They say that the best way to start writing after a brain freeze is to just do it. They also say that you shouldn’t write if you have nothing worthwhile to share. And don’t ask me who “they” are because I haven’t an idea.
I go to all of these blogging conferences and I have about a million voices in my head telling me what I should and shouldn’t do. I have no idea who or what to believe in anymore and considering that I’m not even sure if I believe in myself, I’m feeling sort of lost as of late.
But I do believe I should be writing here, in this space that I’ve created. So if you could just stick with me while I sort all of this out, that would be great. Or if a post really sucks and you can’t relate, just come back for the next one.
I’ve got to start somewhere.
And I have to tell you, this past week I felt like the universe grabbed me by the throat and gave me full on mouth-to-mouth CPR. For a few days I felt so vibrant again. Like the me I’ve always been. But then it slipped away as fast as it came. Such is my life as of late. Up and down. Bright then gray.
So let’s start with just a simple post of something that made me happy this weekend.
Antiquing. You know how much I love it. Especially things that relate to cooking. My girlfriend Kim and I went antiquing in New Hampshire. A great place to find antiques because the prices are so much more reasonable there than down here in Massachusetts.
Of course I look for vintage Pyrex, but I have a sizable collection already. If it isn’t pink or blue, then I’m not really interested. And those of course are the harder colors to find.
But it can’t be any pink or blue piece. Nope, it needs to be a mixing bowl or a casserole. The picture above is a shelf of divided dishes that I found at one particular shop.
And even though they were priced to sell, there’s not much I can do with a divided dish. Back in the day, dishes such as this were made for sides like peas and carrots. Have I ever shared with you that I abhor cooked peas and carrots? Yup, it’s true. I can’t stand either.
Also, back then the portion sizes were so much smaller than today. So a divided dish is even more impractical for my family of six. All that to say that I didn’t buy a single piece of Pyrex during my treasure hunting. Every single piece I encountered was divided. And that’s probably why they were languishing on the shelves.
I did stumble across the most amazing cabinet to store my Pyrex collection in, but I had no way to get it home from New Hampshire. Not to mention I have no practical space to put said cabinet in my home. So I had to leave it behind. Such a pity as it was priced at $159 and with my persuasive skills I’m pretty sure I could’ve talked them down even further.
But I did not go home empty handed. I encountered some gorgeous antique cast iron pans that magically found their way to the trunk of my car. I especially love the big pot you see above that originally hung over an open fire. I have some serious food photography plans for that beauty. Of course I will be scrubbing pots for the next week, but I’m kind of looking forward to it.
There’s something therapeutic about taking a pot covered in grime and making it beautiful again. Even if it takes some serious elbow grease to get the job done. Sometimes it’s worth it to labor over something to make it what you know it can be. There’s a life lesson buried in there somewhere I just know it.
And while we are on the subject of antiques, I wanted to share with you this selfie I took the other day. It was after a night of little sleep and I was bone weary. You can see it in my eyes.
But I had had the most wonderful night the evening prior and even though I was tired, it was a satisfying kind of tired. Does that even make sense? Probably not.
At any rate, I took the selfie to see how haggard I actually looked. That morning I was out the door at 4:45am to catch a 6:00am train from NYC to Providence, RI. I hadn’t had the chance to do much with my face other than brush my teeth. I was on my way to meet my friend Kim a little later in the day and I wanted to assess the damage.
And when I looked at the image I was shocked to see the face of my great grandmother when she was about the same age as I am today. I wish I had the picture to share with you to show you the resemblance, but alas I do not. It’s uncanny.
I’ve never felt like I looked like either of my parents and I always joked that I must’ve been adopted. But when I saw my great grandmother where I expected my face to be on the screen of my cell phone, there was no doubting that I am my great grandmother’s descendent. Eery and very cool all at the same time. You cannot argue my Italian heritage even if it’s only part of my genetic makeup. (I’m also Russian Jewish)
And even though I didn’t get the chance to get to know my great grandmother, it was nice to feel that connection. Comforting even.
I’m not sure what any of this means. I’m also not sure why I even decided to share these things with you today.
But I’m sharing something. And it’s a start. Or a restart. Or something. Hell, you know what I mean.