The Art of Puttering

Several years ago I wrote an article entitled, "Learning to Putz." The magaine that published it, Texas Co-op, changed the title to "Learning to Putter" because the word putz, while it does mean putter in Yiddish, also has negative sexual connotations. At the time I wrote about how I was trying to learn to putz/putter. Today I discovered I still haven't learned it. Even in retirement, I wake up with a list in my mind of things that need to be done that day and then I hurry to get them done. Granted, one reason I hurry is so I can do the things I want, like go to lunch with a friend, take a nap, read a book. But today I got up at 7:30 or shortly thereafter--by the time I'd done my free writing, had breakfast, read emails and the paper, and done my yoga, it was 9:30. Yoga was where I first noticed my hurry. I often look at the clock when I begin, so I can get some idea of how long I'm working out--sometimes I think the meditation part consumes a large portionof the time, greater than the workout. This morning I was surprised at how fast I was moving through the exercises--and I could hear Elizabeth's voice saying, "Slow down." The phone rang just as I started the meditation/relaxation part, and when I went to answer it I glanced at the clock--22 minutes for what should take 30-40 minutes. Rushing through the day, when I didn't really have that much to do. I decided I'd talk to the Lord later and started laying out things for happy hour guests tonight and making Southwestern Tuna Salad--a wonderful recipe that mixes tuna, green chiles, cumin, chili powder, lime peel and juice. The phone rang in the middle of that--someone who really wanted to talk, and I had to beg off. Got it all done, shampooed my hair, put on make-up and was dressed by eleven (my gosh, how did I ever get to work at 8 a.m.?)
My lunch date came by early, but I was ready. We went to Ellerbe's, a place I really like, and I ordered the Green Goddess salad (they spelled it Godess and we pointed out the error of their ways). All of a sudden I realized I was racing through that salad because it was so good. I just gobbled it down like I hadn't eaten in forever.
Tonight three friends came for wine, cheese and the tuna. We had a delightful visit--it finally turned out to be porch weather, with the sun shining, though it is a bit humid. I tried not to rush through the appetizers, but darn! that tuna really is good. My guests left after almost two hours, and I fixed myself dinner--the rest of the tuna, a bit of leftover potatoes, a bit of leftover spinach--and realized because it all tasted so good, I was once again gobbling my food.
Several years ago I went to a banquet--I can't remember the occasion--but my ex-husband's former partner and his wife took me. I was seated at a different table, but Russ walked by, looked at me, and said, "The trouble with you is that you ate with Joel Alter too long." I realized I had cleaned my plate when the other folks at the table were about halfway through.
Okay, resolution: I am going to move more slowly. Trouble is I already have a list for tomorrow--vet for animal food, grocery, office for mail and to do a bit of work, then work at home, nap, exercise, and dinner at 6 p.m. with Betty. Then pack to spend the next night with friends in Granbury. It's already weighing on my mind how I can fit it all in. The answer of course is that I need to shorten the nap or worktime or one of my electives and not worry about it--I always end up with time left over. I really am going to work on slowing down. Trust me.
I may have given this recipe before on this blog, but here's the Southwestern tuna salad (it's in Cooking My Way through Life with Kids and Books):

Southwestern tuna
I use this as a dip, served either with crackers or tortilla chips (the good strong kind), but I long ago lost the recipe, so I kind of recreate it each time.
7½-oz. can albacore tuna
Juice of 1 lime (a good juicy one)
1 tsp. grated lime peel
2 Tbsp. chopped cilantro
¼ c. chopped red onion
Pinch of cumin
Pinch of chili powder
Mayonnaise to bind - start with just a bit so you don't get it soupy
1/2 can chopped chilies (Use your own judgment about canned chilies or a chopped jalapeño—I like the canned.)

