We're Talking Proud

Initially, I thought this blog would be something along the lines of “I Wanna Be Hibernated” and I would talk about how lovely it would be to wake up to four feet of snow and know that you are not going anywhere today.  I would go on about baking and watching the kids play outside and the sense of comfort a warm house brings when you are cold to the bone.  I enjoyed my role here of explaining lake effect snow to wide-eyed Southerners and know I will be called in again in a few months to break down wind chill factor.   However, as I watch all the news footage and Facebook feeds about Buffalo this week all I can really think of is pride.

What?  Pride and Buffalo?  Do those words go together?  Remember all those Super Bowl losses in the 90’s you chime in?  (Stow it Dallas)  Is Buffalo even a part of New York?  (That is what the people in NYC are asking).  Buffalo?  Isn’t that where McKinley was shot?  (It was.) I say yes.  I say you can use pride and Buffalo in the same sentence and I will tell you why.

First, Buffalo is beautiful.  Yes, it has its parts of downtown that are falling down and derelict and boarded up.  Every big city has that.  Have you seen the architecture on the buildings downtown?  Gorgeous.  Amazing.  Unexpected.  Buffalo was the bomb back when canals were a main source of moving things around.  (Read Ken Follett’s  Fall of Giants – a bit trite, I agree, but Buffalo was a destination town for immigrants).  There was money here and they used it to build beautiful, ornate, stone buildings throughout downtown.  Go check out the Historical Society and tell me you aren’t amazed with that building and the thought and planning that went into that.  Buffalo has a riverfront that is improving each year.  They have taken it from something no one wanted to be next to into an area that people drive to on purpose- and pay for parking.  Yes, Buffalo is cold and snowy, but that is only six months out of the year.  The other six is it green, lush and flowering or ablaze in autumnal splendor. 

Beauty aside, what really makes me proud of Buffalo is the people.  Yes, they are loud-mouthed, they are opinionated, and they pronounce every “a” with a hard “a” sound whether they need to or not.   True, they can be a little bitter, a little defeated, some may say pessimistic, but you know what?  They endure.  You think this 7’ of snow is going to keep them down?  Nope.  They are out there shoveling, snow blowing and getting it done.  There is no waiting for the thaw.  You have to dig out so you can check on your neighbor.  You have to dig out so you can get to the one store that is open and bring back groceries not just for your family, but the one beside you.  This will not be the only snowfall the people of Buffalo will see this year.  They will see many and they will do the same thing each time; they just won’t make the national news each time.  They will just put their shoulder into it and endure.

You can do it!!

I am reading all of these stories about how everyone is helping out those who need help.  The people who can help are out there helping, in big and little ways, and the people who need help are letting them.  I never worried about my car breaking down when I lived up there, and I drove a piece of crap car that I put a quart of oil in every two days, because I knew whoever was behind me would help push it to the side of the road and offer me a ride home.  People are pulling strangers out of their stranded cars and taking them into their homes.  People are checking on neighbors that they hate 364 days a year because that is what you do.  Emergency responders probably haven’t been home in days and won’t think about going home until this passes.  They are fueled on Tim Horton’s and knowing what they are doing is needed.  Sure, they miss their families but they know their neighbors are looking out for them until they get home.  Nice that the National Guard has been called in, but they will need to show them how it gets done. 

That is what I am proud of. I am proud of that endurance, that let’s get it done, and the fact that they do the right thing without anyone telling them to do it.  They might complain about it later, but they do it.  They make lemonade out of lemons and make do and do without and think that is how everyone does it.  They love their sports teams and their hometown heroes and they love them unconditionally.  There is a call out for people to come and shovel out the Bills’ stadium so they can play on Sunday.  They are offering $10/hour to come and shovel, but I know that the people who show up would do it for free.  The Bills need their help, they will be there.  Their neighbor needs their help, they will be there.  That is how it works. 

Carry on Buffalo, you can do it.  You can ride this wave of snow and the flood that will come when it all melts.  We are watching, we are cheering you on and we are so proud to call you home.  Haters can slam the Bills and Buffalo all they want, but here’s the truth: the people of Buffalo don’t need rings or trophies or announcements that they are winners – their endurance says it all.  

Butter, Part Two

Last summer, I did something that inadvertently changed my life.  I brought home an audio book of Michael Pollan’s “The Omnivore’s Dilemma”.  Bill drives two hours each way to get to his office and I thought this would be some interesting listening and act as a pleasant diversion for a few days.  Instead, it made him vegan.  Vegan, as in hold the eggs, no cheese for me, vegan. I have to say that when he first told me he was going to be vegan, I did not think it would last.    Two months in, I changed to hoping it wouldn’t last.  Now he is one year and five months in and I am afraid it is going to last.

I miss my husband cooking with eggs and cheese.  The man makes a blue cheese mac and cheese that will not only stop your heart, it will take your breath away; it is that good.  I swear it was just a few years ago I had to ask him to stop cooking everything with a roux; my wiggly thighs couldn’t take any more buttery beginnings.  We didn’t eat a lot of meat before this, but I find now that because there is never meat in the house, it is all I want to order when we are out.  I used to be very discerning about the meat I ate.  Now I just eat meat.

