Picture Pages

the verdict on a few 'to do list' activities:

build shelves (thanks Rocco!) = SUCCESS

from previous post: 'Sweet Procrastination'

tax forms (still blank) = FAIL

find good breakfast tacos in Brooklyn = SUCCESS

www.guerosbrooklyn.com

taste new Hershey's Air Delight (they put air bubbles where chocolate used to be and charge you the same amount) = FAIL

walk through sunny Prospect Park = SUCCESS

replant the ivy without killing it = FAIL

book the pregnant lady role on "Unforgettable" = FAIL

grow a big fat baby belly = SUCCESS

You're never a loser until you quit trying.
- Mike Ditka

Sweet Procrastination

I’m supposed to be doing my taxes right now. There is a man named Rocco building shelves in my living room and it is distracting me from the fine print rules of itemized deductions.

Since Rocco got here he’s been making excuses for how the shelves will turn out. “You know your door frames are crooked?” Um, what NYC apartment has straight door frames? “I’ll have to tighten these corner screws by hand because the drill won’t maneuver into that space.” When I ask if that would affect the weight bearing ability of the shelf, he says; “No.” Okay then. With every step, he interrupts me to show how the air bubble in his level is even and the joints will fit together nicely. I keep telling him that I trust him to create straight shelves that are strong enough to hold all our crap. Not sure why he needs to give me the play by play.

But I have to say, the smell of fresh cut wood in the apartment brings back memories of my dad’s workshop. Dad is a talented woodworker and he taught me some basics while we built a few things together. Using an electric saw is an empowering thing. So is taking raw pieces of wood and making something useful and pretty that didn’t exist before. Wow, I probably should have taken on this shelf building project myself. Dad, if you’re reading, sorry to disappoint you.

Rocco just announced that he found a stud.

Being pregnant, I’ve removed myself from the normal stresses of the acting career. Pilot season pressure is getting to my friends. I see it. It’s tough out there. I’m not feeling it. One would think that would mean I have the time to take on other things. Like taxes and shelves. Where does the time and energy go? I have no answer. I sleep and eat and attempt to focus my pregnancy brain on activities in between. How’s this? I promise to complete one task today. It might be the task of listening to Rocco talk about knots in the wood. But I will listen like I’ve never listened before. And at some point, shelves will be finished and listening will be complete. I’ll try to get back to the taxes. No, really, I will. But first I’ll just go take a look at these support brackets...

“Procrastination isn’t the problem. It’s the solution. It’s the universe’s way of saying stop, slow down, you move too fast. ”
- Ellen DeGeneres

A Remarkable Woman

I recently spent a few days volunteering at a soup kitchen in the Bronx and would like to take a moment to recognize a truly remarkable woman. Her name is Sandra. She works full time as a registered nurse and has further dedicated herself by volunteering to feed 250 hungry neighbors every week. Bronx residents show up in droves every Saturday. Kids run to play around the small bright blue tables under the Dr. Seuss mural in the corner that was designed just for them. Adults check the racks of donated coats to see if one might fit. All while enjoying good company and a home cooked meal.

Sandra runs the entire operation on a shoestring budget, scraping by with small grants from United Way, other organizations and supplemented by her own wallet when funds run dry. She has applied to larger grants that would ease her workload, but has been denied because of loopholes. One grant was denied because the soup kitchen doesn’t have a website. Another grant wasn’t given because Sandra couldn’t prove that at least 40% of her beneficiaries were veterans. Another required a certain percentage to be homeless. But Sandra refuses to tailor who benefits from her meals. She opens her door to everyone who is hungry and the majority of those that show up are residents of the neighborhood who hold jobs but still live below the poverty line as a household. Many of them live in multi-generational homes and bring in the entire family. Sandra said that two years ago, she was feeding just 50 people per week. That number has increased five fold due to unstable employment in this difficult economy and nearby soup kitchens being shut down because of lack of funding.

