What Would Philip Roth Do?

They descended on the stage, teeny and shoeless (the teeny part probably had a bit to do with my upper tier, upper balcony (up up up) seats) and folded themselves into two giant arm chairs. Elizabeth Gilbert and Ann Patchett, together for only the second time in their lives, compliments of Literary Arts' Arts & Lecture series. They sat across from one another and chatted, like the girlfriends they were (on stage in front of several thousand people, mind you). Elizabeth Gilbert claimed that if she stopped writing, she'd just find something else to do, it wouldn't cause her to go into crisis. A pushy boutique salesperson would be good, she thought. Ann Patchett would make complex, minute dioramas, which seemed fitting to the detailed care she gives to characters in her novels. Neither said anything too revolutionary, but both were smart, funny, and self-deprecating. They talked about the demands of being female and a writer. Ann Patchett's agent, she shared, had made her an apron that said, "What would Philip Roth Do?" So today, I suggest we all mutter that to ourselves, as we go about our day. Thanks, A & E.

Let there be lemons

Sunshine!

Popular words in this Sunday's New York Times: Despair, foreclosure and downsizing. So I threw down the paper and headed to the kitchen, where three gorgeous and glowing Meyer's lemons had sat patiently all night, waiting for their chance to shine.

Butter!

The world seems to go to great lengths lately to remind me it's only mid-February, the grayest stretch of winter in Portland. Not just the news. The mood has managed to saturate my kitchen, too. My plans to make some spicy green garlic gnocchi were thwarted when a Pastaworks employee admonished me that the greens wouldn't be ready locally for at least a month, maybe two. Feeling cranky and rebellious against it all - people, the economy and limited produce - I purchased three spendy and decidedly not local Meyers lemons.

And this morning, I turned the lemons into a tangy curd. My mood, and my kitchen, moved a little closer to sunshine, too.

Zest!

Jackpot!

According to StatCounter.com, I hit the milestone of 5,000 unique viewers today, 393 days after I first posted.

Thanks to everyone who reads Eden from Sweden!

Agree to proceed

Lovely photo courtesy of Jennifer Spires

I had a modest spiritual experience reading this article in February's Esquire over a spicy Mexican mocha at Common Grounds, as the barista turned up the stereo playing, perfectly, Modest Mouse's Float On.

I demand you read the entire article, but if you absolutely can't, here's the first 250 words:

There is this thing we do. It's a small thing. It's a formality, at worst an annoyance. We do it every time we buy a computer or a device requiring software. We do it when we download software online, and then when the software is updated. We do it in order to buy things. We do it in order to sell or share things. We do it in order to find dates and to expand the universe of friendship. We do it in order to express ourselves in writing or film or song, and then we do it in order to read and to watch and to listen. It is the act of everyone, and it involves everything. And what it is — what we do — is this: We agree. We agree to the terms and conditions of service. We agree to use a product that is not our own — that is licensed, not sold. We agree to entrust and, if our trust is broken, to forgive. In what might be called the opposite of the moment of truth, we are given a choice, to accept or to decline, and we accept. We are in the habit of assent, and so the world we live in is the world we have helped bring into being. It is the power of our powerlessness. Our virtual signatures are everywhere, and yet we lost track of them long ago and have no idea what liabilities they might entail — what we've given up and to whom we've given it... (continued here)

The Guiding (Left) Hand

Ooobama!

Here's to Obama, finally secured as the President of the United States. And apparently, he's my kind of people:

Lefties in Power | 1:04 p.m. Mr. Obama is now signing the guest book in the Capitol. He uses his left hand and was a bit scrunched up, saying his hand was cold from being outside. Senator Feinstein, standing next to him, notes that she was a “lefty,” too. Nice little window into the idle chitchat that preoccupies national figures at a moment like this.

[From the NYTimes minute-by-minute blogging of the inauguration]

Party of One.

The turn of the new year has also been a catalyst in my modest little life, I think. I was watching a cute little romance-comedy (no, really), and heard one of the characters say that their life needed a paradigm shift. Having never ventured into the philosophy department beyond Logic 101, I didn't know what she meant, exactly. But even not knowing...it sounded right.

A paradigm shift, if you're not in-the-know, is a fundamental change in theory basically demanded by outside forces. Outside forces demand that you understand the world differently. Those forces have been at work - probably in more subtle ways - for years. But the economy, my age, my surroundings, are all making me sit up and respond now.

So I was presented with an amazing opportunity. I was fed very strong martinis and then sent on my way. I got home and with my mind too busy to sleep but not sober enough to read I watched an old episode of Party of Five. I hadn't seen this show in at least 10 years, and was alarmed by how young all the characters seem now. Charlie Salinger (played by Matthew Fox), the wise and sexy but impossibly older brother, when last I saw him, was now my age - MY AGE. Bailey Salinger (played by Scott Wolf) raged about his relationship troubles, which seemed odd for a fetus. Seriously, I wouldn't have trusted the kid to babysit, and as the episode progressed, I watched him deal with the wreckage of his last relationship, a new relationship, and his newly found friends at Alcoholics Anonymous. All while in high school. A fetus!

Ok, so this post is starting to read like I'm drinking down the martinis as I write, but I'm not. I'm sober and taking stock of the events of this new year and the opportunities for change. It's a paradigm shift for sure. I'm ready, and not too young to miss my chance or too old to use age as an excuse. Charlie Salinger, brother, you know what I mean.

Simply 2009.

Happy New Year, Lovelies.
Here's to a year of paring down

and focusing on what really matters.