A Good Day

 As a mother to two little ones (O. - two and a half years and C - ten months) I often find myself reflecting on how I react and respond to the kids. I have worked hard to maintain a calm demeanor, to be a relaxing and reassuring influence rather than a stressed and anxious one, and despite my best efforts I sometimes feel that I have failed.

I often find myself thinking: I need to be better, to do better.

I wonder if it's postpartum anxiety or just my personality in play. 

I decide it doesn't matter because I'm not going to fail my little ones by blindly barrelling through life without asking myself if I'm doing the best that I can for them, for myself, for my family. 

Reflections

I have fallen back into a phase where I find myself constantly craving social interaction and wanting to be surrounded by friends. I can’t decide if this is fortunate or unfortunate but it is what it is, I suppose. The only thing that’s really problematic about is would be the fact that, in order to appease my restlessness, I have been going out drinking with friends a lot more. I have always been a people person and this is undeniably a byproduct of growing up on a resort and in a bar with my family back in Minnesota, but sometimes I need to look at where I am taking myself in order to interact with these people. However, a lot of people don't take one element of that statement seriously and that is the fact that I grew up in a bar. Look at that sentence. Take it literally. A bar, being a place where alcohol and food is served, was my home during the time of my life in which I grew. There. 

Every since I was a young kid I was surrounded by the bar atmosphere: the sometimes jolly, sometimes terrifying, often confusing environment of alcohol and bad choices; and it wasn’t until recently that I found myself wanting to join in on the “fun.” I think growing up around a strong drinking culture is the biggest thing that kept me away from the bottle. I started cooking in the kitchen at the bar in my mid-teens and was immediately swayed into bartending when I turned eighteen. At this time I hated everything to do with alcohol, I hated the way men treated women, the way women treated men, and the way everyone treated themselves. I didn’t appreciate the lewd, rude, and crude comments that were often directed my way and frankly I gave no fucks about what I could do to change myself to fit into that environment. I never felt the need to change who I was to make the Saturday night partiers appreciate me more. I just did my thing: I cooked in the kitchen, owned the pool table, and then went home to play my flute.

And yet my mom convinced me to start bartending when I turned eighteen despite the fact that she knew I was not fond of the environment. I think she knew that my dislike of the majority of the people was a brief stage and that I would get over it quickly. Perhaps she didn’t expect it to happen as quickly as it did. My first shift would have been hell for most other people: the woman that was supposed to train me in showed up three, count them, three hours late, the power went out, the bar was packed, and I was not only the bartender but also the cook. The only reason I made it through the shift was because I already had an intimate understanding of the bar set-up, the prices, and the majority of the people. How do you cook in a kitchen with no power, you may ask? A gas stove! Burgers, sandwiches, chicken, and everything like that was still available, and nobody had any qualms about ordering them. Some kind young gentlemen went into his truck to find a light contraption that hooked onto hats (because, imagine this, I wear hats; always have and always will, although lately I’m more of a trucker hat kind of gal), so I snapped that baby onto my baseball hat and went to town. I balanced the cooking, serving, and bartending quite well and managed to keep everyone happy until the “real” bartender arrived.

And I loved it.

You see, growing up in a bar and on a resort gives you the strange desire to see people happy. Cooking food for paying customers doesn’t just force you to do a good job because they are paying you and will have no worries about complaining; but it also instills a sense of pride that grows each time you step out of the kitchen and people applaud the meal you just served. There’s just something about making something yourself, with your own two hands, and seeing someone enjoy it.

That’s what bartending is to me. It is not a scene where I can be objectified and flirt with every man (or woman) in the hopes of getting more tips, it really is just a space where I can make something for someone and make sure they enjoy it. It's a socially acceptable position for me to talk to strangers about their lives, their days, and how they are doing. It's a place where I can turn on my sense of humor, my serious and contemplative side, and my happy-go-lucky nature in an attempt to interact with a wide variety of people. When you’re serving you want to make damn sure the people that you are helping have a good experience, you want to be prompt, you want to be kind, and you want them to leave happier than when they came in. I think this is a human instinct that everyone has, but that many are capable of ignoring. Even on the days when I have already worked six days in a row, where I’m nine hours into my thirteen hour shift because I picked up a double and my feet feel like they’re going to fall off, I find myself smiling when someone walks in that door.

But where did my drinking come in? Despite my love of people and my desire to see people happy I never partook in the after-hours shenanigans at bonfires where young men tried to pick up young women and feed them alcohol and good times. Instead I always went home to either finish up homework or go to bed. Why, I always asked myself (and still do, to be honest) would I want to join these drunk guys at their bonfire to drink with them when I’m stone cold sober and have no desire to become inebriated? This is what kept me away from drinking to begin with.

