Diane Mierzwik

February 7, 2010

I never learned to cook. I could probably spend lots of money on a therapist to explore the many reasons I never learned to cook – feminist movement, lack of patience, bad recipe reading skills – but none of this changes the fact that my friends are more familiar with where cooking utensils are in my kitchen than I am.

My failure as a cook has never bothered me. Even when I got married and the dear hubby poked his form tentatively at a piece of chicken and refused to eat it, I was nonplussed because I saw my way out of ever trying to compete with his mother in the cooking front.

Mr. Braxton, my ninth grade English teacher, said once, “There are people who eat to live and those who live to eat.” He was implying that my 90 pounds of budding womanhood ate to live, and I suppose it’s true. My camp mates at the river trip in Blythe went along with my plan to eat everything cold out of cans for the week or out of a cereal box, but weren’t too happy when they caught me being fed pancakes by the other group of campers.

A bowl of cereal, Raisin Nut Bran to be exact, is my idea of a perfect meal. My husband, who happens to be a lives-to-eat kinda’ guy, also is happy with a bowl of cereal because he is forever on a diet. But the kid, now that is where this smooth sailing of an eating plan gets a bit choppy.

As a baby, he didn’t cause too much trouble, pop out a boob or open a jar of mushed sweet potatoes and feed the darling with that cute little spoon covered in plastic padding. Even mixing cereal and producing crackers I did well. Then the toddler went off to a swank preschool with catered lunches and we had “sack lunch” for dinner. Public schools even feed the kiddies hot lunch and I was happy to pay months in advance to be sure my darling was getting at least one hot meal a day.

He can drive now. The cookie jar is full of fives and tens so he can eat anywhere he wants – from Del Taco to TGI Friday’s – fine by me as long as I don’t have to cook.

So count me surprised when he came home a few months ago and pleaded for me to cook for him. “I’m an athlete. I can’t eat out all the time.”

So I went to work preparing the three things I know how to make – chili, shit on a shingle, and macaroni and cheese with toasted sandwiches. This got us by for a few weeks. Then one night he came into the kitchen and said, “This again?”

So I conferred with his dad. What else could we cook? The darling happened to be in the room eavesdropping.

“It’s not that hard,” he muttered.

“Then you cook for us,” I retorted.

“My life is perfect. I live in a great house. I have great friends. School is good. You guys are good. The only thing I would improve in my life is dinner time. When I’m a dad….”

I half-listened, letting him wind himself down with his reverie. When he finally grew quiet, I simply pointed out that sometimes beauty is only recognizable because of the flaws.

“What?” he grumbled.

“Tuna casserole tomorrow,” I said loudly, with conviction. “With potato chips sprinkled on top!”

This week I will remember that beauty is in the flaws.

January 31, 2010

I spent the weekend at the San Diego State University Writers Conference. I drove in Friday night, just in time to pick up my registration packet, peer into the no-host bar mixer and head up to my room to hide out.

I tried to get a good night’s sleep, but tried is the verb in that sentence, not get.

On Saturday morning I awoke before daylight, and since I’m used to staying in hotels where if you don’t get in the shower before everyone else, you get to take a cold shower, I jumped in the shower.

With my wet hair wrapped in a towel and deodorant dutifully applied, I proceeded to put in my contacts. I precariously balanced my right contact on the tip of my index finger, squirt in a few drops of solution to grease the process a bit then noticed how along one fourth of the contact, where the shape should have been a soup bowl, not a salad bowl, there was a row of fork tips.

And I thought my eyes hurt the day before because I had been staring at the computer for so long. Huh!

No worries, I was at a writing conference. Perhaps the writing gods were sending me a message. I’d look more writerly in glasses.

But to put on my eye makeup with no contacts meant I had to lean in very close to the mirror. Messy mascara above and below previously mentioned glasses might give me more of the nutty professor look rather than the scholarly serious writer look I was going for.

So close to the mirror, I realized it had been awhile since I’d plucked my eyebrows, and there was one particularly noticeable strand a bit too close to the delicate arch of my left eyebrow. Kinda like a misplaced comma.

