La Reine Est Morte. Vive La Reine!

La Reine Est Morte. Vive La Reine!

December 2, 2014 / 1 Comment

In the midst of grief, I’m unable to properly sum up the life of Brat Child.

Let’s just say she always made an impression.

Born Noel Ellena in 1997, Brat Child Walker Weir was adopted by my best friend Amy on Christmas. When Ames died two years later, I took in Brat Child and her sister Buddha (née Lily) and silently promised to make them feel safe and loved for the rest of their lives. Although I have cared for them longer than Ames did, in my mind, they were always her cats as well as my own.

Brat Child came by her name honestly (via former stepfather John Rodgers), which is to say she was a bit of a terror. Whether she was beating up our dog Duncan like a clawless prizefighter or fending off sneak attacks by everyone else, Brat Child always managed to cause havoc. She liked to lie in my lap, for as long as it suited her, and would crawl into it even if there was another cat already present. If Brat Child was there first, however, beware!

Brat Child loved eating tuna (but only from her own plate and not with those heathens we insisted on adopting), drinking from water fountains, hanging out on my shoulder while I worked, blithely stretching on the dining room table even though she knew full well she wasn’t supposed to, sleeping bonelessly (and sometimes falling off her bed/perch), stepping onto M’s laptop keyboard while trying to jockey for a better position in his lap, luxuriating in warm patches of sunlight or near heated radiators, kneading people’s jugular veins and resting on top of my desk chair. But her favorite activity was wraithing (see video below), a unique fighting game that involved rough-housing and making growling car engine noises.

What I’ll remember most about Brat Child was not her bratty demeanor or insistence on being the matriarch of our home. It was how how sweetly she loved and how loudly she’d purr when comfortable or triumphant. She was a champion cuddler, particularly during winter months, and while her “requests” for lovin’ were more like demands, I enjoyed every encounter.

At 17 years old, Brat Child was Ouiser Boudreaux from “Steel Magnolias,” Yzma from “The Emperor’s New Groove” and the Brain of “Pinky and the Brain.” Her Napoleonic dictates were the stuff of legend in our household, and her firm belief that she was born to rule the world seemed to appeal to all seven of her Twitter followers.

When, like her first mother, Brat Child’s kidneys started to fail, she took the decline in stride. So much so that M and I foolishly convinced ourselves that she would live forever. Alas, it was not meant to be. Brat Child died this morning with her loving parents by her side. Thanks to a kindly veterinarian, she died bravely.
Culinarian Or The Next Jack The Ripper?

November 24, 2014 / No Comments

“A kitchen without a knife is not a kitchen.” –Masaharu Morimoto

I like knives. From the wee sgian-dubh to the gigantic claymore, I’m drawn to this cutting-edge weapon (get it? Cutting edge? Ok, I’ll stop.)

Put a knife in a killer’s hand and he instantly becomes more terrifying. But in the hand of a skilled cook, a knife is an appliance, a utensil, and only occasionally, a weapon.

Although knives — plus a healthy dose of anger — will surely make mincemeat out of any intruder, I’m far more likely to utilize them in the kitchen. The chef’s knife, the paring knife, the bread knife, these are the tools I use on a daily basis to make and bake nearly all of our meals.

When I’m cutting food during prep, I enter a zen-like state. The music of the blade slicing through the fruit or veg and brushing against the surface of my board only adds to the sounds of boiling water, clattering silverware, closing cabinets, sizzling entrees, timer buzzes and banging pots and pans.

This year, I received two chef’s knives for my birthday: a Victorinox which was created in Ibach, Switzerland, and a beautiful blade made of Toledo steel that M brought home from Spain. Well-made and well-reviewed, these wickedly sharp knives lack any fancy decoration, which is fine by me; they’re meant for work, not meant for show. And with Thanksgiving right around the corner, I have every intention of putting them to good use.

(Photo by Eans)
The quiet birthday extravaganza

November 23, 2014 / No Comments

So today, I am 41. Or, as I’ve taken to calling it, 40-something.

Alas, 41 isn’t really one of those landmark moments in life. There’s no decade change. You don’t get any special perks for reaching it. And hey, it’s a whole year before 42. But, I’m still quite joyful about the achievement. I have somehow managed to live for more than four decades. Huzzah!

Since this natal day is a minor one, I have chosen to celebrate it in a quiet fashion. Cake, cards, presents… check. Dinner out and possibly a movie, check check. Most importantly, I get to spend the day with M, and that is always a joy.

Not just one day, either. We’re on vacation this week. All week. Together! (I’m using an exclamation mark here because I’m really excited.).

With such opposing schedules, our marriage pretty much exists in two-hour bursts of daily companionship followed by one evening, one day and a morning of blessed weekendness. This week, however, we have seven full days of “us.” We even get to share the same bed. At the same time! (Some couples just don’t know how good they have it.)

My heartfelt thanks go out to everyone who took the time to send cards, gifts, tweets, emails, Facebook posts and other birthday messages. I am utterly grateful to be so liked… so loved… and so old.

(Photo by Vladvvm)
“A happy birthday is measured not in the amount of gifts one gets, but in the amount one is loved.” ―Todd Stocker

November 21, 2014 / No Comments

With my birthday, Yule and Christmas coming up, I’ve been receiving emails and messages asking me what I want. I am quite fortunate; my needs are few. So, as always, I request that you consider becoming an organ donor.

If you who have already checked that box at the DMV, thank you so very much. Someday, hopefully very far in the future, you will become a hero. In that case, a card would be lovely. My address is available here (just click on the contact info link).

And for the generous souls who prefer to send presents, I have created a wish list. It reveals far more about me than any essay I could ever pen.

(Photo by Zsuzsanna Kilian.)
My take on the elections

November 5, 2014 / No Comments

Ten years ago, the results of an election left me both furious and depressed. A man I deeply admired was kind enough to provide some much-needed perspective. Now that I’m older, and a bit wiser, I aim to follow in his stead.

So, if you are happy about yesterday’s election, do not to gloat. Congratulations, you won; hopefully the people you empowered will serve the public’s interests.

And if you’re angry about the results, I urge you to handle defeat with grace. Then, get to work. You have two years to share your message and inspire change.