Desk Job

In some places in the world having a desk job is seen as having reached the highest echelon of social classes. It’s odd to me to see it that way since I work a desk job and I find it can be very trying and tiring. I spend most of the day sitting at my desk working on spreadsheets and documents and listening to conference calls. Sometimes my job is stimulating but most of the time it is the same thing day in and day out. I don’t feel challenged mentally. Maybe some people like that about desk jobs but I don’t. And I have to go out of my way to get any physical activity. This annoys me in the sense that I had back issues in the past that resulted from sitting my fat tukhis in a chair for 8+ hours. I enjoy going to the gym to get my exercise but I think I’d enjoy a job that would allow me to be physical too. It really is all about perspective. I know my cousins always think it’s great that I have a job in an office. But I definitely enjoyed the activity and stimulation of the classroom a lot more. It’s just sad that teachers really don’t get paid the amount they should be. They have to be physically there (whether it is being as energetic as I was is a different story) and mentally there too (although there were some teachers who never were). If you want to coast at work, a desk job is the way to go a lot of the times. I suppose it’s the same for people at work. There are some people who are mentally challenged by what they do. I just don’t happen to feel that way too often. Then there are those people who walk around the floor while they listen to calls. They are definitely physically challenged. I can’t move from my desk out of fear I might not return. It all comes down to who you talk to and what they think. I don’t think a desk job is as prestigious as other people do.

Flaky Pastry

This morning I woke up with a hankering for a croissant. It was one of those pleasant yet chilly mornings that reminded me of spring in Paris. With the temperature reminding me of those great days, I guess my stomach responded in kind. I decided to walk to the local bakery that makes a decent croissant. I bought a chocolate and a plain croissant for maximum decadence. I decided to eat the chocolate one before I got home because I knew my dogs would want to share and they shouldn’t be eating chocolate. As the flaky buttery pastry gave way in my hands and tiny slivers of beige plastered themselves to my jacket, I recalled many fond memories of the City of Lights. I recalled walking to my classes every morning –whether rain or shine with the Eiffel Tower on my left accompanying me for the first portion of my walk. As the street sweeping machines made the city smell like bleach or various other chemical cleaners, an occasional whiff from the myriad bakeries would tickle my nose. Sometimes it was the luscious fresh baguettes coming out of the oven or it would be the buttery scent of the exquisite pastries that would sparkle through the windows right into my eyes. Better jewels than diamonds to me. Parisians were never ashamed to eat a delicious croissant or a piece of bread while walking to their work or home. Occasionally as I would pass the locals, I’d notice flakes from pastries on their lapels. It always brought a smile to my face. I, of course, tried my best to be like a local as well. I’d buy a demi-baguette on my way to school. Then I would share it with some of my friends. If I had time, I’d purchase some nutella so we could spread the delicious chocolate gift onto the bread and have an even better breakfast than a fresh loaf of bread. On a number of occasions as I’d ride the metro and I would peek from the book I was reading to look at the other commuters. There were always a couple of people who had a smattering of crumbs on their jacket collars or on their jacket arms. It always make me chuckle to myself. It was nice to know I wasn’t the only person enjoying one of the great delicacies of French cuisine.

Mac and Cheese

My dog Foxy has a couple of interesting hobbies. One of which is to collect spare change from our pockets or that fall on the floor. She brings them to her secret hiding place under the bed. We call this place ‘Foxy’s Hut’. (My other dog has her own hut too but that’s neither there, nor here to this story). We first became aware of this hobby and hiding spot when my husband went to vacuum. He saw a stash of coins piled up and wondered how they got there. Luckily Foxy’s guilty face explained the mystery very quickly – no clue searching for him. My husband, being the creative person that he is, decided to collect that money and use it towards my birthday present on behalf of the girls. When he counted the money, it didn’t amount to much. But it was enough to buy a box of Kraft Mac ‘n Cheese. So when my birthday approached, I was greeted in bed by the dogs and my husband. There was a card, a gift from my husband and a box of Mac ‘n Cheese. I was perplexed by the cheesy pasta. My husband then explained what had happened. The story alone made me laugh at the moment and every time I reflected on it. Other years the girls (really Foxy) had saved up more to get me other gifts. But this year, I was pleasantly surprised by another box of Birthday Mac ‘n Cheese. According to the daddy, it had been a hard economic year so he had to lend the girls some money to buy their gift this year. Sometimes it doesn’t matter how much is spent on a birthday gift, it really is the thought behind it.