Of course, I hadn’t packed tweezers. No amount of staring at the bottom of my quart size travel bag from Southwest was going to make a pair of tweezers appear. I’m no criss angel. You can tell by looking at my poorly tweezed eyebrows. 

Sure, I thought about going down to that handy dandy convenience store located in the hotel lobby. You know the one, not the  Quikymart, more like the Take-you-to-the-cleaners-because-you-pack-so bad mart. But, I think buying a pair of tweezers when you have a perfectly good pair in your other travel bag, in your medicine cabinet at home, in your car (just not the car you drove here) and in your desk drawer at work, is like having an affair. Who needs another man when you have perfectly good one at home?

So I pushed on my glasses. I tried them high on my nose. I tried them low on my nose. Then I found that just right spot – the rims hit just right where the stray eyebrow hair was and hid it.

I almost took my eyeliner pencil and marked the spot so I could remind myself where exactly my glasses should sit when I met with all those important editors and agents for the day, but instead I just pressed the glasses to my nose until an indentation cradled each of the nose pieces and there was no hope of them getting out of the creases.

Then I swiped on some lipstick, without checking my upper lip too closely, I had enough on my face two worry about, and faced the day.

As soon as I got home tonight, I plucked away. I still haven’t de-moustached. I don’t think the lighting should be too severe tomorrow. Besides a little fuzz above the lips hides all those pursing-my-lips-too-much wrinkles.

This week I will pay more attention to my beauty routines, really!

January 24, 2010

So, this is the big weekend and the first thing I did this morning was check my email “wondering” if the race had been canceled due to the weather. It’s not that I don’t want to run 13.1 miles tomorrow, it’s just that there is four inches of snow at my house and it’s beautiful and difficult to leave, even for a gorgeous beach house in Carlsbad.

And, it’s not that I’m the least bit worried that I haven’t stuck to my training schedule AT ALL! I don’t do well under pressure and having my husband-who-thinks-he’s-a-motivational-speaker constantly asking me if I was running “today”, plus how cold and dark it is for most of the time I’m not working during this time of year, has been a bit overwhelming. That, and I kept telling myself I have a bigger base than last time because I ran a half marathon in August so it should be all good.

And besides, it’s only a HALF marathon, which I frequently remind people when they ask me when “the marathon” is. I’m crazy, but not that crazy – at least that is what I keep telling myself.

Then, my husband-who-thinks-he’s-a-motivational-speaker started “pumping me up” about the “big race.”

“I think you’ll beat…”

“Honey,” I kindly interrupted. “It’s not about beating people. It’s about finishing.”

“Really,” he replied. “Then they should probably change the name of it to the Carlsbad Half-marathon Just Finish instead of the Carlsbad Half-marathon Race.”

He walked away muttering to himself about who he was SURE I would beat. I just felt a tightening of my chest because I clearly remember those last tow miles in August – yikes.

It’s not like childbirth and you forget the pain. At least it isn’t for me.

SO, this is the weekend and about 9 am tomorrow I’ll be into those last few miles. I hope you’ll think of me and send me some good energy because I’m going to need it if I’m going to beat….

Then eat 1300 calories of anything I want!

This weekend I will burn 1300 calories and wonder why oh why I didn’t just sign up for the 5K.

January 17, 2010

Thirteen years ago, my husband took me to Las Vegas for our anniversary. Late on Friday night, we checked into Sam’s Town, a nice enough casino a few miles off the strip, even getting a casino view room so we were treated to a room’s view of the nightly light show.

Saturday morning, we left bright and early and spent the day at the newest casino in Las Vegas at the time, The Bellagio. We did brunch, toured the museum, gambled, looked longingly at the pool area (you had to be a hotel guest to actually make it past the bulking attendant checking for room keys), and watched their water and light show once the sun set.