But all of this only fuels Sandra. She and her cooking partner, Larita, laugh and tell outrageous stories as they peel potatoes and chop onions for beef stew. Kids from the local high school set up tables. While they work, the light from the basement space can be seen from the sidewalk and is a signal that community members are gathered there. People drop in to chat, hoping to see friends, staying for a few minutes or an hour because they “saw the light on.” Sandra has created a neighborhood haven and is determined to see that neighborhood thrive. I’ve enjoyed being surrounded by her enthusiasm and optimism. And so far, as with most volunteer work, I feel as though I’ve learned more from her than I’ve been able to give.

When someone shares something of value with you and you benefit from it, you have a moral obligation to share it with others.

- Chinese Proverb

A Letter to Bacon

Dear Bacon,

I have never been one of your fans. To be frank, your white glistening fat gives me the heebie-jeebies. Sure, I know you add all kinds of flavor goodness to soups, beans and egg scrambles. The most appreciation I’ve ever had for you was when you were hugging a tender piece of perfectly grilled filet mignon. But even then, you always ended up in a pile of uneaten pieces on the edge of my otherwise clean plate. Until yesterday…

I went to brunch at Buttermilk Channel. It was my first time. To my surprise, I was delighted to see what a strong presence you had there, Bacon. Everywhere I looked, I saw you on the plates of other diners. All of a sudden I felt one of those cravings I've only felt during pregnancy: an insatiable desire to eat one particular food. It was you, sweet Bacon. You, and you alone, would satisfy me. I needed you immediately. I wanted only to devour as much of you as I possibly could. The waiter and chef agreed to my request to make you extra crispy. And when you arrived at the table, I had to remind myself that I was in public. Oh Bacon, if we had shared some private moments together I would have whispered sweet nothings as I nibbled all five pieces of you. I would have apologized for all those years I looked down my nose at you and your fat. The way your crunchy smoked deliciousness complemented my eggs and hash browns…it made me melt. I completely gave in to your prowess.

Thank you, Bacon, for our afternoon tryst. But please understand that I was overcome by the pregnancy hormones. It was not the real me. If perchance we never meet again, I will always remember our time together on that fateful February day in a quaint Brooklyn café.

Yours truly,

Sarah

Lisa: "I'm going to become a vegetarian."         

Homer: "Does that mean you're not going to eat any pork?"                    

Lisa: "Yes"                                                          

Homer: "Bacon?"                                                     

Lisa: "Yes Dad"                                                

Homer: “Ham?"                                                       

Lisa: "Dad, all those meats come from the same animal."                    

Homer: "Yeah right Lisa, some wonderful, magical animal!"

-- The Simpsons

Shit non-pregnant girls say...to pregnant girls.

Picture me in a bad wig with a valley girl accent.

I want to be cute when I’m pregnant.

How do you stand not being able to drink?

You should be enjoying how big your boobs are.

How do your pants stay up?

I had a friend who did an all-natural home birth.

I hear you’re supposed to do Kegels.

You know people aren’t circumcising baby boys anymore.

I couldn’t live without sushi for nine months.

Could you walk a little faster?

I bet you always get a seat on the subway.

Your pants have an elastic waistband?

When I have a baby, I’m going to take him everywhere.

Can I touch your belly?

When I’m a mom, I won’t let it affect my career.

Aren’t you sad it’s not a girl?

You know your vajayjay will never be the same.

I hear you poop right there in front of everyone.

Are you wearing grannie panties?

Do your Kegels.

I’m scared of getting stretch marks.

I can’t wait to dress my baby in all those adorable tiny outfits.

I can barely take care of my plants and you’re going to be a mom.

Can I see the waistband of your pants?

When I’m pregnant, I’ll eat only raw organic foods.

It’s so cute the way you waddle.

What are you naming it?

Why are you crying?

Are you doing Kegels right now?

If pregnancy were a book they would cut the last two chapters.
-Nora Ephron