I Remember When Rock Was Young...

The program from the first time 
I saw Elton John in 1976.

The other night I dragged Tom to the outer limit of his patience... I made him go see Elton John. Being an intensely discriminating music critic, Tom shuns most mainstream pop and you can’t get more mainstream or pop that the Queen of England himself! During this trip into my 13-year-old self, my thoughts and feelings were all over the place, so I won’t be churning out any well-crafted essay... you know, a hymnic chord structure, melody, harmonies, four verses, a chorus, and a bridge... Like an Elton John song... No, this is going to be more like a jazzy improv... a list of scattered reflections... 

1. Elton John has been super-famous, larger than life for so long, that people don’t really remember that he was once a little boy with a sad childhood who grew up, paid his dues playing piano covers in pubs, writing songs “Tin Pan Alley” style, and traveling with a blues band called Bluesology. 

One of my favorite EJ albums

2. His fans are old. From our cheap seats, we had a great view of the jewelry rattlers in the floor seats - and it was a sea of grey heads. Sadly, I, also, am old. Yet despite the evidence to the contrary, I will continue to insist that I am young – that when I walk down Franklin Street, I blend right in with the students. Also, old people look funny when they act like young people at a concert. I include myself in this indictment.

3. When we were walking in, I said to Tom, “I hope he plays a lot of obscure songs that only I know.” I was kidding, but he did play a few obscure nuggets like Holiday Inn and Grey Seal. I could have done without I’m Still Standing, however, even though I appreciated the sentiment. A high point of the evening: His feisty rendition of The B*tch Is Back, with a video screen that flashed "B*TCH" every time it occurred in the song, along with other hilarious visuals like lipsticks and the silhouette of a dancing woman... I guess if I were mature, I would have been offended, but it was simply too funny.

Another one

4. I did not have sophisticated music tastes as a preteen/teen... Elton John is a great musician... not much of a rocker, though. His music smacks of the English music hall and musical theatre...you know... POP. This bothers my husband, who is hypersensitive to what is cool, but it doesn’t bother me at all. Elton was what I needed when I needed it.  At a certain point the other night – I think it was during Rocket Man, I re-experienced that old feeling... like I was wrapped in a cocoon of a sweet part of my adolescence. Being a teenager can be agonizing, and I often shut out the pain by hunkering down under my headphones, filling my noggin with Elton John’s perfect melodies and soaring harmonies. Banging out approximations on our piano in the basement was also a lovely escape for me. 

5. Also lovely: my hilarious sister Lea and her husband were at the concert with us. I sort of feel sorry for my younger siblings, as they were forced by their over-enthusiastic older sister to listen to Elton John too... since I always had him playing. But, I guess since she wanted to go to the show, she didn’t hate it! Anyway, it was great to share the experience with Lea. And she never fails to crack me up.

Davey Johnstone still looks
and poses the same!

6. Elton has these great, well-loved songs, but we can’t really know anything about him by listening to them – except maybe what his sense of song is. Because the words were written by someone else – namely, Bernie Taupin. And even then, much of the time, the songs are stories, and not introspective. In his youth, Bernie was a romantic soul, fascinated with, among other things, the American West. The record Tumbleweed Connection is loaded with images of Americana. The stories are evocative, but I always loved when Bernie wrote about their own story: Tiny Dancer was about his then-wife's seamstress who worked on Elton’s costumes. Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy was an entire album of songs about their origins as a songwriting duo for Liberty Records. It’s one of my favorite records of his.

8. Sports arenas are for sports, not music, and few musicians can play to them well... U2, Springsteen... the list is relatively short. The acoustics at this show were not ideal. I guess as a way of reaching out / connecting to the humongous audience, Elton would jump up between the songs and address the audience with waves, bows and ... a whole lotta pointing. “No, YOU, Elton...!” 

There was a whole lotta pointing...

9. At Friday’s concert, he had drummer Nigel Olsson and guitarist Davey Johnstone with him. I LOVE these guys! They, along with Dee Murray made up his band when I was a youngster. Davey Johnstone, if I understand correctly, did a lot of musical direction of the earlier albums like Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, figuring out those tight harmonies that I know like the back of my hand. At the show he played not only guitar, but mandolin and banjo. A musician extraordinaire, is our Davey. 

10. I do know EJ’s earlier work intimately. I am deeply familiar with every guitar lick, every backing vocal, every bass riff... every word, and intention. They were a big part of my inner world back in the day. Judging by the amount of singing along at the show, I was not the only one.

