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Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Saturday, August 15, 2009
The First Annual Trent Family Camping Trip
I love living in a city. I love being able to ride my bike to work, or the store, or on a bike path that hugs the river bank. I love being able to talk to people simply by stepping out on my front porch. I really love having my house connected to electricity and the city's sewer and water systems.
But sometimes it is great to get away. In fact, my family is so confident that we will like getting away from the city at least once a year that we have decided to hold an annual Trent Family camping trip. We recently wrapped up year number one.
This first of many camping trips involved the following: myself, Nancy, Oliver, Dan, Cortney, Nolan, Margo (or perhaps Margot, either way she's Dan & Cortney's dog), Kaytlin (Cortney's sister), Adam, and Kira. Nancy, Oliver and I had scouted out a campground a few weeks before and deemed it fit to hold such a group of wingnuts and entertain us at the same time. The campground is called Rujada, is about 45 minutes from Eugene, and it is the poop (I wanted to use a different word here, but I promised a long time ago to keep it clean).
I learned two very important lessons.
1. I love camping.
2. If Dan is responsible for bringing something to the campground, make sure he actually brings it. See exhibit #1 below. It is me using the "coffee grinder." Yes, Dan was responsible for coffee.
He was also responsible for wood, didn't bring any, but more than made up for it. You see, Dan has a problem. He desperately needs to burn things, and he will stop at nothing to do so. No firewood would normally be a problem when meals for two days are planned with fire in mind. However, the Lord of Camping provided Dan with a thing called the woods. These woods were teeming with things like fallen trees, loose sticks, and moss (all of which ran the entire wet/dry spectrum). And Dan's "problem" passed quickly to Adam. The two of them spent virtually the entire time either (a) procuring burnable matter or (b) burning what they had just collected. Basically they were either in front of the fire or in the woods. Seriously, at one point Dan had a fire going at his camp even though the food was being prepared at ours. When I asked him why this was, he said, "Why not?" Why not indeed.
I must interject a small aside here. The funniest part of the entire trip was when I was standing around minding my own business, and suddenly Dan and Adam appeared from out of nowhere carrying a freaking tree. Actually, a tree is not an accurate description of what they were carrying, just what it looked like. What they actually had was an ecosystem. Adam tried to burn a part of it for hours, and even though the fire was nuclear around it, this log was more water than wood and caused a dead spot in the kiln. When I decided to investigate the rest of the tree, it fell apart in my hands and crawly things I've never seen before emerged from every crevice. But they grabbed it because, "you could just push it over." Good enough.
Anyway, back to Dan. Keep in mind he did all of his work with a small hatchet and a pruning saw. But Dan is a tireless worker, especially when there's an addiction to feed. So he'd have his gigantic piles of wood - the tiny sticks, the larger sticks, and the logs - all sorted out and ready to go at all times. The strange thing about Dan though is that if the flames drop below 10 feet high, he'll start adding wood. Or poking, but this tends to diminish the fire because Dan isn't actually good at working with a fire, he simply excels due to the sheer amount that he burns. But when he adds wood, he adds the sticks. In order to avoid a brain aneurysm, I usually busy myself elsewhere at this point. Besides, would you want to mess with this guy?
Back to lesson #1. I love camping. The woods are a peaceful and wonderful place to recharge the batteries and remind me that there's a lot of distracting noise in my life. Getting away from that noise has a remarkable centering effect. Plus, our campground has a creek that's perfect for swimming in or skipping rocks (which pleases Oliver as much as it does me), a 1.9 mile trail that is beautiful, and a bathroom with flushable toilets. And oh yeah, I sprayed myself with bug spray zero times, once for every mosquito bite I got. Eat your hearts out, non-Oregonians.
The best part of camping is not having to do ANYTHING! Everything is based around meals. Prep breakfast, cook it, clean up. Make a butt-load of coffee, consume, repeat. That's it! The next thing on the to-do list is lunch. That is a huge chunk of time to be filled with nothing, and I love it. Don't get me wrong, I love having a clean house and clean clothes and clean dishes and watered plants and cats that are fed and chickens that are fed and watered and grass that's less than two feet high and laundry that's put somewhere other than on my floor, but sometimes it's great to NOT DO THOSE THINGS for two days in a row. Whew.
