Cirque du Malaise

I was talking to a friend who needed help editing a paper. She said she was having a hard time getting the wordcount down to fit the requirements of her assignment. I said, hand it over, because if there is one thing I am good at, it’s throwing away words.

Other things I am good at:

1. Cleaning out closets (my own or yours)
2. Giving things away that I actually really like just because someone else said “hey that’s nice”
3. Washing glasses before you were done drinking that thing
4. Not finishing my food
5. Breaking up with boyfriends

Hmm. I am sensing a pattern here. One might say that I have a fear of commitment, but actually, that’s not it. I have a fear of garbage (see #5). I’ve always had a thing about not wanting to accumulate too much stuff. I like to know that the amount of stuff I have is manageable. I live in a very small cottage with hardly any storage. My closet (my one single closet) holds less clothes than most of my friends have in the trunk of their car. When I buy a new pair of shoes, I have to get rid of an old pair.

It’s not that I’m not materialistic. I am. I love things.

It’s more that I’m fickle. I like to think of it as “Buddhist.” I try not to get too attached.

Along those lines, I have an ambivalent relationship with the concept of owning books. On the one hand, I am a writer who gets paid for writing, so it would seem reasonable that I would believe in supporting other writers by buying their books. On the other hand, my extreme aversion to accumulating things (and to excess in general) has led me to a philosophy of sharing books.

I used to collect books as a testament to my readerly accomplishments. For many years I lugged boxes and boxes of books around every time I moved. After about my 4^th cross-country move, I finally took a cold hard look at my collection of books and what it stood for. Did it stand for my convictions about reading and supporting writers? Did it stand for my adoration of storytelling? Or was it simply an ego-based testament to my reading accomplishments?

The truth is, I rarely read a book twice, and if I do, it’s decades later. There are too many books to read and this life is too short. (There are exceptions to this rule, as there are to every rule.) Also, I really like to support the library system.

In the end, I got rid of all my books. Except, you know, my Chronicles of Narnia and my Little Prince and my Maggie B and my Julia Cameron books and a few others. I ran into an old friend yesterday, and we had this very same conversation about books. He said that he always keeps his books, and has shelves and shelves of them. He said: “Books are treasures.”

That they are, my friends. That they are. But for me, they are treasures whose energy I love to pass along.

I was a vegetarian for many years and then went even longer without eating chicken. If pressed, I would say that chicken is "disgusting" and that mine wasn't necessarily an ethical choice, although once one knows anything about the factory farming situation in this country it's tough to rationalize sticking a Chicken McNugget down one's throat. (I love you Tom!)

On the other hand, I've always been a big fan of acupuncture and have no less than three amazing acupuncturists that I see for various reasons. (Caylie See is super talented and like a dose of mom; Rebecca Rapaport Ness is one of the most nurturing people I've ever met and knows her yucky Chinese herbs; Andrew Castellanos is a true healer and gives an amazing massage.) One of the things that acupuncturists consistently seem to recommend is chicken broth for whatever ails you. I once asked Caylie if I could use vegetable broth instead, and she said, quite poetically, "No."

Luckily, a few months ago I discovered a new, summer-only farmers market in my neighborhood in Mill Valley. It's tiny—like ten vendors—but that's pretty much all you need at a local farmers market. One of the consistent vendors is a rotisserie chicken truck. The first time I walked by it, the smell was intoxicating. I cautiously approached.

Turns out, this chicken vendor uses happy chickens. Not just "free range," which means basically nothing in chicken industry parlance, but chickens that actually run around on a farm in nearby Sonoma and live out their lives in relative liberation from suffering. Now, I can't be absolutely sure of this without having seen it with my own eyes, but I grilled him quite extensively and I'm pretty confident that, if I'm going to eat chicken, this is the chicken to eat.

So now I have a new ritual. Every Tuesday night, I walk to the farmers market and buy a half a rotisserie chicken and a side of rosemary potatoes. (They sit in the tray at the bottom of the rotisserie with chicken fat dripping on them all day. Holy hell yum.) Then, I come home and strip the chicken for dinner. The scrap—-the "carcass," if you will—goes in a big pot... and I make a broth.

The broth is the real goal of this operation. It's just about the most wholesome-tasting concoction ever, and so good for you too. Not just because of its actual nutritional components, but because there is something really satisfying about making stock from scratch. It makes me feel like I'm on the Maggie B. and I'm taking supreme holy care of myself (and my imaginary little brother James). Also, it makes the house smell amazing, and is a great way to get rid of wilting vegetables and the surplus of herbs from my garden. So, here's how it goes, more or less:

Chicken Broth, from scratch:

• Throw ALL the scraps of chicken—skin, bones, all the gnarly parts-into a pot.
• Some assortment of the following vegetables, cut into big chunks: onion, potato, carrot, other root veggies. You don't have to peel them or clean them up; just rinse them.
• Heavy on the garlic and/or ginger root (the latter is particularly healthy for ya)
• An entire bunch of parsley or cilantro
• A handful of peppercorns (or ground pepper if that's what you have)
• A hunk of sea salt
• Whatever fresh herbs you have handy, or dried will do too—rosemary, thyme, oregano and sage are my usual suspects.
• Fill it up with water.
• Bring it to a boil.
• Turn it down to medium-ish flame and let it simmer for the rest of the evening.

The exact amount of time doesn't really matter, but the longer you simmer it for, the stronger the broth gets and the less of it you'll end up with. I usually keep it on the flame until the vegetables have lost all their luster and the broth has a nice fatty sheen to it.

Then, you simply drain away the broth into a bowl, compost the solid parts, and let it cool. You can freeze it for soups later on, or what I love to do is transfer the stock back into a pot and put it in the fridge for tomorrow, when I take it back out and cook up some arborio rice, and have it with the leftover chicken. SO healthy!

One of my favorite books when I was little - and one of the only ones I've hung onto all these years - is a little gem called Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. I hold a special place in my heart for this fictional little boy who always gets the short end of the stick and has a very bad attitude about it.


I had a day like this yesterday. Here's how it went:

1. Woke up at 10:30, groggy and out of it after 11 hours of sleep. Not being a morning person, I don't hop out of bed cheerfully. The very first thing that happened: I noticed that my beloved pea plant has been infested by nasty little spider mites. I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
2. Unfortunately, I had a lunch date scheduled with my good friend Tom at 11:00. I grouchily threw on some clothes and ran downstairs to meet him.
3. While Tom and I were having lunch, someone smashed into his brand new BWM and ripped half the bumper off. We were sitting in plain sight of the car, but somehow didn't hear or see it.
4. While we were trying to sort this out, street cleaning hours kicked in, and the meter maid came along and argued with us for a while about how we "had to move the car PDQ" even though we couldn't, technically, drive it.
5. After I left Tom, I walked home up Divisadero and stopped to buy some spider mite spray at the plant store. While I was paying for it, another accident happened right outside. What is up with my juju?
6. Found out that Alex has to get a visa to travel to Europe. We're leaving in 21 days. It takes 21 days, at least, to get a visa. Grr.
7. Went to Tom's yoga class at Aha. That was actually great.
8. Was supposed to have a dinner party at our place. Laszlo cancelled last minute, and David fell off Alex's bike and hurt his knee. Instead, I got a glass of wine with Bria and Tom on Union Street. Come to think of it, that was pretty great too.
9. Met up with Alex, David and Pete at Elite Café. Ordered a salad. Everyone else's dinner was better than mine. Ate off all their plates.
10. Watched the second-to-last episode of Mad Men on Netflix. Already going into withdrawal panic.

I think I'll move to Australia New Orleans.