Observations in a Coffeeshop

The boy sitting beside me seems tortured by the notebook in front of him. He keeps toying with his pencil, setting it determinedly to the paper, and then lifting it again, sniffing, leaning back, and looking around. It’s almost as if he’s waiting for someone to come in and tell him what he needs to write down. He’s quiet, barely breathing when he finally sets to writing, but then suddenly he’d be overcome with a bout of thoughts, and he’d turn his pencil around and erase madly, and then the process begins all over again. He sharpens the pencil and watches the lead become pointed, and then tests it gently with his finger. With his right hand (for he’s lefthanded), he picks up the iced coffee patiently melting beside him and sips it. At first glance, he looks like just a student, in a colorful printed tank top and basketball shorts; but with a tool in hand and paper confronting him, he looks like a real writer--confused, unhappy, dissatisfied with every word that comes out.

Now he’s just staring at the page, reading and frowning and tapping his fingers of the table before he finally grows despondent. He looks as if he’s ready to give up. Then with a fervor, he picks up the pencil again and starts scratching at the notebook as if he’s on fire.

Now he’s put down the pencil and is sighing deeply into his hands, elbows on the table. His eyes plead with the page, but it yields nothing and he puts his face in his hands again. He shuts his eyes for a few seconds. He rubs the sides of his face, and his leg begins bouncing up and down. He sits there, coffee untouched, pencil in hand again, and contemplates.

Sitting further along the table is another young college student. She looks like a statue, sitting with her back straight and elbows bent at ninety-degree angles, but her fingers are flying across the keys as her gaze fixates on her laptop. She also seems wholly absorbed in her work, but unlike the boy she is unwavering and immensely focused. She’s not waiting for anyone or anything. Her fingers don’t hesitate.

The boy sneaks a glance over in one of his deep sighs, and he instantly becomes jealous of her.

She doesn’t notice, of course. The laptop has all her attention. Her lips part slightly as she leans forward a centimeter, like a vine crawling toward sunlight, and her eyes are unblinking. When her phone chimes, she doesn’t even notice. So absorbed is she that nothing can disturb her concentration.

The boy rests his forehead on his hand. He glares at the notebook. Leaning down, he opens the backpack by his chair and pulls out a laptop, and almost reluctantly he opens it. He taps at the keys a bit, and leans back, his face carved in frustration.

I just saw the page on which he’s writing. He’s just struggling with math homework.

Shower Thoughts

I'm a bit more flexible than the average Joanna, so today while shaving my legs in the shower, I saw on the back of my thigh that I had a new mole. A surprise mole. A mole that wasn't part of me before, but now it's fully fledged and formed on my body for who knows how long. How did it get there? I haven't worn shorts in a while. And how have I never noticed it before, because I swear I shave on a fairly regular basis.

I moved my body back from its contorted position with my razor poised on the opposite leg. As I moved it up from ankle to knee, behold! Another mole awaited for me, this one raised. No, hold on, that's a...that's a scab. That's dried blood. Was I eight years old again and scraping my knees without noticing? My assumption has been that I would be consciously notified every time I bleed, but obviously this is not the case.

I suppose this could've been from the many occasions I've been practicing yoga in the mornings. I don't have a mat, so the carpet has been serving in its place, and maybe I got carpet burn at some point. Or perhaps I banged my knee on the coffee table and didn't find it memorable enough to check for bodily harm. It could happen. There was one time when I accidentally kicked the dresser by my bed and only realized ten minutes after that my sock was bloody and my toe throbbing. This probably paints me as someone who doesn't look after her body. I won't lie; that could be the case. As a martial artist, I have a high pain tolerance. Throbbing doesn't bother me.

Still, that scab confused me. But it shouldn't, when I think more on it. I'm doing stuff in the world, after all, active in all kinds of different ways and moving about. Even when I'm working specifically on my body and paying attention, I miss the ways it subtly evolves. So it's no wonder when I'm focusing on other things that parts of me still cut and bleed and heal and change and grow without my notice. I grow calluses on my feet when I walk, but I don't feel those. I practice writing everyday, but I haven't found improvement yet (or the opposite, thank goodness). I read and read and read for hours, hoping for enlightenment and a large brain and knowledge to seep in instantly and make me suddenly wiser, but honestly those growing pains sound terrible, and anyway they haven't come.

