Did that need saying?
It's a holiday tomorrow. We're taking the Holiday Week.
Oh, hadn't you heard of the Holiday Week?
It's what the busy and reasonable women of Soup Group do with their non-urgent volunteer activities on the day before a national holiday. Like, "Well, obviously we won't be having Soup Group during Thanksgiving week..."
Because we've all got a lot of other shit going on, what with it being the week of Thanksgiving and everything. They're a bunch of moms and grandmas, my Soup Group. Hello? They're busy during Thanksgiving week. And reasonable people such as these soup friends of mine are not going to pile one thing on top of the other. No. We're going to manage our lives intelligently and plan ahead: we cooked extra soup last week, the freezer is full.
No Soup Group this week.
But do have a happy Holiday Week. I hope you get things done.
Showing posts with label youknowhowwedo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label youknowhowwedo. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Thanksgiving Prep
There was a time in my adult life when I would spend Thanksgiving with my grandmother, Meemo, my mom's mom.
It was a tradition that began after the weakest Thanksgiving ever, Thanksgiving 1997. I had graduated from college, dropped out of grad school, and moved back to Denver. That year, my parents bailed out to the mountains for Thanksgiving with my uncle and aunt, leaving me and my brother stunned to find that we were on our own for Thanksgiving, being explicitly not invited to join the elders at elevation. Frere and I tried (a little belligerently) to rally. We'll have our own Thanksgiving, we said. We'll do it ourselves.
So with Frere, and my best pal, and Frere's young family, I celebrated Thanksgiving 1997 with a late and lousy meal at my parents' house, where I was living at the time. Some important things were overcooked, some important things were undercooked, and both cheer and ambience were noticeably absent from our proceedings. I vowed internally to have a better option next year, and with gritted teeth, started to craft a plan for a meaningful Thanksgiving tradition of my own.
And I was successful in that goal. Every year thereafter for Thanksgiving, I'd fly down to Meemo's house in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. For a few days, I would visit with family, watch cable, and be overfed. I'd spend hours cooking Creole specialties with Meemo in her pretty, yellow kitchen. I'd spend hours lolling on her bed with her watching tv after dark (we liked Emeril, Wheel of Fortune and the news). I relished the hours I got to spend hearing stories about her life and telling her stories about my life. And on Thanksgiving Day, Meemo and I would gather with the relatives at my aunt's house to celebrate with a decadent feast fit for kings, or Romans, or Southerners, I guess. Loved it, loved it, loved it. I went alone and basked in the attention. I went with my boyfriend in 2000, and came back subsequent years with that same handsome man, now playing the role of husband.
Then in 2005, three days before my 30th birthday, my grandmother passed away suddenly.
(And I still want to kick somebody.)
So, naturally, I spent Thanksgiving 2005 and Thanksgiving 2006 surly and isolated and drinking about it.
But in the last few years, I have come to understand that's not how Meemo would want me to play it. I never thought I was "honoring her memory" by acting that way, I just didn't know what else to do on Thanksgiving Day when I was supposed to have plans with her. Mom finally called me out, at some point, and I had to agree, Yeah, Meemo would want me to hold my head up. If she could weigh in on it, Meemo probably would want me to spend Thanksgiving with "Alta" -- my mom. Thanksgiving with Alta is something Meemo would love to do, if she could.
So in the last couple of years, I've been showing up for Thanksgiving dinner with my Mom & Dad, brother, nieces, and other local family and friends. I say "showing up" because while I typically aim to scintillate in social situations (youknowhowwedo), I'm nothing but a presence on Thanksgiving. I'll put on a dress, I'll bring mashed potatoes, I'll bow my head for prayer. But I'm waiting for it to be over.
Thanksgiving 2009? I'm not aiming for a lot more than showing up again this year. Frere's divorce has just become final, my uncle recently had to file for bankruptcy, the Handsome Man and I are entering another holiday season childless and not pregnant. Thanksgiving 2009 and I are hardly making eye contact at this point.
But here's one thing I plan to do this year to try and make the holiday a little special for me. I'm thinking maybe this year I'll have the heart to come home and watch the last and only video I took of Meemo, from Thanksgiving 2004 -- which was an awesome Thanksgiving, if it had to be the last one. It was great. And from it, I have my grandma on video, talking one-on-one with me about her visit to Denver the previous summer, and about her childhood in New Roads, and about her satisfaction with her life.