Churches and keeping busy

I read on a blog today about a small New England town where a historic church--the classic clapboard with white steeple--caught fire. Fortunately, it wasn't destroyed, and the church had recently had an endowment for updating, so it will be repaired. But the shock rippled through the town, even touching those who were not members of that church. Well, my church didn't burn, but it's suffered a similar shock. The senior minister resigned this week, under pressure, with dissension within the church. Since he resigned, there's been an enormous outpouring of love and support for him. I haven't been going to church much lately--I hate to go alone, which is a weak excuse--but I liked him, and I particularly liked his "Wednesday Wanderings," an email column he sent to all church members. I am no authority on what goes on in that church, and I know when in his resignation speech at a large congregational meeting he said, "This church has problems it has to face," it was about the only thing he could say. But I think it's true. Our church--long established, with a large gray-headed poulation, is used to doing things one way and resists change. Tim Carson brought some changes that were not easily accepted. It's like a divorce--blame can never be put on one side or another. Tim also made some unwise--untactful?--judgments, but I'm not sure he's been fairly treated at all. And I much admire him for resigning in person in front of the congregation--I'd sure have written a letter. And he appeared at a reception in his honor Sunday night--his wife just couldn't face it--and they will still lead a church trip to England this month. I don't know why churches--and hospitals and universities--do this to themselves, but there is always so much division. It's particularly painful in a Christian Church where we preach love. I grieve tonight for the Carsons and for my church.
If I'm worried about not being occupied in retirement, I should take heart from today. I had lunch with Fred, my mentor, and we had a lively discussion about books and the like, barely got home and Jeannie called, ready to go to Bed, Bath & Beyond, so I got desperately needed new rugs for the bathroom. Then when I came home there was an endless stream of e-mails, bills to pay, stuff to do. Finally got to my nap at 4:30. Now it's 9:30 and I have yet to pick up the book I'm reading--okay, turn on the Kindle. I've checked Facebook and the blogs I follow and written this blog post and talked on the phone--and where does the time go?
I did widen my circle today, walking half a block to work because they'd cordoned off our parking lot to restripe it, then walking across the empty parking lot and across the street with Fred without holding on (except for curbs), going with Jeannie without holding on in the parking lot, and walking down the sidewalk tonight to meet and visit witha neighbor--who wanted to know what I thought about our church turmoil. That's what I have to do--a little bit at a time.
I'm about to ordered a panic device that I can use if I fall--it calls five people, so I'll choose Jordan and Christian, because they're here in town and have keys to the house, my neighbor Susan who is home a lot and has a key, Jeannie (I'll have to give her a key) and 911. I emailed the kids about it and they have had a field day on the email laughing about the senile things I've already done and applying to me the things my mom did after she went downhill. Still, they think it's a good idea. My friend Fran just got one and has been hounding me to do it. Since I fell a couple of times in the backyard, I really do think it's a good idea. And no, it doesn't make me feel old--just reminds me that I live alone.

On Learning to Putz

I once wrote an article, really an essay, by that title, but the magazine that was nervous about the word "putz"--in Yiddish it has negative implications from describing a poor behavior pattern to a part of the male anatomy. So they changed it to "On Learning to Putter." Putz, putter, whatever--the point was that I don't do it gracefully. I'm much better when I'm busy with details, etc. But today I puttered--or putzed--and enjoyed it thoroughly. I lintered over coffee and the paper, watched the talk shows, rode my stationary bike while watching George Stephanopoulos, did a bit of laundry, took a lazy long shower (for me), ate an early lunch, read, napped, and then got busy fixing dinner. But it was a lovely lazy day.
I had guests for pasta on the porch tonight--the weather was just right. I haven't seen Gayland and Katie all summer, because she's been traveling and up to her eyeballs in work (which is good but stressful) so it was good to visit again. Sue joined us for drinks, and they took an immediate liking to each other--it always pleases me that my friends like my friends and I bring people together.
Of course, dinner was experimental. An antipasto platter with two cheese (Manchego and a soft provolone), two salamis, gherkins, and marinated artichoke hearts--not much of an experiment there. But the one-dish meal was whole wheat pasta with green peas and asparagus and a basil/mint/feta pesto. You cook the asparagus and fish it out; then cook the peas in the same water--fishing becomes a bit more of a challenge with tiny peas; then you cook the pasta in the same water. Meantime make a pesto of basil, mint, olive oil, salt, pepper, and feta and add to the vegetables. Add 1/2 cup of the cooking water, drain the pasta and add it. Sprinkle with scallions and more feta. Hmmmm. delicious. Gayland told me about a cauliflower pasta made the same way--when he was served it he thought, "I don't like cauliflower," but he said it was delicious--and topped with bread crumbs browned in olive oil left in the skillet from preparing the dish. They gave it a nutty crunchiness. Sounds like a great idea for any pasta.
So now I start the business week witha full fridge--leftover pasta, sloppy joe, salami and cheese. Can't let cooking keep me from working, so I'll have to think of another reason. It promises to be a busy week at the office, but I guess that's good.

