In The Meantime I Can Practice My Piano---Rethought---And Rethought Again

Yesterday Lucy and I were downtown eating a baked potato.

We had decided to visit the fair early before it was too hot and filled with too many bodies. We pushed our strollers around until we became distracted by the stuffed potatoes we saw others eating. So we bought two ourselves, with water and a cola and found a nice bench to sit, eat and watch people stroll around.

There was a couple--a young couple--who walked past us and stopped. Lucy, who has uncanny observation skills, noticed that they were conspicuously talking and looking at us. At this point in our lives, we sorta get that a lot. People stare or whisper and we awkwardly pretend not to notice. This time it was amusing because we could tell that the male in the relationship had no idea who we were, and the female was trying to refresh his memory.

"Remember? I told you about them? They have a blog. And write stuff about stuff?"

Just as we were watching this funny exchange, a couple--an older couple--approached us.

"Oh now, you girls are cute." said the woman dressed to the nines in red, white and (what is that other color?) "Could I give you a catalog?" she asked while handing us each a thick Avon magazine.

"Thanks." Lucy and I said in unison, our tone perhaps showing off our hesitation.

"We'd just love it if two cute moms like yourselves would like to come work with us!" said the husband, heroically taking advantage of an opportunity.

"Have you ever thought about working from home?" asked she.

"Actually, " I started, hoping to end the conversation quickly. "I work from home and it keeps me really busy." So busy that I would never have time to push Avon. Now that is for sure.

"What do you do?" asked he.

"I am a writer." I responded, confidently for my sake.

I glanced over at the couple who had found seats across from us on the grass. Still watching us and quietly talking.

"We have a client who has a blog! Do you have a blog?" the man continued, desperate to make a connection.

"I do have a blog. Some blogs are family keepsakes with photos, mine is a literary blog. It is where I do most of my writing." Admittedly there was frustration in my response. I am a career blogger at this point, it is my work-from-home profession and it is more than a hobby. Different from a digital scrapbook of memories, here is where I focus on improving my thinking and writing skills. I have a private blog where I keep cute pictures of The Chief eating cake and petting cats, but my official blog is less mommy more me.

"What do you write about?" he was serious.

"I am a personal essayist." I said blinking.

"What does that mean?" he blinked back.

"I am a professional narcissist." I replied, looking back to the couple watching our exchange.

They were gone.

"Well," said the woman, jumpy and ready to please. Her voice raised two octaves as she said, "How about two free samples of . . . AVON HAND LOTION!"

"Thanks." Lucy and I simultaneous said again. Same hesitant tone.

When they left I looked at Lucy and we agreed it was time to leave.

Before we could exit, we were stopped again by another sweet reader. Everyone always wants to know how Stephanie is doing, the real name of The Chief, how is Lucy enjoying motherhood. People are so good to us. So, so good.

Which makes me think I need to be good back. And lately, I don't know if I've been my best blogger. And I want to be my best. If you are going to click on my blog, I am want to make it worth your time. Because if I make it worth your time, then I am making it worth my own.

I take this professional narcissism seriously. You see.

So I've decided to take a break for a couple weeks. To see if I still have the wits to be witty. To catch the cleverness that seems to have escaped. To meditate, mull and muse.

If you don't hear back from me, just know I've decided to sell Avon.

And there is nothing wrong with that.


PLEASE TAKE NOTE:
I will continue my other two blogs so please, please keep visiting me here and here:

See you again here on c jane enjoy AUGUST 3rd!

And really,

thanks for being so good.

Post-Edit:
At the risk of sounding like I am putting down polka-dotted blogs (which I don't mean to, because who could love polka-dot more than me?) I have edited to clarify that I am not a hobbiest blogger, I am a professional blogger. Which is what I originally meant to say, but it came out wrong.

Now you see why I need a little break.

Post Post-Edit:
Chup and I were just having a very frank discussion about this post. I can't leave it up on top of my main blog for a whole month when it continues to cause me anxiety. I can't have eye twitches while I am supposed to be seeking blogging enlightenment. I can't. I can't.

