V. Day 2013, Part II

Yeah, I know it’s a week later, but I’ve been revising, and that’s my right as a writer.  If you want to complain, I guess that’s your prerogative, too.  Just don’t expect me to listen.  As it is said, complaining is like sitting in a rocking chair.  It gives you something to do, but it doesn’t really get you anywhere.

For those who just want me to finish the story, keep your pants on (please!) while I explain to those who are lost that they need to go back and read the previous post (14 February 2013) to catch up.  Hurry up.  I won’t wait long.

In honor of the “holiday” that, in my opinion, is a mild form of the extortion of the males of this species, I ordered Amy flowers, which were delivered on the 13^th— lilies and orchids (I think).  On the actual day itself, I had to go to class (boo!)   So, I had my colleague (Thanks, Katrina!) drop off a package at my house while I scooted off to sit in a hard, plastic chair for another 150 minutes.

The package contained one stuffed skunk—plush, not a taxidermy special, one card which read “Happy Stinkin’ Valentine’s Day!,” and one poem (which has since been revised).  Awwww.

How’s that for Mr. Unromantic?

For those who care, or are curious, here’s the poem in its most recent version.

“Portal to Your Soul”

Reposing on the gentle bank,

                                                                                              I gaze into

your soul’s portal:

two hazel pools

where I can skip glances

across the glistening surface

or flirt with the smile

hiding and dancing

behind the gray-green

stained-glass—

flecks of brown and gold

and blue floating,

reflecting

the laughter

and life.

But it’s the calm, dark profundity

beneath the shallows

that intrigues me most,

lures me in,

and keeps me captive,

spellbound as a waxless sailor straining

to hear the siren’s song,

longing to

fall in and drown

in your depths.

And in return, I received the most freaking awesome V Day present ev-er.

BACON ROSES! CRAZY DELICIOUS!

V.Day 2013, Part I

In my mind, this is how it started.  One night at dinner, the kids were discussing valentines and their upcoming elementary school parties.  I believe it was Brooklyn who mentioned that she didn’t want to give a valentine to a certain person in her class, and Zac, being ten, suggested that she give him one that said something rather malicious.  Immediately Amy corrected his pre-teen-ness.  I, having subjected myself to dealing with seventh graders who had been especially moronic that day, mumbled under my breath, “You could just say ‘Happy Stinkin’ Valentine’s Day!’”

Of course, Zac heard it and burst into fits of laughter.  Amy and the rest heard it, and being the good father that I am, downplayed what I had said and rendered my comment inappropriate.  And the conversation went on.  But unbeknownst to the rest, an idea had hatched in my brain.

Earlier that day I had been contemplating using Naomi Shihab Nye’s poem “Valentine for Ernest Mann” in my classes.  I’ve referenced that poem before (see the entry for 24 March 2011), but for those who are unfamiliar with it, I’ll include the full text here:

“Valentine for Ernest Mann”

You can’t order a poem like you order a taco.

Walk up to the counter, say, “I’ll take two,”

and expect it to be handed to you

on a shiny plate.

Still, I like your spirit.

Anyone who says, “Here’s my address,

write me a poem,” deserves something in reply.

So I’ll tell you a secret instead:

poems hide.  In the bottoms of our shoes,

they are sleeping.  They are the shadows

drifting across our ceilings the moment

before we wake up.  What we have to do

is live in a way that lets us find them.

Once I knew a man who gave his wife

two skunks for a valentine.

He couldn’t understand why she was crying.

“I thought they had such beautiful eyes.”

And he was serious.  He was a serious man

who lived in a serious way.  Nothing was ugly

just because the world said so.  He really

liked those skunks.  So, he re-invented them

as valentines and they became beautiful.

At least, to him.  And the poems that had been

       hiding

in the eyes of skunks for centuries

crawled out and curled up at his feet.

Maybe if we re-invent whatever our lives give us

we find poems.  Check your garage, the odd

    sock

in your drawer, the person you almost like, but

    not quite.

And let me know.

So I was thinking about skunks and their beauty.  And then I remembered one of my first experiences interacting with Amy.  It was February or March of 1996 when this incident happened, and we were both in the Missionary Training Center preparing to proselytize for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—I was going to Spain, and Amy was headed to Guatemala.  Our time was drawing short before we all left for our respective assignments.  On my own, I had come up with nicknames (in Spanish) for some of the people in my district that reflected one facet of their personality; however, I hadn’t finished with everybody.

