Julie and Julia

For better or for worse, I promised my take on the book "Julie and Julia" several months ago. Below is my attempt to deliver.

After viewing, what I consider to be one of the most entertaining and charming movies of 2009, "Julie and Julia," I immediately checked out the book "Julie and Julia: 365 Days, 524 Recipes, 1 Tiny Apartment Kitchen," thinking that the book is always better than it's screen adaptation.

For my money, the movie is much better!

Writer/Director Nora Ephron never fails to deliver on witty, mesmerizing, and idealistic alternate realities that captivates the viewer and makes him yearn to live in that created universe. I should have remembered that little fact.

I have to give props, however, to author Julie Powell for her courageous and well written memoir. There were moments of hilarity and she did reel the reader into her world so that, as a reader, I felt like I knew Julie. This is not surprising, though, as Julie Powell double majored in Creative Writing and Theater. Some of the antics that were in the movie did happen in the book with which she so eloquently described. Plus, and I feel this is one of my major draws into reading the book, I could relate to Julie. Here was a talented young lady, around my age, stuck in a dead end job, not realizing her artistic goals, certainly not using her college degrees, who seeks to better her life through a project like cooking her way through Julia Child's book, "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" and blogging about it. Through her project she had an outlet and she learned about herself and life in the process. What could be better?

As a conservative who does tend to vote Republican, I felt like I was not welcome to read her book or peer into her world. She is unabashedly honest on her feelings about Republicans, which are very negative, and uses her book somewhat as a soap box. She even discusses how she dropped this beautiful dessert on a gritty sidewalk of Manhattan and scoops it up to leave for the Republicans in her office.


The book is dry in several spots and Julie tries to weave a cohesive work by inserting very crude thoughts on sex, infidelity, and comparing her father's porn to Julia Child's recipe masterpiece. And please, don't get me started on the language for which she is very proud.

In the end, the book was a colossal waste of time and I received all that I needed merely by watching the movie. However, academically, I felt the need to finish what I had started so that I can compare and contrast and hopefully use it in a blog post someday!

Curve balls!

Yes, Yes, I know! I have made the statement that I will blog at least twice a week. Well, life has thrown me a few curve balls the last couple of weeks. It figures! I have had a somewhat upsetting report from my doctor, one of my cats has some issues, my husband has been sick, and work has been, well, work!
Lots of exclamation points, huh? I like them!
So, I do plan to check back shortly.
Until then...

Trying, Really, I'm Trying

Last post I vowed, promised, whatever you want to call it, that I would post two entries per week. This is entry number one for the week. I may get another entry in on Sunday. Does that count? This certainly is not what I anticipated when I cavalierly declared to the world (or who ever is reading my little corner of cyberspace) that I would have witty repartee twice a week.

This week has been crazy, as I'm sure everyone has that pat excuse card in their back pocket waiting to be thrown down. But, seriously, it has been busy or rather exhausting. My husband has been sick with bronchitis all week which has contributed to my droopy eyes, slow movements and fatigue. Dragging myself to work this week was all I could accomplish. Every night/morning around midnight or one o'clock, my husband would start this coughing jag that would last until around five a.m. About that time, I was ready to get up anyway. One night or rather morning, I woke up and took his temperature. He was boiling. I had to change the sheets in the middle of the night, get a cooler comforter, and medicate with some OTC cold medicine. Friday morning, he started coughing at one o'clock. Around four thirty a.m. he decided he wanted to go to the emergency room. We were there for about two hours, then we ran to get the scrips filled, I came home, showered, ate breakfast, and went to work.

So, there you go. My excuse for the week on why I have not posted.

Still, stay tuned for my take on "Julie and Julia." Not that the book hasn't been reviewed millions of times before, and I probably don't have a new perspective, but I've got an opinion. And, really, isn't that what blogging is all about?

A bientot...Until another time.

Hook, Line and Sinker?