Elton and Bernie AKA Captain
Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy

11. On the way over to the show, we listened to Bruce Springsteen’s keynote speech at this year’s SXSW festival. He brought up a group he admired as a youth - The Animals. “They were considered one of the ugliest groups in rock ‘n’ roll… That was good for me, ’cause I considered myself hideous at the time.“ Anyway, this was one thing I loved about Elton when I was young - he was proof that you didn’t have to be beautiful to be somebody. Really, he was a short, chubby, balding guy with glasses and he was rockin’ (or poppin’, I guess) people’s socks off. As a short, chubby girl with glasses, I found this to be... a relief. Not that I’m poppin’ anybody’s socks off, but ... it was nice to know that beauty was not a requirement for success.

12. Elton John has tiny hands. I could tell from whenever they showed them on the huge screens... but they move effortlessly across the keys. Of course he’s been playing since he was 3 – that’s 62 years... Lore has it that he was a prodigy.

I have no idea how to wrap us the list of random thoughts about Captain Fantastic. I’m no longer twelve, and I know he’s not hip... and but I still do love him!

Erin Go Bragh!

St. Patrick, Bishop 
of Ireland

Yesterday was Saint Patrick’s Day, and we sure did celebrate at our house. Now, I don’t know how much Irish blood runs in our veins, but for all intents and purposes for the last couple of days, we bled a vivid green - 100% Irish. In the same way that I am inexplicably fascinated by all things British, Bill has been irresistably drawn to Erin and her people. I think his fascination began when they built leprechaun traps in preschool.

Now, if there was such a thing as a patron fairy of little boys, it would be leprechauns - mischievous, greedy, silly, tricky, irreverent, and ... magical. And though no leprechaun has ever left Bill a stocking full of candy and a heap of Lego sets, he has declared that St. Patrick’s Day is his favorite holiday.

Bill digs the craic at an Irish pub

Typically on March 17th at our house, nothing much happens. Bill builds an elaborate trap to catch a leprechaun, using those chocolate candies wrapped in gold foil that look like coins or Lucky Charms as bait, and after he goes to bed, a six-foot-two “leprechaun” named Tom scatters it around and writes a mocking note in green crayon. This year, though, we branched out. 

Friday I took Bill to lunch at one of those fake Irish pubs they have... and since he had no idea that the U.S. even had those, he was out of his mind with joy. And yesterday, we went to the St. Paddy’s Day parade in Raleigh. I’ve always wanted to go, but never tried hard enough to get there. This year I had an excuse. Surprising Bill brings me such joy - it’s so easy, since at this age, he has fewer preconceived notions than we do. 

At the parade

Well, that’s not exactly true... If we say, “We’re going to such and such a place,” he’s likely to yell out, “NO! I DON’T WANT TO!” But only because he’s having fun where he is, not because he’s already made up his mind he wouldn’t like where we’re going. I guess what I mean is, he doesn’t know many things exist. I mean, he knew there were pubs in Ireland, but he didn’t know there were fake ones here. And he didn’t know that there was a St. Pat’s Day parade in Raleigh, so when we walked into it... imagine his surprise!

Let me tell you, he never disappoints in that area. At the pub he couldn’t stop hugging me – he practically sat in my lap, he was so excited and grateful, and at the parade, he stared with wide eyes and a wide open mouth at the pipers and dancers and ... dogs...? dressed in Lepre-finery.

Men in kilts!

All in all, it was a joyful celebration. I’ve never been to the Emerald Isle, but from photographs and movies, I can tell it’s lovely. And part of it belongs to Great Britain, which, again, I love... the accents are lyrical, the music begat bluegrass, the writers have been prolific and poetic. Even the food is not too bad, as British food goes. And then there’s Guinness.

The Irish are a pretty important ingredient in the melting pot we live in. It’s hard to believe they were ever the object of discrimination. “Now hiring. No Irish need apply.” Say what? I guess they never met Bono... who wouldn’t hire him?

I bet they'd hire Bono...

