Pancakes, or The Song Remains the Same, and also slightly different.

It's been all food around here, and by that I mean we've gone to the farmer's market twice in two weeks, the first visits this season, and we are making hay while the sun shines. By this, I mean we are buying tomatoes and peaches like there's no tomorrow. Which leads me to this weekend.

This weekend, the first holiday weekend of the semester, and thus the first of the 'devoutly to be wish'd' elements of academic life, I said I would accomplish the following:

1. review all poems. By this, I meant that I would read through all the poems I've written this year (something like 90 poems) plus poems I wrote in April of the past two years, to see if there was a manuscript hanging out amongst them.
2. review Ephemerist, which is the current title of my current manuscript, the one that had some success this summer, placing as a finalist and semifinalist in small press competitions. Which either means it's coming together pretty nicely or it is an abysmal failure, you be the judge.
3. clean/organize. This means wresting order, or more order, from the gaping abyss that is my life. Or something.
4. see the Dixie Chicks.
5. see a movie with my daughter.
6. see other movies.
7. see my auntie.
8. bake homemade pop tarts
9. bake turnovers
10. bake a ricotta cake
11. make scallion pancakes.

I mentioned the last four items to my husband the historian, who is a devout supporter of my writing life, and who would fight to, well, probably not the death, because that's ridiculous, but would fight with great vigor to protect my writing time.

"I'm going to work on my new manuscript," I said, decisively. This met with general acclaim, vows of support, hypothesizing as to the best manuscript work strategies, &c &c. 

"And I also want to bake homemade pop tarts, and make blueberry turnovers, and a ricotta cake, and scallion pancakes," I said, decisively.

"That's not going to happen," he said, which--predictably--brought out the don't tell me I can't! in me. Which is a powerful resident in my soul. It might actually be my soul, the don't tell me I can't! I don't know. How can you tell the dancer from the dance, you know?

Anyway: since I am the boss of myself and my baking AND of my writing, I got up on Sunday morning and whipped up two pastry doughs--the pop tart dough and the turnover dough. I made the pop tarts last night. 

All I have to say is !!! #!!!

A photo posted by Lisa Bickmore (@megastore) on Sep 4, 2016 at 7:29pm PDT

I would have made scallion pancakes for dinner last night, but I didn't read the recipe carefully enough, and there was a lot of resting time for that dough. That dough is apparently a finicky diva of a dough. So scallion pancakes had to wait for today.

It's a recipe that makes big claims for itself, but I'm going to tell you this: I'm not going to say they're wrong. You have to make the dough, then let it rest. Then you divide the dough, roll out each piece, put some oil on it, put a bunch of chopped scallions on that, then roll it up, then roll the roll (you'll have to read the detailed instructions here, it's kind of a project), then let those little roll-after-rolls rest some more. Then you roll them out one more time and bake them on a griddle until they are toasty and smell like the best thing ever.

In real life, I made the dough, then went to work out. Then I came home and divided/rolled/rolled again. While they roll-upon-rolls were resting, I made the ricotta cake and put it in the oven. (Do make this. It is superb.)

I heated up the griddle, rolled the pancakes-in-waiting into five inch circles and put them on to cool, turning them regularly so they didn't scorch. I cut up three tomatoes and made the dipping sauce for the pancakes out of white vinegar, soy sauce, chili oil, a pinch of sugar and a pinch of dried crushed red chiles.

While all this was happening, I had just enough time for the errant thought: what if these are, contra the Bon Appetit article, in fact not the best thing in the world but rather an abysmal failure? But I am here to tell you, America: those scallion pancakes lived up to their advance billing and were outstanding:

Scallion pancakes: your better savory pancake option. Recipe here: http://www.bonappetit.com/recipe/scallion-pancakes-2

A photo posted by Lisa Bickmore (@megastore) on Sep 5, 2016 at 9:19pm PDT

In conclusion, I would like to say that I accomplished many things on the agenda, including some substantial writing and Dixie Chicks-ing, and movie going, and auntie-visiting, but I also accomplished all of my baking goals save one. What I mean is, 'twas a consummation devoutly to be wish'd.

Errands & a plan.

I am big on the idea of a plan, as readers of this blog may remember. I am also a believer in the notion of a routine. It's like a mini-, quasi-religion with me, and especially in the summer time.

