It worked! It worked! Blogging really did make me feel better :-) I get why people do this sorta thing. Now, on to more positive topics about life and love on the road to 50. Special thanks to my loving husband, Paul, who I am sure will read every word of every review and love me anyway. At least I hope so :-)
Write-on,
Faith
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Goals and Expectations
Goals, aspirations, plans and expectations. These are the things that keep us moving through life with forward momentum, putting one foot in front of the other. Are these words really synonyms of each other? Is there a causal relationship between them? Some goals are set because of outside societal pressures, these are the things we think we "should" do in life. Go to college, get a job, buy a house, get married, have babies. Or is it that we "want" to do them? Sometimes I feel there is a fine line between goals and expectations. One person's expectations might turn out to be the other person's goals, in some cases like it or not.
I was thinking about this today as my husband and I continue our home remodel. We bought a "fixer upper" in a neighborhood we both absolutely adore. The remodel was like anyone else's remodel, over priced and imperfect. Of course, this is my opinion. Paul is much kinder and less discriminating (sounds very unfair but I couldn't think of another word for "less picky"). He feels we got what we paid for, and he is satisfied with the work, overall. I, on the other hand, feel the devil is in the details. By details I mean having finish work that is pleasing to the eye. In this case, I was disappointed. This has been a sore subject between us. It happens to be the one topic that Paul and I cannot discuss without risk of divorce! and it is all due to expectations, or differing level of expectations. And expectations develop from experiences in life.
You might say I'm a bit persnickety. I grew up watching my father do his own patching and painting for many years. He'd work on the project endlessly making sure it the texture was smooth and flawless. My *expectation* was (there's that word again) that if you pay for something, from an expert, the craftsmanship should be at least as good as my Dad's. Afterall, he's no expert. On the contrary, contractors do not care in the personal sense whether or not things are perfect. It's a job. And it's not their home. As a result, we have many imperfections in the finish work at our house that dishearten me. It really gives me a visceral response when I think of the money spent.
But, I really need to get over it. It is still a nice home in a fabulous neighborhood, with a kitchen to die for. We can seat 12 for dinner without any issue, and it is a nice open layout for entertaining. Yet, I harbor this frustration. It is a feeling like we were ripped off by the contractor who did not seem as invested in the finished project as we were. So, to try and move forward, I wrote both a Yelp and an Angie's List review last night, until 12 AM. I thought I'd feel better, that it would be cathartic and healing. Instead, I feel uncaring and critical, like a bad person. Afraid of karmic retribution. I've reread my review at least 4 times throughout the day, hoping for resolution, but it just didn't come. I found myself seeing other 4 and 5 star reviews for the same contractor and thinking to myself, "what were they thinking," rather than feeling like I had gotten it off my chest. In my review, I made sure to present only the facts as I see them, without implicating Paul or misrepresenting his views. Yet, I feel horrible. What would give me closure on this issue? I guess the contractor reading the review and contacting us with an apology, but that is unlikely to happen. So, for now, I need to just work on my forgiveness. They say forgiveness is more for the forgiver than for the forgiven. If only forgiveness in this case were free.
Write-on,
Faith
But, I really need to get over it. It is still a nice home in a fabulous neighborhood, with a kitchen to die for. We can seat 12 for dinner without any issue, and it is a nice open layout for entertaining. Yet, I harbor this frustration. It is a feeling like we were ripped off by the contractor who did not seem as invested in the finished project as we were. So, to try and move forward, I wrote both a Yelp and an Angie's List review last night, until 12 AM. I thought I'd feel better, that it would be cathartic and healing. Instead, I feel uncaring and critical, like a bad person. Afraid of karmic retribution. I've reread my review at least 4 times throughout the day, hoping for resolution, but it just didn't come. I found myself seeing other 4 and 5 star reviews for the same contractor and thinking to myself, "what were they thinking," rather than feeling like I had gotten it off my chest. In my review, I made sure to present only the facts as I see them, without implicating Paul or misrepresenting his views. Yet, I feel horrible. What would give me closure on this issue? I guess the contractor reading the review and contacting us with an apology, but that is unlikely to happen. So, for now, I need to just work on my forgiveness. They say forgiveness is more for the forgiver than for the forgiven. If only forgiveness in this case were free.
Write-on,
Faith
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Eating to live or living to eat?
Ah, the age old question. My immediate response, of course, is "living to eat!" Afterall, I'm Italian :-) We eat well, as a people.
Food is the epicenter of most of my memories. I can remember holidays when my grandparents were still living. We would celebrate Christmas Eve at my grandmothers. A feast of seafood, 7 fishes. This is a Roman Catholic and Italian tradition. I hadn't given much thought to the origin of this tradition before tonight. According to Wikipedia, this is a tradition in Southern Italy and is not known throughout Italy. The feast celebrates waiting for the birth of Jesus, Vigilia di Natale. Seven is an auspicious number possibly relating to the number of sacraments in Catholicism. Another theory is that seven represents Jesus Christ, the sum of the divinity (3) and Earth (4). Jesus is God on Earth (7).
