OMENS

Every morning, just before seven, a murder of crows fly south over my house. I know this because this is what time I am out opening the chicken coop for the day and feeding the chickens. How very Little House on the Prairie this makes me sound, even though I am far from the prairie. Right around dusk, that same murder of crows fly back over my house in the direction they came from. I have no idea where they settle for the night or how they spend their day. I only know of their comings and goings. Back and forth. I only know their daily commute, but I wonder about them and where they go.

I have a friend I met through camp who is almost intimidating in her coolness. I feel every bit of my nerdy geek girl self when I am standing in her presence. I might as well be wearing broken glasses, taped together between the eyes and orthopedic shoes and my arms filled with all of my science textbooks that I’ve kept since college. She’s just badass and cool and she’s constantly driving off into sunsets on solo car/camping trips. She posts beautiful pictures of her surroundings and every time I see them, I feel a pang of jealousy. I find myself jealous of the position she puts herself in to be able to acquire those photos. I am jealous of the mindset that allows her to pack up the car and go. I’m not sure I have ever been in a pack up and go mental state. Not even in that brief period when I was single. Oh man, talk about missed opportunities. If there was any time in my life to run off on my own for a weekend, that would be it.

I think about where I was in my head at that time and realize that I did not have room in there for those kinds of thoughts. I am not the person I was then. I don’t feel like I’m the person I was this time last year. I sort of feel like I’ve become a person I don’t want to be. This is not an unusual feeling for me at this time of year; this is old self doubt. All the things I should be more of and less like. This feeling happens this time year because I leave so very little time for myself or I realize just how little time I have left for myself. Michael and the Cabbage will sleep until noon if left undisturbed. I move around the house extra quietly on Sundays to maximize my alone time. Every time I think I might get a day to myself, I always get shanghaied into something else and the things I had put on the top of my todo list get booted to the footnotes. But now I’m thinking of that murder of crows and how it would be nice to fly off somewhere for a day or two. Move those todo things out of the footnotes and back to the top of the list. Move myself from the footnotes to the top of the list.

Here is what my magic crystal eight ball predicts for the future. I will scoop up the dog, throw a change of clothes and toothbrush into a bag, grab my camera and jump into the car. I will choose a random spot on the map and go. Not just once. This is will be a regularly scheduled event. I have plans for myself in 2022.

THE LOBSTER

Frowny face

This is not a story of finding a soul mate or being turned into a lobster. This is a story our quest to make lobster rolls. Not just any lobster roll either. We wanted the lobster rolls that we ate while visiting Boston last summer. I read a news article about how lobsters are really cheap right now because Maine didn’t have any tourists. So, Michael and I went to Whole Paycheck and bought three lobster tails. We took them home and made very disappointing lobster rolls. There just wasn’t enough lobster meat and the flavors in the dressing from an online recipe I used just wasn’t quite right.

The next week we found ourselves watching the Bon Appetit channel on Ruku. The young chef on the screen said “Today, we’re making lobster rolls starting with live lobsters.” Michael and I sat riveted to the TV as we watched this guy cleanly and efficiently dispatch two lobsters, steam them, remove the cooked meat from the shells and mix up the perfect dressing for traditional Boston lobster rolls. We looked at each other, both of us realizing at the same time that our first attempt at making lobster rolls was all wrong. We had to start with live lobsters. That weekend, we traveled to the Asian food market and purchased two very large, live lobsters. They wrapped them up in a brown paper bag and we took them home, placing them into the fridge until it was time for dinner.

Let me start by saying that preparing dinner that night involved a lot of screaming. It started when I pulled the bag from the fridge. The bottom of the paper bag split open and the lobsters fell to the kitchen floor, legs wiggling and tails flapping. The two of us managed to pick the lobsters up and get them into the sink. Then I placed the first one on a cutting board. The chef had made it look so simple. Stab the knife into the base of the lobster head and the draw the knife down, splitting the head. Easy peasy. I watched a video for a quick refresher while my lobster slowly scooted backwards off the cutting board. I grabbed the lobster, placing him back on the cutting board, and while holding it still with my right hand and I pressed the tip of the knife to base of its head and pressed down. The knife didn’t go in. Lobster shells are really hard. I looked at Michael and said “I’m not sure I have the physical strength to do this.”