Upon returning to Sam’s Town I was struck by the difference in clientele. Sam’s Town people were MY people, blue jeans and jackets, sneakers and shorts. But, they were also looking rather worn out compared. I looked at Bill and declared, “I want to be with the beautiful people back at Bellagio’s.” 

That was the day I learned, money does buy beauty. Now, I’m talking outside beauty: not in-the-eye-of-the-beholder beauty but in the judge-a-book-by-its-cover beauty.

Thirteen years later, I am investing in that outside beauty because at my age I can use any help I can get. But this week, I must admit, was rather expensive.

First I had to get my nails done. When I turned forty, my nails began splitting and cracking along the tops no matter what vitamins I took or which oils and polished I put on them. I broke down and gave into doing what was necessary to preserve, wll, not my dignity, but my waning youthfulness. I love the way my nails look when done, thick and full of natural color. I don’t like paying the forty dollars every other week to have them done, nor the hour and a half it takes to have them done. Plus, I tend to come home with little nicks from all that drilling and sanding – ouch.

Then this week was week 5, week full of roots and scrabby ends or time to have my hair done. Another investment of money, I’ll let you guess, just know it’s was quadruple what I used to pay at Fantastic Sam’s when I was younger. Then there was the two hours spent in a chair with my hair slicked down with goo.

It’s a good thing I make good money, but really.

Plus, how do I have time for all this? I never, never scrimp on my beauty rest – not that it’s doing any good since it didn’t prevent cracking nails and graying hair, so these appointments are cutting into my watching trash tv time. A shift in priorities at my age is difficult.

And let’s not even get into how none of this is helping the wrinkles etching themselves more and more deeply into the areas around my eyes and mouth. Laugh lines, my @**. Those are concern lines and I’m rather concerned about what they are doing to my presentability in the world. And because I’m spending all my money on getting my nails and hair done, I really can’t afford the face lift I want.

Yikes, what’s an aging woman to do?

And, guess where we’re going for our anniversary this year? The good news is we can now afford to stay at the Bellagio or any of the places on the strip. The bad news is MY people are at Sam’s Town.

This week I will save my pennies and nickels and dimes for the cost of beauty.

January 10, 2010

While on vacation, I read through an old journal and found pages and pages of lists of things I was grateful for. You may have been on the same kick as me, at the same time, as it was an Oprah thing.

Oprah had done a show exploring what  the happiest people do that the rest of us numbskulls don’t do. One major thing was that they spend their time appreciating each day. Oprah then suggested that one way to get yourself into the habit of looking for things to appreciate is to write down five things at the end of each day that you were grateful for.  One of my favorite lists from this year was this:

1. Bill’s levelheadedness

2. Wes’s good mood

3. Birds feeding in the planter

4. Coffee and creamer

5. Breathing

I especially liked this list because obviously Bill had somehow helped me to avoid catastrophe, again; Wes had made my mood bright or maybe even brighter, and the rest of the list was simple things that to this day make me happy. Breathing really makes me happy because it means I’m still here, or not throwing such a fit that I think holding my breath will help me win my argument.

Three years later, I find things to appreciate without really trying. This week the morning I had to leave very early for a business trip, I snuck into my 17 year old’s bedroom to kiss him goodye while he slept, he is sweetest when he is asleep, and found our dog keeping guard in his room, more like sleeping next to my son, but I felt better leaving knowing Rocko was on the case.

While on vacation last week, when “we” realized “someone” had not packed my puzzle ( I complete a puzzle every Christmas trip), my husband went to the local store and bought me another puzzle, barely grumbling about how it was really “someone” else’s fault for not putting it with the rest of the luggage.

So, this week, when I got a toothache, I wondered: what is the bright side of this?

The most obvious is how it has expanded my experiential realm. I have never had a toothache before, which has made me quite curious when someone I know gets a toothache, but for some unknown reason, that someone ends up thinking I’m being judgmental. All I do is ask questions:

When was the last time you were at the dentist? (I go every six months and wonder if that is why I’ve never had a toothache.)

Do you floss regularly? (I floss at least four times a week, about a month before I have to go to the dentist, as if I’m going to fool him!)

