On reciprocation

I don't believe in the holiday season. Truly. All the crass consumerism makes me ill. And yet... there is the need to reciprocate in some way and to demonstrate our gratitude to people that have cared for us. (And for some reason we do bend to seasonal pressure).
Nevertheless... This idea that Idealist Savant passed along tickled me. Too bad I gave up my iPod, or else I might even be tempted to buy a present for me.

I, however, tend to opt for things I can make myself, like letters, music or food. Take for example Friday night. Ok, so I have been ordered by my therapist to take a few days off, and take care of myself. Problem is, I can't really do that. I wanted to do something for Kirsten who has been forcing me to eat for several weeks now, and I had food that absolutely needed to be used. I hung up the phone, rested my head on the pillow for a brief moment, which turned into a half hour and I jumped up to prepare the large salad that I promised. I. and I walked around the outside of the courtyard to her front door only to discover that no one was home yet. Strange. When we had spoken they were on their way home.

What is my first thought always? "Oh, God, they were in a car accident!" Which unfortunately, in this case, was absolutely true. We met her and Pepe in the parking lot, shaken, but ok, and even though she had planned on not eating, her friend Christa showed up too, with beers and cigarettes, and with some nourishment of all kinds her headache went away and she was able to relax. It felt good to be able to take care of someone else for a while, especially when she has been so kind to me. I wish I were a more thoughtful person, detail oriented - she bought me an orchid two weeks ago and brought me a bath foam shell (which I have yet to use... a luxuriant bath is still too over the top for me) and I wish I could show affection through purchases, but it isn't me. All I could do, was make tea, watch the kids while she snuck outside to be "bad", and wash up the dishes. But still.

So, Saturday Becca came up from Santa Monica, and I spent the morning cleaning, and cooking, but actually with desire. Cooking for one is not only unmotivating, it is unreasonable. I have been subsisting on little more than hot tea, cheese and crackers when not being made to eat. But I had a slew of opened olives and tomatoes that needed to be cooked because they had spent the last three weeks in my fridge being ignored. I decided on a Puttanesca sauce, sauteed onion, garlic and tomatoes with chopped olives and capers and a bit of ground oregano. The recipes that I scanned called for spicy pepper flakes, but I had none, so I split a jalapeño and sauteed it with the other ingredients until it was wilted and then I removed it. Just enough piquancy. I cheated, I know, but then because the tomatoes were a little old and the sauce was too thick, I threw in a little month-old Shiraz - I keep old wine around for just such purposes. We had shrimp in a butter, garlic, white-wine sauce and Fusili. After our day of sun and water, she reciprocated by bringing far too much sushi, tempura and salmon teriyaki to the dinner table before heading back to her hotel.

So I am torn between taking care of myself and others. Today I could do nothing more than lay naked in my livingroom and stare at the ceiling while my child played with clay on the balcony. I am hoping that tomorrow I will be ready to face all the work that has been accumulating at an alarming rate. I am trying to strike a balance.