The following is a reenactment of my mental state, come summertime:

Me, speaking to myself, silently. In my brain: Okay. First of all, what is my plan? What are my goals? How many weeks are there in the summer? How many have I already spent doing nothing, or finishing my grades, or taking naps? Speaking of naps: I want a nap to be a part of my routine. Like, daily? Maybe daily is too much. A 45 minute nap wouldn't be too much. Also, I want to work out. Beginning of the day? end of the day? Why am I thinking about working out, when the most important thing of allll is writing? I want to write every day. Even a little bit every day. How much is a little bit? Is 45 minutes a day too little? That seems like too little for the most important thing of alllll. Okay, 3 hours. Every day, three hours, or sometimes a little less. So: when should I write and when should I work out? Also, I want to cook every day. Also, I want to organize all my books.

It gets a little crazy up in there.

One of my plans/goals/agendas for coming down to talk to my son about his plans/goals/agendas. Not that he needs my help, realistically. I just feel better knowing everyone's plans/goals/agendas. Seriously: like everyone's.

Reenactment of my mental state about everyone's plans/goals/agendas:

Me, speaking to myself, silently. In my brain: I just want to know everyone's plans/goals/agendas. It will help me sleep at night. Is this so much to ask? (insert extra question marks, for emphasis.)

As you can imagine, I don't get nearly the amount of plans/goals/agendas, submitted for my database, as I would like. But it's also true that, from time to time, I have to remind myself that, while a certain amount of planning and goal-setting and agenda-making is useful and healthy, a lot more flexibility, looseness, roll-with-it ease is even more useful and more healthy.

Today we walked around Tempe Town Lake, where we saw a heron, a bunch of ducks and duck-like birds as well as what seemed like an enormous hawk flying overhead. Also, we got buzzed by a rogue ensemble of irritated bees, which caused us to flee from a shelter where we had been briefly sitting. We--seriously--called the cops on these insects, because my son, no bee-hater, informed me that there is some situation with the bees at ASU. I wasn't quite clear on this, but the dispatcher didn't seem to think this was a joke. A few minutes after the call, some officials came by to check the bee situation out. We weren't nearby, so I can't report what the discussion was like, but I imagine a little something like this:

Reenactment of the bee cops, examining the bee situation:

Bee cops, talking to each other: These bees seem pissed. Better back away. I'm putting up the 'Angry Bees: Beware!' sign right...here. [flees]

I realize I'm talking a lot about bees. Our encounter was actually quite brief. But we took another route, we retraced our steps across the bridge. We threw some stones into the lake. And our day ended up pretty great, with sandwiches and, later, really delicious Middle Eastern food, and stories at bedtime, all agendas and plans and goals and angry bees aside.

Posted with Blogsy

Update on the "Just Enjoy It" Project.

A couple of summers ago, when my son was making plans to move to Arizona, taking with him his lovely family, including two grandson, I made up my mind that, rather than set a bajillion goals for the summer, as is my wont, which invariably leads to anxiety and a midsummer breakdown, I would make a project of just enjoying the summer. Just enjoying the time I could spend with my children and grandchildren. Taking a few days to drive down with them and help them get unpacked.

I considered this the only rational thing to do. When you teach all year long, it's easy for plenty of things to get lost--the ability to find your work to your writing, to finish a long lost video project, to, I don't know, improve your character in countless ways. Summer sometimes feels like the set-aside for catching up on all of this. Which puts a lot of pressure on summer, kind of making it the antithesis of what summer can be, in a way--pressure-filled, prone to disappointment, insomnia- and stress-filled.

All this is to say: at the beginning of January, I promised 2015 that I would enjoy my life. How's it going, you ask? Well, I just started a little list of things that were to be evidence of my success at my "just enjoy it" project. This list immediately began to depress me. It started to seem like an evaluation, which in turn made me feel that my own project was beginning to boss me around.

Oh, how I hate it, when my own project starts to boss me around. For one thing, it makes me feel ridiculous. Which, let's face it: that conundrum of the self bossing itself around? Absurd on the face of it.

So, for today: oatmeal, talking to my Scotland daughter and my soccer coach son. Writing, research, nap, reading a book of poems. Spaghetti with an excellent sauce. Lovely salad. Vegetable acquisition. An excellent flavor of Izzy soda. These are the little joys of today, and if I'm perhaps feeling, at the moment, a little Sunday blue, maybe I just have to sit with that, let it pass, and take it to bed and then wake up to tomorrow, where I'll again practice just enjoying it.

To read:

This is the list I composed from looking at other people's lists. So, you know, 

a collage. Of books I would like to read. I am going to read one book a week, 

on average, or at least that is whatI'm hoping to do. So far I have read 

The Golem & the Jinni, The Testament of Mary, parts of The Best American 

Food Writing 2013, and I'm into the Mary Szybist and Frank Bidart 

books of poetry.

