I won't quit my day job.....

...but I just want to say that the acoustics in my dining room make it sound like I actually have a decent singing voice.  I am never leaving this room.  I'm just going to stay here and sing to my heart's content.  Which is okay since there are no neighbors for me to offend.

Last Will and Testament

I'm trying to be productive today and clean out my email inbox. It's currently sitting at 3300+ messages, only two of which are unread. But even that is a misnomer because they have in fact been read, and then marked unopened so I can easily find them tomorrow.

Anyway, I came across what is perhaps my favorite email of all time. Well, it definitely ranks in the top two. So I thought I would share this with you. I received it on a warm August afternoon from none other than Ms. Kashmir Simmons, who was on a train to New York City:

To: Bekah, Doria, Marisa, Mike

CC: Samantha

Subject: If I die...

The conductor just said that the signals are down between wilmington and philadelphia, and that traffic is intense. If I die in a train crash, Samantha is responsible for all of my stuff. She has been cc'd in this email.

Doria: you can have my thor hammer

Marisa: you can have my twentieth anniversary edition of Dazed and Confused

Ben: (who is not copied on this email) can have my car BUT he can never sell it ever. Otherwise it defaults to Mike B bc of that one time he got stuck in the back seat and made me laugh until I almost peed myself in the la tolteca parking lot.

Mike B: you can have my sombrero and chili pepper necklace: wear them well.

Joe Bundy: (who is not copied on this email) that dress. And he has to wear it to my ashes spreading ceremony. WITH THE COWBOY HAT!

Bekah: you can have my copies of "the help," "1000 white women," and "the sugar queen." Also: my lotr and star wars paraphernalia.

Matt: (who is not copied on this email) you can have my medieval times sword. I know you will wield it with dignity and honor.

Farewell my friends! I have loved you all dearly!

Love,

Kashmir

P.s. My train is running late.

A Hint of Wasabi

Today was a fun day spent at the Town of LaPlata's annual chili cook off. We had a team entered in the contest from work and since it involved cooking of any sort, I volunteered to be the ringleader. There is, after all, this one kind of chili that I really love to make because it is so easy and appealing to people of all levels of moral eating standards. So I insisted we register for the vegetarian category, thinking that there would be less competition and maybe we would FINALLY win one of these town contests.

The great thing about this chili is that is is incredibly easy to make. You throw a bunch of stuff into a slow cooker and let it simmer overnight. Then you've got this fantastic chili that you don't have to worry so much about [temperature-wise] because it doesn't have meat in it that will quickly go bad. It smells really spicy, but only has a little kick to your mouth. Give it a try sometime:

Chipotle Black Bean Chili

Ingredients:

-2 cans black beans, drained and rinsed

-2 cans diced tomatoes w/peppers and onions

-2 cups salsa (your choice)

-1/2 white onion, finely chopped

-1 Tbsp chili powder

-1 tsp minced garlic

-1 tsp ground chipotle pepper powder

-1 tsp ground cumin

Directions:

Toss it all in and simmer on low for 8-10 hours.

But then I read the rules for this particular chili cook-off and realized that I was potentially doomed. The rules stated that because all chilis had to be made from scratch, the only canned item we could use was beans. Fast forward to last night, and I (along with two other staff) found myself chopping a 20-pound case of tomatoes, an entire flat of cherry tomatoes, fresh peppers, onions, and jalapenos. When we decided that we had enough (which in the end was far too much) chili in the pot and needed to let it simmer, I was concerned.

It just didn't look or smell quite right. But we left it on the stove and just let it be for a while. I went back to check it around midnight and felt a little better about it. But it wasn't until my 3:30am check that I knew it was going to be okay. The smell of it took me back to Indiana, to my little one-bedroom-off-campus-campus apartment, to the first time I ever made it...

You see, I had been assigned to make potato salad for a potluck back in grad school. And since I'm grossly unskilled at estimating how much food a crowd will eat, I bought approximately 40 pounds of potatoes. Of course, I only ended up needing about 10, and then had 30 pounds of potatoes on my hands and nobody to feed. So I made a facebook event called "Leftover Potatoes" and invited everyone over. And then realized that Inga, my vegan friend, would be attending and I had animal products in just about everything on the menu.

I did a quick google search for vegan crockpot recipes and this was the first thing that came up. I was so delightfully surprised by its heartiness despite its lack of meat that it became a regular staple of my apartment. I almost always had some in the crockpot. I made it for my parents when I was visiting on a Friday during Lent. I've entered it in numerous chili cookoffs, and each time altering the ingredients just a little to find perfection.

And today I think I finally did. You see, I've also been known to make what's called "The Double Burner" - because it burns on the way in and on the way out. The first time I made that I was on a mission to make the eaters of it sweat and cry. I went to the grocery store and grabbed every spicy thing I could find. Wasabi included. And then, this morning, just before we packed up to head to the Town Hall, I dropped in a teaspoon of wasabi.

We got a lot of good reviews, and a lot of thankful smiles from the vegans who had been dragged to the event by friends and family. We didn't even place when it came time to announce winners. Of course we're slightly disappointed, but overall it was a good day. I got to spend it feeding people, and that's what I love!

I'm eating a bowl of the leftover chili as I type this. It's cooled to almost room temperature, and the only utensil I could find is a fork. But I'm making it work.

A good start?

A couple of years ago, while visiting one of my cousins (who shall remain nameless), I was bored and he had a lot of homework to do. I offered to help out, to provide some inspiration if you will. One assignment he was particularly struggling with was an original short story for a creative writing class. So I started writing, and the following is what I came up with. In the end he turned in a completely different story, so I didn't have to feel guilty about aiding in scholastic delinquency.

