For dinner tonight, my daughter and I enjoyed layered bean tortilla soup. The soup base was made with pinto beans, then layered with cheddar cheese for my daughter. I skipped cheese as a vegan.
It was topped with crushed tortilla chips, salsa, and vegan sour cream I made for the first time. My vegetarian 9 year-old daughter loved it.
The sour cream was easy. It consisted of coconut milk solid, lemon juice and salt to taste.
I imagine some of my neighbors from then may have been in the building Saturday morning. I feel the need to honor my former beloved home and neighbors in the wake of the gruesome tragedy. I hope that by sharing my grief, sadness, and memories of this vibrant area that I’m proud was my home, I may process through my bereavement. My heart breaks for the peaceful, loving community there. I have fond memories of the area.
I lived in Squirrel Hill as I attended the University of Pittsburgh from 1987 as an 18 year-old to 1990. After graduating from U-Pitt in 1990, I built a house at 1646 Pinehurst Court in the Franklin Park area of Pittsburgh. I can’t believe I remember the address. It was built about the same time my current home in Denver was. I then lived in a high-rise apartment in the Green Tree area of Pittsburgh until 1992, when I moved to Chicago following a divorce to start a new life.
The horrific event has taken me back to my life in Pittsburgh and at the University of Pittsburgh. At U-Pitt, I spent most of my time in the Cathedral of Learning for my English Writing degree, as most of the English classes were located there. I left for nearby buildings to complete my psychology degree and Asian studies certificate. I developed a love of photography when I took courses with Pittsburgh Filmmakers. I learned black and white photography which included developing my images in a dark room. I also developed a love for video production through Pittsburgh Filmmakers.
I obtained a coveted paid public relations internship with Ketchum Public Relations and then a marketing internship, working with the National Association of Women Business Owners (NAWBO). My internship supervisor stated I had the most marketable resume.
Squirrel Hill was my first home as an adult. Remarkably, I still remember the address of the tri-level I lived in: 5832 Beacon Street in Squirrel Hill. My wonderful landlords in Squirrel Hill who lived below me were Jewish. I sometimes had dinner with them. I was in a Jewish sorority at U-Pitt (Sigma Delta Tau), and was fine with others assuming I was Jewish. On behalf of the sorority, I competed in a Greek Goddess competition, placing as a runner-up.
Murray Avenue is the main street off of Beacon Street. I caught a bus near the intersection of Beacon and Murray to go to U-Pitt. Murray Avenue is a bustling street where I walked to purchase freshly-baked bagels, do my laundry and purchase groceries at the nearby Giant Eagle grocery store.
I got to know the business owners on Murray Avenue well as a customer and also to sell advertisements to them for The Pitt News, where I was also a staff writer. I was awarded “Most Persistent Account Executive” for transforming the least lucrative advertising territory of Squirrel Hill to most lucrative, over Oakland, where U-Pitt is located. This was on my resume for a long time. I had taken on the undesired territory as a challenge. There must be roots in this experience and eventually getting and MBA in Market Strategy. Fellow Pitt News Account Executives asked for my “strategy,” which I think was my caring relationships and connections with many business owners of Squirrel Hill, who were also friends and neighbors. Some may have been in the building this past Saturday.
When I drove to Pittsburgh from Charlotte, NC in 1987, I was stunned by its beauty. My first view was at night, coming out of Fort Pitt Tunnel to be struck by a lit-up downtown Pittsburgh, flanked by rivers and bridges. The city claims to have the most bridges in the world, with 446. I loved the ethnic diversity and attending the annual International Festival. Many weekends, I went to the Strip District for groceries and ate great food at Station Square.
I didn’t personally know the neighbors who passed, but we shared the same space, possibly the same businesses, university, and likely passed each other. We may have connections I’m not aware of. Maybe they were my teachers in college or their children were my classmates. There were likely many connections to Squirrel Hill.
I have had problems to contend with these days. But this tragic event put things in perspective. I’m alive. I may have time that those who passed do not.
I wondered if the world would explode today, but so far, it hasn’t. My air conditioning unit, however, did sort of blow up when it stopped working yesterday.
Having no air conditioning is a harsh way to begin my 50th year and at the start of summer. The temperature in my house has reached 86 degrees so far.
I’ve been steadily working towards the commemoration of my 50th birthday today for the past two years. I’ve made conscious efforts to clean up my life and prepare for this day. These efforts have included letting go of toxic relationships, including my marriage. In a few weeks, I will be divorced one year.
There’s no denying middle age now, it’s solidly here. What also can’t be denied now is facing my mortality. Why am I here? What do I want to be about for my remaining years? What purpose will my life serve? These are heavy questions to consider as I tackle day-to-day challenges.
More than any other aspect, my celebration today is a spiritual one. I celebrate myself, my journey, my struggles overcome so far and that I will continue to overcome in the future.