I hope to find many of these books in the library. Or else spend a fortune at 

bookstores (and on Amazon, let's be truthful).

What, pray tell, are you reading right now? And what do you hope to read?

Writing? I guess.

I have never, and I mean NEVER, done the thing where you say to the kids you're teaching, "I'm going to do the writing with you this semester."

But lo and behold! yesterday, I heard myself say these very words to the students in the room. 

That's thirteen poems, maybe I can write thirteen poems in fifteen or so weeks? 

I did say on my "GOALS 2014" page that I created with my very own hands, digitally, so, you know, digital hands, where were we? right: I did say on my GOALS 2014 page that I would

so, you know. I guess I'm writing a poem, after I leave you here--you, ghostly reader, whom I sense only from your comments and your Facebook "likes" and your, you know, page hits--after I leave you here, a poem with 

Guy holding two cigarettes in his hand in the elevator, one for him, one for his girlfriend
Every story a ghost story
Murmurous
Cannot use EVER
2 of my less brooding poems
Did my faith exile me or did I exile myself from my faith? What does exile mean? Who are the exiles?

in it, maybe, but definitely

a piece of fruit or vegetable; a window, door, portal; a machine or mechanical device; a famous person, real or fictional (not the 20^th c.); an exotic place; something from science—theory, principle, name, or idea; a means of transportation; a part of the body; an item, saying, event, etc. from another culture; an idea from philosophy or religion or belief system.

because that is the assignment. So I guess I am going to go write a poem. Right...now.

Top five things about today, and other items.

1. Waffles for the five thousand this morning.
2. Painting while watching Phineas & Ferb with grandsons.
3. A small recovery nap in the afternoon when the house was quiet.

If I am a force field, metaphorically, all my energies will be focused and concentrated 

and I will be awesome. I think that's what I'm after. Or something.

4. Leftover Indian food for dinner.
5. A package from Scotland, with pictures and chocolate, shortbread and messages.

-------------
I am planning 2014. I am considering metaphors like

• force field

for what 2014 will be like, as practiced by me.

---------------

There are a lot of drafts that I planned to  get accomplished over the break. At the moment, I am pondering these drafts. Will they get written/rewritten/re-mediated? Will the hazy agent in the previous sentence get her motivation together, and apply her will to do this writing? Or will she continue on, acting as if writing does itself?

----------------

Syllabi. There, I said it.

----------------

I am about to throw all the cookies away. That's the first warning.

Conundra.

Today I was listening briefly to this story about sonnets on "On Point" (rebroadcast from April, National Poetry Month, also the cruelest month), and I made this list of things to do before my sabbatical is over:

1. write one sonnet a day until I go back to school.

Some other things on this list: write a poem a day (more generic); write every day (even more generic); make two films a week; read x book (this list is truly endless); clean up one part of my house so that it will be clutter and chaos proof for ever and eternity; meditate; find this one book I have frustratingly misplaced; start watching the NetFlix movies that have sat around in my house ENDlessly; ride my bike more. (This is not the end of the list--it's just all I can remember/think of/bear to remember.)

If I'm not careful, I could ruin the rest of the summer with this kind of productivity-driven thinking, which is exactly the kind of dunder-headed nonsensical self-defeating head game I have made a specialty of over the years. So, no: I will not be making any new self-improving projects (somebody HELP me). I am going to enjoy myself, dammit, and try to enjoy the same let's-see-where-this-takes-me kind of process that has been so entirely soul-renewing recently.

I remember certain summers when I basically made necklaces out of beads on fishline and tried to talk my kids into doing it with me, and scrounged change from the couch cushions so we could all go to the dollar movie. I'm pretty sure we ate a bunch of popsicles that summer, as well. (this may actually be a composite summer.)

Maybe for the remainder of this summer, I will (1) upgrade the quality of the popsicles (and wait until it actually gets warm enough for it to be pleasant to eat them), and (b) maybe I will read whatever the hell I feel like reading, and (c) maybe I will go see a romantic comedy or ten. And maybe I will write a few sonnets, as well, because it sounds fun to try. Although the villanelle I started today is spiteful and a brat.

But basically, I expect that when I go back to school, I will be my same old regular unimproved self. The main reason this is true is that there's not a chance in hell that I would actually accomplish all the stuff on that list. But there is a very good chance I could make myself feel bad about it.

(4) no more list-making or goal-setting.

Actually, and more realistically,

(e) I will try very hard to keep the goal-making and listing in check. And I will eat (6) some popsicles.