When was the last time you brushed your teeth? (I don’t actually ask this one out loud, but I think it and then look closely and intently at the person’s teeth while he/she is talking.)

Finally: What were you eating when it started to hurt?

I was eating my favorite cereal, Raisin Nut Bran, and one of those nut covered raisins got stuck in my back teeth, which I yanked out with my extra long fingernails (extra long because I haven’t been to see my nail specialist lately) then ouch!

So, you see, I now know that having a toothache can have absolutely nothing with one’s hygiene habits, at least the standard of hygiene habits, my own habits.

What a bright side.

The other thing I am wondering is if it’s going away any time soon or do I need to go see my great dentist. (I started flossing just in case.) I asked my husband, who’s had a toothache before.

“I just waited until my next appointment and chewed all my food on the other side of my mouth,” he said. “I think I lost some weight, actually.”

Well, who could ask for more? My newest diet scheme – a toothache. I’ll let you know how much I lose. Maybe I can market it and make millions!

This week I will only chew on the right side of my mouth.

January 3, 2010

Today on my way to Best Buy to return a gift, what did my wandering eyes see, but lots and lots of people out exercising. Too cute!

There’s those funky resolutions making us act all out of character for a few weeks, a month tops, if we’re lucky. Too cute, unless you are a regular at your gym and suddenly the machines have been taken over by all these newbies. Sweating every where and breathing so hard that if I wasn’t feeling really good about the shape I’m in compared, I might be a bit irritated.

Instead, I use January as my month to relax. I have to be burning extra calories this month just through osmosis!

So for my New Year’s Resolution, it will not be too start working out. It will be too sign up for another half marathon after the one I’m completing in a few weeks. A funny thing happens to a cheap person like me when I have to pay for a race – I feel compelled to actually complete the race and, because of thirteen miles staring me in the face, I prepare by running on a semi-regular basis.

On the days I run, I put a gold star on my calendar. Today, I took down my 2009 calendar and flipped through it and found stars everywhere once I had signed up for San Diego’s Finest City Half-marathon. What a nice feeling!

So a resolution to get in better shape, well, we can all be in better shape, but I’m pretty happy with the path I’m on.

The one thing that is hanging over my head, okay, more like filling up my cupboards, are all those containers of Herbal Life Shape Works shake mix and those Nutrisystem meals. I have to admit,both systems work, as well as Weight Watchers, as long as I’m actually doing them. Inevitably, my clothes start to get loose, I start to eat cookies, and not those Nutrisystem cardboard shaped cookies, and fill my clothes up once again.

My clothes aren’t even that tight right now, but my cupboards are embarrassing when friends stay over and find months worth of shake mix and meals staring at them when they dig through looking for something to eat. I always invite guests to help themselves, and they do – they help themselves to big doses of making fun of me.

So, I have pulled out all the shake powders and pre-packaged meals and plan on eating all of it before March. I do draw the line at the Pea Soup. I’d rather starve, thank you.

So just like I help all my newbies at the gym by giving them space on all the machines, I hope you will help me by not inviting me out to eat, unless you plan to come over and eat some Nutrisystem and Herbal Life.

This week I will have a shake for breakfast and one for lunch then do a hearty Nutrisystem meal!

December 20, 2009

I get so flustered now when it’s time to say goodbye to someone I actually like. Do I say “Happy Holidays” or will they think I’ve joined the forces that are attacking Christmas. Friday I actually said “Happy Merry Christmas” to a friend who I know is a devout Christian.

What is wrong with saying “Happy Holidays?” Even if you’re Christian? It’s not like when I say “Happy Holidays” I’m negating Christmas. Christmas is a holiday after all and I am wishing you happiness on that holiday, right?

So, I wondered … what would Jesus do?

Not like I would actually know, especially since I haven’t been to church for several months (Thanks Pastor Ron for keeping me on the mailing list). The problem becomes more troublesome since Jesus never mentions how to behave during the celebration of his birth. I wonder if the apostles threw him some righteous birthday parties.  They were probably too busy trying to figure out the ten virgin parable and wondering if they should go to market or not.