Now, it is important to say here that Michael’s arm is broken. We thought that it wasn’t, but the swelling and pain did not subside a week after his accident. He went to a bone and joint specialist who told Michael that he has three broken fingers and an elbow fractured in two places. He has splints on the fingers, but no cast on his arm. The doctor told Michael to not lift anything heavier than a toothbrush, pencil or fork. If he does everything right, he will not have to have surgery to repair the elbow. So, Michael with his broken arm, takes my place at the counter. He takes the knife and stabs into the lobster’s head. A black liquid then starts shooting out of the head and we started screaming. Michael picked up the lobster, its tail twitching, and threw it into our steamer pot. We stood there in the kitchen, both of us shaken and a little traumatized and then we looked at the second lobster still in the sink. Without saying a word, Michael picked it up, repeated the stabbing technique which went a little bit more smoothly and dumped the lobster into the pot. It was only after the deed was done that Michael said “You should have been recording all of that.” I didn’t even take pictures. Michael had just committed murder and I was an accomplice. Did we need video evidence of our crime?

We did manage to recreate the lobster rolls we had eaten in Boston. Actually, they turned out perfectly. Prior to this event, Michael and I had had a conversation about food. I said that I didn’t think I should eat anything I am not willing to kill on my own. Like, I could not kill a pig or a cow. I could kill and have killed a fish. I could not kill an octopus. They have nine brains and are smarter than humans. I said “I bet I could kill a lobster. They’re just giant bugs.” That turns out to not be true. Now that I think about it, I’m not all that good at killing regular land bugs. When met with a large spider in my house, I just look at it and say “I leave you alone and you leave me alone.” We come to understanding and just keep our distance from each other.

I guess this means that I can’t eat lobsters now.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Macaron

See this Instagram photo by @elephant_soap * 4 likes

The other night, all the dogs around us were barking like mad, including Josephine. I went out to see what the heck was going on and discovered an opossum on our neighbor's back porch. Also, the dog that belongs to one of the houses behind us was in the yard with the opossum. Josephine was barking at the dog who did not belong in that yard and the opossum who did not belong in that yard. Michael went next door to tell the neighbors that there was a large dog in their backyard and maybe to not let out their little Yorkie until things got sorted. No one answered the door. We closed up the dog door to the kitchen and I carted Josephine off to bed. She continued to growl for a good ten minutes at the crazy barking that was still going on outside. 

I must have drifted off at some point, but I woke up to strange sounds that I thought were coming from our basement. It sounded like Michael had taken something down into the basement to kill with a hammer and I could hear him pounding whatever it was. Then I realized that all the dogs had grown silent. I decided that Michael had grabbed the opossum and had dragged it into the basement to murder it just so he could get all the dogs in the neighborhood to shut up. I rolled over and went back to sleep, obviously not disturbed that Michael was murdering something in the basement. He's had to do it before when Albus has brought in half dead rats. 

The next day, I asked Michael about the basement and the murdering of an opossum. He looked at me like I had lost my mind. I described to him the noises I had heard and he said "Do you think that maybe the hammering you heard was really the sound of me breaking up almonds?" Apparently murdering an opossum sounds just like beating up a bag of almonds with a rolling pin. Michael also told me that the police showed up to deal with the dog. We don't know what happened to the opossum. I'm just thankful that Michael didn't murder the opossum. I am also thankful that dog was returned to his own backyard. 

This all seems like an odd moment of gratitude, but my brain is so scattered right now. I tend to get a little anxious before I travel. It's not the flying thing. It's all the packing and getting to places on time that gets me. Did I pack enough clothes? Did I pack the right kind of clothes? Is my baggage going to make it to my destination? That's not really a worry this time because I have a direct flight, but you get the idea. I always feel underprepared. I should have picked out all of the things I want to see at this conference by now. I should have studied a map of San Francisco. I should have done some research into food and yoga places, because San Francisco is the home of Yoga Journal and crazy hippy health foods. Right now, I've decided to leave it all up to chance and just be thankful for the opportunity to go.

I am thankful for snuggle weather where the cat snuggles in on one side of me on the couch and the dog snuggles in on the other side. I am thankful for baked potatoes and macarons. I am thankful for you. Have a lovely weekend and a spectacular Thankful Friday!