But I digress... I guess American celebrations of Patrick’s saint day have denigrated from the celebration of a freed slave who shared the gospel with his captors, to a celebration of Irish culture ... into, well... parties. With whiskey, green beer and Kiss Me I’m Irish buttons. If we let them. Yesterday in the morning, we said the St. Patrick prayer that starts with: “I bind unto myself today / The strong Name of the Trinity, / By invocation of the same, / The Three in One and One in Three.” And I’ve already told you what we did after... Yes, I made up my mind to claim the day to dote on my son... to shower him with gifts and sweet surprises. Much like God does for me. Yes, I have written about how God grows me through trials and testing, but it has also been my experience, that He likes to charm us with astonishing, often serendipitous, curveballs. 

Like the time I was embarrassed and feeling awkward in front of a friend, and I unexpectedly saw the actor Robin Williams. Like when I quit my job at a newspaper to move to Asheville, and suddenly the exact same job came open at the Asheville paper. Or like when I asked God to heal me of my crazy thinking about food, and He gave me a husband and child. Yes, God’s surprises are big and small. Lovely and amazing... like grace.

Welcome to my Salon

Jesus washed his friends' feet

The other day I was giving what little attention I have to my Bible reading, I read about how in the Old Testament about how every single time the priests had to go into the Tabernacle to serve, they had to wash their hands and feet. Well, I had just been writing about our church’s Maundy Thursday service - where we remember what they call the Last Supper. Part of John’s description of this event involves Jesus washing his friends’ feet. 

Now, this sweet incident just shows how sweet Jesus was, how much he loved his friends, and, mostly, how His ministry (and theirs) was to be one of service, not power in the traditional sense. But having these things together in my mind led me to wonder whether The “foot-washing” was also a symbolic gesture of preparing his disciples to the ministry that they would go on to do - that is, spreading the good news about Jesus throughout the world. Since I had never thought of it this way, or heard any one say it, I felt the need to consult the wider world... of people who know a lot more than me about the Bible.

Beatniks at a coffee house

Well, in the old days, I would have brought it to my Bible study group, but being a mom has sucked up any time I would have for those kind of luxuries, so instead, I let it be known on Facebook that I had a Bible question. I received a very nice response from an array of people who were either just curious about my question or eager to help, or both... it was nice to know that people are interested in these kinds of discussions. Because I know I am... when I’m not making ads, making PBJs or getting squirrels out of the attic, that is.

The responses were as mixed as the answerers – some people thought definitely not, while some people thought maybe so... But in the end, having the answer was not as precious to me as the discussion itself. The Bible is a fascinating book, to say the least, and I love chewing over the text with others. I do miss the intense study I used to do when my time was wide open, but I miss more the interaction over it with people. Just like I miss going to clubs and hearing live music, but even more I miss the intense, late night-into morning talks among like-minded music lovers that often followed.

French people at a literary salon

This lovely product of my inquisitive brain – this discussion – reminded me of a crazy dream of mine from my youth. I’ve always wanted to have a place where people could come and hang out – sort of a cross between a house church, a coffeehouse and a salon – not a hair cuttery, but a literary gathering like they used to have in France a while back... A place where authentic life, art and Scripture meet... where for people can talk about whatever is on their minds, even if it’s really weird or embarrassing... without feeling weird or embarrassed. The salon part would be ... well, I’d love to have music, drama, performance art, visual art, films... but mostly, we’d have what the old folks call “fellowship.”

It’s a crazy idea, I know, but ... but not altogether unattractive – am I right? I guess I’ve been making a feeble attempt to “discuss” some of these things through the blog, but it’s really just me telling you stuff. I would love to hear your take on almost anything, and every so often someone will speak up, but not nearly as often as I’d like. The blog forum seriously lacks the fellowship element, for the most part. Maybe I should ask more questions? One blogger I know, occasionally ask questions on Facebook to accompany her posts. It serves to draw people in to the discussion, which is a step in the right direction...

But really, when it comes down to it, I’d much rather be sitting with you on a comfy couch with a couple of cups of coffee between us, some low music in the background and dim lighting... the operative word being “with you.” The other stuff is just for atmosphere. Although... there’s something about being in a relaxing place – out of the house – that calls to me... “Take a load off! Set aside your cares and chores and enjoy some coffee, art and meaningful conversation!” 

At this point in my life, this mythical place is obviously just a lovely dream.... And in the meantime, you have a standing invitation to join me in the coffeehouse in my mind... the salon that is this blog. Get yourself a coffee, pull up a chair and get philosophical with me. 

Analyze This

I have glasses like Freud!
What would HE say about this?