I haven't watched it since 2005, but I remember that in the video, Meemo talks about me. She talks about a conversation she had with my Baton Rouge aunt after the two of them visited us, the Denver clan, the summer before. And what Meemo said was that they agreed: "Alta's got a daughter, child."
I remember it word for word.
And it will be nice to hear it again.
Have a happy Thanksgiving.
It was a tradition that began after the weakest Thanksgiving ever, Thanksgiving 1997. I had graduated from college, dropped out of grad school, and moved back to Denver. That year, my parents bailed out to the mountains for Thanksgiving with my uncle and aunt, leaving me and my brother stunned to find that we were on our own for Thanksgiving, being explicitly not invited to join the elders at elevation. Frere and I tried (a little belligerently) to rally. We'll have our own Thanksgiving, we said. We'll do it ourselves.
So with Frere, and my best pal, and Frere's young family, I celebrated Thanksgiving 1997 with a late and lousy meal at my parents' house, where I was living at the time. Some important things were overcooked, some important things were undercooked, and both cheer and ambience were noticeably absent from our proceedings. I vowed internally to have a better option next year, and with gritted teeth, started to craft a plan for a meaningful Thanksgiving tradition of my own.
And I was successful in that goal. Every year thereafter for Thanksgiving, I'd fly down to Meemo's house in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. For a few days, I would visit with family, watch cable, and be overfed. I'd spend hours cooking Creole specialties with Meemo in her pretty, yellow kitchen. I'd spend hours lolling on her bed with her watching tv after dark (we liked Emeril, Wheel of Fortune and the news). I relished the hours I got to spend hearing stories about her life and telling her stories about my life. And on Thanksgiving Day, Meemo and I would gather with the relatives at my aunt's house to celebrate with a decadent feast fit for kings, or Romans, or Southerners, I guess. Loved it, loved it, loved it. I went alone and basked in the attention. I went with my boyfriend in 2000, and came back subsequent years with that same handsome man, now playing the role of husband.
Then in 2005, three days before my 30th birthday, my grandmother passed away suddenly.
(And I still want to kick somebody.)
So, naturally, I spent Thanksgiving 2005 and Thanksgiving 2006 surly and isolated and drinking about it.
But in the last few years, I have come to understand that's not how Meemo would want me to play it. I never thought I was "honoring her memory" by acting that way, I just didn't know what else to do on Thanksgiving Day when I was supposed to have plans with her. Mom finally called me out, at some point, and I had to agree, Yeah, Meemo would want me to hold my head up. If she could weigh in on it, Meemo probably would want me to spend Thanksgiving with "Alta" -- my mom. Thanksgiving with Alta is something Meemo would love to do, if she could.
So in the last couple of years, I've been showing up for Thanksgiving dinner with my Mom & Dad, brother, nieces, and other local family and friends. I say "showing up" because while I typically aim to scintillate in social situations (youknowhowwedo), I'm nothing but a presence on Thanksgiving. I'll put on a dress, I'll bring mashed potatoes, I'll bow my head for prayer. But I'm waiting for it to be over.
Thanksgiving 2009? I'm not aiming for a lot more than showing up again this year. Frere's divorce has just become final, my uncle recently had to file for bankruptcy, the Handsome Man and I are entering another holiday season childless and not pregnant. Thanksgiving 2009 and I are hardly making eye contact at this point.
But here's one thing I plan to do this year to try and make the holiday a little special for me. I'm thinking maybe this year I'll have the heart to come home and watch the last and only video I took of Meemo, from Thanksgiving 2004 -- which was an awesome Thanksgiving, if it had to be the last one. It was great. And from it, I have my grandma on video, talking one-on-one with me about her visit to Denver the previous summer, and about her childhood in New Roads, and about her satisfaction with her life.
I haven't watched it since 2005, but I remember that in the video, Meemo talks about me. She talks about a conversation she had with my Baton Rouge aunt after the two of them visited us, the Denver clan, the summer before. And what Meemo said was that they agreed: "Alta's got a daughter, child."
I remember it word for word.
And it will be nice to hear it again.
Have a happy Thanksgiving.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Today's Soup: Thanksgiving Corn Chowder with Bacon
A dairy-free chowder, this soup is rich with veggies and seasonings including potatoes, zucchini, tomatoes, home-roasted red peppers, mild green chiles, fresh cilantro, thyme, cumin, chili powder and paprika. Perhaps surprisingly, it's not spicy at all. Flavorful and truly delish, this recipe is one of our Soup Group specialties.