At one point, I put Oliver down for a nap. I read him some stories, and snuggled him because he's cute and I love him very much (and he's soft and smells good), and I got a little tired. This feeling happens at home sometimes, and I'm usually roused by the need to go help Nancy do something. However, when camping this happens:
The best part? I will never know how long I was in there. It could've been 5 minutes or an hour, but it didn't matter.
But sometimes it is great to get away. In fact, my family is so confident that we will like getting away from the city at least once a year that we have decided to hold an annual Trent Family camping trip. We recently wrapped up year number one.
This first of many camping trips involved the following: myself, Nancy, Oliver, Dan, Cortney, Nolan, Margo (or perhaps Margot, either way she's Dan & Cortney's dog), Kaytlin (Cortney's sister), Adam, and Kira. Nancy, Oliver and I had scouted out a campground a few weeks before and deemed it fit to hold such a group of wingnuts and entertain us at the same time. The campground is called Rujada, is about 45 minutes from Eugene, and it is the poop (I wanted to use a different word here, but I promised a long time ago to keep it clean).
I learned two very important lessons.
1. I love camping.
2. If Dan is responsible for bringing something to the campground, make sure he actually brings it. See exhibit #1 below. It is me using the "coffee grinder." Yes, Dan was responsible for coffee.
He was also responsible for wood, didn't bring any, but more than made up for it. You see, Dan has a problem. He desperately needs to burn things, and he will stop at nothing to do so. No firewood would normally be a problem when meals for two days are planned with fire in mind. However, the Lord of Camping provided Dan with a thing called the woods. These woods were teeming with things like fallen trees, loose sticks, and moss (all of which ran the entire wet/dry spectrum). And Dan's "problem" passed quickly to Adam. The two of them spent virtually the entire time either (a) procuring burnable matter or (b) burning what they had just collected. Basically they were either in front of the fire or in the woods. Seriously, at one point Dan had a fire going at his camp even though the food was being prepared at ours. When I asked him why this was, he said, "Why not?" Why not indeed.
I must interject a small aside here. The funniest part of the entire trip was when I was standing around minding my own business, and suddenly Dan and Adam appeared from out of nowhere carrying a freaking tree. Actually, a tree is not an accurate description of what they were carrying, just what it looked like. What they actually had was an ecosystem. Adam tried to burn a part of it for hours, and even though the fire was nuclear around it, this log was more water than wood and caused a dead spot in the kiln. When I decided to investigate the rest of the tree, it fell apart in my hands and crawly things I've never seen before emerged from every crevice. But they grabbed it because, "you could just push it over." Good enough.
Anyway, back to Dan. Keep in mind he did all of his work with a small hatchet and a pruning saw. But Dan is a tireless worker, especially when there's an addiction to feed. So he'd have his gigantic piles of wood - the tiny sticks, the larger sticks, and the logs - all sorted out and ready to go at all times. The strange thing about Dan though is that if the flames drop below 10 feet high, he'll start adding wood. Or poking, but this tends to diminish the fire because Dan isn't actually good at working with a fire, he simply excels due to the sheer amount that he burns. But when he adds wood, he adds the sticks. In order to avoid a brain aneurysm, I usually busy myself elsewhere at this point. Besides, would you want to mess with this guy?
Back to lesson #1. I love camping. The woods are a peaceful and wonderful place to recharge the batteries and remind me that there's a lot of distracting noise in my life. Getting away from that noise has a remarkable centering effect. Plus, our campground has a creek that's perfect for swimming in or skipping rocks (which pleases Oliver as much as it does me), a 1.9 mile trail that is beautiful, and a bathroom with flushable toilets. And oh yeah, I sprayed myself with bug spray zero times, once for every mosquito bite I got. Eat your hearts out, non-Oregonians.
The best part of camping is not having to do ANYTHING! Everything is based around meals. Prep breakfast, cook it, clean up. Make a butt-load of coffee, consume, repeat. That's it! The next thing on the to-do list is lunch. That is a huge chunk of time to be filled with nothing, and I love it. Don't get me wrong, I love having a clean house and clean clothes and clean dishes and watered plants and cats that are fed and chickens that are fed and watered and grass that's less than two feet high and laundry that's put somewhere other than on my floor, but sometimes it's great to NOT DO THOSE THINGS for two days in a row. Whew.