Blue Suede Shoes

I love to walk and my frequency of walking has taken a toll on many of the instruments used to make those walks happen. Many years ago I invested in a pair of driving shoes by the company Geox. This company is known for creating shoes that let your feet breathe. And boy did they ever pamper my feet. These shoes were a light blue suede and I wore them almost every where for a good 2 years. After that time, the soles were all worn out and the stitching started to come undone. Despite the amount of I spent on them, I most certainly got my money’s worth. However putting those shoes to rest required that I buy another pair. This time I purchased a pair of Aerosoles because they were very comfortable. Since I knew I would be using them for walking, I needed a pair of shoes that would be durable and relaxing. Once again for some strange reason, I purchases a blue suede pair. These shoes were a slightly darker blue than my Geox ones. Last week on my way to work, I felt that one of the shoes was far more loose than before. When I looked down, I saw that the stitching was giving way. When I got to my desk, I inspected both of my shoes and they were both falling apart. Well, after 2 years of intense walking with them, I couldn’t say that I didn’t know why they were on their last breaths. So instead of trying to fix them which would have cost me more money than I spent on them in the first place, I am not in search of another pair of comfy blue suede shoes to accompany me on my many future walks.

Feast of the Goat

Easter came and went this year in a sad fashion. It came only a few weeks after my dad’s passing. This alone was enough to bear. But it was also his favorite holiday for a number of reasons. He liked it because on Palm Sunday, he’d collect the palms and make crucifixes out of them to place in our houses and in the car. He especially liked Easter because it was a chance to have some food he normally wouldn’t have during the year.

His preference was goat. In recent years, I tried to make lamb which was more symbolic to me. But goat was always his first choice as that’s what was traditional in Italy. The last few years I did make goat to please him and also because I like it too.

Growing up though, I didn’t have such fond feelings for the horned creature. For years on Good Friday my dad would make a trip to the Bronx and get goat meat he ordered at his favorite butcher. Within the days before Easter, I’d open the fridge to find the skull of a goat staring at me while it was soaking in water. Without fail, I’d scream and close the fridge door as if my life depended on it. Year after year this would happen.

My dad was raised in Italy during World War 2 and you ate every single part of an animal that was slaughtered. His favorite part of the goat was the brain. So I would have to bear this hideous vision every year. After seeing the goat head in the fridge, I’d have to beg my mom or my siblings to get stuff out of the fridge for me until Easter morning.

Despite this gross object in my sight, I’d eat the meat for Easter lunch/dinner. I could separate the two somehow. My sister, on the other hand, couldn’t bear to eat the meat.

This year I decided to go to my dad’s butcher where my mom and I bought his beloved goat meat. It felt right to honor him in this small way. The butcher chopped up a half portion goat for us and we took the meat, paid and left. When we got home, my husband put the meat in the fridge.

Easter Sunday, I took the meat out of the fridge and opened the package. Of course there was a head in the package. Instead of scaring me as it has done so many other years in my life, all I could do was cry. I would have done anything to have my dad there at the table enjoying his goat head.

It is these little things that make it difficult to move on. Despite all my efforts, these details rear their heads (pun intended) and remind me how much I miss my dad.

Scavenger Hunt

Recently my friends and I have been going on scavenger hunts to explore the various neighborhoods of the Big Apple. So far we have done a hunt of SoHo (or South of Houston) and Greenwich Village. It’s been a lot of fun and eye opening in many ways.
Me and two friends turned out for the SoHo scavenger hunt. We probably covered an area of 6 blocks total but it was nice to spend some time in one of the more vibrant areas of the city. Following all the clues, we felt as though we were going around in circles. When we mapped it out in the end, we actually did just go around in circles. Regardless, we learned some pretty fascinating information about this area.