Sometimes I get nervous about making soup at Soup Group, and will consider ditching. In the land of Soup Group, it's my job to identify each week's soup recipe, convert it - as is usually necessary - to bulk yield, and develop a shopping list based on needed ingredients and our existing inventory. All this takes place before each Wednesday's cooking session. And it means that I am the one to blame if the recipe turns out crap, like if I forget to include or recalculate an ingredient (each of which has happened), or if the cooking instructions are unclear, or if the cupboard doesn't hold the expected ingredients, or if the flavor of the soup doesn't turn out right.
And it's not that the Soup Group ladies are mean or cruel about these failures when they happen (which is infrequent, these days). And it's not that I don't have experience with "pressure" situations - multi-million dollar projects, special events with multiple moving parts, the care and feeding of VIPs. No, it's the shame. I could have done better. I should have done better. It's just literacy and arithmetic, after all. And then I feel stupid for feeling ashamed. It's just a volunteer job, after all.
But anything worth doing is worth doing well.
How much angst and anxiety have been caused by the internalization of that saying, I wonder. Plenty, in my own life. But I think that commitment to excellence (or, to basic competence) also has spurred me on to success in any number of arenas that really matter to me. And that's the trick: exorcising your drive for excellence only in the areas that really matter. This starts with bothering to identify what are the areas in your life that really matter. After that, the task is just to treat those areas as your priority.
Sometimes I get nervous about making soup at Soup Group, and will consider ditching. In the land of Soup Group, it's my job to identify each week's soup recipe, convert it - as is usually necessary - to bulk yield, and develop a shopping list based on needed ingredients and our existing inventory. All this takes place before each Wednesday's cooking session. And it means that I am the one to blame if the recipe turns out crap, like if I forget to include or recalculate an ingredient (each of which has happened), or if the cooking instructions are unclear, or if the cupboard doesn't hold the expected ingredients, or if the flavor of the soup doesn't turn out right.
And it's not that the Soup Group ladies are mean or cruel about these failures when they happen (which is infrequent, these days). And it's not that I don't have experience with "pressure" situations - multi-million dollar projects, special events with multiple moving parts, the care and feeding of VIPs. No, it's the shame. I could have done better. I should have done better. It's just literacy and arithmetic, after all. And then I feel stupid for feeling ashamed. It's just a volunteer job, after all.
But anything worth doing is worth doing well.
How much angst and anxiety have been caused by the internalization of that saying, I wonder. Plenty, in my own life. But I think that commitment to excellence (or, to basic competence) also has spurred me on to success in any number of arenas that really matter to me. And that's the trick: exorcising your drive for excellence only in the areas that really matter. This starts with bothering to identify what are the areas in your life that really matter. After that, the task is just to treat those areas as your priority.
Friday, November 13, 2009
My Trust, Gratitude, Inspiration Friday
I'm beginning to develop a dislike of my blog.
I feel somewhat disloyal to the blog, saying that. But honestly, today I feel like this record is living proof --or public evidence, at least-- of how stupid and disingenuous I can be. I find myself writing shit I don't mean. Or that I don't mean entirely. Or that I might mean today, but almost certainly won't mean tomorrow. Yet there it still is.
Before I began blogging, I figured that I would just write about things that I could stand by. Just don't write anything that you can't stand by. That's what I told myself. And I thought for a long time about how that might work. I tend to see both sides of an issue. A lot of my ideas and thoughts are works in progress. And, most significantly perhaps, I don't want anyone I like to dislike me. <-- that was close to honest. Truly honest: I don't want anyone to dislike me. (See how I EASE into the truth? Truth can be a lot for me to take, all at once. But I am nonetheless a fan of Truth, sad as any given Truth may be, so I am committed to ending up there. It just takes me a minute, sometimes.)
Tr-Gr-In-Friday is about elevating the weekend-signaling goodness that is Friday by making a point of calling out the positives. It's not just the end of the work week that's great. It's LOTS of moments and aspects of life that are great, including the ability to recognize that they're great. And I buy that with all of my heart.
So I thought, despite a crap morning, I'd give it a go here. Without further ado, here is The Preferred Daughter's first installation of Trust, Gratitude, Inspiration Friday:
I am TRUSTING that underneath this swirl of emotions today -- guilt, frustration, regret, anger, fear, resentment -- lies my true and peaceful self, and she is still me.
