Northern Exposure Season Three

or anything from my wishlist

nada

So somebody said to me the other day (and not in a nice way) that they were pissed that I didn't have time to do something in lieu of my new life, which I think might be a mis-use of the word, but I didn't bother to take the time to deal with that issue.

I made a pie last Wednesday for the season premier of Lost. I made the dough (though not as good as shamus? or Halff's dough) and used three kinds of berries (black, blue and raspberries). I put just enough cornstarch in and just enough sugar on top. Pie always reminds me of my mother. We used to bake pies together. Actually, it was quite the production, always. I kid you not. We would walk down to the train tracks -- yes, seriously, the train tracks -- and pick wild blackberries off of the brambles by the train tracks. We'd fill plastic shopping bags up with those berries and hike all the way home up the steep valley hills from the riverside train tracks back to the house. We'd be sweaty and gross and completely stained from the berries. Then we'd get home and before we ever showered we'd spend an hour making and rolling pie dough and baking the pies. Finally, we'd bathe, even though the berry stains wouldn't fully come off of our hands for days. But after the shower, there would be pie. And even though my pie last week (and the one I'm making for Lost tonight) is with store-bought berries, every time I make a pie and eat a pie, I think of my mother and those humid, sweaty, berry-stained summer days. And I know that story sounds like I completely made it up, with the train tracks and the bramble bushes and the mother-daughter bonding in the kitchen, but it really is true.

What's my point here? It's not any kind of new life. It's the same old life. The same people I always cared about I still care about, even though in some cases we get to show that less often. I still regret every time I hurt somebody, but I still regret it more if I don't do it and make myself miserable instead. I still like good meals and tropical vacations and expensive shoes. I still call my cousins on football Sunday. I still send Halloween cards and housewarming gifts. I still have perpetual credit card balances. I still get obsessive over work. I still make time every day to love my cats. I still cry every time I watch a sports movie. I still need personal time balanced with heavy doses of social time. And I still think of my mother every time I make a pie.

People move through life. Life changes around them. Scenery changes but life is built on more than scenery. There are times in the past that were so perfect that I constantly long for them and times in the past that were so demoralizing I regularly forget they ever happened. Nobody gets a new life. There's really no such thing. And, just like always, I like my life. I'm not going to apologize for it. I do the best I can, and if that's not enough, then there's not more that I can do. This type of accusation tires me. But to it, I simply say that the very comment itself shows a belief in the concept of a new life, and that people who go around thinking that some kind of new life is possible or even an answer are bound to find frustration. Life is life. And I choose to preserve my happiness during mine. And even when it sucks, I choose to look to find the way to get back to happiness, rather than get stuck in focusing on the bad parts. I cannot imagine apologizing for that. So it's not a new life. But if I ever figure out how a person goes about getting a new life, I'll be sure to post a journal entry on it. I'm sure there are a lot of people who would like to know that answer.