Sunday, August 17, 2008
I Just Hate Being Flawed
E, I asked, how do you do it? I'm not good at accepting criticism. I only do well accepting it when someone can ask me to do something else instead (and explain how to do it). But most often the person doing the criticizing doesn't know what I should be doing instead, just what I'm doing wrong. And it doesn't matter if that same person has just told me ten zillion things that I'm doing right...my perfectionist self hones in on the one wrong thing. And if I don't know what to do instead, I get defensive and/or depressed. And actually, depending on the delivery, even if a suggestion of what to do is offered, I sometimes don't want to hear it. Argh.
I hate this about myself, and I really, really need to change it. Today as I was biking home I decided that I need a strategy for practicing accepting criticism. The strategy I will use is to try to paraphrase what the person just said so that we can have a conversation about it (of course, this doesn't work when someone is trying to do real damage).
That's a good plan, but I'm worried I won't be able to act on it successfully because the bigger problem is that I take myself too seriously. Even though a lot of times I think I make choices that show that I don't take myself seriously enough, all it takes is someone coming along saying "no, you're doing that wrong" to suddenly make me realize I take myself too seriously. What the heck is that? How can I simultaneously be selfless and self-important, and often neither one in a good way? It would be so much better if I could just switch the two, so I can take myself and my goals seriously when making decisions, and then be unserious enough to use criticism to improve myself. But yikes, how do I do that? Help!
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Wicked Cultured
It's summer and there's a whole lot of culturing going on here. Here's a list:
1. Kombucha! Kombucha is so fun. Waaaaaay more fun than sourdough or yogurt cultures. Way. Because when you make kombucha, a new culture grows right on the top of your jar full of sweetened tea. Into a thick rubbery pad that you can't believe is made of living bacteria and yeast. And when it really gets going, you can see bubbles forming under the culture, trying to find their way out, until two weeks later you have a fabulous carbonated beverage. Sometimes when I'm upstairs getting something from the closet I'm distracted by the glimmering jar of kombucha-in-the-making, and have to lie on the floor for 5 minutes watching it. I think maybe I need to get out more.
2. Buttermilk. On the counter in a quart jar, culturing a quart (duh) of unpasteurized whole milk. I'll let it sit until it starts to curdle and then put it in a towel-lined colander to catch the whey for upcoming dill pickle projects. The stuff in the towel becomes a soft cheese with a definite kick.
3. Beet kvass. Fishbowl Farm's beets were so beautiful that I had to get some at Wednesday's market. They're now peeled and quartered in quart jars, and mixed with water, whey, and sea salt. They'll sit on the counter until little bubbles rise to the top, and then into the fridge they'll go to sit for drinking as a tonic.
Back in the Saddle
Tonight I'm going to order a new saddle for my bike. Since L. and I took a 30-mile ride last month I've known that I could only ride the Mongoose saddle for 25 miles before being in pain, but good saddles are so expensive and I just kept putting off buying one. Until yesterday, when I accidentally biked 71 miles. Suddenly I'm completely willing to pony up for a new saddle, so to speak.
Sometimes it's difficult for me to remember what I could do pre-MS so I can compare how I'm doing post-MS. In many cases, I do things so differently now that it's hard to make comparisons, but in this case I can definitively say: I never biked 71 miles pre-MS. Of course, I didn't actually mean to bike 71 miles...but anyway.
So, I had this idea that my parents' camp is about 35 miles from my house, and since I'm trying to get stronger this summer, it would be fun to see whether I could bike to the camp, stay overnight, and then bike back, and see how I felt doing two 35-mile days back to back. Looked like nice weather, so off I went on the Xtra, with food, water, gazeteer, tools, a couple of books to read, my journal, and a few things Mom wanted me to bring up there.
Ah, what a day, not too much traffic, lovely scenery...at mile 30 I realized that I'd been concentrating so much on the journey that I'd forgotten about the actual destination, and I had forgotten my keys. Huh. Oh well, maybe there would be a key hidden somewhere or a window open or something. Nope. Locked up like Foht Knox. I had a nice break on the dock, though, and then figured, well, it's not hot and traffic is light, if I make it back I'll be home by late afternoon...and bolstered by the spirit of adventure, I set off for the unplanned same-day round trip. I made it. Very tired (neighbors said: "you were walking around more slowly than usual...")
I always love being on the bike, but until yesterday I hadn't done a whole lot of long rides. Mostly I'm riding in traffic, stopping at stop lights, but yesterday once I got out of town, I just had to...ride. And then ride some more. In the places where there was actually a shoulder, I could just enjoy the scenery and let my mind wander. Wow. And holy smokes, talk about some long inclines. The thing about biking from sea level towards the mountains is, er, well, you're going up a lot. And then down--whee!--and then up again. Whew. After mile 50, I was starting to get into the rhythm of the uphills, after I discovered this secret: when going uphill, pretend you're on a stationary bicycle at the gym. Then you'll be pleasantly surprised that you're actually moving! It sounds ridiculous, but it instantly changed my mindset. I wonder what other expectations I could change like that?
Today, slightly sore muscles. Waiting for tomorrow. The second day is always worse.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
The Best Maine Lobster
Tonight I had the best Maine lobster ever. And I'm not a lobster fan, generally. It's fine, but I don't go out of my way to get it, and whenever my family takes guests out for seafood, I get fish or scallops or something else instead.
This afternoon I rode the Xtracycle downtown, said hi to Lori and the Beaner, who had just arrived, and then boarded the 3:15 ferry to Peaks Island to play a wedding. Note: good thing I didn't know that the bride and groom were both musicians until afterwards.... After the ceremony I packed up and was happy to see that I would be able to catch the 6:15 ferry back to Portland.
"No, stay! I'll hook you up. I'll bring you a lobster dinner in the bar" said J., who was serving at the wedding. Fast forward to 7:30, still with no dinner, and with the next ferry boat leaving at 7:45. I said goodbye to the folks at the bar, grabbed my violin and dry bag, put on my jacket, and stepped out into the rain. Under the shelter at the dock, I was joined by one of the wedding guests, leaving early to get her car out of a Portland garage before it closed at 9:00. The staff had packed up a dinner for her, and by the time we arrived in Portland, I was carrying her lobster dinner with me to my bicycle and gearing up for a wet ride home.
Actually, riding in the rain is nice in the summer, it's usually warm, and I had already planned to get wet (we've had thunderstorms every day for the last week). I decided to take the [foggy] scenic route, and headed out Commercial Street to the bike path. By the time I was almost in sight of the East End Beach, the rain had slowed to a light drizzle and I was realizing that I hadn't eaten for a long time. I pulled the bike through the bushes and sat on the rocks. High tide. The rain rinsed my toes in my plastic sandals.
When I was cracking a lobster claw between two rocks and then eating the slightly sandy lobster meat while I looked out at the sailboats rocking on their moorings, suddenly lobster tasted very good. And when the rain picked up again and the thunder started I figured, well, I'm probably covered with lobster juice so maybe I'll just rinse off in this downpour and finish the new potatoes and vegetables while I try to make out the shape of Fort Gorges in the fog. Eating gift lobster alone, in the rain, on the rocks of Casco Bay. I really don't think Maine lobster gets better than that.