At one point, I put Oliver down for a nap. I read him some stories, and snuggled him because he's cute and I love him very much (and he's soft and smells good), and I got a little tired. This feeling happens at home sometimes, and I'm usually roused by the need to go help Nancy do something. However, when camping this happens:
The best part? I will never know how long I was in there. It could've been 5 minutes or an hour, but it didn't matter.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Thank You
My mother hates me. I'm sure of it.
You see, my father-in-law was in town to celebrate a birthday, and I honored him only a few days later. Now, the woman who was divorced when I was five was just very happily married, and here it is over two weeks later. And I'm just now writing about it. So she probably hates me.
Sorry Mom! (And it is possible that getting married two weeks before my brother Pete may have delayed this too, but I'm taking full responsibility here).
Mom married Bob Pawloski on May 9, in a zoo. Kind of fitting on so many levels, but especially because my mom spent many years raising wild animals of her own. I am very proud to be a part of Bob's family. He is excellent, and his family is great too. Knowing he's there makes living so far away much easier. Here is a picture of the loving couple on their wedding day:
I would like you to know that I haven't talked about my mother until now. I was waiting for this moment to honor her. At a time when she is truly happy. So I guess this better be good.
This is a difficult task, where even the beginning is a tough place to find. I'm not so good chronologically. I'm going to opt for random, which means I will inevitably forget something really important. But mostly this is my arena, and I'm curious to see what will pop up.
The first thing is baseball. I'm a year-and-a-half older than Pete, and Adam and Dan are nearly five years younger than me. The leagues in Oswego were 8-12, 13-15, and 16-18. So there were times when Pete and I were on the same team, and Adam and Dan almost always were. But at one point I was 16, Pete was 15, and Adam and Dan were 11. Yes, three different teams. And Oswego had this thing for playing all leagues on the same day. So if you're thinking that we'd have three different games on one day, you are correct!
And how many of these games do you think my mother would attend. Three. Not once, or even every once in a while, but almost always. The only thing that could limit her to two was when my team would play an hour away. Unless she decided to come with me, which meant she was traveling an hour each way instead of watching two games. These were the choices.
Plus, she was always so supportive. I think everyone knows "Little League Parents." She was never one of those. She was so proud of us, but I never heard a negative word. Just the typical, extremely embarrassing, "That's my son! And did you know he's Italian?!" (Maybe not the last bit, but she was thinking it at least).
Which reminds me, she was a single mom the whole time. She had four boys five years apart. Boys. Four. Four boys. 1 Boy x 4 = 4 Boys. No matter how you put it together, not good. I have one boy. That's quite enough, thank you. But she had four, and raised us working mostly odd jobs. Plus she was too stubborn to take welfare (although not suicidal enough to deny food stamps - have I mentioned four boys?). We had a place to live thanks in small part to HUD, and in large, large part due to Mom's singular drive. She was determined to do a good job.
She made $8,000 one year. Cleaning houses. I never remember being hungry at all. I never remember needing clothes. I don't remember feeling poor. My Mom would always say, "we may not have a lot, but we are rich with love." That always made me feel good.
Surely she sacrificed her own happiness in order to make this happen. No new clothes, no impulse purchases, crappy old cars. And not many dates. Let's be honest: how many men want to date a woman who has children, much less four? If one in a thousand gets through that filter, how many people want to babysit those four boys? Especially when the mom can't pay very well? Finally, how many men are going to be approved of by the children of a divorced mom? Especially protective children.
Dating was not easy. This point is very important here. It is one of the main reasons that her current marriage brings me such joy. Not only did she meet a WONDERFUL man, but she finally got a chance to be free. I never realized it at the time, but my mother is a human too. She was always Mom to me, but what person among us does not crave companionship? And I know my mom loves me too much to ever call me a hindrance to her personal happiness, but the fact of the matter is that in at least a couple ways my brothers and I were. Mom, I know that I brought you a lot of happiness throughout your life, but what I'm talking about is different. And I appreciate that you put your life on hold for ours, but you can understand that I am happy (and relieved) to see you living for yourself. You deserve it more than anyone else I know.
