Did you know him?

It was the usual Sunday morning for Leslie Fitzgerald; quiet, except for the occasional gentle chirp of a nearby bird, beautiful clear blue sky and graves so very neat and maintained in their nice rows. Ethan would have been happy to know that everything around him was tidy. How long do I have to stand here? Shit. That’s terrible, she thought to herself. I should probably stay longer to make up for that. This had been her Sunday morning routine for the past five years. The world around her seemed to grey as clouds drifted by. “Looks like rain, I’m sorry I don’t stay longer my love.” she explained. He wouldn’t want her to get caught in a downpour.

“Did you know him well?” A voice asked. Turning she found a sharply dressed young man, everything about him was immaculate, not a single hair dared to stray.

“You could say that.” She glanced at the diamond ring that Ethan had proposed with on their fourth anniversary. “I’m his wife.” She replied after realizing her first answer may have been rude.

“Oh, I didn’t realize he had a widow.” he said staring at his feet. They both stared at his leather shoes as they flexed against the ground.

An eternity passed before Leslie realized she was being rude again, “Oh, I’m sorry. How did you know him?”

“We were in the same unit.” he answered, giving the ground a soft and awkward kick, a smile swept across his face with the proclamation.

“Oh you were in the same unit of cubicles at the accounting firm?” Ethan, you adorable goofball, you she thought kneeling down and giving the damp marble a loving brush of her hand to wipe away any dirt. To think her sweet introvert of a husband had had a work friend she did not know about. Ethan had never really told her much about his work, but she smiled at the thought of him eating lunch with a friend, or telling his jokes about tax forms. 

“No ma’am we were in the same unit in basic training, we went through linguistics training together, we were even stationed together.” The comment snapped her from her daydream.

“Excuse me? You must be confused. Ethan was an accountant, and believe me he was horrible with other languages, he even walked into the wrong restroom more than one on our honeymoon to Italy.” she chuckled, looking at the grave as if Ethan could explain himself from under the earth.

“Ethan Fitzgerald. He died 5 years ago, he was a military man for 20 years.”

“What are you talking about? Ethan Fitzgerald was an accountant. God, did you even know him?” Leslie hissed as her patience wore thin.

The young man glanced down at the marble headstone and then back at Leslie, his face was somber and serious as he reached into his pocket a produced a wrinkled photograph, "did you?"

The breath was knocked out of her as she studied the photo. This mimic looked like her Ethan; those were her husband'a eyes, her husbands crooked smile. "Did I?" She asked the marble stone. 

     

So how about that weather?

I joined a writer's workshop in an attempt to get my creative juices flowing. I admit I pretty shy when it comes to class, I have difficulty speaking up and became even more bashful when the professor referred to me as a writer. This week we were tasked with writing about the weather, how it sometimes pushes itself to the foreground and I was instantly reminded of Erie, Pennsylvania.

My friends often say “I hate California. I wish we had seasons.” Not me. I’m a California girl through and through. I love California and I tell her often that I think she’s beautiful. She’s warm and colorful. Not like eerie. Or dreary Erie as I've heard it called. Dreary was right, I remember it in shades of grey. Sure there were reds and oranges to mark the change into fall but I remember the grays, and how they quickly reclaimed the scenery.

I've heard people lament California’s near perfect weather, “ I love the rain, I wish we had more storms.” As if warm sun and a perfect blue sky were something to bemoan. As for storms I wonder if people even know what they are talking about. I enjoy the rain as much as the next person if I’m inside, but that’s not what I think about when I think of storms. I think of snow, blanketing the neighborhood without discrimination, sad slush lining the streets, and having to put on so many layers walking became an small feat in of itself. I think of the times when Erie wasn't dreary but was instead resentful. The air was warm, thick, and smelled damp. It growls and groans and then there it is, a moment so brief it might not have happened at all. Night is transformed into day, and a charred tree is the only evidence the lightning left behind. We would retreat underground to our basement but we cannot escape the sound of the wind pounding on our windows and the knowledge that by tomorrow the streets will be flooded.

It’s true that California sometimes has her bad days but even her worst seem like mere hissy fits compared to Erie’s hysterics, if that is “real” weather I’ll take my flip flop in winter weather any day.  

Little Black Dress

There's this dress, it's a fairly modest, black number that stops just below my knee. It lives in the back of my closet and under and other circumstances it would probably be a pretty cute dress. If someone else had selected it off the rack the dress might have gone to dinner, dancing or even to a show; but I purchased it.

