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Integration

November 5, 2007

I realized today that most of my favorite blogs integrate cooking along with everything else… crafting, daily life, ‘deep thoughts’, etc. So, as an experiment, I’m going to include my cooking adventures in this blog as well.

It’s Sunday, and in some far away made-up fantasy land that I’m pretending exists in our apartment, that means coffeecake. Wouldn’t that be a nice ritual? Every Sunday, you make/have coffeecake. My mom used to make coffeecake every once in awhile, like maybe once every other year. I always, always adored it. Hers was much fancier than this version (which is probably why she didn’t make it that often). This is pretty much as easy as a muffin recipe. But it’s cinnamony and good, and makes for a nice offering when you have a Sunday morning guest, as we did today (Terri’s sister came over).

I also made split pea soup this weekend. I have this recipe that uses curry powder, which I used to like a lot. For some reason — maybe it’s because I can’t find the brand of curry I used to use, anymore — it doesn’t taste the same anymore. So I think from now on, split pea with curry will now be split pea without curry. I never knew I liked split pea soup until about five years ago. I had it in Finland (it was like a national dish or something) and hated it completely. One time D’Arcy and I took our bowls “to eat outside” and we dumped it behind a tree. Nasty. Could it be the same soup? How could it be that different? Still, it was bad enough that we dumped it. Maybe it was just her host mom’s recipe. That could definitely be it.

I also made another attempt at the gym today. As previously established, the gym and me? We don’t get along too well. The gym made another attempt to kick my butt today. I went. I did my warm-up. It was hot and my clothes were too heavy. But I stayed. I did some different exercises. I attempted a new machine. I sat there and tried to make it work. Hmmm… what if I do… this? No. What if I do… this?? No. Finally some guy comes over and taps me on the shoulder and says, “You’re doing it wrong.” Duh!! He showed me how to adjust the machine. I had that mad feeling I get when I’m really embarrassed. I mean, I was thisclose to figuring it out ALL. BY. MYSELF.

I must have been a fun toddler.

Then, I tried a few other machines. It was going okay. The last one I was going to do took a little figuring out (apparently not a good sign). I adjusted this one thing, then this other thing, and finally realized that I needed to push the seat back. So, it seems that the assumption is that the longer your legs, the stronger you are, becuase the further I tried to push that seat back, the harder it was to move. So I’m bending over, trying to get it back one more notch, and it finally budges, but it moves too quickly and the seatback clocks me right in the jaw, making me bite my tongue (which is a good thing, because the words that came to my mind are not fit to print).

I called it quits, close to tears. I hate the gym! Actually, what I hate is that I don’t know what I’m doing, and I don’t want to ask anyone. I want to bring a how-to book, or go with someone who knows what they’re doing. I don’t want to ask a floor trainer. I don’t want to ask anyone who works there. I don’t know why, I just don’t.

So I came home and Terri was very sweet, and we decided that once she’s feeling a wee bit better then maybe she’ll come with me and help ‘guard’ me, help me figure out the machines. I like the machines, and I like doing the exercises. I just need to get over myself. It’s just a gym.

Anyway. We are trying to keep our little ship upright here at home. It’s hard, the waters are scary. But comfy blankies help, and coffeecake, and stories of hope.

And being surrounded by kitties.

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