But like everybody I hit a phase in college, my junior year (what can I say, I’m a late bloomer), where I found myself in with the drinking crowd. And man did my genetics not fail me. I found myself out every weekend getting completely sloshed for about three months. But eventually I realized that the hangover just wasn’t worth it, why drink so hard on Saturday that you can’t function on Sunday and then are behind all of Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, just too speed through Thursday and Friday to do it again ghd next week? As a student of philosophy and logic I found that this train of thought was headed nowhere, so I stopped. Not to say that I went sober, I still drank occasionally, but not with such frequency as before.

Drinking is a family pastime for me. When I go home on breaks I often find myself shooting pool all night long with my mom, dad, and brothers (my sister does not live in the same town and rarely drives the three hours to come hang out at the bar with us, boxing is her passion). We play each game for a beer and if you’re shooting good you play for free and drink for free all night. So of course I get in on that action. Family, pool, and social drinking: boom, happiness. 

But over the last few weeks I have found myself going out on Friday with the desire to hang out with friends and meet new people, then waking up on Saturday morning and thinking that the previous night wasn’t as much fun as it should have been and trying again Saturday night. More often than not my short attention span kicks in while out at the bar or at the "club" where my friends want to dance, and I want to get out of that bar after a few hours of being there. But I have been sticking around simply because I think it might get more fun later on. I ignore the fact that if I was in a place with a pool table I would be way happier and having much more fun that was actually relatable to what I want to do with my life and just sit around with some buddies and get bored while they dance with random guys. 

What’s the point of that?

Sure, I have always felt more comfortable in the bar and in the pool hall than I have on the concert stage or in the classroom. But that doesn’t mean I should spend all of my money acquiring beverages that fuck with my body and leave me feeling sluggish and slow the next day. I would so much rather hit up the gym on a Friday night with friends and then go to someone’s house to listen to music and watch movies. This way I am getting out of the house, a place that, for me, is really just meant for baking, eating, and sleeping, and am also getting my gym time and friend time in.  But this blog post is not meant to be some sore of manifesto of sobriety, I just needed to write this down to remind myself of what it is that I do. 

Who it is that I am.

I am a musician and a pool player, an athlete and a scholar. I am a graduate student pursuing a Masters degree and also a member of team str8-shots. Being strong and healthy is just as important to me as being social and outgoing. Having the ability to let myself relax with a drink, a snack, or a lazy day is just as important as having the dedication to health, exercise, and meditation. My skills on the pool table and my skills on the concert stage are of the upmost importance to me, both equally so; and therefore my time needs to be spent focusing on the things that will enable me to progress in both of these fields.

If I go out every night of the week that is totally fine. If I only go out on weekends that is fine. If one night I decide to let it all loose and indulge a bit much, that is fine as long as I am conscious about it. And lately I haven’t been, I’ve just been mindlessly partaking in these adventures without really thinking about them. Sometimes sleep is more important than the possibility of meeting new friends and going new places. Sometimes it’s just not. Who knows.

But from now on I’m going to be more aware of my choices and more honest with myself about why I am making them. If I’m only going out because I’m hoping to see some boy that I have a crush on, that’s a stupid reason and I’m going to hit the gym or the practice room instead. If I’m going out because I haven’t seen my friends in a while and I want to spend time with them, then that is totally legitimate.

I'm not fond of the New Years Resolution tradition; instead, I think one should always work towards self improvement, not just once a year. This is one of those moments for me: a moment of honesty and self-criticism.

Come at me, world.

Performance

Over this last weekend I had an audition with the Fort Collins Symphony for their newly open principal flute position. I was looking forward to the opportunity to practice the audition process for orchestral gigs, because despite wanting and trying my best to win the audition I knew that I was guaranteed an enlightening experience, even if I didn’t win the job.

Performance for me has been a strange journey these last few years. When I was younger I was excited and willing to play for everyone, a precocious child with no uncertainty or shame, and with a passion for simply playing. I would play my flute for everyone, whether they wanted to hear it or not. But around high school and into my college years that gradually began to change. I still loved to play but something in my mind shifted from a concept of playing to one of practicing—rather then the freedom of play, I was confined to the strict standards of practice/homework. Although I understood that one needs to focus on the negative aspects of ones playing in order to progress, I missed the joy of simply playing my flute and learning new pieces. Something snapped within me in my sophomore year of college in a small performance for the woodwind studio—nerves I hadn’t felt before the performance sprung up in the midst of it and I lost control. My flute started shaking, my lips were quivering, and my breath control was nonexistent. This was the worst experience one can imagine, for not only did I sound bad and embarrass myself in front of my colleagues, but I completely lost all control over my body. That was the bad part. When you’re young you don’t think about being old, I never think about the possible day when I tell my body to do something and it can’t or won’t. But at that moment I was telling my body to stop shaking, to calm down, to keep going, and it refused. This was the moment of truth, and I have been shaking myself of its aftereffects since.