I understand that it is difficult to see traditions change. At our local school holiday festival, “Away in the Manger” was definitely not on the song list. Yes, I was disappointed since I actually know the words to this song, but I also enjoyed the songs I didn’t know, and couldn’t sing along with seeing as how the music was much too difficult for me. I guess the message was that this was NOT a sing along.

But December should be a sing along, or at least a holiday along. Any reason to spend time with family and friends, have a day off work and eat lots – elastic waist pants lots – has to be a good thing, whether you call it Christmas, Kwanzaa, or Hanukkah. And, wishing someone “Happy Holidays” is a respectful way to let those around you know that you’re just happy they also get time to hang out and eat.

The only attacking of Christmas I plan on doing is the attacking of wrapping paper and stuffing.

No plans here to take the Christ out of Christmas or the zaa out of Kwanzaa or even the Han out of Hanukkah. Lots of plans here to put the holi into the holidays, because time spent with people we love makes us whole and is divine.

This week, I will wish everyone Happy Holidays!

December 13, 2009

The plan this year, as most years, is to spend Christmas Eve with the in-laws and Christmas Day with my family. Now, I love both sides of my family, but do believe that all good things should be done in moderation, including spending time with family. So this back-to-back schedule is making me a bit nervous. So nervous, in fact, that I have spent the last week coming up with strategies to cope with drowning in relatives.

Following are some techniques I’ve observed others in the family using. Maybe one will work for you.

My brother employs the “don’t talk unless talked to” technique. This means that he sits quietly on the couch, very quietly. To get him to say hello to me, I have to say, really loud, “Hello, Darrel.” If you don’t say his name, he doesn’t respond. When anyone talks to him, they have to say his name very loudly, then wait for him to make eye contact. He usually has a look of surprise on his face – like – are you talking to me? surprise. But, I have noticed, he is always pleasant when spoken to and has yet to leave the holidays having been cussed at or kicked out of the house. Things I aspire to!

Then there is my sister who employs the talk so much and so fast that no one else can get a word in edgewise technique. This works great because no one has a chance to say anything Sandy doesn’t like and if Sandy says something you don’t like, there is never a chance to respond and eventually you forget all about it. I have noticed that everyone smiles and nods at Sandy the entire holiday, other things I aspire to.

My in-laws try to set up house rules, like no discussing politics or religion. I refuse to follow these rules, but having a one-sided conversation about how delusion any opinion other than your own is, gets pretty boring – after about thirty minutes. I’ve noticed no one leaves the holiday deciding to never talk to a relative again. I think they’d like not to talk to me again, but because I run out of steam so quickly, I haven’t made them that mad. Besides, I’m good for a laugh – behind my back, of course.

Finally, there is the mother and mother-in-law technique of just feeding everyone the entire time. Someone complains about the gift you gave them, hand that person a piece of pie. Another person mentions they may not make the drive for the holidays next year, put more mashed potatoes on their plate. I’ve borne witness to how a full tummy mellows a person.

Which brings me to my technique, at least the one I’m going to try this year since no one last year bought that my Ipod earphones was actually a hearing aid. I plan on being uncomfortably full the entire two days. I will begin eating Christmas Eve morning and not stop until the 26th. I know this might mean that I will gain some weight, so to prepare, I’ve gone on a crash diet starting now.

If you run into me and I have a dazed look, it’s probably low-blood sugar. If I snap at you while shopping, it’s probably because of the gnawing hunger pains I’m suffering through. If I swerve into you while driving, I’ve passed out from hunger. So, please have patience with me during the next 10 days while I put into action my plan to have patience with my families.

This week I will eat sensibly, sensibly considering I’m going to binge in ten days.

December 6, 2009

Deck the house with tinkle lights

ga ga ga ga ga,ga ga ga gaudy

Let hubby do it to avoid the fights,

ga ga ga ga ga, ga ga ga gaudy.