Gladly, somehow my mother found time to be a great cook. Especially if the food being prepared had a tomato sauce somewhere in the recipe. (Yes, Bob, that very same red sauce that now splatters all over your kitchen). We had stuffed shells, meatballs, chicken parmigiana, lasagna, ziti, gnocchi, spaghetti, linguine, drills (whatever they're really called I have no idea), and back to the beginning again. She must have eaten copiously while she prepared these meals, because she never did start eating until after we were all done. She'd just run around the table spooning more onto our plates and worrying herself sick that we were all too skinny and about to die of starvation. So if she didn't eat in the kitchen, there must have been nights where she didn't eat at all. We were bottomless. Dan still is.
(I am now hungry, and it's past 11 at night. This is a quandry.).
I know it would be a huge omission to not talk about our lawsuit, but I don't want the subject here to change from my mom to something which is very attention grabbing and needs a lot of space to be told. So I'll just say that while we were suing, Mom probably drove 100,000 miles. Probably more.
One night we came home late from cerfew. OK, probably a lot more than one night, but I'm talking about one in particular here. I thought quickly (and drunkenly), and said, "the clock at the pizzeria is slow." I was feeling pretty good about myself. Until Mom called the pizzeria. My mom was not stupid. Upon discovering that the clock there was in fact synchronized with ours, we were in big trouble. Mom took away the Sega for the whole next day. Which started a huge fight. Man I was a jerk. I was drunk and late, video games got taken away for one day, and I still fought. Sorry Mom. I didn't know how good I had it.
Since I want people to actually read all of this, I should probably stop soon. Clearly this doesn't do 33+ years of top-notch mothering justice, clearly a zillion stories are left untold, and clearly I could NEVER, no matter how great of a writer I became, accurately portray how much I love Mom and how much she has meant to me becoming the man I am. Thank you Mom. I love you.
But I can't end without the most important part. When I was 19, Mom kicked me out of the house. I was a loser, and I deserved it. But now that I am a father, I cannot imagine how difficult that must have actually been. My eyes get misty just thinking about it. But it needed to be done, and my mother was wise enough to know it. And courageous enough to do it. Nothing changed overnight, but soon enough it snapped me out of my comfortable existence and I began to mature into the man that I am today. I am not the best person ever made, but I'm far from the worst. I am a loving and dedicated husband, a loving and caring father, and a true friend to many people. I like to make people smile. I actually care if someone else is doing well or not. I open the door for strangers. I say "please" and "thank you." I try to be aware of what is going on in my world. I donate money to charity. I work hard whether someone is watching or not. I have integrity.
All thanks to mother's wisdom and courage, I have these things. And so much more.
Thank you.
You see, my father-in-law was in town to celebrate a birthday, and I honored him only a few days later. Now, the woman who was divorced when I was five was just very happily married, and here it is over two weeks later. And I'm just now writing about it. So she probably hates me.
Sorry Mom! (And it is possible that getting married two weeks before my brother Pete may have delayed this too, but I'm taking full responsibility here).
Mom married Bob Pawloski on May 9, in a zoo. Kind of fitting on so many levels, but especially because my mom spent many years raising wild animals of her own. I am very proud to be a part of Bob's family. He is excellent, and his family is great too. Knowing he's there makes living so far away much easier. Here is a picture of the loving couple on their wedding day:
I would like you to know that I haven't talked about my mother until now. I was waiting for this moment to honor her. At a time when she is truly happy. So I guess this better be good.
This is a difficult task, where even the beginning is a tough place to find. I'm not so good chronologically. I'm going to opt for random, which means I will inevitably forget something really important. But mostly this is my arena, and I'm curious to see what will pop up.
The first thing is baseball. I'm a year-and-a-half older than Pete, and Adam and Dan are nearly five years younger than me. The leagues in Oswego were 8-12, 13-15, and 16-18. So there were times when Pete and I were on the same team, and Adam and Dan almost always were. But at one point I was 16, Pete was 15, and Adam and Dan were 11. Yes, three different teams. And Oswego had this thing for playing all leagues on the same day. So if you're thinking that we'd have three different games on one day, you are correct!