In an effort to make the most of my time, when I bake, I bake vegan so that both the kids and Bill have something sweet.  I use veggie butter in place of butter, flax seed and water in place of eggs.  When I eat what I have baked, my taste buds scream “WHERE IS THE BUTTER?!?”  “WHY HAVE YOU RUINED CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES?!?!”  Bill insists that they taste great but the man is living on soy and grains and is therefore taste bud compromised.  The kids eat it, but there is a haunted look around their eyes.  

We do eat well and very healthfully.  We tease each other about our meal choices.  For example, if Bill is in a bad mood or says he is tired, I will tell him to eat some meat.  Or because I am always tired, he will say it is because I am loaded down with animal proteins.  Ha ha, we laugh and tease.  Until today.  Today he posted ridiculous menu items he said sounded great for Thanksgiving.  It was from something called a Vegan Guide to a Turkey-less Thanksgiving.  Blasphemy!  You can take away my blue cheese mac and cheese, but you cannot substitute a Lentil Mushroom Loaf for my turkey Bill McMahon.  You cannot.

Thanksgiving is about butter and gravy and turkey and pie.  It is not Veggie Tofu Pot Pie or Tofurkey.  I will not “make the vegetable the star of the show” as your recent post declares.  I will stick that vegetable on the side and drown it in butter, gravy or cream of mushroom soup as the Pilgrims intended.  I want whipping cream in my mashed potatoes and I want to use the leftover whipped cream from the pies in my morning coffee.  I want the first scoop of mashed potatoes with the swimming pool of butter on top.  

Mmmm, jump in!

I definitely do not want to use coconut milk as a substitute for anything as far as the pies go.  No I do not.  I want the house to smell like cooking turkey all day long and into the night.  Thanksgiving is not grains and veggies and health because calories do not count on Thanksgiving.  We eat until we are so full we have to lie down and we blame it on tryptophan – not the 4000 calorie dinner we just ate.  We wake up from a little nap and because our stomachs have lost a bit of their distended bloat, we start on dessert.  And who can eat just one piece of pie?  Later at night, our stomachs empty from being stretched out all day; it is time for a turkey and stuffing sandwich.  (Bread on bread?  What, you say?  Try it, you can thank me later.)  This is Thanksgiving.  I feel like Charlie Brown being handed pretzels and popcorn when you talk about anemic vegetables and soy pressed products instead.

I had hoped this year we would all be meat eaters, sitting around a beautifully cooked turkey and howling our carnivorous howl, but it is not to be.  We have learned to compromise when eating out and we are learning to compromise when planning holiday meals.  Bill is talking of making his entree a Veggie Wellington.  Sounds interesting and tasty.  I am sure he and SG will love it.  The boy and I will be elbow deep in turkey.

Where Music Leaves Off, Words Begin

If “eyes are the window to the soul” (Shakespeare), then I think that the music on your phone is the window to your psyche.  My music indicates that I am thirteen, depressed and currently in love with the Goo Goo Dolls.  Recently, I was driving SG to basketball practice and trying to find a good song to get her pumped up and both she and I were disgusted and slightly embarrassed as each new song came on.  10,000 Maniacs soulful but not inspiring; ditto the Cranberries.  “We’re Not Going to Take It” by Twisted Sister is not as in your face as I recall it being when I was a teen and SG was not impressed.  I tried “Showstopper” which I used to find motivating.  She thought it sounded like the music they play during that bad Mario Bros TV show.  After listening awhile, I heard it too.  We gave up and turned the radio off completely.

I guess I realized that I flipped through my songs a lot while driving, but it takes someone else in the car to really show you how lame your music selection is.  After perusing my playlists, I am even more disgusted with myself.  I have spent money, MONEY, to own songs such as “Indian Outlaw” (yes, half Cherokee and Chickasaw) and “It Takes 2” (wooooo yeah, woooo yeah, it takes 2 to make it out of sight).  I am ashamed to say it gets worse.  My version of “I Wanna Be Sedated” is not even the Ramones - someone named Hit Co offers their rendition and again, I spent money on this.   I have two Bare Naked Ladies songs and neither song is one of their good ones.  I have a ridiculous amount of Goo Goo Dolls, Third Eye Blind, Bon Jovi and Maroon 5.   I have songs my kids have added in attempts to make me cooler.  Worst of all, and I can barely bring myself to type this, I have a Miley Cyrus song.  Miley Cyrus.  I burn with the shame right now.  I should not be allowed to own technology.

Thank God I have kids for that!