And here is what I am learning. Posts are like boyfriends to me. When I am writing one, I am serious, loyal and dedicated, but as soon as the next boyfriend/post comes along, the previous post simmers in my pool of past relationships.

But here I am about to court this last post for a month. I want to get it right. I need to get it right. My blogging break depends on it.

Something isn't right about this post, it is my tone.

Chup was painfully explaining to me that I didn't go far enough in letting my audience know that this post was about self-deprecation. How I hadn't explained that in a moment of pride, I told the Avon representatives that I was a professional narcissist. How at that exact moment, the young couple looking at us had moved on to better things. How I confess that I can do better as a writer, and be a better example of my family and religion.

If you didn't read it that way, I am sorry. I am. Otherwise it sounds like I was just taking an opportunity to tell you what a celebrity blogger I am (that is a link to a snarky post by Azucar who has no problem with outing herself as a celebrity blogger, should we all be so confident).

On my forum discussing this post, a reader says she is leaving me because I've been full of myself lately and this is the post was the last straw. I wrote this essay with the same thought. I meant to illustrate her exact point, and end with my pledge to do better. We are holding the same last straw, me and her, only I hope that in a month from now I will be using it to drink Humility Lemonade.

That is, if I can get past this post first.

Ode Canada!

Chup and I try to celebrate Canada Day every July 1st. I mean, who doesn't?

I was a missionary in Montreal, Quebec back when things were dated with 199_. As anyone knows, Quebec is a gift to Canada. Should the rest of Canada forget, Quebec will secede. Or at least spend decades threatening the possibility. Do you love the drama? I was surely sent to the right place.

For this reason, I never saw much celebration for Canada Day while living in Quebec. But you should see the debacle of St. Jean Baptiste Day. I mean, I actually don't know what it is like because we were asked to lock our doors, duct tape our windows, and hole up inside our apartment until the holiday was over. But we heard reveling on the streets. Tell you what, eh?

I would celebrate St. Jean Baptiste Day but then I'd feel like a traitor to the rest of Canada. Even though, I feel my inner Quebecois. I even pronounce Quebec like this: K-bec. According to Forvo three out of five Quebecois pronounce it the same way. I also like turquoise, nudity, tarte au sucre, Mickey Mouse Christmas lawn ornaments and Celine (hangnails and gobstoppers, I love Celine).

So as to not hurt any one's feelings (Quebec or the rest of Canada) Chup and I celebrate Canada Day by eating Quebec's poutine (thanks to a reader, poutine packets were shipped straight from the motherland) and drinking Ontario's Canada Dry Ginger Ale. This way we have all our bases covered. But still, sometimes I feel uneasy. How do I please everyone?

Last night we ate and drank in our pajamas as we watched a rousing episode of you So You Think You Can Dance. When Karla and Vittolio performed Quebecois Jean-Marc Généreux's quick step to Montreal citizen Rufus Wainwright's Putting on the Ritz suddenly the poutine tasted just right.

La, tu sais?

Gay La!

Every year on c jane enjoy it (and some of my sibling's blogs) I take time to post photos of our Family Gala. This is a night where we are guests of Christopher and Lisa. We dress up, eat spectacular food, are entertained by guest artists, and take time to honor several people in our family who have made considerable contributions to our family, community and country. We look forward to this occasion all year long and last night was no disappointment.

We dined,
laughed
and reacted to gossip:

We had Lisa's
I-can't-wait-to-have-those-again-next-year
stuffed mushrooms:

We celebrated Ric's birthday
(along with his beautiful wife and daughter):

Nie wore her patriotic leg bandages
and Lindsay wore a bright blue skirt
and my dad wore the top part of his tux:

Chup was on business leave,
so my brother Matt
stepped in to be my date
(his wife Katy
is doing due diligence
at Girls Camp):

We were feeling romantic:

And that is when Mindy Gledhill came out to perform:

(who made us all cry, and thank God that we were alive to be present).

This year we had a reporter at our event,
the beautiful Jaimee Rose
(who is more like a dear friend
than a reporter):

We all went home
thinking about next year:

The Self Portrait Saint

Man, I am feeling misunderstood.

