More than hopeful

I'm positively giddy.

It's been months since I've felt this way. The puzzle of life seems to be in a piecing-itself-together phase instead of the more maddening throw-it-on-the-floor-and-stomp-angrily-on-it phase.

We finally finished the chicken coop (in the city!) with a run in the backyard attached to a "hen house" in the garage. We have four feathered, clucking, and soon-to-be-egg laying hens in the backyard. They're of various breeds and make a very pretty flock. Their individual personalities are charming. Below is one of my favorites, (am I allowed to have a favorite?) Clara. She's not particularly bright, but she's very curious and loves to be held and fed by hand.



I finally landed a job. As P said, "It's about fucking time someone realized how great you are." Thank you, P. It's not a life changing or particularly stimulating job, but it has wonderful hours (my first "nine to fiver" kind of job) and the boss actually offered me a decent wage. He seems to be a genuine guy. Hopefully this holds true. At the very least, this will literally buy me some time to figure something else out.

I checked on my application status for the UofM today. It simply said, "We've made a decision and have sent you a letter." What good is an application status report if it doesn't actually tell you what the deal is?! Hopefully the good luck continues and the letter tomorrow doesn't rain on my shining and thrilling parade.

I got a package in the mail from a place I had applied to and interviewed with a long time ago. They sent me a pound of coffee and a rather thoughtful rejection letter. Seeing as how I've landed some other employment, this was like icing on the cake. Being turned down never felt, smelled, or tasted so good.

Since the conversation with my new boss offering me something to do on the weekdays, I have had three call backs on other jobs I had applied to. It's forever true - when it rains, it pours.

I made spring rolls tonight and they were delicious in fresh-from-the-garden mint and basil-y kind of way. I botched the peanut sauce and then fixed it. I was impressed if I do say so myself.

P and I are going out for a celebration dessert, dinner, and activity on Friday. I'm a-goin' fishin' with P and his parents at a local trout farm on Saturday. And next week we head north to visit mi papa and join the herds at the Winnipeg Folk Festival. When we return, all deaf and crispy from the sun, I start the new job.

I am so ready for this new chapter.

Let the games begin.

Let it be Known

I need to document this moment.

I feel hopeful.

These past few months have been a long series of frustrations, general malaise and (dare I say it?) depression.

This is a time of transition. I've spent the last few years bumming around, novel job to novel job, picking up various skills like farming, mechanical know-how, bits of languages, cooking...

I've travelled, taught myself to knit, become SCUBA certified, rode bikes drunk around the big city in the middle of the night with dozens of like-minded people. I've worked to "get out the vote." Developed long standing and endearing relationships with lots of children. Watched the family get bigger. Watched my father's health deteriorate and stabilize, deteriorate and stabilize. Helped P with home-brewing. Hell, met P and created a relationship that might just last awhile.

I've had it good. Really, I have. After a long, abusive and unstable childhood I created my own fantastical early adulthood filled with adventure and dreams-come-true. It has been all I had hoped for during those awful childhood hours where I had no control.

But now comes the other part of those hoped-for childhood ambitions: a stable life. A solid relationship. A house with a huge garden, a magical, whimsical one if I have my say. A fulfilling career. A conscientious approach and a modest ecological footprint.

With the recent failing job search, a dwindling bank account, a tough economy, and little education I've felt as if Part II is impossible. It has seemed as if those long, bony fingers of fate were going to wrap their iron fists around my dream and send me packing to McDonald's with an application waving desperately in my hand. "You've had your fun," the voice would cackle, "And you're mine now! The apple never falls far from the tree and you're going to end up just like those who birthed you."

My father has been divorced six times. He elderly and ailing, living alone in a sparse trailer on property owned by my aunt and uncle. He cannot drive or even walk to the mailbox. He owns little and survives on the grace of 26 medications daily. It seems he's lucky to have served in the armed forces. At least his substantial medical bills are covered.

My mother has struggled every day of her life. By some force or another everything seems more complicated in her presence. Her motherly vibe isn't one of peace and stability, it is one of turbulence and interminable frustration. Everything is a battle in her life, and they can never be won or simply lost. She must fight, continually.

I want something different, something more. And thus far I've been able to realize my hopes. But until this moment, anything more has seemed a pipe dream. But this is where I come to this moment.

I have hope. For the first time in months I feel a flickering, a burning, a daring to think bigger.

It must be documented. I will need to return to this moment. I've made it so far and I can make Part II happen. I will.

Sunday Scribblings - Spicy

I went off to college with little culinary ability besides my famous hot pot version of Kraft Cheesy Macaroni. Two years later I quit college because I wanted to learn to cook.

Well, that wasn't the only reason I quit, but it was a major determining factor.

I've always craved big, bold flavors like fantastically spicy salsas, enchanting curries, and oatmeal cookies with three times more cinnamon than the recipe dictates. When I discovered fresh ground pepper I also discovered I liked, no loved, pepper. The paltry powder of my previous life was never worthy of consumption. But fresh ground pepper is the gateway to paradise.

After leaving school I also left home, got a crummy job in a large retail store for a barely livable wage, and a tiny ten-foot by ten-foot efficiency. Boy, it was efficient - less than ten steps from the far corner kitchen sink to the opposite corner toilet.

I had few friends and no social life. I remember those days, nights, in my brightly lit tin-box of a kitchen experimenting with spices. I wanted to unlock the secret of Indian curries, call forth the symphony of Thai coconut curries, steep myself in homemade cinnamon teas.

I remember the first time I cracked a pod of green cardamom with my new mortar and pestle. The sharp, stringent aroma a dazzling slap in the face. I remember carefully toasting cumin seeds and letting the scent coat my clothes and hair. I remember the first sharp bite of fennel seeds in one of my first wildly successful cooking experiments - dhal. I gleefully, albeit gluttonously, ate the whole pot. I remember slowly (as the strictly saved pennies allowed) stocking a spice pantry and noting with satisfaction that everything was whole. I would grind it all myself, as needed.

I remember creating recipes, slowly discovering how spices flirted, danced and warred with each other in dishes and drinks. I remember toasting (and burning) them and wallowing in their magnificence. I remember when I learned, with astonishment, that cinnamon wasn't inherently sweet. Neither was cardamom or nutmeg. They could all be used in savory dishes as well.

And it never gets old. How fresh toasted cumin or simmering cinnamon sticks make me salivate. How coriander seeds crack so satisfactorily in the marble morter. The subtle tones of saffron that leave a faint hint on the fingers. How dill marries a fried egg so well. The beautiful ridges and hollows of whole star anise. How fresh parsley and garlic top the dried a thousand times over anyday. Spices (and herbs), my dear, are the spice of life. We are, after-all, what we eat.

And I think I'm finally ready to go back to college. I submitted an application last week.

Everyday is Friday the 13th

Still no job.

And no real prospects. Even though I've sent out dozens of resumes and cover letters.

I feel like I've accidentally typed a bold, capitalized F*CK YOU on top of my resume. I mean there must be some reason why employment is eluding me so persistently.

Oh world, why are you conspiring against me? When will my luck turn? I'm becoming very superstitious, sighing gratefully when I find a head-up quarter or see a rainbow. "This must be it," I think, "my luck is changing."

So far it's just superstition and it's not working.