Have been putting off writing another of these, because in my mind, in my projection, in my conception of the overall arc of these collective pieces, it is time, high time, past time for the turn in the story line. It's time, high time, past time for the fortunate twist, the unforeseen stroke of providence, the kiss of hidden kismet. I want to write that installment. I wish I could. I can't. And yet... I have to write. That's the deal.
We're entering the murky world of missed mortgage payments and falling credit ratings. I'm writing this from the South Orange library. I have an hour before I pick up Duncan from his day summer camp. Back in May, when we had a couple of hundred bucks, we plunked it down for his day camp before we thought about it too much. He needs the activity and socialization and we need the time with him out of the house so that we can get some things done without having to find an activity for him, so the four hours a day are as much for us as for him.
We have run out of surprise tax reprieves and generous relatives and friends. I have had several auditions.... nothing. I have now not had a steady theater gig for a year. The longest I've gone since, oh... 1995. When I let myself wonder, I wonder WTF, in the vernacular of the day. WTF? I say. WTF? Is it me? Is it them? Was I just lucky all those years? Did I have some sort of something that has since disappeared? Is it something I can remanufacture? Can anyone tell me?
I pick up some sous cheffing jobs and collect a few residual checks every now and then. In the world of the self motivated recreation of my middle aged self as a secret restauranteur, children's book writer, TV show producer, and Broadway Musical writer, there has been much to be joyful about. Each one of these ventures has found it's own particular angel who has blessed the validity of each distinct scheme and pledged to join me in the cause of bringing about it's fruition. Can one of them hit in time to save us from losing our home? Maybe. Snot likely.
In the day to day, thanks to my wife and her teaching, I know that when I begin to dip into a place of worry that I have the ability to stop. That worrying never did nobody one bit of good. I can choose to worry or not. Didn't used to be able to to do that.... now I can. When I'm conscious. The worst is when I wake from sleep and am in the night panic that has taken me when I am not conscious. When I drift into the river of panic while asleep and it shoves me awake. That is the worst. Happened one night in Missouri. Again it was Nicole who calmed me down.
Shaw is crawling.
I know that I can find a way to question the whole thing. I can find a way to realize that the whole complex that led me to a conclusion that The American Dream (happiness) equals Home Ownership, is a flawed and base system that would have me conscript myself to a particularly perverse formula whereby I would pay more than twice the price of the house that I am buying through a conveniently disorienting mortgage scheme that only benefits a corrupt banking system that would make the mafia blush. But the fact is, if I could afford it, I would say, "Oh well, what you gonna do?" It's only because it looks like I'm not going to be able to find a way to survive it that I bother to thoroughly excoriate the system's unfairness.
We somehow find a way to keep getting food on the table. And that is what this particular space has always been about. The garden is the best it ever has been. Tomatoes are just around the corner and beautiful.
I am very, very weary of all of this. Weary of social calls where I can't really talk about how crappy everything is.
Of course, I just re read Angela's Ashes, and I know that things could be a lot worse. In fact, our crisis isn't about the terrible current reality, it's about fear of losing what we have, and therefore, when I can realize that the day to day is still somehow, kind of beautiful, in fact incredibly beautiful.... of course that is the challenge... this is my lesson.
I run about three miles every morning after I get up. Then I sit cross legged in the back yard for fifteen minutes and listen with my eyes closed. I hear wind and cicadas mostly. Then I breathe a bit.
Give us THIS DAY. Somehow, we still have this one.
CHAR GRILLED PORK CHOPS WITH LIME, SOBA NOODLES, SPICY ORANGE SAUCE, AND FOUR BASILS
adapted from Martha Stewart
Everyday Food
1/2 cup kosher salt
juice of 3 limes
1/4 cup fresh orange juice (from 1 orange)
2 tablespoons mirin (rice wine)
1 1/2 teaspoons soy or fish sauce
1 teaspoon rice vinegar
1 1/2 teaspoons minced jalapeno or serrano chile
1/2 teaspoon peeled fresh ginger
4 nice pork chops
coarse salt
8 ounces soba
desired toppings - I used cucumber, red pepper, avocado, radish, scallion, peanut, mint, cinnamon basil, thai basil, Genovese basil, and lemon basil.
Add 1/2 cup kosher salt and juice of 3 limes to two quarts of water. Soak chops in brine for at least four hours in fridge.
In a bowl combine orange juice, mirin, soy or fishsauce, vinegar, chile, and ginger. Let flavors combine in fridge for several hours.
Take chops out of brine and allow to come to room temperature.
In a large pot of boiling salted water, cook noodles according to package instructions. Drain and rinse noodles with cold water.
Grill chops over direct heat charcoal flame, turning once, until interior temperature reaches 155ยบ. Let rest for 5 minutes.
Serve pork and noodles with desired toppings and sauce.