But on Saturday I made the trek to Fort Collins with a few friends of mine for an orchestral audition. My first “big-kid” audition, and I was surprisingly at ease. In the last six months my life has been going through a wide variety of changes: physically, mentally, emotionally, as well as interpersonally. All of these changes became very clear to me as I woke up Saturday morning and went through my morning stretching routine. I was cool, calm, and collected as I showered, dressed, ate, and hopped in the car. The weather was a definite help as well, the first beautiful sunny day in a long time enabled me to wear my skirt and top without a jacket. I realized that the baggage I had been carrying for the last few years may just be gone. However, I had been optimistic before and didn’t want to have these hopes dashed against a wall when I reached the audition, so I (un)wisely ignored these feelings and took off down the road.

Here’s an interesting revelation about myself: I get edgy, unhappy, and stressed out when I’m in one place for too long. Why is this factoid relevant? Well this trip was the first time since December that I left Laramie. It was the first time I got into my car and drove down the road for location X, and it felt good. Damn good. Perhaps this is why I put 80,000 miles on my car in three years—driving just feels right sometimes.

The most beautiful part of my Saturday was the audition itself. Despite the fact that the warm-up rooms were hot and so live that a note resonated in the air for five minutes after being played (note the hyperbole) whereas the audition room itself was completely dead (even the ceiling had carpet!), and despite the omnipresence of earlier winners from earlier rounds, obnoxious practicers, and blatant show-offs trying to get in your head, I played well in my audition. Not well enough to land the gig, but I’m not quite at the place just yet. However, I played in that audition just as well as I ever have in a practice room. Sure a few notes cracked from dry lips and the keys on my flute clicked and clacked like it was possessed, but my musicality, my tone, and my technique were my own. I was not overwhelmed by anxiety, fear, and uncertainty. I nailed it. This might not make sense to those of you who think that winning the job would have been “nailing” it, but sometimes it’s the experience that matters, not the performance. 

U Dub

I spent this last weekend in Salt Lake City with eight people who I had only met once before. Even though I didn't know them really well, I definitely had fun getting to know them a little better. We were all attending the regional tournament for 9-ball and table tennis, two guys and two gals representing UW in both tournaments. And I had a lot of fun, more fun then I have had in a long time. Perhaps I had so much fun just because I didn't have to do anything other then play pool and hang out (that would make sense anyways). Despite not being proficient in 9-ball (I’ve always played straight eight or ball-in-hand eight ball) I managed to take first place. I shot some good pool, and some bad. There was one match in particular where everything went right: I beat the girl 4-1. Unfortunately the championship match was probably the worse I had played all weekend. The other girl was struggling pretty badly too, it was kind of pathetic. But nonetheless I was victorious! Which means? Sometime this summer I’m going to nationals for 9-ball. Aww yeah!

Boom! Who knew?

I’ll put up a better, more thoughtful blog later. For now I have a lot of catching up to do and many deep thoughts to swirl around in my head. Things are gonna be working better for me soon, I just need to figure out how to make it happen.

Stress Relief

I think everyone has those weeks where you are just so ridiculously busy and stressed out that you don’t even know what part of your to-do list to begin on. Whether you’re a graduate student, undergrad, full time employee, full time parent, or whatever it is that you do between waking up and going to sleep again, we all have busy weeks. For me it has been an interesting orchestra tour, many different concerts and rehearsals, important tests and long papers, stressful relationships and sleepless nights. To sum it up: all hell broke loose a few weeks ago, and it’s only now clearing up.

What do you do for stress relief? I go to the gym, I make time for sleeping, and lately, I’ve been baking. Honestly the gym is the most important part for me, lifting weights, getting stronger, playing my newfound sport of racquetball (which is hard to do alone, so I don’t do it very often), these all combine into a de-stressing exercise that becomes essential after a while. Trust me, you don’t want to run across me if I haven’t been to the gym in weeks, I will be irritable and easily annoyed.

So it’s not surprising that I have been periodically searching through blogs and sites for a new recipe to annihilate (in a good way, as in—make some damn good food and have a good time doing it). Somehow I stumbled across this blog post over at Smitten Kitchen, which is just about the greatest blog ever: awesome pictures, humorous dialogue, and some super delicious recipes. This recipe, cheesecake and brownies, all in one, need I say more?

