liked that first trimester, and I started to break out with an eczema-type rash on my face. I cried a lot. Basically, I was kind of a disaster. Luckily, I have coping mechanisms, and those included long (for me) runs on the treadmill on dark and rainy Washington evenings and lots of loud music.

So there I am, running about 6 miles at a time, about 5 or 6 days per week, listening to Rage Against the Machine, and thinking. I thought about a lot of stuff. About the baby, about my husband, about my teenage daughter, about me, about where and how I wanted (the rest of) my life to go, about getting older, about how to get the damn rash to go away, about what to make for dinner, and eventually, I came to the conclusion (among other things) that maybe I should run a half-marathon as a goal. And I decided I wanted to run it in under 2 hours.

I didn’t really think about or research how to train. I just started to try to increase my speed, and I eventually was able to do 6.6 miles on the treadmill (flat mind you), in an hour. I thought, ok – well now you just have to do this for another hour, build up your conditioning, and there you have it. My knee kind of hurt from time to time, though, and my feet in the morning ached terribly so that it hurt to put weight on them. I tried new shoes, and I started to wonder if the half-marathon was a good idea. I did this for a couple of months, and eventually backed down on the runs as my mental state stabilized, my feet kept hurting, and other projects started taking my time.

Then, at a dinner at a friend’s house, I met a woman who runs marathons (among other spectacular things), who is close in age to me, and she invited me to start running with her group of ladies on Sundays. It’s a mixed group of runners, and they typically go 5 or 6 miles, at a 10-12 minute pace. Sometimes if certain people want to go longer, they fix the route so that some people run longer and meet up with those who don’t want to go as long. The terrain and group are varied: trails and road, hills to challenge, and people to chit chat with. A group of real women who run half and full marathons, who have families and work, and who deal with the ups and downs of life and running on Sundays when it works with their schedule.

These women who ran with me told me I could definitely do a half-marathon, and probably could do a full as well. So I signed up for the Seattle half-marathon in November 2016. In the meantime, I have been given encouragement, training books have been lent, distances have been increased (double-digit running: 10 miles! 14 miles!), and I have been given the fantastic fact that I don’t need to run in my training necessarily as fast as I wanted to run in the race. You don’t necessarily want to increase speed and distance at the same time or you can get hurt. Right….gotcha! My feet aren’t hurting, and although I still feel my knee sometimes, so far it’s been manageable.

But a funny thing happened when I hit the 14 mile mark. All of a sudden, I didn’t want to just do a half-marathon. I know I can do it (under 2 hours is still questionable, but distance-wise, I’m there). So, now I have my sights fixed on a full. I’m not sure I will get there. I’m not sure how my training will hold up with consistent longer (15, 18, 20 mile) runs. Heck, I’m not sure how my  (now almost-40 year old hanging on to 5 extra pounds) body is going to hold up. And having heard about the hills in the Seattle Marathon, I’ve thought long and hard about what the right first marathon might be (yeah, I’m a wimp when it comes to hills, especially after 10 miles have gone by).

So now I have my sights fixed on the GoodLife Fitness Victoria Marathon on October 9th. There are a lot of good reasons for this choice. Maybe some of my new friends will be racing. Victoria is a beautiful and fun place and I can get there by ferry without having to take my car over. I can maybe treat myself to a tea at the Empress after the race.

And most importantly…the course is supposed to be flat.

 

 

Why crab apple musings?

crabapplemusings

So, hello there. Envision a blog as a bit of the modern day diary. Reflections on daily life, funny anecdotes, the joys and sorrows, the boringness of “what I did today.” Basically, the general chronicling of all the thoughts that I know I will probably forget if I don’t put them somewhere and the somewhat narcissistic desire to pretend like they might actually be interesting and worth remembering.

Yes, I’ve been thinking about doing this for a long time. I’ve written blog posts in my head. I’ve thought about all the different topics I could write about. And then I discovered THE ONE GREAT TRUTH ABOUT STARTING A BLOG.

The hardest part about starting a blog might actually be figuring out what to call the damn thing.

So, the musings part is somewhat self-explanatory, yes? But crabapple. Yeah…what the heck is up with that? Well, basically I live in and try to improve upon a (slightly) decrepit but well-loved farmhouse, and I discovered that the apple trees in the front yard (probably planted by old Granny Crabtree herself…and yes, she was a real person) are actually crab apples. Beautiful in the spring when they flower. Kind of sour to eat though. Here is a picture of some of these trees with a friendly neighborhood resident who doesn’t mind eating crab apples:

IMG_2884

So then I tried to figure out the symbolism of the crab apple. Ever tried to figure out that kind of thing with the help of the all-knowing Google? Interesting stuff comes up. Like, crabapples can be used for a love spell, among many other interesting facts. And this little ditty from the Universe of Symbolism: “Crab apple tree is a symbol of youth, joy, and fairie magic and surprise…believing that anything is possible.”

Yeah! I mean fairie magic? It’s hard to go wrong with that. But the idea that anything is possible…well, that’s the kind of thing I like to put out to the universe. Or at least the internet.