One evening, as I was finished with my studying, I glanced around the room to work on my name collection (Side note: I never finished it.), and I saw Amy (Hermana Walker at the time).  She was wearing a black jumper with some lighter flower prints on it.  She looked up for a moment, and her bright shining eyes contrasted against her dark hair and her dress.  And a perfect image came to mind: a skunk.  (Another important side note: it was those same gorgeous eyes that first attracted me to her when we met again two years later.)

When she found out that I called her a skunk, I believe I hurt her feelings until I explained that I was thinking of Flower from Disney’s Bambi—because of her eyes.  I don’t know if she believed me at first, but it was the truth.  She definitely wasn’t a stinker.  That would have been some of the others.

So I took the skunk images, both from the poem and my nickname for Amy, and added it to the dinnertime conversation, and I conjured an excellent idea for my valentine!

To be continued…

(Tune in to Part II if you want to see this all ties together.  Mwa-ha-ha-ha!)

Don't Hold Your Breath

By my calculations, I left you hanging with four undelivered food posts from December.  As a peace offering in my attempts to make good, I am posting today about some dadgumlicious pork chops I made the other day.  They were so awesome that I didn't even take a picture of them when I ate them.  I had to wait and capture the leftovers.  The subtlety of the garlic was even better after they hung out in the fridge overnight.

Chops with rice, gravy, and apple slices.

Ingredients for the breading include crushed Ritz crackers, Parmesan cheese, a healthy helping of garlic powder, sage, and a touch of salt.  Smear the chops in plain yogurt before coating.  These are single-coated, but I've been known to double coat as well.  Some of you might remember that crazy P-day/transfer day where our apartment in Jerez turned into pork chop central for everybody passing through.  Dang, those were scrumptious!

The gravy is cream of mushroom soup and sour cream--nice and thick.

These were baked, but frying is good, too, just not as healthy.

So, there. One down, three to go. Don't expect them at any regular intervals.  I'm trying to be a little healthier and lower my sugar intake.  We'll see how that goes.

Introspection

About a week ago I noticed that my previous post was my two hundredth since I started in October of 2009.  I thought I should attempt to compose something profound, but this ramble will have to suffice. I took some time and thought about why I even started Joe Average Writer.  Good question since I can’t seem to manage keeping up with it.  The establishment of this blog was supposed to be, for me, a step away from my comfort zone, a “leap” into technology with which I was not familiar.  It has been.

But now I am comfortable; despite the fact that I am a little lax in my posting (despite my best road-paving intentions).  I still do not consider myself a professional blogger, nor will I ever.  And I still consider my postings selfish.  I do this blog primarily for me, not my readers, or those random people who stumble onto my ramblings.  Sorry, but it’s the truth.  If you are offended, well…that’s your deal.  Hopefully you can glean something from my introspection today.

Writing has been an outlet for me: a way to reflect and remember, a way to think and learn, a way to challenge myself and grow as a writer as well as a teacher and a human being.  Sometimes the writing extends to others.  You can usually tell which posts have a target audience and which ones are just for me.  This, for example, is more for my own sanity.  I need to write.  It helps me deal with my thoughts, interactions, experiences, and my self.  (Yes, I meant to leave that as two words.)

So, as I continue to write, perhaps those few who read this will realize that you are witnessing me happen.  It’s raw.  Genuine.  Granted, it’s an asynchronous observation of bits and pieces of what’s flying around the Ninja blender that is my head.  However, sometimes the pieces all come together to give birth to a worthwhile thought.  That is my intention, at least.  But sometimes—well, frequently, for me—I just need to pause and dump.  There is no processing, just a dump (like this post).  As some of you have read before, I try to teach my students to vomit all their thoughts onto the paper.  It’s messy, but if you sift through the chunks, eventually you make sense of what’s happened with your ideas.  It’s the same with your (my) thoughts.

I’ve been extremely occupied lately.  There have been rare moments for me to breathe, think, or write, but they have been few and far between.  I don’t intend to sound like I’m whining.  On the contrary, all of my endeavors have been worthwhile, especially those involving my awesome supportive wife and my five-ring kid circus.  But for now, I’m pondering the question asked by a wise religious leader: “In this fast-paced life, do we ever pause for moments of meditation—even thoughts of timeless truths? (Thomas S. Monson, April 2012).  Writing, and dumping helps me to do just that.

Now, to address your concerns, I have every intention on completing my food post endeavor, as well as the other ideas I hinted at previously.  But for now, I’m done.  More substance will come soon.