I am GRATEFUL for my Handsome Man, who has profound and frequent moments of grace that make me incredibly thankful to share a life and a residence with him.
I am INSPIRED by the terrific work of the author of ("writer at"? *sigh*) Ordinary Courage, who is active in the field of shame study and authenticity promotion. She would say it differently (read: better), and that's okay on Tr-Gr-In-Fr: I'm inspired by her ability to find the right words for the complicated issues she addresses. I'm inspired by her attempts to practice in her everyday life what she preaches in theory. I'm also inspired by her willingness to share that personal journey with the public. In fact, I think that's pretty badass.
And at the end of all that trust and gratitude and inspiration, I feel a little bit like giving myself a break. (This was probably Professor Brown's plan all along...) All I'm doing is trying, yeah, but I give other people credit for trying. Maybe I should get some credit. I'm trying to be authentic, all day long. I'm trying to work through my baggage. I'm trying to be a good person. I'm trying to realize some of my potential. I'm trying to have a personal blog. I'm trying, okay? I've got challenges and blind spots and spelling errors, like most people. But I put a lot of effort into my attempts to do better.
Maybe, at least on Fridays, that's all we'll ask.
I feel somewhat disloyal to the blog, saying that. But honestly, today I feel like this record is living proof --or public evidence, at least-- of how stupid and disingenuous I can be. I find myself writing shit I don't mean. Or that I don't mean entirely. Or that I might mean today, but almost certainly won't mean tomorrow. Yet there it still is.
Before I began blogging, I figured that I would just write about things that I could stand by. Just don't write anything that you can't stand by. That's what I told myself. And I thought for a long time about how that might work. I tend to see both sides of an issue. A lot of my ideas and thoughts are works in progress. And, most significantly perhaps, I don't want anyone I like to dislike me. <-- that was close to honest. Truly honest: I don't want anyone to dislike me. (See how I EASE into the truth? Truth can be a lot for me to take, all at once. But I am nonetheless a fan of Truth, sad as any given Truth may be, so I am committed to ending up there. It just takes me a minute, sometimes.)
So, as I largely couldn't find any personal topic that I could write about, publish on a blog, and still feel good about, I didn't blog.
Instead of blogging, I wondered about What's wrong with me? I mean, do you READ blogs? People go into all sorts of trivial, misinformed, grammatically incorrect and personal matters, over and over again. (Not at the blogs I enjoy, but it does go on.) So the bar is low. And that's not the standard, that's just some context. Standard-wise, I wondered about What kind of a wimp do you have to be to not have any thoughts or ideas that you wouldn't mind sharing. I know I have a problem with sharing, in that sense. I create things that I'm pleased with, even proud of, but the LAST thing I would want to do is expose any of these things to the harsh light of day. So you see how incredibly courageous this site is for me. Ha ha. You probably don't see that at all, and are tired of my whining.
Moving on... Among the blogging public who I admire is Brene Brown, the writer of Ordinary Courage. ("Writer of"? "Host of"? "Writer at"? I don't know.) She does a play on TGIF that she calls Trust Gratitude Inspiration Friday. In her words:
I believe a joyful life is made up of joyful moments gracefully strung together by trust, gratitude, and inspiration.How's that for good spirit! Let's be glad about more than just the end of the work week. Because what's that? It reminds me of that joke about the guy who is hitting his head against the wall, and his friend walks up and says, Hey, why are you hitting your head against a wall? And the guy says, Because it feels so good when I stop.
Every Friday, I'm going to try to be deliberate and mindful about what I'm trusting, what I'm grateful for, and what's inspiring me.
Tr-Gr-In-Friday is about elevating the weekend-signaling goodness that is Friday by making a point of calling out the positives. It's not just the end of the work week that's great. It's LOTS of moments and aspects of life that are great, including the ability to recognize that they're great. And I buy that with all of my heart.
So I thought, despite a crap morning, I'd give it a go here. Without further ado, here is The Preferred Daughter's first installation of Trust, Gratitude, Inspiration Friday:
I am TRUSTING that underneath this swirl of emotions today -- guilt, frustration, regret, anger, fear, resentment -- lies my true and peaceful self, and she is still me.
I am GRATEFUL for my Handsome Man, who has profound and frequent moments of grace that make me incredibly thankful to share a life and a residence with him.