I've been thinking about my "hook" for my blog to make it relevant, poignant and attract readership. I will say it would help if I posted more than once a quarter, but I digress. I look at other blogs and they have a theme, be it "The life and times of a restaurant waiter, chef, busboy, or any other profession in the restaurant industry," (of which I'm not a part), or "How to" blogs are quite popular, as well, such as; "How to cook, write, garden, travel or make your way through the Amazonian rain forest being chased by vampire bats" (they live there, I looked it up). I'm not sure if there is a blog about that, but give it some time. There are blogs about politics (for which I have a myriad of opinions and no facts to back them up), sex lives (ewww!), or sports (which, sorry, not a sports kinda chick either).

There is something that could be mildly interesting. Perhaps a blog about what I'm reading for the moment and my reviews/comments. I have a BS in Economics (take that for what you will) and, quite frankly, I may not be the most qualified person on the subject of literature. However, I love it. I love books and the written word. I even love it in different languages. I get Twitter tweets from Dictionary.com that's how much I love words. And maybe someday, I'll have an advanced degree to back up my literary opinions. Yet, I still have them now. This blog could possibly be a foray into an online book club, of sorts. Who knows?

And truth be told, such as many bloggers out there, I do have my creative writing on the side. This blog could maybe help me flex my writing chops (mixed metaphor). If only I would stay consistent. Readers, if there are any out there, I pledge to update this blog at least twice a week...

Stay tuned for my thoughts on "Julie & Julia" by Julie Powell. After seeing the movie by Nora Ephron, I quickly ordered it from my local library.

Kitty Niblets

Since the last post, we have gotten cats. Yes, two fantastic two year old male cats, Socks and Hendrix. It was a kismet kinda thing, my husband had a co-worker whose ex-wife needed to get rid of them, as she was moving out of state, and wondered if my grandmother might be interested to help with the grief. By the way, she already has three cats that weren't doing well to begin with over the loss of my grandfather. Throwing another cat into the mix just might have sent them looking for a sharp knife and trash bags. I continued to ask probing questions like: how old are they, are they neutered, are they de-clawed, etc. Ever since I have been married, we have not had cats. I'm, unfortunately, ultra allergic. It was practically part of the marriage deal as my husband did not want me taking meds and suffering. Or maybe that was his ruse as he never had a good opinion about a cat. My logic was if I have to take OTC allergy meds during the fall and winter and sometimes spring, what's the difference. I wore him down! It was my intent to only get the one cat, Socks. He's a Himalayan something mix. We were told Himalayan/Persian mix. I'm not so sure. Aren't Himalayans Persian/Siamese mixes anyway? He's a seal point with blue eyes and the cutest white paws. Hence the name.

So, I picked up Socks. My husband didn't have a desire to go with me. He professed that it was going to be my cat so why should he go? We get Sockers home. Sockers hides! He seemed so well adjusted at the owner's home. We finally coax him out after about four hours. I pet him, reinforce where the food and litter box are and then he bolts back to the love seat. Long story short after a couple of days of Socks hiding, he starts to adjust. We have him for a week and 1/2 and the owner's ex-husband says, "You know, Hendrix ( a tabby and possibly part calico) is still available." My husband calls me to inform me...By this time he is starting to warm up to the idea of being a cat owner. He says that "Socks isn't like other cats." What he does not know is that Socks pretty much has your run of the mill cat tendencies, but he was woefully misguided. Another phone call later and we're the proud parents of not one but two cats and I still haven't made an appointment to see the doctor. About this time the breathing is becoming more labored and I'm getting pretty stuffed up.

I see the doctor, get the drugs, we're all bonding and life is grand. We are all happy and in a routine...then... we get the new ultra deluxe Booda (not Buddha) covered litter box with steps to wipe off the litter. I mulled over the idea for a week or two and finally just did it. The boys didn't think our idea was as brilliant as we thought it was. They didn't use it the whole day (which is very bizarre being that every day when I come home and every morning when I wake up it looks like a nuclear arms race in the box) and I was beginning to worry we would have to take them to the emergency vet for a bowel obstruction. I was anxious, "What have I done?" I stop hyperventilating and go into the other room to read my book to get my mind off of the situation at hand. Hendrix by this time has used the litter box. He may not have liked it, completely, but he braved the green globe. Socks goes into the litter box area and, not an exaggeration, three to five minutes later he walks back. Houston, we have a deposit! Hallelujah, Hallelujah, I'm not such a bad cat owner after all.