I remember the day I found it, usually I don't mind shopping but this trip wasn't fun. My best friend helped me through it, we found the dress shoved between would be prom dresses. I wore it to my grandfathers funeral. I don't know if I've ever cried so much in my life, I thought I might be fine. It was an event that we saw coming afterall. I sat in the pew, face unmoving, told myself I was fine, this was a natural part of life but something took hold and I was unable to control myself. Now when I look at this dress in the back of my closet I think of that day.

I'm wearing it again today. I'm beginning to hate this dress, but it's not the dress's fault.

Writing Writing Writing

The trouble with trying to get back into writing is that you actually have to sit down and write. Imagine that, having to practice something to get better at it. Ridiculous is what it is. I have been inspired recently to see what some of my favorite writers have to say about writing. Turns out they all say the same thing. Just start writing. Write as often as you can. Anne Rice also suggests watching movies that inspire you to tell stories, so I might attempt something like that tonight.

Some people suggest just trying to get words on to a page, I rather like that idea but then I fear I would fill the page with nonsense and rambling. Maybe rambling is okay, maybe rambling is my style?

I just took a break to work on a writing prompt, my goal was to get to 500 words but that was actually pretty difficult. I stopped somewhere near 470.

It's funny, when I was younger I thought writing would be easy, this is probably do to the fact that I used to focus more on writing than my school work. Maybe writing is similar to food in the respect. I can't seem to devote myself to both. Each demands all of my time, all of my heart and all of my attention.

I'm rather excited because my husband and I have reservations for San Diego Restaurant Week. Each year it seems to sneak pass me but this year I actually have a reservation! It's always exciting, going somewhere you haven't eaten before. The best part? Dessert is included!

Speaking of dessert I'm very fortunate that my chef allows me to basically do whatever I want  because I'm absolutely in love with my Mocha Bar. It is a white chocolate mousse and espresso bavarois which sit on a gluten free fudge cake. Coffee and chocolate? Doesn't get any better than that. My coworker and I came up with it completely on a whim, which is pretty funny to us because there are not enough hours in the day but when it comes to dreaming up new sweet things we can almost always find the time.

Lazy Saturday afternoons

Crazily enough despite my chosen profession I have Saturdays off. Unlike most normal folks I have split days off which most people tell me sucks. I don't really think that's true though. Do you ever get those weeks where it seems the Friday just won't get here? I don't. Well not usually. Thanks to having split days off I work two days, have a day off, work three days and have a day off. It's nice for the most part and more importantly it allows me to have Saturdays off for religious purposes. I've heard that is also weird. My day of study is on Saturday as opposed to the traditional Sunday. Anyways, I'm rambling.

Last night I had the honor of working on a wedding cake for a friend of mine. The crazy part is that it was for a friend from high school. This week alone I made a wedding cake and a birthday cake for a friend's son. These are the people I went to middle and highschool with. At what point did we become adults? I mean I still dress up as a super hero from time to time (cosplay post for another time). I shouldn't be surprised, hell I'm married but it feels a little surreal to me.

I absolutely adored how this cake came out. I usually hate my cakes, I usually look at every angle telling myself that I'm not a decorator. The trouble with cake decorating is that, not unlike writing, the only real way to get better at it is to just keep doing it. Lucky for me rosette cakes are in high demand.

A few years ago I wrote about red velvet wedding cakes on my old, very neglected, pastry blog. I admitted to rolling my eyes when people ordered red velvet wedding cakes because at the time it was all anyone wanted. Having now worked in the wedding industry for a brief period time I can see that is just how it is. Wedding trends come, and the come full force. Now the it color for weddings, at least in my area, seems to be petal/blush pink. It's lovely, it's soft and easily adds a splash of color to vintage or rustic weddings.

All that being said, I love this cake. I really didn't stress about it as much I usually do because I knew I was making it for an incredible human being on a very big day of his life. Hopefully it will survive the drive to his out of state wedding. This cake has inspired me to work on more challenging cakes. Sometimes I wish I had the resources to just make and decorate cakes as I pleased, but sadly ingredients cost money.

 

Stretch those writing muscles

Or something like that. Whoo two consecutive days of posting. I hope that's not a personal best. I needed to bring my laptop into work today so I figured I could attempt to write on my lunch break, except I work at a bakery that has a sitting area like a coffee shop. So I'm that jerk that sits in a coffee shop typing on her laptop. People that pass by might think that I'm working on a screenplay for all they know I could be working on the next great american novel. I'm not. I'm just typing for the sake of typing.

I can see why people do this though, it's nice. The whole place smells like freshly baked cookies, probably because my coworker and I just finished baking 51 dozen cookies, they lighting is nice and I live in Southern California so I can see the beautiful perfect blue sky outside. It's technically winter but it's almost 70 degrees outside.