I guess my last post caused quite a controversy in my community and inbox. Some people thought it was embarrassing, uncomfortable, not virtuous, seductive, line-crossing, bordering into the land of "food pornography."

There was discussion about the photo I used, the idea being that the angle was suggestive.

I appreciate a thorough examination of what I am as a writer, I really do. I publish myself knowingly and subject myself to opinions and feedback--I consider all that I gather. The formula is this: if feedback hurts I've got work to do.

After reading comments and emails I found I was not hurt by any of them, but a little confused. Sometimes when my reality gets a bit whimsical, I rely on a team of advisers to pull me back into re-examination. In this instance, I became somewhat interested in knowing what those closest to me thought of my post.

One reader suggested I was not listening to my mother's advice about modesty--as made manifest in posted picture. So I called my mother.

"Did my last post go against what you are trying to teach me about modesty?"

"Huh? What was your last post about?" The Councilwoman responded, unphased.

"About eating at Rooster." I reminded.

"Um, no honey, I didn't think anything about it, other than it sounded like a nice night." She sounded a bit disinterested.

"And what about the photo I posted, did you think it was immodest?"

"What was the photo of?" I was beginning to think she hadn't really read.

"Of me with chopsticks reaching over to eat Chup's plate."

"Let me get on the computer and see for myself."

Then there was typing noises and the dog barking in the phone, all while I was waiting in line at Sonic for a Route 44. The Chief was in the back having a one-sided conversation with Chup's work name tag.

"I don't see anything wrong with the photo." My mother said in finality, as though she were sitting at her seat in the council chamber wrapping up a vote.

'Thanks Mom."

Next I took time to ask my sister-in-law Megan who happens to be one of the most normal people I know. She's never too salty or too serious, always just about right.

"What?" She responded when I told her about the feedback. I took it as a sign that she too was a little confused about the fuss.

Instead she asked me to come over to her house for dinner, which I sadly had to refuse because it was my best friend Wendy's barbecue and pool party. How do I have the time for all the fun?

Then Chup, on our date night, eating sushi:

"When you took that photo of me, were you trying to make it about my anatomy, rather than the food?" because Chup would do that, let's just make that clear.

"No. Oh gosh. No." He said as I watched him swallow a Dynamite Roll. (Don't eat Dynamite Rolls unless your ears need a good steaming. This sushi tip was brought to you by me in the middle of this post.)

As it stood, I still felt pretty good about the post. Though maybe I haven't done my job making clear what my blog is about, or what I am about. I think I may have caught some off-guard.

Allow me: I am a Latter Day Saint blogger who seeks after experiences that excite my senses and teaches me about my soul. When the Lord tells me in the Doctrine & Covenants that the fullness of the earth is for "taste and for smell, to strengthen the body and enliven the soul" to "please the eye and gladden the heart" I take it seriously. I believe that divine experiences fill our soul with love and joy--and this is how we judge our moments, from eating . . . to worshiping, did I exit that experience as a more enlightened human being?
Did I gain light, knowledge and understanding?
I was able to rediscover my premortal self?
Do I feel charitable towards humanity?
Was I taught?
Did I listen?
Did it make me want to testify of the love of the Lord?

With this framework I negotiate my way through life. For example, I don't rely on a movie rating system to choose which movies are appropriate for me. (I have seen many PG 13 movies with massive regret.) I do my homework, and seek out movies that will entertain the best part of me. I try to choose wisely what to feed my senses, but I do not subscribe to narrow streets with no opportunities of expansion. I believe that Christianity--with its building blocks of faith, repentance, baptism and confirmation--should be thrilling, full of waiting treasures (" even hidden treasures") and uncovering of "mysteries of God." I believe in baptizing my soul in the best of what this earthy experience has to offer, within the bounds of a wise God. I don't do hallucinogenic drugs, but I have hallucinated with joy. So did Ammon. All of this to say, if I thought my religion was strictly puritanical, I would lose interest and leave. Even still, like most saints around me, I try, I fail, I repent, I listen to council, I want to obey, I hopefully renew covenants, I pray for personal revelation.