Putzing and Reading

Some time ago I wrote a piece I titled "On Learning to Putz." (When it was published, it ws "On Learning to Putter" because of the anatomical implications of the "other" meaning of the Yiddish word "putz.") It was essentially on learning to do nothing and enjoy it, an art that's very hard for me to master. But today I putzed or puttered, whichever word you prefer. I slept really late, read the paper in a leisurely way, scrambled some eggs, watched "Meet the Press" (okay, so some people are convinced it will be Obama and others are just as sure it will be Hillary--when will this end?), made a cheese dip that ultimately I didn't like much--it called for ricotta which is too sweet, read through some notes (which thoroughly confused me about any project on Scots in Texas), and read. A lot of reading.
I'm reading Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert--I think every second woman in this country has read it before I got around to it. It's about the author's quest for spirituality, for wholeness in her life, for meaning, a quest that she decides will take her to Italy (to eat), to an ashram in India (I presume to pray), and to Indonesia (where she must learn about love--I'm not that far into the book). I like Gilbert--she's honest about her fears and failings, her dreams and fantasies. But a part of me is hesitant, The book begins as she is leaving a marriage that no longer makes her happy. In part, from what I read, I thought she just didn't want to grow up and have a baby. Not wanting to have children is an individual choice, but growing up isn't, in my mind. And once you've committed to a relationship, I truly believe you should work to find happiness (and maturity, if need be) within the space of that relationship before severing it. Perhaps that's a reminder of my own marriage, when my husband said he was tired of taking care of others and wanted to take care of himself, a peculiar thought from the mouth of a man with four young children, the youngest of them barely six.
I also got the feeling that Gilbert sees herself as set apart, privileged somehow, maybe just a little bit cute. I thought probably this was my age showing, but my young neighbor just echoed those thoughts to me and said, "You know, if she can afford to go off like that for a year, good for her, but most of us can't." And a friend my age expressed the same reservations. Yet both of them, like me, say they enjoyed the book.
And I do like it. Her adventures in Italy are intriguing, and I truly admire a woman who will set off for Italy, Indian, and Indonesia alone. Especially since I'm the one deemed not capable of traveling alone overseas, which I am the first to admit is true. And I like her quest--like many of us of all ages, I yearn for certainty in my faith but it always alludes me. I am learning, much later than Elizabeth Gilbert, that I may have to look for it outside the church.
Linda came from Granbury for dinner, and I roasted a pork tenderloin, did some oven roasted rosemary potatoes, and a salad. It's good to visit with an old friend (almost 40 years, I suspect) in a leisurely manner--another form of putzing.
I've conducted a scientific experiment, almost accidentally. Ninnie Baird, founder of Mrs. Baird's Bakeries, had a book of household hints, among which was the fact that cucumber peel will get rid of those tiny tiny sugar ants. When I came home from Austin, I found those ants in the kitchen, so I put out some peel. I thought they would run fleeing in the other direction, but the next time I looked they were swarming all over the peel. So much for that, I thought. But the next morning, the peel was thick with very still ants. And today the ants were all gone, so I threw the peel away. Experimental success, though I'm not sure why.
No puttering tomorrow. It's a work day, and I have a long "to do" list.