It's incredible to me. The fact that I get to bake for a living. There was a point in my life when the thought of culinary school seemed impossible and even during school I was constantly plagued with questioning, "what if I'm not good enough?" or worse what if I wasn't good at all. What if all my years of baking at home were nothing? Now here I am five years have passed since pastry school and baking now pays my bills. I'm still learning though, my chef always told me to keep trying to learn because the moment you thought you knew everything that was it you were done.

Wait my coworker just told me to write a short story about her bearded dragon, Hubert, meeting a kitty cat:

It was a pleasantly warm day for winter. There was still a slight chill to the air but this did not bother Hubert. Between his heating lamp and warming pad his tank was perfect. The strange creatures that set up his enclosure had done a good job, perhaps he would reward them by taking a few moments to leave his dark cavern. Creeping slowly from the darkness, then darting quickly into the light, but his creatures were no where to be found. Strange. Usually the female would delight when he would grace her with his presence.  Further investigation proved fruitless but he continued to press himself against the barrier that kept him from his creatures living space.

"Good morning Hubert!" a voice called. The female. Not surprisingly she was happy to see him.

Damn lunch break is over and I didn't even get to the kitty cat. Oh well and then Hubert met a cat. He was probably very fluffy with bright orange fur and little white paws. My guess is that initially Hubert put up a tough face, he probably puffed himself up to make himself look more intimidating but then quickly realized that a cat is much larger. I'd like to think that the cat poked him slightly with his paw and then they spent the rest of the afternoon napping in a sunspot as they had become fast friends. That's much nicer than a cat trying to eat a lizard. I'd rather imagine they napped together.

It has been a while.

Oh poor neglected blog. I haven't looked at you in over a year. It seems any time I have even a mere moment to myself I decide "OH! Now I have time to write!" The trouble with me is that I almost always seem to have writers block. A dear friend of mine suggested that returning to blogging might help. Sure, it's not the short stories and fiction that I would ultimately like to write but at least I'm stretching those writing muscles...right?

The other problem with writing an entry that is not fiction is that I constantly think to myself, "why even bother? No one wants to hear about how you had your blackheads worked on. Don't be stupid." Yeah, I talked to myself like that but who isn't at least slightly mean to themselves? The truth is that it doesn't matter than no one would care about what you write on that blank page. Sometimes you just have to sit down and write. My hopes is that one day I can recapture the creativity I had roughly a decade ago. I find that it was a lot easier to write when I thought I was miserable. That was just silly teenage angst, there was actually nothing really wrong with my life. Those problems seem so minuscule now. Now that I'm happier in my day to day life I find it difficult to write the stories I want to write. Oh, I don't really like writing happy stories. The whole "and then they lived happily ever after" doesn't really float my boat. I love stories that are sort of beautiful depressing.

Wally Lamb does this really nicely. His stories seem to just be about people living their lives, and those people seem to have pretty normal lives. Pretty normal and pretty depressing. People who fall out of love. People who have obligations to family. People who don't like the way they look. There's always something else brewing underneath and his stories have a deeper meaning but I like that even on the surface you might think they're just about people living their lives.

The first book I read by Wally Lamb was 'She's Come Undone'. I devoured it, finished it two sittings. It was recommended by my old manager at this adorable cupcake bakery I worked. It was my first real job out of pastry school, I thought my chef from school might have a heart attack if he new I was making cupcakes for a living. He's was old school and from France, the cupcake trend annoyed him slightly but the bakery was fun to work at and my coworkers were sweet. I still check out my former boss' facebook from time to time even though it has been roughly four years since I worked for her. The owner was woman who was completely down to earth despite the fact that her life seemed like something you only hear about. She was lively and it always seemed like she was ready for her next adveture, whatever that might be. The manager was one of the sweetest women you could ever hope to meet. When she recommended Lamb's novel to me she seemed a bit hesitant. After reading it I could see why. She, being made of sugar, had suggested a novel that was so beautifully depressing. On the surface just a story about a woman's life, her insecurities were things that I'm sure most people have dealt with. I have since read a few more of Lamb's novels but I think that one sticks with me more than the others.

This was nice. Forcing myself to write for a little bit. I used to think if I could give myself a topic ( nail polish, videogames, crafting) I might be able to make time for writing. Turns out working in the culinary industry leaves very little time for anything else. I am still obsessed with those topic; in fact, my nail polish collection is now well over 100 polishes so maybe I will write about that at some point but I think for now I'll just see what comes to me and hope that something of interest will come of it.