One of my major questions for the day is this: What is it with my boys - especially Socks - the Himalayan, when I sit down to use the restroom? To them it's an invitation to bolt in for "quality time" together. They both rub against my legs, purring, expecting to be rubbed and then Socks will collapse on his side or roll over on his back exposing his tummy. Caveat, I don't know why he lays on his back like that and makes it so inviting so that the casual observer just wants to rub it. It's off limits, no man's hand land. You bend down to rub that thing and you could loose an appendage. Then he'll take his big furry paws (and they are big, they're the kind of paws that look like his body never grew into) and reach for my legs. Really, all of that. It's not like the minute they step into their litter box I go running down next to it and flop on my side for their attention!

Here we are an asthmatic and a professed non-cat lover happily engrossed in our new beings. I'm sure there will be more anecdotes to come, because really, if you met them, you'd love them too!

Our Sadness Runs Deep

Yesterday at around 8:00 a.m. my grandfather stepped into eternity. When I received THE CALL, I rushed to my grandparents' house. I had the honor of seeing him before the funeral home took him. Although viewed by some as macabre, I had to see him. Even though his spirit was gone and humanity is merely dust, I needed to touch him. He was still warm and his eyes were open and fixed. It's been a tough journey; however, in my heart, I feel it was his appointed time. Witnessing dying and death makes one introspective and cognizant of our spiritualness. It reminds us, at least me, of how we are spiritual beings.

On Tuesday night, my mother and I stayed over at my grandparents' house to take care of him while my grandmother had a rare opportunity to sleep. She was exhausted and weary. We took shifts. My shift was the first shift of which I still maintain was the more difficult shift. He was restless and, I suspect, in pain. I had to give him more medicine, morphine and lorazepam, in an oral syringe. What broke my heart is I had to call him George so that he didn't know it was his granddaughter taking care of him. He was such a strong and proud man and did not want his daughters and granddaughter to see him in a weak state. But, even though he wasn't talking and I'm not sure how much he could see, I felt like I was deceiving him and he knew it. As he moved, his sheet kept coming down revealing his body wasted away from the cancer. Silently, from behind him, I had to pull his sheet up to help him preserve his dignity. Petrified, my heart was racing because I felt like he was more aware of who was there than what we thought. Desiring him to know how much we valued and loved him, I was hoping if he was perceptive that he understood we weren't trying to shame him but to help and demonstrate our deep love for him.

The night before he died, I was able to rub his arm and kiss his head after my dad and I helped position him in the middle of the bed. He opened his eyes and I don't know if he knew who kissed him but, in my heart, that was my goodbye. Through it all, I had the privilege to have a very small part of his care and illustrate the depth of love and admiration I have for both of my grandparents.

As I made his bed yesterday, after the funeral home took his body, I looked around his bedroom and saw the painting my aunt had done for him, a goofy cat I drew as a child tacked on the wall near his dresser mirror, and pictures of his family. I thought to myself, this man loved his wife, his two daughters, and his granddaughter. In his mind, his most valuable possessions were those that reminded him of the loves of his life.

That will be the legacy I will remember...

Yikes!

I cannot believe that it's been over 3 months since I have posted. Of course, why should that surprise me? Looking over this blog with it's 6 whole posts, I'm hitting it about every 3 months! So, I've developed a track record. Yippee. At least I'm consistent.

What's new, what's new?