I am INSPIRED by the terrific work of the author of ("writer at"? *sigh*) Ordinary Courage, who is active in the field of shame study and authenticity promotion. She would say it differently (read: better), and that's okay on Tr-Gr-In-Fr: I'm inspired by her ability to find the right words for the complicated issues she addresses. I'm inspired by her attempts to practice in her everyday life what she preaches in theory. I'm also inspired by her willingness to share that personal journey with the public. In fact, I think that's pretty badass.
And at the end of all that trust and gratitude and inspiration, I feel a little bit like giving myself a break. (This was probably Professor Brown's plan all along...) All I'm doing is trying, yeah, but I give other people credit for trying. Maybe I should get some credit. I'm trying to be authentic, all day long. I'm trying to work through my baggage. I'm trying to be a good person. I'm trying to realize some of my potential. I'm trying to have a personal blog. I'm trying, okay? I've got challenges and blind spots and spelling errors, like most people. But I put a lot of effort into my attempts to do better.
Maybe, at least on Fridays, that's all we'll ask.
Monday, November 9, 2009
No Soup Group This Week
The church freezer is full of soups:
Flu-Fighting Chicken Soup
Spicy Sausage & Lentil Soup
Harvest Sweet Potato & Onion Soup
Texas-Style Turkey Chili
We are at capacity. We will not make another 40 quarts of soup this week, not even 20 quarts. This week, we must focus on SELLING the soups we already have. So no Soup Group on Wednesday.
And that's fine, but I wonder what will be my monumental cooking experience for the week. There's something lovely to me about spending time in front of a stove with multiple burners going. I enjoy the planning. I enjoy the focus. I enjoy the results. :)
It sure ain't the typical night's experience at our house, though. There's just not enough of an audience to make it worthwhile. It continues to surprise me that nobody is clamoring for admission to home-cooked dinners here at Roslyn Street. But they're not. To be fair, family says yes whenever we ask them. But Joe's friends would prefer to go to bars. (Totally inscrutable to me, as I HATE most bars and love to have a reason to stay home.) My friends, meanwhile, are these super-busy, successful professional women who...don't get it. There is no place in their lives for braising for eight hours, for example, so it's like they're uncomfortable with my efforts at same. Doesn't she have anything better to do, they seem to be wondering to themselves as they graciously decline my offerings of seconds. That's another thing: My girlfriends tend to be watching their weight. Beautiful women with oodles of personality, smarts and humor. But: No thanks, I haven't been to the gym all week, they'll demur.
What's your gym got to do with me?
Which is why I like feeding Handsome's friends. If I can lure them to dinner, they'll throw out a diet real quick in the face of some perfectly seasoned, falling-off-the-bone tender ribs. As it should be.
I need to know more eaters, maybe.
Flu-Fighting Chicken Soup
Spicy Sausage & Lentil Soup
Harvest Sweet Potato & Onion Soup
Texas-Style Turkey Chili
We are at capacity. We will not make another 40 quarts of soup this week, not even 20 quarts. This week, we must focus on SELLING the soups we already have. So no Soup Group on Wednesday.
And that's fine, but I wonder what will be my monumental cooking experience for the week. There's something lovely to me about spending time in front of a stove with multiple burners going. I enjoy the planning. I enjoy the focus. I enjoy the results. :)
It sure ain't the typical night's experience at our house, though. There's just not enough of an audience to make it worthwhile. It continues to surprise me that nobody is clamoring for admission to home-cooked dinners here at Roslyn Street. But they're not. To be fair, family says yes whenever we ask them. But Joe's friends would prefer to go to bars. (Totally inscrutable to me, as I HATE most bars and love to have a reason to stay home.) My friends, meanwhile, are these super-busy, successful professional women who...don't get it. There is no place in their lives for braising for eight hours, for example, so it's like they're uncomfortable with my efforts at same. Doesn't she have anything better to do, they seem to be wondering to themselves as they graciously decline my offerings of seconds. That's another thing: My girlfriends tend to be watching their weight. Beautiful women with oodles of personality, smarts and humor. But: No thanks, I haven't been to the gym all week, they'll demur.
What's your gym got to do with me?
Which is why I like feeding Handsome's friends. If I can lure them to dinner, they'll throw out a diet real quick in the face of some perfectly seasoned, falling-off-the-bone tender ribs. As it should be.