But I thought I would share it here. So if you have a few minutes, keep reading, and let me know if you'd like to know what happens next.....

It took every ounce of strength I had just to open my eyes. It was as if my body was trying to tell me that I was better off not waking up. I wasn't sure how long I had been asleep, nor could I figure out why my whole being felt like solid lead instead of flesh and blood. Come to think of it, I really wasn't sure of anything at that moment. I ran through the events of the past few days in my mind: moved into a new apartment in Indianapolis, drove back to Denver, and planned the perfect proposal to my girlfriend Genevieve. I was going to pop the question at dinner. Since she was graduating with her MBA today, Vee’s whole family would be in town to celebrate. And with the perfect ring that her best friend Ellie helped me choose, she wouldn’t be able to say no. Well, if I was asleep, then she must have already said yes. But why couldn’t I remember?

It was then that I felt a hand in mine, clutching it tight as if its owner was hanging on for dear life. There was a familiarity about that hand; it fit perfectly into mine. Vee’s face popped into my mind – her emerald green eyes set above a spray of adorable freckles splashed across her nose, those eternally smiling lips in between the most perfect set of dimples ever to exist, and all of it framed by intensely red curls wound so tight that no flat iron on Earth was up to the challenge. The image in my head was slightly faded though, and my need for a reminder was what forced my eyes open. Staring back at me was a face I recognized, only it had aged significantly. I could never forget those piercingly blue eyes.

“Ellie? Ellie, is that you?” I asked.

“It’s me. It’s me, Jeremiah. I’m here. Don’t try to move too much. Let me get the kids. They just went out for some fresh air. They’ve been so worried.” She was out the door in the blink of an eye. I was so confused. I wasn’t in my own bed – or my own room for that matter – Ellie looked as though she was pushing fifty, Vee was nowhere in sight, and who were these worried kids who went out for fresh air? I glanced around the room, looking for clues to help me make sense of it all. The room was painted a cheerful buttery yellow, rimmed around the top with a green and blue checkered border. Across the room was the oak bureau my parents gave me when I graduated from college...but it had shiny new handles. On top was a globe and vase full of brightly colored flowers. Next to my bed were a few mismatched chairs that didn’t appear too comfortable. It wasn’t a hospital room but it didn’t feel like home either.

I tried to pinch my face to wake myself up but my arms were just so heavy. I pinched my leg instead, expecting it to shake me out of this dream. Nothing changed. I pinched again, harder this time. But there was no jolting awake, no return to the comforts of my own bed. As I looked down and went to pinch my leg once more (after all, third time’s a charm!) I felt an internal horror as I realized that my arms weren’t my own. They were tanned and covered in gray hair; the hands were rough and calloused. They turned over and over again, and I was amazed at my ability to control these limbs that obviously did not belong to me, the singer and actor who spent his days memorizing lines, learning choreography, and rehearsing musical numbers for hours on end, not doing manual labor that left hands in this state.

As I continued to stare at these foreign hands and arms, the door flew open and in rushed a crowd of kids. They moved quickly towards me, stumbling over each other in their haste. I counted one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, and a baby made ten. All of them with varying lengths of walnut brown hair, except one…a tall woman with long blonde hair was holding the baby that couldn’t have been more than a few months old. They were all bundled up in coats, hats, scarves, and gloves, which was strange since it was the middle of May. I was sure I didn’t know them but then they weren’t completely unfamiliar.

“Oh he really is awake!” said one of them.

“Thank goodness!” said another.

“It’s about time!” yelled a third.

Then the sweetest little voice I had ever heard said the most horrific thing. “We missed you Daddy.” I have never felt such terror. DADDY! DADDY? This child was calling me Daddy! But I never had children. I never wanted any. Vee and I had agreed a long time ago that given our chosen careers, having kids would be irresponsible. We decided that we would spoil all the nieces and nephews we were bound to have. I could feel my palms begin to sweat, my muscles tighten, and the butterflies all aflutter in my stomach. The room faded to black, accompanied by shouts of concern from all the people in the room. And as my brain cut off all sensory function, I was sure each one was calling me Dad.

So I Started Jogging Today.

I will pause and let you pick your jaw up off the ground...

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I'm the first to admit that there are few things I wouldn't rather do in this life than go for a run. They include swimming with sharks, eating celery, and gouging my eye out with a rusty spoon. Nevertheless, today I came home from work, changed into gym shorts and sneakers, and took off down the driveway.

Let's back up for a minute. My doctor keeps telling me the only other thing to do to keep my crazy brain disease under control is to continue losing weight. I'm about 30 pounds down since February, which is a start, but only a third of my overall goal. I keep telling myself I'll get to it, and then keep finding reasons to put it off (never start something new on a Monday, too tired on Wednesday, plans on Friday, it's rainy, it's sunny, there's a hurricane...you get the idea.)

So today I just did it. I'm not crazy enough to believe that I could just go outside and jog for miles. So I decided I'd start off slow. Jog for 60 seconds, walk for 60 seconds, and repeat. I made it to the end of the driveway, which is a half mile long, in about six minutes. And while I got distracted by a couple of wild turkeys, my left foot found it's way into a pothole, rolled, and I ended up on the ground.

This ankle injury dates back to eleventh grade and a not-so-graceful collision with third base during a softball game. I spent the better part of my freshman year in college making twice-weekly trips to physical therapy. I'm told it will never be right again, and every now and then it goes out. Once I was standing still and the next thing I knew I was on the floor. My second year in grad school I learned that I had actually broken it back in high school (or somewhere along the way) and never knew.

So needless to say, I walked/jogged down the driveway. But I definitely limped the half mile back to my house. We'll see how well I can walk in the morning...