All I knew growing up was that the food was fabulous. My grandmother and mother were amazing cooks. Our family's Italian-American interpretation of the Feast of Seven Fishes usually started with an appetizer of shrimp cocktail followed by a homemade clam chowder and baked scallops. A main course of homemade linguine with clam sauce was accompanied by an array of side dishes such as octopus salad, baccala salad, and pickled herring. Baccala salad (cod fish salad) was my absolute favorite! And no holiday meal was complete without artichokes. A Mediterranean tradition. My siblings were not fans of the more "exotic" dishes, which meant more octopus and baccala for my Dad and me! Yum.
As this holiday season approaches, these gastronomic memories remind me of my Grandma. I wish I had invested the time to learn all of her recipes when I was younger. To actually stand side by side with her at the stove and learn to prepare her baccala salad. And I wish Gandma P. could have met Paul. She would have loved him, he's a good eater :-)
As an adult, food continues to be part of my identity. My favorite form of entertainment is seeking out a new restaurant and trying wonderful new tastes and smells. I pride myself in being able to decipher the recipe, breaking down the complex flavor into its component parts. Making guesses as to the ingredients, herbs and spices, used in preparation. Enjoying a new bottle of wine recommended by the sommelier. Ah, the good old days.
Imagine my heartbreak to learn that as I approach 50 I no longer possess the metabolism to support my food obsession. I had heard others complain about gaining weight in their 40s and 50s, but I assumed it would never happen to me. I thought that by continuing to be active outdoors I would be able to avoid any weight catastrophe. Boy was I wrong! These days, I can gain 5 pounds just taking a deep breath. It's not that I was ever "model thin," but I have typically been a healthy weight somewhere within the weight range for my height. As I watch my BMI approach the right side of the "range," I feel like I'm losing control of my own body. I suppose the only response is a "lifestyle" change. Sigh. But what's a 49 year old Italian-American woman to do without a food obsession?? I wish my Grandma was here so I could ask her, but I suspect she would just tell me to "finish what was on my plate."
Write-on,
Faith
Food is the epicenter of most of my memories. I can remember holidays when my grandparents were still living. We would celebrate Christmas Eve at my grandmothers. A feast of seafood, 7 fishes. This is a Roman Catholic and Italian tradition. I hadn't given much thought to the origin of this tradition before tonight. According to Wikipedia, this is a tradition in Southern Italy and is not known throughout Italy. The feast celebrates waiting for the birth of Jesus, Vigilia di Natale. Seven is an auspicious number possibly relating to the number of sacraments in Catholicism. Another theory is that seven represents Jesus Christ, the sum of the divinity (3) and Earth (4). Jesus is God on Earth (7).
All I knew growing up was that the food was fabulous. My grandmother and mother were amazing cooks. Our family's Italian-American interpretation of the Feast of Seven Fishes usually started with an appetizer of shrimp cocktail followed by a homemade clam chowder and baked scallops. A main course of homemade linguine with clam sauce was accompanied by an array of side dishes such as octopus salad, baccala salad, and pickled herring. Baccala salad (cod fish salad) was my absolute favorite! And no holiday meal was complete without artichokes. A Mediterranean tradition. My siblings were not fans of the more "exotic" dishes, which meant more octopus and baccala for my Dad and me! Yum.
As this holiday season approaches, these gastronomic memories remind me of my Grandma. I wish I had invested the time to learn all of her recipes when I was younger. To actually stand side by side with her at the stove and learn to prepare her baccala salad. And I wish Gandma P. could have met Paul. She would have loved him, he's a good eater :-)
As an adult, food continues to be part of my identity. My favorite form of entertainment is seeking out a new restaurant and trying wonderful new tastes and smells. I pride myself in being able to decipher the recipe, breaking down the complex flavor into its component parts. Making guesses as to the ingredients, herbs and spices, used in preparation. Enjoying a new bottle of wine recommended by the sommelier. Ah, the good old days.
Imagine my heartbreak to learn that as I approach 50 I no longer possess the metabolism to support my food obsession. I had heard others complain about gaining weight in their 40s and 50s, but I assumed it would never happen to me. I thought that by continuing to be active outdoors I would be able to avoid any weight catastrophe. Boy was I wrong! These days, I can gain 5 pounds just taking a deep breath. It's not that I was ever "model thin," but I have typically been a healthy weight somewhere within the weight range for my height. As I watch my BMI approach the right side of the "range," I feel like I'm losing control of my own body. I suppose the only response is a "lifestyle" change. Sigh. But what's a 49 year old Italian-American woman to do without a food obsession?? I wish my Grandma was here so I could ask her, but I suspect she would just tell me to "finish what was on my plate."
Write-on,
Faith
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