While ashamed of myself, I have narrowed my poor choices down to three reasons why my iPhone houses such crap music and I share this with you in hopes you can learn from my mistakes.  First, don’t drink and iTunes.  A bottle of red wine makes every song you see look good, remind you of your youth, your college days, or your wedding.  The next morning those very songs remind you that being a teenager sucked and your tastes have changed a lot since the 1990’s.  Beastie Boys get pretty annoying after the first verse -in every one of their songs.  Second, don’t download an entire album based on one song you heard on NPR.  Ever.  I have an entire album of a group that sounds like a current day Mama and Papa’s.  How often do you think I am in the mood to listen to that?  If you answered never, you are correct!  Finally, beware the free downloads from Starbucks.  You are standing in line waiting for your nonfat latte, your phone is in the car and you are not about to look someone in the eye and engage in conversation, so you pick up one of those free download song cards in order to look busy and with it.  And then you actually leave with the card and take the time to download the song.  Don’t get me wrong, free is good, but free songs from people you don’t know and find out you don’t like can really be a mood killer.  You would be surprised how often those freebies are shuffled into your mix.  Well, those and the two Christmas songs you thought you would never get sick of.  You were wrong.

I am trying to learn from my mistakes and while I am still stuck with a bunch of crappy music, I find I don’t care because I have moved onto podcasts.  “Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me” is better than a cup of coffee for the morning commute and by the ride home, I am so tired of talking and listening to people talk that I  drive home in silence: sweet, beautiful silence.  The rest of my driving time the kids are in the car and commandeer the music.  (I know I said I'd never play DJ to the kids, I was wrong.  I also said I would use cloth diapers.  HA!)  They have good taste in music which is a little surprising considering my own admissions and the plunky-plunky-sad sack-guitar-playing-Spanish-guy Bill listens to.  It makes me happy to know that the lame music buying will end with me and not contaminate future generations of McMahon technology and eardrums.

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

Don't you love when you find a place that feels like home?  Somewhere you can be yourself, where you feel instantly comforted and liked?  For the past three years, this place for me has been Punch Kettlebell.  I know, I wax poetic when it comes to kettlebell, but it has been such a positive force in my life.  Imagine my profound sadness to hear that Punch is closing on November 20th.  "WAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!"  I said and say.  "NO!!!!!!!!!"  I bellowed and currently whimper.  "Sniffle."  I sniffled and snorted.  Sigh.

The owner has three kids who are all superstar athletes and students, a husband who is mainly overseas and I think they own a pig and a horse too.  Her hands are full, I understand.  (personally I wish she had one normal kid and then maybe she wouldn't be so busy.)  I get it, I just don't want to get it.  

I am so sad thinking about finding another place to work out at.  It won't be Lifetime - I have never been as out of shape as I was when we belonged there.  Too many distractions.  Where am I going to go where no one cares what I am dressed in?  No one cared at Punch and the people who did care didn't last there long.  We didn't coordinate or even match most days.  Even worse, where am I going to find a group of people who boost each other up and push each other to be better each time?  I kid my friend Karen about being a kettlebell bully, but she is the nicest bully and our friendly competition pushed me into weights I never thought I could swing.  There was encouragement and support, always, from classmates.  It was just unspoken - you help the clueless (me for the first five months), you praise everyone's accomplishments and you leave your pettiness at the door.  We got to know each other, we got to see each other's kids and we got to care.  We became a Punch family. Well, all except for sweaty, naked guy and he left when they told him he had to wear a shirt in class.  Oh, and the stalker intern guy who they knew better than to hire. I am sure he is watching women in an alley as I type this.

Sigh, and the trainers.  Three years I have seen a bunch of trainers come and go.  It happens in the gym world.  Each time I thought this new trainer wouldn't be as good as the last one.  I was wrong - they were all as good, just in different ways.  They have encouraged, pushed and shaped me into being stronger, being confident and being so damn proud of what I can accomplish there.  The current trainer refuses to accept that I fear box jumps and while he won't get me to jump on a higher one, he has made me do creative jumps onto the lower one.  I hate him and appreciate him at the same time.  Log press?  Yep.  Ridiculous dead lift?  Yep.  Done, done, done.

85 pounds of crazy heavy right there.

I wish that all good things did not have to come to an end. I wish I was independently wealthy and could keep Punch up and running.  I wish I was one of those people who could work out on their own and stay in shape.  I could do the workouts on my own, but I have been known to substitute easier things or nothing when no one is watching.  Sandbagger, I believe I am called in gym terms.  Eventually I will find somewhere new to go and I hope it can be half the place that Punch was.  Sigh.

Thank you Punch Kettlebell.  Thank you for running a groupon I could afford and getting me hooked on kettlebells.  Thank you for encouraging me when all I could press was a 4kg and later for telling me that pressing the log was fine but next time add some weight to it.  Thank you for making me flip tires, swing sledgehammers and run with sleds up and down that stinky alley.  Thank you for laughing with me, for ignoring my complaints and for pushing, endlessly pushing me to do my best.  Thank you for the trainers who cared and thank you for letting the ones who didn't care go.  Thank you for the laughs.  Thank you for the fun.  Thank you for muscles that ache three days after a workout.  Thank you for being my therapy and for bringing such strong women and men together.  Thank you for the strength and confidence you have given me.  Thank you for finally agreeing to never play Jock Jams again.  You will not be replaced and you will be most sorely missed.