And how many of these games do you think my mother would attend. Three. Not once, or even every once in a while, but almost always. The only thing that could limit her to two was when my team would play an hour away. Unless she decided to come with me, which meant she was traveling an hour each way instead of watching two games. These were the choices.
Plus, she was always so supportive. I think everyone knows "Little League Parents." She was never one of those. She was so proud of us, but I never heard a negative word. Just the typical, extremely embarrassing, "That's my son! And did you know he's Italian?!" (Maybe not the last bit, but she was thinking it at least).
Which reminds me, she was a single mom the whole time. She had four boys five years apart. Boys. Four. Four boys. 1 Boy x 4 = 4 Boys. No matter how you put it together, not good. I have one boy. That's quite enough, thank you. But she had four, and raised us working mostly odd jobs. Plus she was too stubborn to take welfare (although not suicidal enough to deny food stamps - have I mentioned four boys?). We had a place to live thanks in small part to HUD, and in large, large part due to Mom's singular drive. She was determined to do a good job.
She made $8,000 one year. Cleaning houses. I never remember being hungry at all. I never remember needing clothes. I don't remember feeling poor. My Mom would always say, "we may not have a lot, but we are rich with love." That always made me feel good.
Surely she sacrificed her own happiness in order to make this happen. No new clothes, no impulse purchases, crappy old cars. And not many dates. Let's be honest: how many men want to date a woman who has children, much less four? If one in a thousand gets through that filter, how many people want to babysit those four boys? Especially when the mom can't pay very well? Finally, how many men are going to be approved of by the children of a divorced mom? Especially protective children.
Dating was not easy. This point is very important here. It is one of the main reasons that her current marriage brings me such joy. Not only did she meet a WONDERFUL man, but she finally got a chance to be free. I never realized it at the time, but my mother is a human too. She was always Mom to me, but what person among us does not crave companionship? And I know my mom loves me too much to ever call me a hindrance to her personal happiness, but the fact of the matter is that in at least a couple ways my brothers and I were. Mom, I know that I brought you a lot of happiness throughout your life, but what I'm talking about is different. And I appreciate that you put your life on hold for ours, but you can understand that I am happy (and relieved) to see you living for yourself. You deserve it more than anyone else I know.
Gladly, somehow my mother found time to be a great cook. Especially if the food being prepared had a tomato sauce somewhere in the recipe. (Yes, Bob, that very same red sauce that now splatters all over your kitchen). We had stuffed shells, meatballs, chicken parmigiana, lasagna, ziti, gnocchi, spaghetti, linguine, drills (whatever they're really called I have no idea), and back to the beginning again. She must have eaten copiously while she prepared these meals, because she never did start eating until after we were all done. She'd just run around the table spooning more onto our plates and worrying herself sick that we were all too skinny and about to die of starvation. So if she didn't eat in the kitchen, there must have been nights where she didn't eat at all. We were bottomless. Dan still is.
(I am now hungry, and it's past 11 at night. This is a quandry.).
I know it would be a huge omission to not talk about our lawsuit, but I don't want the subject here to change from my mom to something which is very attention grabbing and needs a lot of space to be told. So I'll just say that while we were suing, Mom probably drove 100,000 miles. Probably more.
One night we came home late from cerfew. OK, probably a lot more than one night, but I'm talking about one in particular here. I thought quickly (and drunkenly), and said, "the clock at the pizzeria is slow." I was feeling pretty good about myself. Until Mom called the pizzeria. My mom was not stupid. Upon discovering that the clock there was in fact synchronized with ours, we were in big trouble. Mom took away the Sega for the whole next day. Which started a huge fight. Man I was a jerk. I was drunk and late, video games got taken away for one day, and I still fought. Sorry Mom. I didn't know how good I had it.
Since I want people to actually read all of this, I should probably stop soon. Clearly this doesn't do 33+ years of top-notch mothering justice, clearly a zillion stories are left untold, and clearly I could NEVER, no matter how great of a writer I became, accurately portray how much I love Mom and how much she has meant to me becoming the man I am. Thank you Mom. I love you.