I knew my friend Ashley was pretty stressed out lately too, so I invited her over to indulge in our domestic sides in an attempt to make this brownie mosaic cheesecake. It seems that I have been stocking my kitchen with the proper ingredients for these things lately, because all we needed was cream cheese, the springform pan, and some baker’s chocolate. And since Laramie has countless different wonderful kitchen stores to choose from, we found the cutest one and began the adventure to buy the springform pan. Not. Walmart was the only option—which is probably a good thing on my tight budget.

Ten minutes after entering the store we left with bulging plastic bags (what ever happened to the option of paper?) filled with cheesecake ingredients as well as snacks to tide us over until we were done baking.

I won’t go into a step by step instruction of how to make the cheesecake (if you really want to know you can go to Smitten Kitchen’s blog and check it out), but I’ll go through the highlight reel:

So innocent..

The first thing we needed to make was the brownies—a brownie mosaic cheesecake has tiny little chunks of brownies within the cheesecake itself. Luckily for everyone involved we only needed to cups of chopped up brownies for the recipe, that meant that we could eat the rest of the brownies before the cheesecake was finished (fatties need something to hold ourselves over until the pièce de résistance). Unfortunately for you all, we devoured those brownies before taking a picture of them for the blog… alas, such is life.

Many teddy graham lives
were lost that day.

The cheesecake itself was quite simple. The crust was to be made out of teddy grahams and butter (with a few other ingredients, but really… those are the only important ones). Which means that I got the task of chopping each of those tiny little bears into a find powder—much easier said than done I’m afraid. It was very reminiscent of my youth, biting of the heads of the teddy grahams, or the arms, or the legs, before finishing off the entire thing. Teddy grahams are pretty sadistic now that I think about it, why do they have to be smiling and waving at you?

As you can see, pure manpower
was not going to work.

The cheesecake itself require, you guessed it, cream cheese! And a few eggs and some sugar, luckily Ashley had a hand mixer at her apartment, because I was attempting to whip it into pure, decadent fluffiness with a spoon and I could feel the tendonitis and carpal tunnel just dying to assert their dominance in my arms. After carefully adding the brownie pieces to the cheesecake mixture and unceremoniously dumping it all into the teddy graham graveyard of a crust, we got to sit back and relax…

…for about fifty-five minutes. We couldn’t leave out the cherry on top could we? The cherry is a metaphor for chocolate ganache... we wanted to put chocolate ganache on top of the cheesecake. Right-o, moving on.

In a word: delicious.

Have you ever encountered the directions “scald the butter and cream”? If so, did you immediately know what to do? If so, leave me alone, we googled it and were still confused. According to the handy website we found, to scald butter and cream meant to put it in a pan and heat it on low until it boils. A process that supposedly would only take 30 seconds. Perhaps that website wasn’t account for the ridiculously high elevation I have somehow managed to live at, because it took about five minutes and me impatiently turning the burner up to medium before the butter and cream were scalded sufficiently. Adding this to our blender-acting-as-food-processor (I’m very good at improvising) concoction of bakers chocolate, doubling the recommended amount of confectioners sugar, and throwing down some vanilla and voila! Ganache!

Man, does this cheesecake taste good! I think Ashley agrees, and it was definitely a day well spent. But now I might need to hit up the gym a few more times in the upcoming week or my de-stressor of baking may have added a new stress of possible obesity to my plate. Get it? Because I ate the cheesecake on a plate?

My jokes are bad and I should feel bad. 

What do you do to relax and unwind? 

Success

 I have been invited to the Rome Festival this summer as a section flute! Despite the fact that this means I will not be getting any solos and that I will be rotated on parts (a.k.a. I will not be playing on every piece) I could not be happier. This means that I will have more spare time to travel, work with chamber ensembles, hang out with fellow musicians/dancers/designers and just enjoy life! Now all there is to do is learn some Italian and keep on practicing!

I will get to combine my passion for music, history, and architecture with my very poorly developed passion for travel. I have wanted to go abroad for years now, and I'm glad I finally realized that I might have to combine my career with my vacations because here I am planning a trip to Italy in June. The chance to meet so many new people, to finally begin a real career in orchestral music while also working on expanding my skills into different musical fields, and just thoroughly enjoy myself (being selfish enough to only think about myself for a month or two) are just driving me crazy right now. 

Rome!!

Now is the time for me to focus on the mundane, but extremely important, elements of finances. Contributions to me for this festival are tax deductible and I can use all the help I can get, if anyone is interested leave me a note in the comments and I will get you more information. Perhaps I will set up a benefit concert, pick up a few more jobs, or just try to eat as little as possible for the next year in preparation for the costs of the trip. Regardless of how, I will be going to Italy this summer.

It still feels surreal. Excitement.