So I guess that mole and that scab are just evidence that I'm still alive. Which is nice. Being alive, I mean.

Reflections on bread

How do I love bread? Let me count the ways:

Wheat, oats, grain - bread could be a celebration of the merry mixture of these three, of how the combinations of nutty and grainy and starchy can evoke different tastes and textures. Which type of grain? Which type of oat? Bread welcomes them all; and all fit comfortably in bread.

But linger not on what goes in to the creation because endless possibilities also lie on what goes on it. Perhaps some butter and honey, harvested from bees that have been feeding on the clover. Children may prefer peanut butter and jam preserves, strawberry or raspberry or even boysenberry. For a savory palate, cut a clove of garlic in half and rub it on a toasted slice of bread and top with freshly cut heirloom tomatoes and salt and pepper. For a sweet snack, have your bread with almond butter and sliced bananas.

Bread works not just as the main course but also can be used in dishes to create an even fuller, more divine experience. Imagine this: banana foster bread pudding. Or how about grilled cheese sandwiches dipped in tomato bisque. Leave out your loaf overnight, and even then the bread redeems itself the next morning with the promise of delicious French toast.

Just the simple mixture of flour and water and sugar, perhaps some yeast, perhaps some dried fruits or nuts - there are thousands of ways to prepare bread. Rest or no rest, bake or steam, it matters not.

But! Oh yes, there is a but. But! be wary of your lover.

Bread does not last forever.

It can be reduced to crumbs, and while that's not useless it is infinitely frustrating to clean up. It can go soggy very quickly, so don't leave it in wet mixture. It can turn black and burnt if you don't watch it tan in the toaster. It can turn stale as a rock and chip off your tooth.

But aren't all loves as flighty and capricious? Bread is also warm and loving and fragrant. Bread is toast is bread is love. So enjoy your bread - while you can. 

How to Unwind on a Saturday Night

While everyone else is out on the town, at the movies or at a bar, hanging out with friends, I decide to have a quiet night in and just relax. Just turn on the TV, cover myself with a warm blanket, and get Netflix on and marathon The Office. Can you believe I still haven't finished the series yet? It's going to happen tonight!

But first I decide to turn on the computer and check my email. See if there's anything interesting or important online. Maybe check the job boards, because who knows what's on there? Then I realize that I haven't applied for something I saw earlier this week, so I rush to open a Word doc and write a cover letter. I do some research on the company, look at my old cover letters, and labor over the spelling, grammar, and how the writing sounds. Oh, did I update my resume already? I double-check the email before I send, and then I find another listing I should check out. And another. It almost never ends. When were these posted? Oh gosh, there are just so many jobs to research and apply for. Okay, okay, I'll get to this later. Tomorrow. Maybe Monday. Anyway, I'm putting it off for now because tonight I'm finishing The Office.

So I bookmark a few pages I want to check back on and click off. Since my browser's open, I guess I'll just check what's on the Huffington Post. Really, this is what's happening in our world? Is Trump seriously the leading Republican candidate for the party right now? Why is Rubio making fun of his hands? This is what we've reduced to? I can't deal with this. Exit the window, exit now.

So I finally turn on the TV. I sit down and watch one episode, but I have to keep rewinding because my mind's on the job applications and the news coverage. I just can't concentrate. And soon I'm hungry and would like a snack. Ooh, maybe some cookies. Chocolate chip cookies! So I go to the fridge and take out two sticks of butter and two eggs, and then I begin to measure out flour and sugar in a bowl. Good thing I bought vanilla extract just yesterday, because we were out. I finish mixing up the dough with a light sheen of sweat on my brow, my arm tired now. In the fridge it goes now, perhaps until the oven finishes preheating.

I ready the cookie sheet by lining it with aluminum foil, but as I do so I pass all the used measuring cups and spoons and bowls, and I see that the sink is already full from the day. There is pasta sauce in some of those bowls, a hardened crust of something sticking to a plate, some leftover bits of meat and vegetables in a pan. I was basically baking in a room with a tub of dirty dishes right beside me. So I roll up my sleeves and turn on the water because I can't stand the look of them there. For good measure, I also wipe down the counter and refill the napkin holder. Then the oven finishes preheating, so I wash my hands again and roll out some dough balls to bake.