But I can't end without the most important part. When I was 19, Mom kicked me out of the house. I was a loser, and I deserved it. But now that I am a father, I cannot imagine how difficult that must have actually been. My eyes get misty just thinking about it. But it needed to be done, and my mother was wise enough to know it. And courageous enough to do it. Nothing changed overnight, but soon enough it snapped me out of my comfortable existence and I began to mature into the man that I am today. I am not the best person ever made, but I'm far from the worst. I am a loving and dedicated husband, a loving and caring father, and a true friend to many people. I like to make people smile. I actually care if someone else is doing well or not. I open the door for strangers. I say "please" and "thank you." I try to be aware of what is going on in my world. I donate money to charity. I work hard whether someone is watching or not. I have integrity.
All thanks to mother's wisdom and courage, I have these things. And so much more.
Thank you.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Wally
Can you believe this man is 70? Incredible, I know. We were lucky enough to have Wally and his wonderful wife Nancy visit us for his birthday. We managed to sandwich a surprise birthday party at Nib in between many crossword puzzles, jumbles, and a lamb being born. It is always great to see them.But as I've said many times, this blog is about how I see things, and I have in front of me a wonderful opportunity to talk about my father-in-law. So I will. We should start at the beginning, and by the beginning I mean the year 2000.
I met Nancy at Barnes & Noble. She actually worked there for a while before I talked to her, mostly because she was intimidating. She was tall, beautiful, obviously strong, and gave off the vibe that said "if you are a man, go away." So away I went. Which is why I didn't fully get the message when she started coming on to me. Plus I have self-confidence issues, but that's a subject for another place than this one. Anyhow, once the message became obvious (I mean she was coming over to watch pro-wrestling, for God's sake!) we were inseparable. Then came the fun part.
Yes, meeting the parents. All I really knew was that Nancy yelled at her Mom at least once per phone conversation, and that she always talked to her Dad first. And that she was an only child. A beautiful, wonderful, only daughter of a man who was 41 when she was born. So I expected him to be conservative in just about every way. Just to make things more interesting, when I met him I probably looked something like this:
And I bet when he first laid eyes on me he wished I was in fact walking away with a plastic bag and a blanket or whatever else I needed in order to go in the opposite direction. But he was very nice to me. Why, I'll never know for sure. My best guess is that he could intuitively tell that his daughter, whom he loves as much as a father can love a child, was truly happy. So he gave me a chance. And then Kat and Corey got married and I inexplicably melted down at their wedding. After a (deservedly) firm tongue-lashing from both father and daughter, I was given yet another chance. So of course Nancy and I decided to move to Oregon.
This was scary. I knew it was bad because Nancy was scared. Nancy does not get scared. But she was. So I was. Nancy and I sat down with her parents, and Nancy told them all the logical reasons why we were going to Eugene. She was done with the community college in Tucson, she was sick of the heat in Arizona, California was too expensive, and Eugene (with the University of Oregon) made perfect sense. We knew that no matter what, Nancy's mom would resist, so strangely her resistance did not matter. When Wally asked a question, however, we needed to have a good answer.
Wally asked me this: "With my daughter being so far away from me, how do I know she will be safe and taken care of?" Good question. After I finished resisting the urge to poop my pants, I told him (yes, I was looking him in the eye) that I loved his daughter, for real. Not in a high school crush kind of way, but the real thing. And that if something did happen between us I promised I would make sure she was taken care of before going my separate way. And THAT WAS IT! Good enough!
Basically what I'm trying to say is that Wally is the most tolerant guy I've ever met. He just rolls with what life brings his way. He's obviously been through some ups and downs in his life, but he always seems to take it all in stride. It truly is amazing. If some day I have a daughter and she brings home a guy that looks like I did, is not in school like I wasn't, and has a job that most 20-year-olds could attain, I'd probably challenge him to a duel or arm-wrestling or Jeopardy or something! Wally took us all out to dinner. He is a better person than I am.