For the last couple of days, I’ve been writing what has become what I think is one of my most convoluted and unreadable blog entries yet. So you’re not going to get to read that one. It was sort of a commentary on the sermon our pastor gave on Sunday, based solely on my own observations and supposings about human nature.

What he was talking about was Jephthah, from the book of judges and how his behavior was characterized by his insecurity, as the cast out illegitimate son. The pastor then had occasion to list the signs that a person might be an insecure person, as Jephthah was. I won’t give you the list, but basically, and if you know an a-hole, chances are, they are insecure. 

You see, apparently, if a person is secure, they have nothing to prove (this most obvious example being Jesus Himself), while the opposite is true of a person who is insecure: this person will go around trying to assert their power and opinion everywhere in an effort to say, “I AM HERE! I AM IMPORTANT!” and is unable to see other points of view.

I don’t know if this goes along with current psychological scholarship, but it makes sense to me and fits with what I have observed. Now I will say that there is every chance that I myself suffer from insecurity and am one of these a-holes. After all, I am always giving you my opinion and whatnot... and apparently one of the features of the insecure person is the inability to recognize one’s own jerkishness, so... I’m just putting that out there. Maybe I’m this kind of person. I don’t know – it’s not like someone is going to tell me... is it?

Jephthah - what a jerk!
(It's actually heartening to note
that he's included in a list of
faithful saints in Hebrews 11.)

That said, my question is this: if you know someone like this, and you know you do, how should one deal with him or her? I mean, it’s kind of a relief to know they’re not just a flat-out a-hole... that there’s something behind it... something deep and possibly painful... I guess knowing this could be helpful... but really, I’m not sure it helps me know how to behave toward the person. 

I mean, how does one reassure them they they are important without reinforcing their sense of “rightness”? My earlier attempt to reason this out was full of amateur psychology, Bible character analysis and just ... ramblings. And in the end I just had to come to the conclusion that I so often reach: I DON'T KNOW. 

I mean, it’s not like you can go up to a person and say, “Look, you’re an a-hole. You must be insecure,” then, “Rest assured that you are important; there’s no need to insist that you are.” 

Well, you can't go wrong loving them, and besides that... I’m guessing that PRAYER is the way to go for all of us. Because, really, in the end, the hope of changing other people is a vain one – it has to be THEIR project. Even the work of changing myself is an uphill climb, and the going is likely to be slow. That’s been my experience with resetting my own behavioral defaults up until now, anyway. In any case, we can't go wrong inviting God to lend an Almighty Hand.

Van Morrison

It's especially helpful if we can grasp – even a little bit – the concept of God as our security. In this case, not only will the Supreme God of the Universe give us a boost, He will HOLD US UP! How secure can you get? What would the world look like if everyone was 100% sure they were held up by God, and had no reason to push or act defensively? I don’t know, but I wouldn't mind seeing it.

(I love this version of Be Thou My Vision by Van Morrison, in which he calls God his "high tower." That's solid.)

Blankety-Blank-Blank

Nicholas Cage in Adaptation

I ran across a blog entry by author Neil Gaiman the other day that addressed writer’s block. He reckons it’s a combination of laziness and perfectionism. It does makes sense, but I am not sure it always applies to me. I can be lazy, but I’m sitting here writing, aren’t I? Also, I think we can all agree, that there are no grounds on which to base any kind of assumption that I am perfect or could produce a perfect piece of writing – not even close.

Emma Thompson hired a writing
coach to break her writer's block
in Stranger Than Fiction

That’s the fun thing about blogs. They may be up there for you to read at any time, they probably won’t hold your interest for long, and you probably have a bunch of other blogs to read, Angry Birds to play, and real life stuff to do. So while I may sometimes address serious topics like life and love and grace and God, I also mention popular songs, reference obscure movies, and sometimes say bad words. I’m not writing an encyclopedia or philosophical treatise here, people.

No, I don’t think perfectionism is a problem for me. Maybe at one time, but now - not so much. I think that my honest problem is that my mind is totally blank. Blankety-blank-blank. (Yes, I’m aware that “blankety-blank-blank” is also used to connote swearing...) It happens to me enough that this is not my first or even second post about writer’s block. You know what’s a famous movie about writer’s block? Adaptation. It’s about a writer who is supposed to adapt an unadaptable book into a screen play. His brain starts to wander all over the place, hilarious hijinks ensue and in the end the viewer is not quite sure what really happened and what was in the writer’s mind. Call me crazy, but the fact that the actual author of the movie, Charlie Kaufman, named the main character Charlie Kaufman leads me to believe that writer’s block was something Mr. K is intimately acquainted with.