A few weeks later my friend and I did the Greenwich Village tour. This was especially interesting since both she and I went to school in the Village. We were familiar with the streets but we realized that during our time in the area, we weren’t paying much attention. One of the first clues was about a building that both she and I spent countless hours in. We never paid attention to any of the ornamentation or descriptions on the wall of this institution. It was pretty funny to think how many times I alone walked into the building and never once noticed quotes engraved in walls that were in full view. It was a tad bit pathetic!

We both agreed that we had taken our time in the area when we attended university for granted. In general we decided that was the reason we were doing these scavenger hunts; to learn more about the city we live in. We had already acknowledged the fact that we most definitely take NYC for granted.

Hopefully in the weeks to come we will go on a tour of Harlem. That is an area I’ve been to only on a number of occasions. And I definitely want to learn more about the history of that neighborhood.

Home Cooking

Two nights ago my mom made lasagna. It was for no particular occasion except that she had all the ingredients around. It was a little odd since I always associate it with holidays or birthday but I welcomed it nonetheless.

I wasn’t able to eat it the night it was prepared because hubby had cooked and I didn’t realize we were in for a culinary surprise. But I had it for lunch yesterday and it was scrumptious. Just the right amount of pasta and tomato sauce covering mozzarella, spinach, meatballs, hard boiled eggs and sausage. It was divine! As I prepared my piece of it yesterday morning, I couldn’t wait for lunch to come around.

As 11:30 rolled around, I started to feel hungry and my stomach began to growl. That was the sign that it was time to warm up the luscious layers of love. As I returned from the microwave, the world around me became silent. Soft breezes went through my hair as I sat in the tranquil moments enjoying nothing but my meal. Earthquakes and tsunamis could have struck but nothing would take me away from my plate of pasta. The different flavors and textures caressed my mouth and tongue. I let out a deep sigh with every bite.

When I next looked at the clock a half hour had gone by. 30 minutes of pure enjoyment and relaxation. Something about a home cooked meal can do that if you let it – it can take you to a place where the only entities are you and the entree itself. Indulging in my mom’s home cooked meals never seems frivolous. If only she would make more of those lovely dishes so that the world wouldn’t seem so cruel.

The Reunion

Saturday marked the anniversary reunion of my high school class. There were two events for the occasion but I was only able to attend one of them. The annual luncheon is something that our school organizes to get people to come out and spend a couple of hours with old friends and teachers.

A total of 11 people from my class showed up from about a group of 50, so it was a pretty good turn out. We all caught up on each other’s lives and reminisced about funny times and crazy teachers. It was really a lot of fun.

We also got to prance up on a stage as they celebrated the graduating classes of years ‘2 and ‘7 (eg 1992, 1997, 2002, 2007) and our names were called out. We got a little gift which was nice. We also got a nice meal and got to partake in a couple of auctions that were taking place.

Before the meal someone gave grace. As I looked over at the rest of my classmates, most of us were deep in prayer, except for one person. This made me laugh because it reminded me of high school – those irreverent few who never followed rules and danced to the beat of their own drum. Some things hadn’t changed at all.

A number of our teachers were there and it was great to talk to them and catch up with them. Having seen some of them a month ago, it was nice for me to see them basking in the other students who they hadn’t seen in so long.

I dragged my husband to the event and I had warned him that it might be a difficult situation – a bunch of girls returning to teenage-dom. But he said we weren’t that bad. I told him it was the particular group that showed up. I suspected it would be different at the other event to which we would not be privy.

Overall, it was nice to see many of my friends and connect with old classmates. Being reminded of the path and mission of our school was nice as well. Seeing all the present day students of my high school and what they were accomplishing made me proud as well. We have a legacy to uphold and we are all doing our best to contribute every day.