The leftover dough balls go back in the fridge, and I set the timer to go off in nine minutes. In the meantime, I pick up my old copy of Moby-Dick, an American classic that I've actually never read before. A pencil's already in my hand so I could take notes and underline parts of the text, and for a second I feel like I'm in school again, reading something dense and difficult that I definitely won't comprehend the first time around. Why am I doing this again? And why are they taking so long to get out on the sea? When do I get to the whale?

A smell reaches my nose and an alarm goes off somewhere. The cookies! I rush to the oven and open the door only to find black rounded shapes on the sheet. My alarm didn't go off for whatever reason, and now my cookies are burnt. I roll out more dough, my stomach angrily gurgling as I do so, and this time I check the clock on the microwave to make sure I knew when to check on the cookies if my timer doesn't go off again. Moby-Dick was a bad choice right now; I put it away.

I finally get the cookies out, and they've flattened so much more than I expected them to. Two dough balls had become one strange-looking cookie, and almost the whole sheet looks like that. I sigh. At least they'll taste fine, even if they look terrible.

I go back to the TV with my failed cookie in hand and a glass of milk, and turn on Netflix again because my PS3 signed me out. Time to de-stress after a stressful Saturday night now.

Sneezing

The most terrifying times to sneeze

 include:

Holding hot soup.

That's a danger. Especially if you're hungry, and the soup smells delicious, and you just cracked a bit of black pepper in it and am bringing it over to your table when suddenly your nose takes in some of that pepper too...

Driving.

Try keeping your eyes open. Then realize you'll fail, so slow down and keep your hands still on the steering wheel. Hope for a second one not to come.

Going through TSA.

I'm not sick! It's the pollen in the air, I swear. Ah ha, there's a dog nearby!

Washing a baby.

I'm assuming. I haven't done this.

Cooking.

Uh, you didn't see that.

Great times to sneeze

include:

When you're sick.

Sneeze-a-thons.

In the shower.

Where did it go? Who cares, keep washing.

A list of things related to tears

What should make me cry

The Notebook

The Book Thief

Weddings

What actually makes me cry

The Rugrats Movie

This moment in Mulan

Onions

Delicious breakfast and School of Rock

Dear blog,

Today was a nice day, and I wanted to record it in a public place. Why? Because sometimes it's nice to share your joy with strangers, and why not?

My roommate and I woke up at 9:30ish today to get ready to go to another friend's house to make breakfast there for her. Well, at least we planned for breakfast. But breakfast turned into brunch, and by the time we left Safeway and actually got to her house, brunch just turned into lunch. What a sneak time is! It was 11:00 am when we arrived there, and we still actually had to make the food. Luckily, it was a snap and a half to make:

1. Preheat the oven and put in Pillsbury biscuits in to cook for 13 minutes.
2. Put a pan on medium-high heat and fry up some bacon.
3. Beat eggs and milk to maximum fluffiness and cook those suckers!
4. Assemble: Cut the biscuits in half and sandwich with sharp cheddar cheese, eggs, and bacon in between.
5. Enjoy with mango orange juice and pomegranate juice, and have some nicely washed blueberries and sweet tarts for dessert. (Credit for trying to be healthy there.)

We ate at the couch while watching Friends, and even though we didn't make a fancy meal (or really even a plan... it was all hastily put together), it was a good ol' time with friends. I also became friends with the grey cat my friend lives with.

I went to the library and got some more books, and then I just went home and chilled for the rest of the day. At night, my roommate and I decided to watch School of Rock because though I had misgivings (sorry, thought it looked stupid), she said she liked it and thought I would too. So I took a chance - and totally enjoyed myself! Rock music, children, and humor equals the perfect combination. It was a great way to end the night!

So now here I am in bed, reflecting on what a simple, unexciting, and yet great day it was. These kinds of days are totally underrated and should be appreciated more, so here I am, appreciating them.

I also booked two flights home for the next couple of months, so that's something else to look forward to. I've been feeling bouts of homesickness for a while now, and I think a week with my family should help with that. Uh, and did I mention that my little sister's graduating?! The only thing I'm not looking forward to is packing because I've got at least four, maybe five books I'm planning to bring for them (and two are hardbacks, noooo). The only times I lift are when I have to bring my bag to the airport.

I'll be leaving Monday after work. Can't wait!