Did James Joyce drink to cure writer's block?

That’s why I’m taking a leaf from his book: when you have writer’s block, write about writer’s block. Another movie about writer’s block: Stranger Than Fiction with Will Ferrell and Emma Thompson. In this story, Thompson plays an author who is seriously blocked until she starts writing a character who she believes to be, well, just a character. BUT he’s actually a person - played by Ferrell, of course – and he can hear her in his head narrating his mundane life! So if I’m to take a lesson from this film, I just need to start writing about something that’s real and the words will flow. Well... since I mainly write from my own point of view... and I am being as real as I know how, I’m not sure that’s relevent.

A Guinness probably wouldn't
help, but it sure would be tasty.

Maybe I just need to work on my reality. But, honestly, that sounds kind of tiring! In that case, maybe all I need is a good night’s sleep! I’ve heard that a lot of famous writers drink (or drank) - like James Joyce and Ernest Hemingway and countless others. Maybe that’s a direction I could go in...?! I kid... but seriously, it IS Friday, and it IS after 5pm... perhaps a Guinness would lubricate my brain... I’ll be right back... On second thought, that’s all you’re getting from me today. Have a nice weekend!

Come As You Are!

Our deep-fried Moonpie 

Saturday night at a cool restaurant called The Pig we had, among other things, a deep fried moon pie. What we did NOT have was the yummy-looking pimento cheese fries that they offered as one of their specials (for someone who finds writing about food boring, I sure do bring it up a lot, don’t I?) Anyway, if you read this blog regularly, you may recall that I gave up fries for Lent... Woe is me! It has been a bit harder than I anticipated, but that was the hardest it’s been yet! On the upside, since I didn’t give up sugar this year, I was able to split that battered and deep-fried moonpie with my husband!

My Easter dress - endorsed
by Michelle Obama!

Anyway, so goes Lent. It’s kind of like... a very long-feeling six weeks of winter stuck indoors before the bright break of spring. And thank God for the spring! We are so fortunate that Lent doesn’t last forever, right? Soon instead of shoveling metaphorical snow, I’ll be shoveling fries into this overlarge bouche of mine... Bill will be eating cookies, and Tom will be watching Bill eat cookies. (Bill announced he was giving up cookies for Lent, then asked asked Tom what he was giving up. So Tom said, “Watching you eat cookies.”) 

 Bill and me at a community egg
hunt a couple of  years ago

Giving up fries is a small thing, even taking into account the stellar fries at Only Burger, but I will be glad when Lent is over anyway. Nothing beats their greasy, salty deliciousness in my book. And I love the Easter season. I love the chocolate bunnies, the Cadbury eggs, dying eggs with Bill, community egg hunts, the presents (in our family, every holiday means presents!)... the debut of a new spring dress... this year it’s a Jason Wu for Target number just like the one sported by Michelle Obama on a recent trip to Florida!

But most of all, I dig the big parties our church throws for what I consider the pinnacle of the Christian year... The celebration of when Jesus was executed on a cross, came back to life and turned the world upside down. Okay, well, maybe the upturning of the world wasn’t so obvious at the time, but it did happen. It just didn’t LOOK much like an upside down world right away. But, among other things, He respected women, favored the poor, used the foolish to confound the wise, rendered obsolete Israel’s whole sacrificial system, and opened the way to the entire world, not just Israel, to be God’s people.

So it’s really kind of a big deal, Easter. The first service we have is a “Maundy Thursday” service. We sing songs, do our version of the Last Supper and then we go through the uber sad trek to the cross and the things He said... like, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” Yep, that’s a famous one... And while they’re reading these lines, they turn the lights off one by one in the auditorium until it’s pretty dark... Another thing that happens is that this awesome woman, a trained singer, Margie Burd-Tippett, sings a song called, “A Purple Robe.” This has been a feature of this service since I can remember, which would be ... late eighties maybe? If for some reason it didn’t happen... well... it would be weird. To tell you the truth, it’s sort of a somber affair, but in the right way. I mean, Jesus’s last hours were pretty grim. I guess it would be weird if we were singing, “Oh Happy Day” to commemorate them.

"Up from the grave He arose!"

