Life is Like a Bowl of Soup

One of the consequences of packing up and moving to an unknown frontier is living with the fruit of educated guesses on how best to prepare. Not knowing what kind of place I would be landing—how large or small, how public or private—made for some trade-offs on what to bring and what to leave behind.

Some of my guesses were right on target, like picking up a used pub table and stools for dining. The set I found was exactly the right fit in my new basement apartment.

The same cannot be said for either of my ‘small’ couches. Both are in storage, being too wide to make it through the narrow doorways to my dwelling.

Some choices can only be filed under, “What was I thinking??” A ten-quart soup pot? There is no way that the small nation I could feed with that thing would ever fit in my comfy walk-out basement abode.

A few nights ago, I decided to make a pot of soup as the vehicle for using up the many odds and ends I had in my refrigerator.

I was conceiving in my head something creamy, that would encompass all the vegetables I intended upon throwing in the pot. I opened one of my cookbooks and found a recipe for a creamy cauliflower soup that I thought I could use as the basis for my creation.

Let me first say, making two quarts of soup in a ten-quart pot is just weird. The entire time I felt like I was missing something BIG in the process. And yet, lots of stuff went in the pot: chicken stock, a couple red potatoes, cauliflower, radishes, cucumber, a little broccoli, onion, carrots, celery, a few spinach leaves.

Then, I realized that some of the more exotic spices, I did not have. So I improvised. Cardamom became arugala. Beyond a stretch. Lemon juice became baked garlic. What? Yeah, I know. But as I always say, garlic is the culinary equivalent of duct tape. That stuff will fix whatever’s wrong in the pot! Kind of reminds me of a certain someone I know.

As I began simmering all the ingredients, another key problem hit me. I left all the food processor-y type appliances behind with the other community property holder. Kinda hard to make a creamy soup when you can't cream all the stuff up, no? So, fork in hand, I began mashing the soup along the side of the pan. It took close to half an hour, but I got stuff sort of smashed up. And when it was all said and done, the texture was actually really great—better than pureed.
As I sat eating what turned out to be a rather delicious concoction, I realized that the evening’s meal was something of an allegory for many of the changes going on for me lately.

Sometimes, we don’t have what we think we need in life to get by, but when we’re open to working with what we have around us, sometimes it all turns out for the better.

Just Passin' Through is Just Catchin' Up...

I haven’t blogged in ages. Eight and a half months to be exact. And it feels like an eternity. A lot has happened in that time, some of it I’ll never talk about. And some things, I’m dying to throw out there.

For the good of the order, let me set a couple things straight for everyone. This is a blog. MY blog. No one is forcing you to read it. If you find it profane, in poor taste, whiny, poorly written, inappropriate, or some other disdainful thing, please feel free to not read it. Not everyone gets my perspective, my sense of humor, or my proclivity for unearthing the absurdities in my own existence. I accept that, and even embrace it. Diversity is what makes us all unique.

I don’t mean to sound bitchy here, but this space is optional for all of us. No one is tattooing it to your person, or forcing you at gunpoint to read it. Stay or go, I’ll love you either way. Please just understand that I may not be as moved by your criticisms as you’d like me to be.

Now, with that said, a few highlilghts:

As some of you may know, the past year has been one of extreme, exacerbating, and excruciating change for me and some of those around me. My son is now living with his dad in Canby. My daughter is in college. I am living and working in Colorado, due in part to California’s shipwrecked economy. I am re-writing the first draft of my first novel because the computer and flash drive that the manuscript was on have vanished off the face of the earth. Or at least that’s what it seemed like after I accepted what felt like an upending defeat.

I am divorced from the man I’d intended on spending the rest of my life with, having learned, among other things, that he is fervently delighted that I and my “considerable ass” have left the state. I will refrain for the moment from speaking about the cross-application of the term “considerable ass.” Life goes on, whether we want it to or not, in ways we sometimes cannot expect and for which we cannot prepare.

Moving to Colorado was initially just for financial reasons. I wasn’t making it on my own in California, due to the economy, my still unfinished education, and the crush of outside factors converging upon my life’s path.

What I’ve come to understand is that this move has had the positive, but unintended consequences of being cathartic, regenerative, and a real time of personal discovery. I’ve learned that I possess a resilience I didn’t know I had. I have learned that northern California is not the only piece of this nation’s landscape that has woven itself into my very being. I have learned that as terrifying as it is for me to trust people, there are some amazing folks rooting for me, and even going to bat for me.

On February 10th, my Senior Logistician and I loaded up a U-Haul with an assortment of my belongings. After a couple stops in the Central Valley so that he could interview for jobs, The Senior and I headed toward Colorado, via I-80, through the Sierras, all of Nevada, Utah, and a bit of Wyoming, before landing in the Rocky Mountains.

Honestly, that much of life’s experience was rather numbing and overwhelming. New job, moving logistics, emotional good-byes to family, friends, and what has been home for most of my life.

On February 16th, I started a new job with Douglas County Human Services. I am working as a grant and contract administrator. A job I know well, and am enjoying. I work with a great bunch of people. I have an honest-to-goodness office. Not a cubicle, not an officle (word attributed to Melissa Janulewicz), not a desk shoved in a corner somewhere. A four-walls-and-a-door office. And if that weren’t enough, a window with a view.


A view of the Colorado “foothills.” That’s another game changer for me. Being from California, my frame of reference for ‘foothills’ are rolling inclines of 1-2,000 feet that meet with their higher, more mountainous counterparts. In Colorado, because we’re already a mile high, foothills start at about 6,000 feet or so.

Strange juxtaposition. And probably just one of many that I will be sharing with you here. Stay tuned.