Grandpa is still with us. We have had moments of bliss where we thought he was going to rally. Even though his prognosis was imminent death, we thought he would die strong; if that makes any sense. Although he has finished his 4 rounds of chemotherapy and radiation and knocked back the tumors, he's wasting away before our very eyes. My feeling is that his general health has declined not so much because of the cancer but because of his malnutrition. He does not want to eat as food tastes like dirt. I almost cannot blame him. Through all of this, even though I can surmise what may be best for him; i.e. not smoking anymore, eating well balanced meals, getting rest, I am not him. I'm not the patient sitting there with regrets wondering what will happen at the end of my life. I'm not the one who has to watch my wife watch me slowly fade away.

It is absolutely heart breaking. I'm the only grandchild and very close to my extended family on my mother's side. So, I feel like I experience the pain more than maybe most grandchildren. Perhaps that is presumptious on my part. For those of you who are grandchildren who have watched their grandparents die, I humbly apologize if I am discounting the pain you felt.

In my eyes, my grandfather was invinsible. I know he smoked and drank rather large quantities. However, ironically, I truly believed that it would never catch up to him. He was larger than life in my eyes, especially growing up. He used to weight lift and studied Karate. He played the classical guitar with such skill that one's ears would stand at attention ready to be dazzled. Just 6 years ago he helped my husband and I move. He was strong. He was brilliant. Although, I do not think he even graduated high school, he was one of THE most well read individuals among my acquaintance. His vocabulary was expansive. Now he cannot even finish a sentence from memory loss due to the cancer, chemotherapy, and radiation.

My grandmother has finally called hospice. I'm hoping they can bring comfort to my grandmother and quality to my grandfather's last days. Because let's face it, in all likelihood, these are his last days. And all I can think of over and over and over again is where will he spend eternity? Has he made peace with his God?

He is a special man, full of special qualities and I have had the rare privilege of knowing a truly gifted person.

Grandfather

Four days ago we learned my grandfather has lung cancer. Not only lung cancer, but a huge tumor filling the whole of his right lung (all lobes) with metastatic lesions in his left lobe, liver, lymph nodes, and brain. In those four days, I have experienced a plethora of emotions from sadness, to anger, to guilt, to hope, to hopelessness, and so on and so forth. He was told if he does nothing, we're looking at six weeks, maybe. If he does chemo and radiation, possibly nine months to a couple of years, maybe. Even as I'm writing this, I just can't form or even expound on the height of the situation. It's too painful, too tiring. And anything else seems frivolous to write about. So, with that being said, I bid you adieu for the moment.

Will You Take My Trash, Please?

Oh yes... my neighbor had the privilege to see me running down the alley last week with 2 bags of garbage in one hand and my trash can in the other hoping the waste management crew would have pity on me and take my "gifts."
My husband was sick and I thought I would have plenty of time to get the garbage out in the morning for the garbage truck, as they have been running late this winter.
To add insult to injury, the walk way from the house to the garage was not shoveled out.
So, I hear the garbage truck just outside the garage, shove my feet into my scrub clogs, and run out to catch it. If one were to walk slow, one could maneuver through the snow by stepping in already made footprints. But, I was in a hurry. So, I briskly walk to the garage trying not to slip all the while gathering clumps of snow in my shoes. I hit the garage door opener and it opens just a fraction. I hit it again, it went up. I don't know what that was all about because that is not a frequent occurance. But, the universe was aligned to make Pamela look foolish that morning. So with my free hand, I grab the trash can that is full and run out of the garage into, probably, a foot of snow then into the alley yelling at the waste management crew, as they could not hear me over their truck.
Meanwhile, my neighbor, who is sporting a lovely (sarcasm) grey robe in under 10 degree fahrenheit weather standing in his driveway monitoring the crew, looks at me as if to say, "You're crazy."
I'm not yet sure who the crazy one is!
I was invigorated; however, due to the snow that was packed into my shoes. I tip toed back to the house, trying to follow the footprints, and quickly shed the socks, dried out the shoes, put fresh socks on and left the house for work (all in under 2 minutes). Of course, I did forget my lunch in the process.
Moral of the story, if you want an adrenaline rush, run after a garbage truck with snow in your shoes in 6 degree fahrenheit weather at 7:00 in the morning. It's a rush!