Of course the big do comes on Sunday... twice. And it’s the sincerest pumpkin patch of all: a heartfelt, heart-warming celebration of life... His, and therefore ours. The music is always great, thanks to our super talented music minister Nat Stine. The best part to me is the annual singing of the Hallelujah Chorus from Handel’s Messiah... not by the choir, but by ANYONE can bound up there can get in on the action. I’m not a great singer, but I go up there and position myself beside a soprano who is and ride her train. What a great piece of music – majestic, yet utterly familiar... and with all those voices... It always feels like a tiny drop of heaven on the tongue. (“Then I heard what sounded like a great multitude, like the roar of rushing waters and like loud peals of thunder, shouting: “Hallelujah! For our Lord God Almighty reigns.” Revelation 19) All in all, it’s just good to be there with all those people - and everybody being all glad to be alive and all. Sometimes they sing a song called All Shall Be Well and really, during this bash, I can feel that it just might be true!

Then, around 4pm comes the real party... the Easter Festival – a big throwdown involving copious food, music, dancing, art, kids games... It’s supposed to remind us of “The Wedding Supper of the Lamb,” you know, the big shindig in the sky when we finally get to go meet Jesus. Did I mention there was food? And a wedding cake? It’s sumptuous, I tell you.

Anyway, the reason I am telling you all this is because if you’re in the area, you should totally stop by. And if you’re not into the whole Christian thing, maybe consider it a “rite of Spring.” (Remember Snoopy dancing with the bunnies? Like that!) Here's the skinny: Maundy Thursday service: April 5 at 7pm; Easter Sunday morning services at 9:30am and 11:05am; Easter Festival at 4pm. Here’s the address: 260 Erwin Road in Chapel Hill, NC 27514, and here’s the web site: www.biblechurch.org Be there or be square! Er... I mean, come if you can, and by all means, come as you are!

Eating – Yes! Writing About Eating – Not So Much.

I got your cornbread right here!

Yesterday I heard a radio show featuring a food writer, and he said there was no such thing as a “food writer” just a “writer.” It was on this principle that I once wrote a weekly essay that centered on food for a newspaper I was working for. Even though I was not a great cook or even a very good eater, I took my way with words and wrapped them around a different culinary topic each week. And while I do know a bit more about food – mostly eating it – now than I did then, I’m still not what you would call a “foodie”... yet... but I thought I’d try writing about food again – just to see if I could. 

And I started out writing about this fantastic cornbread that I had made the night before to serve with black beans and rice, and how proud I was of myself for making this 100% homemade meal because I’m just not that experienced at cooking... I mean, even though I am nearly fifty (I initially typed “thirty” -  not sure why...), I spent my twenties in an anorexic fog and my thirties in a rut of fat-free eating. Getting married to and learning to cook for a man who loves to eat has been a real mountain to climb. 

Anyway, then I wrote about how I have no qualms about following recipes that call for ingredients like, “1/2 cup lard,” “1 stick unsalted butter,” or “8 oz. shredded Gruyere cheese,” because right now I am just trying to make dinners that are delicious. Maybe once me and the kitchen are buds, then I’ll experiment with healthy food.

Samuel Pepys – while not a food writer, wrote
about food a great deal in his diaries.

And then, my typing just sort of ground to a halt...  because I was actually boring myself. After all I’ve gone through, having food as such a strong focus in my life... (many people mistakenly believe that anorexics and careful eaters don’t like food, but really, they adore it. They think about it all the time... because they are STARVING!!!) And now that I am actually exploring and consuming the forbidden ingredients on a regular basis, I find that I just don’t care. 

Don’t get me wrong – I love to eat, and I LOVE trying new foods. I’m very excited about the CSA farm share we are getting this year – all those interesting veggies and fruits... And at every restaurant we frequent Tom and Bill each choose one particular menu item every single time... while I am likely to try something different on each visit. I went so many years with such a boring diet, I still have a lot of exploring to do when confronted with food choices. But really, for me and food, it’s out of sight out of mind, unless I need to plan a meal or am at a restaurant ordering.

For me, this is a fantastic way to be after all that time I wasted worrying about food. But I would have to say in response to the writer on the radio, that while it just takes a “writer” to write about food, it really helps if the “writer” is interested in it. I can write about music and movies and my kid and my God all day... but food? Maybe if I HAD to for an assignment or something I guess I could do it. But it wouldn’t be easy... because even though I enjoy eating, I don’t find thinking or writing about it all that interesting.