I acknowledge and commemorate my courage to live as authentically as possible.
It included Swiss chard grown in my garden and black beans from scratch, using my Instant Pot. I was able to get the beans started before picking up my daughter, which was ready after.
I sautéed the chard in coconut oil with garlic, onion and spices such as salt, black pepper, smoked paprika and coriander. These can be improvised as per preference.
I rolled this stuffing onto corn tortillas which were then baked. I also used the stuffing in taco shells. I added organic tomato, homemade salsa and homegrown cilantro before serving. My 9 year-old daughter stated it was the best taco and taquito she ever had. I would add avocado in the future. They weren’t ripe last night. I also used the stuffing in mini burritos that she took to school and I took to work today.
I’ve been trying to move away from processed, pre-made food. I’m also trying to be a more organized working single mom.
I asked my daughter about meal preferences for the week so I could make some ahead of time today, on Sunday. She mentioned spaghetti.
I wanted to avoid a jarred sauce and I had a big bag of carrots from Costco to use up. I decided I would put them through a food processor and then put them in everything.
I bought Roma tomatoes, which were sautéed in with shredded carrots, onion, and garlic. I added basil, salt, pepper, paprika, balsamic vinegar, olive oil, and Brewer’s Yeast Flakes. I puréed in the pan. My daughter loved it. I also made a garlic bread roll with vegan margarine, olive oil, and seasoning. Any protein crumbles like Boca or sautéed tofu crumbles could also be an option to add to the sauce.
Hey Perfection,
this week, I’m going to touch my neglected guitar and piano. I might even mess with them and make terrible sounds with them. You can’t stop me.
I won’t know what I’m doing. Although knowing that feels terrifying at some level and doing things poorly seems criminal, I might just go ahead and do it.
Will anyone know or care? What will happen after I make some non-rhythmic sounds with my lonely instruments? Will the instrument police get me? Will their ears hear the confusing sounds?
Do my instruments want me to play them, even badly? Would it be disrespectful to them? Do they only deserve skilled hands? Will they sense my fear of them, of me and my inability, that I might not be able to make enough sense of them to make sounds that make sense? What if the sounds never make sense?
Will I have failed? Will the instrument failure police know and promptly get me? Will I wither away forever in instrument failure jail, kicking myself for foolishly trying to play an instrument? Do they deserve better than me?
What is the purpose of trying to play them anyway? Who would it save? Maybe me?
Perfection, once I make non-melodic sounds with my instruments, I might even try to figure out what else I can do poorly, and then go do it.
Dear Leo,
I’ve been stunned since yesterday, seeing the message associated with a LinkedIn invite. I had been ignoring the invite from the woman for possibly weeks, thinking it was another work-related association I would get to later. But then yesterday, I inadvertently saw the message on the invite that I didn’t know was there, with her stating she was your wife and that you had passed. My heart stopped, as I immediately accepted the invite and responded back to her, beginning with “oh my God..”
I was further shocked learning the details of your passing, that you had six to seven months since learning about your advanced cancer diagnoses in March and then leaving us last month. I can’t imagine what you went through during this time.
I stared at your LinkedIn picture with trimmed, tidy hair and background profile, feeling strange at the same time, knowing your professional profile was still there, but you were not. Your impressive professional history was detailed, some of which you shared and intersected with mine.
You were devoted to our aerospace company and its Deep Impact program with a deadline in space in the next five years that could not be changed. What a stressful deadline, that required you to work non-stop without sleep often. The mission was a success, with the expense of your marriage, which ended.
I told your wife you had been like my smarter older brother, detailed the profound impact you had made on my life and how happy you seemed when I ran into you the past decade, after marrying her. You appeared happy, adjusted and grounded, and that’s how I knew you had made a good choice in a mate. You were focused on your lovely step daughter and I was touched to see the nurturing, fatherly Leo.
Your life clearly suited you and you seemed at peace. I got the impression that you had evolved from what seemed to be your unrewarding rescue missions prior, which I have also been trying to move on from and let go of.
I will never forget the dark, curly, unruly-haired Cuban head I saw next to my cube that I got accustomed to seeing. I wondered if the hair was perhaps unruly to match the focused engineer you were, like a mad scientist stereotype.
You were always there, as a workaholic, married first to our demanding company. You were even there one Labor Day weekend, September of 2002, when you bravely shared your thoughts on my dysfunctional marriage, spurring me on to make the changes I needed to make. You were courageous and caring enough to point out the inevitable course of action I needed to take, but didn’t feel strong enough to undertake. You offered me that strength through your wisdom.
As a result, my life eventually turned big corners as I divorced. You even provided pragmatic help that my family did not by lending me money during a financially difficult time as I made changes to transition to my new life. I wouldn’t even know how to begin to thank you for this.