Picking up gifts from the dollar store

che che che che che, che, che che cheap

For those strangers at your door

che che che che, che che che cheap.

Popping tylenol like they’re tic tacs

gu gu gu gu gu, gu gu gu gulp

Because patience I do now lack

gu gu gu gu gu, gu gu gu gulp.

What to buy for dear Aunt Mary?

yu yu yu yu yu, yu yu yu yuck.

Slippers to cover those toes so hairy

yu yu yu yu, yu yu yu yuck.

Eating healthy goes out the window,

chu chu chu chu chu, chu chu chu chubby

Chocolates especially I do mow,

chu chu chu chu chu, chu chu chu chubby.

Holiday songs on the radio

ba ba ba ba ba, ba ba ba barf,

I do sing, just nice and low,

ba ba ba ba ba, ba ba ba barf.

Because tis the season to be jolly

fa la la la la, la la la la,

And I am full of … folly

fa la la la la, la la la lazy!

November 29, 2009

It began some eighteen years ago one morning when I came into the kitchen to grab a bowl of Cheerios before heading off to teach eighth graders the virtues of avoiding dangling modifiers when my husband asked, “Are you wearing that to work?”

I was seven months pregnant. Having barely shown the first six months, I hadn’t bought any maternity clothes and had scoffed the offering of friends with infants, choosing instead to simply wear large, long shirts and elastic waist band pants.

“I was. Why?”

“No reason. Just wondering.”

I scampered back to our bedroom and took a long look at myself and decided I looked fine, great actually, given my pregnant status and headed out for work, unaffected by my husband’s question, except to wonder what bug had crawled up his butt that morning.

Three short years later, a cherub of a ninth grader asked me during a loll in the invigorating discussion of multiple pronoun and verb agreement, how old one was when “they” began to quit worrying about how “they” looked. Immediately I took purview of my outfit: tennis shoes, blue pants, matching blue sweater over a contrasting turtle neck with my hair poofed out to rival Miss America’s during the gown walk. Obviously he wasn’t talking about me.

“I don’t know. Who is ‘they’?”

I always told myself I would age with grace. But, that has proven to be like the time I told myself I could give up chocolate for a year, even betting my neighbor a hundred bucks I could do it. Albert caught me at Valentine’s, after I had been eating chocolate for five of the six weeks since New Year’s. I have yet to cough up that hundred bucks either.

And so it is that with alarming regularity, my teenage sons asks, “Are you wearing that out?”

I look in the mirror and think I look fine, no, that’s a lie. I think I look fabulous, not a day over 24 and still weighing my marriage weight of 112.

I keep wondering where the disconnect is? What does he see? What do I see?

And so, I think I am suffering, more severely now than 18 years ago, from reverse dysmorphia. I look in the mirror and see a woman who looks fabulous, even in a bikini, while my husband offers to pay for a tanning salon conveniently located at the local gym. “I could throw in a gym membership, on me, if you’re interested,” he calls after me as I sashay to my lounge chair without wrapping my towel around my waist as all the other middle aged wives tastefully do.

I’m not sure how to combat this disease, and I’m convinced it is an epidemic. Just yesterday, I stood behind a woman in the grocery store who still wore her hair in a beehive. Oh, but for the grace of God… except when I caught a snatch of the movie When Harry Met Sally the other day, I have the exact haircut as Meg Ryan did in the 80’s.

“But it still looks good on me, right?” I ask my husband who tells me of course it does because he hopes to get lucky later.

The only time things seem clear to me is when I see pictures of myself and think, “Wow, am I that wide?” Then I remember – the camera adds 15 pounds. Still, I avoid the scale.

Perhaps being diagnosed with reverse dysmorphia isn’t such a bad thing after all. I mean, really, who could go bravely into their mid-forties without some slight suffering of delusions. Graying hair, sagging skin, pouchy skin, creaky bones all look better in candlelight or in the flickering light of those delicious misperceptions.

This week, I will age gracefully, even if it means going against what I believe the mirror is telling me and listening to my teenage son when he gives me fashion advice.