And a good thing too. Now Nancy and I are happily married, Oliver is a crowd favorite, and we've built a wonderful group of close friends, all because Wally didn't kick my ass when he probably should have. A lot of people probably think it's amazing that Wally looks like he does at 70 (I mean, his hair is the EXACT same now as it was when he was 8). And it is amazing (must be the Native American genes, eh Wally?). But what I think is amazing is that someone can love their daughter enough to put their opinions aside in deference to that daughter's true happiness. I thank you Wally, very much, for being the man that you are. And Oliver thanks you, too.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
All the Important F's
This story may ramble a bit. Consider yourself warned.
Shane and Tiffany (Fiona and Gayle too!) are our friends. They own an amazing place called Nib. A large group of us (more on that group later) went there for brunch today, and it got my wheels turning...
But first, Nib is so good it's a joke (click on the title of this post to visit their website). The food is an artistic flavor explosion. And the combinations are unusual to say the least. (As an example, Shane once won first prize at a contest in NYC for a chocolate he made, and it was based around blue cheese!). I'm personally very glad for this because I've become so much less picky as a result. I used to only eat one thing at a time and get angry if my food touched other food, but now I can eat almost anything (except melon, ick).
Food is good. In fact, I love it. I'm not afraid to say it, I LOVE FOOD! Especially when it's good. But this is the part where my wheels turned. A couple weeks ago Nancy and I decided to start eating better. So we did a four-day diet where we stopped consuming foods that typically cause bloating. This means no salt, sugar, caffeine, raw citrus, etc. It was 1,200 calories per day for four days. (Not enough calories, by the way). But by the end we felt great, our stomachs had shrunk, and we are now a lot more conscious of what we're putting in our bodies, and how much. Basically, we are trying to be healthier. After all, I've been going to the gym regularly for about a year, and there's certain stuff around my midsection (fat, possibly?) that is stubborn. Perhaps a healthy lifestyle involves exercise and diet. Possibly.
But it's weird to be "on a diet." What we eat is called a diet, and that is fine with most people. But as soon as "on" is added to "a diet," things get weird. I am 5'10" and 163 pounds (ding!...if you don't get this, don't worry). That is not fat in any way. I know this. But if I talk to anyone about eating less who is heavier than me, even if it's only in their mind, they look at me like I have an eating disorder.
Then there's the other kind of person, who is typically everyone else. When someone quits smoking, their other friends who smoke usually give the quitter a bunch of crap. This crap stems from the (wrong) thought that the quitter thinks they are better than the smoker now. Well, eating crappy can be the same as smoking. Sometimes I feel like I have to justify my eating habits to others. You know what, others, I'm just trying to be healthy, not be better than you. Besides, 1/4 cup of unsalted, raw sunflower seeds is delicious with breakfast. On second thought, no it isn't.
Which brings us back to Nib. Not necessarily a bastion of healthy food. So what do I do? I'm not going to be the weirdo who brings a slice of 47-grain bread to the barbecue and thinks it's OK as long as I grill it. I want to enjoy the social aspect of getting together with others and enjoying food. After all, I'm Italian (just ask my Mom, she'll let you know faster than you can say wooden spoon). So I'll eat less. I don't need to feel like I just finished Thanksgiving dinner after every meal. It only took me 33 years to figure that out.
If you're still reading, you are related to me. Anyhow, I promised some info on the Nib group. Not to ignore some people, but I'd like to concentrate on the Dan/Cortney/Nolan unit and Cortney's Mom and Aunt Kris. It is Cortney's birthday today. We decided that we would celebrate her birthday and Oliver's with a dinner at our house Friday night (Kind of like President's Day. And Oliver was Lincoln, while Cort played the role of Washington. Nice wig and wooden teeth, Cortney.). Little did Cortney know, however, that her Mom and Aunt were already at my house. Now I know that she's used to changing Nolan's diapers, but there is no way to prepare for a #2 in adult pants. And that is what Cortney had to deal with after seeing her Mom and Aunt. It was priceless.
So this afternoon Adam, Kira, Cortney's friend Laura (who brought three more), Nancy/Oliver/Matt, and the Dan/Cortney/Nolan/Mom/Aunt unit enjoyed a wonderful time with great food at a beautiful restaurant. And no one was counting calories.
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