If I didn’t go to work then, I can’t imagine my life now. Along with the loss of you from the world is a piece of me. You were a part and witness to a significant, transformative time period of my life that you were instrumental in. You showed me that someone can be an atheist and yet still be the most value-driven, caring person I’ve ever met.
You also divorced and struggled with missing your former partner. I told you that “sometimes, it’s better to miss someone than to be with them.” You mulled this over, said you liked it and that it helped you. Leo, I want you to know this quote doesn’t apply to you. It breaks my heart we can’t have any more wise conversations because it would be better to be around you having deep, enlightening conversations than to miss you.
While drinking hot sake on a cold night, we provided each other with support following our divorces. I have thought of you every time I’ve had hot sake since. We never did get around to seeing Woody Allen movies together as we discussed, so now I must. As you suggested, I will read (again?) Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, which I believe is somewhere in my home.
Rest in peace, my friend, workaholic former colleague, mentor and adviser. Wherever you are, dude, I just hope there is a lot of hair gel. Just sayin.’
I Wondered what it would be like to feel butterflies in my stomach over a guy again…
and now I do.
I wondered if there can be communication that speaks to my heart without words.
When my hand laid against his open hand, which then intertwined itself over mine, there was.
When he kissed the top of my head when I leaned in, there was.
When he spontaneously lifted my hand to then kiss it, there was…
I wondered if looking in one another’s eyes silently could communicate something.
It can.
I wondered if you can have a silent shared smile at the same thing that you both find amusing, at the same time, in the same way…you can…
As it turns out, chasing butterflies is a very worthwhile adventure. The rewards are huge.
Knowing I can feel these “small” things is big.
I was on to something when a small voice whispered, wondering….it opened doors to realization.
Wondering seems to do that…it takes you were you need to go…if we open our hearts and minds enough to notice and listen.
10/15/2017
There is nothing wrong with being gay. But marrying someone known to be straight when you are not and don’t make that clear, is wrong.
Most have heard of stories where spouses have come out gay. There is applause for the ones that came out to find their true selves, while the spouses are ignored and forgotten. What about the cost to the them, their hopes and dreams? They did not sign up for this “dream.” They had been denied their true selves. No one cares they came out “straight” as before. No one cares they’ve always been true to themselves, but were deceived.
The problem with the deceivers has to do with their character and not their orientation. Being gay does not give permission to stay in the closet while hurting and denying others of their basic needs to be fully appreciated, desired and loved. One can remain in the closet all they want on their own. Please don’t take others with you!
Underminers are the “Debbie Downers” of the world. Debbie Downer is a popular character from Saturday Night Live who always had something negative to say and found some ways to rain on everyone’s parades about everything. Debbie Downers are the party poopers of the world. Felt good about something and then you shared it with Debbie? Well now you feel stupid and terrible about it.
No matter what wonderful thing is going on in your life (according to you, at least), Debbie Downer has something to say to make it not so wonderful…it even seems dumb now. When Debbie feels particularly clever, she will cut you and your efforts down with comments that have seemingly positive words and concepts thrown in to confuse you, gaslight and make your head hurt. This can include comments such as “I wouldn’t do that, it was awful, but good luck to you!”
You think you should feel good from her comments, and it can look like you should, but you don’t. You want to think she meant well but now you feel down. Your excitement and passion is gone. You feel deflated, you doubt yourself and a choice you were making, that you felt interested and enthusiastic about, but after sharing it with Debbie and hearing her cautionary comments, you wonder if you are doing the right thing. You’ve been gaslit!
Debbie doesn’t have your best interests at heart. She is jealous of you and doesn’t want you to get ahead or surpass her. She is competitive and wants you to stay down, below her. She is a light dimmer and a lamp shade. She will never fuel your enthusiasm for anything and couldn’t give a shit about your passions. She will ridicule them…in a nice way, of course. And then you risk feeling excited about your passion. You wonder if it’s silly and a waste of time….for a normal person, like Debbie suggested.
Narcissistic underminers may be the most difficult energy vampires to detect. You have to trust your heart and feelings , rather than your mind at times. Your mind may want to play tricks on you and encourage you to only notice the seemingly nice things they say and to look at others more kindly than they deserve, to your detriment.
Manipulative narcs count on our tricky monkey mind so that we have self-doubt. As long as we have self-doubt, they have power and control over us. When comments “feel” bad, they “are” bad. Trust your intuition.
Particularly when healing from trauma and abuse, we have to be extra cautious about exposing ourselves to “light dimmers” and “lampshades.” While we are particularly vulnerable, raw and tender, we may not have developed our boundaries or they may be weak. We may need to take time to nurse our wounds with extreme self-care for a while, to counter the neglect we endured and tolerated with narcs. We can’t sabotage our healing and growth to people who would try to take down the wounded.