(This long-winded explanation of my personal religious theory was also, ahem, brought to you by me.)

On Saturday night Page and I attended an evening church fireside for the adults in our area. After the meeting was over we stopped to say hello to some of our neighbors. Happily, I bumped into the admirable wife of our Stake President (see Wikipedia for what a Stake President does) .

"I just read your blog about Rooster. I must go. It sounds so good."

And I don't know, the Stake President's wife? I like that company.

(I hope I am making sense.)




*Chup and I love this April 2009 Conference Talk by Elder Allan Packer Finding Strength in Challenging Times. We strive to subscribe to what he teaches about personal revelation.

To Partake in Whole

As usual Chup and I were really late. And I was nervous about that fact.

It was a balmy evening and we were out gathering needs for our upcoming trip. When we walked into the restaurant we identified many of our neighbors sitting at the brown and black tables among modern decor, talking and adding to the steam fogging up the windows.

"Sorry we are late." I said to Simy, our friend and restaurant owner.

"You are right on time. The food is just now coming out."

We took seats next to Andrew and Milli who call Accra, Ghana home, but are graciously accepting of our comparatively scaled-down town. Across from us, on the cozy communal table were Andy's parents, proud that their son and daughter-in-law were able to create a restaurant, a menu, an atmosphere and community centered around taste and flavor.

And here it was, the rehearsal dinner, one night before the grand opening.

First they brought out dumplings--vegetarian ones with slaw on the side, we sat like lobsters, our chopsticks ready to clinch. We experimented with dips, ginger, oil, pepper while talking about how we had fasted for this moment.

Then the beef dumplings--the smell of which coaxed me out of vegetarianism. By the end of the night, I had converted to a carefree carnivore. The sweet beef, the soft ribs, spicy pork in each dish ate me, instead. When the ginger chicken was delivered I partook, and could not help but partake again. Chup fed me bites as I sat in a stupor. I was drunk from flavor, conversation and swashing of tepid water.

It was warm in the restaurant. As more dishes were presented--nests of noodles, steamy rice, shrimp dumplings--the higher the inside temperature became. Our glasses dripped with wet, our words became more familiar, I felt my insecurity vanish inside of me. The food made me spellbound and I could not help but want express my adoration to everyone in the dinning room.

And I did, at least I think I did. I got up and moved from friend-to-friend telling them my inner most thoughts about how much I admired them, for their goodness and bravery. Something in the entrees made me do it, and I was glad. My soul felt soft and comfortable.

When Simy brought out her divine lava cake and whipped topping I was bordering consciousness.

"I can't do it." I leaned on Chup, sweating and tipsy.

"One bite." He coaxed me with his deep voice, he too was inebriated from the same.

But it was too much. The explosion of dark, thick chocolate inside a thin layer of cake took my spirit and carried away with it. I was no longer my own, my will was handed over to the gods of food and wine. Although, wine was not necessary, because I was buzzing without percent.

"I need to go home." I whispered to my husband, wanting to crawl in bed and dream of the evening.

But before we could go, I looked at Simy and Andy standing next to each other, watching the crowd before them grovel at their substance. All of their patrons were under their influence of love and spice. Simy was glowing and Andy was smiling. At that moment--in my borderline hallucinogenic state--I thought there were not two more beautiful people on this planet.

When I had hugged the last of friends and strangers alike ("Thanks for sitting by us, I love you, no I really love you like to infinity. And beyond!"), Chup pulled me out the door and we stumbled out to the windy night.

In bed I reclined paralyzed thinking about the effects of the evening. I was a virgin of sorts, having had my first experience with a true gastronomic intoxication. Ambiance, aroma and affection--it was all there.

I fell asleep thinking about everyone I had ever known from--birth til now--how much I loved that person, wished I could tell them.

And woke up with a hang over.






Thanks Simy and Andy,

You make the most interesting neighbors.

-c jane

Restaurant:

Rooster Noodle and Dumpling Bar