Why Do I Blog?

People ask me why is it that I blog. Sure it's some part of an ego thing, but mostly it's because I feel some sense of keeping my self history alive, a little bit of immortality. Writing a chapter in my autobiography, posting my feelings, remembering the past. Easier than writing a manuscript and sending it away to some editor who will in the end reject it for it's narrow appeal.

When I re-read the post of my mother or father or of my dogs, it always stirs those memories long forgotten and makes them alive and real again.

Like the time we bought a 2 story Victorian house in San Francisco. We had been looking to buy a house for a while when one day a painter, in his painter overalls came to our cafe to buy a latte. I asked him where he was painting and he said he was painting his house to sell. Where? I ask. Down the block he says. Excitedly I call my realtor and tell him we have to see this house, and it's not even listed yet! Back then it was bidding wars to find a real deal and this I felt was the real deal. We see the house that evening. The house was a semi-ruin, but I was smitten. Never mind that the first layer of plaster had been scraped off giving it that rustic Tuscan feel. Never mind that it didn't have sheet rock in the kitchen, just bare studs and a non existent kitchen, never mind that the banister was gone so that one could plunge to their death from the second floor, never mind that the two fireplace mantles had been taken off and not replaced (the painter said that he took them to his house in Minnesota, nothing like raping a beautiful Victorian), and never mind that the parquet on the floor had lost it's glorious luster. I was in love and knew with that gut feeling that this was it. Oh by the way, the bottom flat was in pretty good shape and was rented out. Of course we had to jump through so many hoops to get the lender to approve the loan, like going to Home Depot and fabricating a mock kitchen, lenders won't lend on a property that is not livable. We got the house in the end.

After moving in and the tenants downstairs moved out, my partner in the cafe moved in with his boyfriend (this is San Francisco). The house, a two unit flat built 100 years ago started to act funny. Yeah you heard me, act funny. The house was before the Great Earthquake used to be a girl's boarding school. After the Great Earthquake, the city gave tax breaks to convert stately houses into units, which happened to our house. Unfortunately, they split the house right down the middle and created what they would eventually call a railroad house, long and narrow, but still had it's charm.

But getting back to that acting funny part. I believe that strange occurrences starting happening because the house reached it's hundred year mark. Now, I'm usually a doubting Thomas always more scientific than religious , but the stuff we lived through was thoroughly real.

Take the time when I came home, the red light blinking on the phone showing that there was a message on the machine. I played the message only there was no one there, only a recording of our voices in the cafe. I could hear the conversation we had that morning in the cafe, but I could also hear some weird strange One Step Beyond cello music playing in the back ground. This message went on for 15 minutes, strange since my phone messages only held about a 2 minute recording time per message. I had the phone company check it out. They said that the call came from inside the house. This made the hairs on my arms raise. At Christmas, the guys downstairs left the state for the holidays. We stayed home. One evening we heard the piano playing downstairs, Morzart's 9th Symphony (I know this, it's one of my favorites) and you could hear it really clear from our upstairs bathroom since that is where the grand piano was positioned below. We listened to the music with increasing horror. Hey remember there was no one home downstairs. Even my husband, who is the greatest Doubting Thomas ever, was shocked. We both ran downstairs and out the front. We pressed our ears to their door. The music continued to play, loud and melodic. We quietly inserted our key into the lock, twisted the lock and silently pressed the door open. I could still hear the music playing loudly and from in there, and then when we swung open the door, the music abruptly stopped. I pushed my husband through (he's the man for heaven's sake), I walked behind him. We checkout the salon (as they liked to called it) the front family room and there was the grand piano, silent, mockingly still, mysterious and in the air a sheet of music floating to the ground, Mozart's 9th.
And that is why I blog, to remember those weird and sometimes wonderfully mysterious things that happen in life.

Blogging Bourdain-A Post Revisited

I decided to cook a turkey on Labor Day, which my daughter quizzically says, it isn't Thanksgiving. I promptly tell her that turkey can be eaten any day, any month and any time one needs lots of leftovers for the week. This being only the second week of school and the lunch lines being extremely long for the hot lunch, my daughter is forced to bring her lunch or not eat. So turkey sandwiches sounded good and easy for her lunches, hence roasting a turkey on Labor Day. Therefore, a marathon of No Reservations were in order, since there wasn't much of anything. It was either that or the MDA telethon. How long can one watch people answer phones and an amature talent lineup? Anthony Bourdain starts out on a road trip where the criteria for a road trip is lots of eating, drinking and of course puking, I would think that's his criteria for traveling abroad. He makes a stop at the Salton Sea where he recites an interesting history, of forgone popularity and of abandonment, of too much salt and lots of dead fish, of government purchase with no government benefits. It is here he makes a lunch stop at the community of Bombay Beach, currently home to 270 residents or in this case die hards living on the edge of the salty sea. Here he enters probably the only eating establishment where he orders the patty melt which he says he's never had one. Never had a patty melt? Pigeon necks yes, patty melts no. Do these people in there even know who he is? I think not, when one of them says can you eat and drink on the job? To which Anthony Bourdain says that's what I do. Well heck, where do I sign up? Next it's on to some redneck outpost. It is here that I am furiously surfing since this stretch of the road trip is a napper. They stop somewhere to eat a 72 oz steak, the sounds of Deliverance banjos in the background and somewhere there's a redneck wedding going on. Next it's on to Cartagena, romanticized in the "Romancing the Stone", eating ceviche and strolling through the local market for a lunch at Cecilia's. Cecilia is cooking seafood rice in black kettles on an open flame which looked absolutely delicious, where Anthony Bourdain and his guide, Jorge are lunching on endangered turtle stew, is that legal? Slow cooked and perfect. Next a precariously rough boat ride from Columbia's shore to an island time forgot, for some freshly caught lobsters for lunch. I imagine if you have steady sea legs one might be able to enjoy the fresh catch, me, I'd be seasick for 3 days. Anthony Bourdain ask a local if he prefers to live on the island or live there as he points out to Colombia with it's skyscrapers and big city life. The guy says he rather live here on the island. Who wouldn't? No jobs, no responsibilities, just dive for your supper. Next it's on to San Antonia for the deep fried lower intestines of the pig, could that be pig rectum? I'm not too hot on that even if it's deep fried, but the cornmeal cake with fresca cheese and sweeten condense milk looked awesome, although as a child, I remember I threw up on sweeten condense milk. I ate so much poor man's pudding I puked. Poor man's pudding recipe to follow. The next day Anthony Bourdain ate a breakfast of rice and beans and fried eggs and fried plantains which made my mouth water with hunger. It is those moments I live for, because, Columbia for all it's fighting back against the drug cartels makes my bucket list as one of the last places on earth I plan to visit, Romancing the Stone or not.

Poor Man's pudding-one can of sweetened condensed milk. Put can unopened in a sauce pan, add water and boil for 40 to 50 minutes. Let cool, open can and eat.