I need to know more eaters, maybe.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Partial Credit
There I was, drinking beer in a strip mall with my husband...
Now it was an ice-cold glass of my favorite beer in a cute bistro in the design-award-winning strip mall just five minutes from our house. And I do love my multi-faceted, loyal and adoring husband...
But there I was, drinking beer in a strip mall with my husband...
And I thought momentarily about how very far my life has diverged from where I had thought I would be at this time. I'm thinking about my dreams and visions for myself when I was a 16- or even as a 20-year-old girl imagining a 34-year-old self.
(Side note: Facebook is stupid. For past 20 minutes I've been looking at RB's photos of her fabulous trip to Mykonos this August, when I know she didn't post those photos for the likes of me. I only have access to the photos because Facebook has decided that if I'm a friend of DK, who is a friend of RB, that's good enough. Don't be stupid, Facebook. RB doesn't know me. -- And the fact is, she knows me better than she knows some of the other yahoos who now have the privilege of viewing her photos, because at least we have met. But Facebook doesn't know that. Stupid.)
And, yeah, the face-to-face confrontation with the expectations of a 16-year-old me was way more than I could handle, and of course I drank one beer too many, sure, and came home and looked at Facebook.
(Got a screamin' deal on the pitcher of beer, though, so while I may have felt unduly pressured by its pitcherliness to have the third beer, I can't say it wasn't a bargain.)
But to give myself a break, my expectations as a 16-year-old maybe weren't terribly realistic. As I recall, if you boil it down, I really only had two thoughts about my future:
1) I'll be a writer or jazz singer somewhere.
2) My future self will figure out the rest.
If you boil it down, that's what I thought about my future. Inherent in number two was my expectation that I'd have success and confidence and love and children, etc., but I trusted that Future Crystal could be relied upon, in turn, to make the right choices to get us there.
How has "Future Crystal" done in those endeavors? Because that's me, right? How have I done?
Future Crystal is hitting it out of the park, in a lot of ways. I hadn't counted on it being such a complicated matter, figuring out the rest of it. But I've done okay.
If you look at it a certain way, I've made my living by writing, for years now.
Now it was an ice-cold glass of my favorite beer in a cute bistro in the design-award-winning strip mall just five minutes from our house. And I do love my multi-faceted, loyal and adoring husband...
But there I was, drinking beer in a strip mall with my husband...
And I thought momentarily about how very far my life has diverged from where I had thought I would be at this time. I'm thinking about my dreams and visions for myself when I was a 16- or even as a 20-year-old girl imagining a 34-year-old self.
(Side note: Facebook is stupid. For past 20 minutes I've been looking at RB's photos of her fabulous trip to Mykonos this August, when I know she didn't post those photos for the likes of me. I only have access to the photos because Facebook has decided that if I'm a friend of DK, who is a friend of RB, that's good enough. Don't be stupid, Facebook. RB doesn't know me. -- And the fact is, she knows me better than she knows some of the other yahoos who now have the privilege of viewing her photos, because at least we have met. But Facebook doesn't know that. Stupid.)
And, yeah, the face-to-face confrontation with the expectations of a 16-year-old me was way more than I could handle, and of course I drank one beer too many, sure, and came home and looked at Facebook.
(Got a screamin' deal on the pitcher of beer, though, so while I may have felt unduly pressured by its pitcherliness to have the third beer, I can't say it wasn't a bargain.)
But to give myself a break, my expectations as a 16-year-old maybe weren't terribly realistic. As I recall, if you boil it down, I really only had two thoughts about my future:
1) I'll be a writer or jazz singer somewhere.
2) My future self will figure out the rest.
If you boil it down, that's what I thought about my future. Inherent in number two was my expectation that I'd have success and confidence and love and children, etc., but I trusted that Future Crystal could be relied upon, in turn, to make the right choices to get us there.
How has "Future Crystal" done in those endeavors? Because that's me, right? How have I done?
Future Crystal is hitting it out of the park, in a lot of ways. I hadn't counted on it being such a complicated matter, figuring out the rest of it. But I've done okay.
If you look at it a certain way, I've made my living by writing, for years now.
And maybe I haven't done too bad at being a jazz singer, either. I mean, for not actually having become a jazz singer. I am, for example, very cool. I have a great voice. I know a lot of jazz numbers. I'm extremely available for rehearsal and performance times. Partial credit?
Ha.
Ha.
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