Lentil Soup

As friends and regular readers will know, my cats have had some kidney problems since the whole Menu Foods pet food recall. This has required me to collect multiple urine samples for lab tests. (Keep reading. It gets funny. Honest.)

Have you ever tried to get pee from cats? No? Then let me school you.

First you empty out their litter boxes and separate the cats. Hours later, you realize that these cats are no suckers and will not use an empty litter box. They need something to dig in, dammit!

Next you shred some glossy newspaper inserts and put the festive confetti in the litter boxes. It looks pretty. And it works the first time around. Success!

The next time you need a sample you try the same shredded paper trick. Hours later you realize that the cats subscribe to the worldview of: "Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me." They will not pee on shredded paper. They will, however, nestle down into the litter box, get all com-fer-tuh-buhls and look at you smugly, as if to say: "Ah, this is a nice new place to nap. Look at me. I'm lying down, not peeing."

You also begin to marvel at their ability to hold out for over 12 hours. This is determination, people.

So you decide to try a new vet-approved option: Lentils. Theses little legumes mimic the look and texture of kitty litter but won't absorb the sample. (If you get there in time, that is.)

You put 16 ounces of lentils in the litter box. Your 15-pound cat scoffs at this attempt to fool him. Eventually you add another 64 ounces of lentils to the box and he succumbs to the illusion.

The next time you need a sample, you think, "Hey, no problem. I'm a cat-urine-collecting-pro! All I need are five bags of lentils per cat." So you send your husband to the store to buy 10 bags of lentils.

At the checkout counter the clerk says, "Looks like somebody is making soup!"

Sort of. Lentil and pee soup! Hahahah! (how could I resist?)

You follow protocol: Separate cats; empty litter boxes; fill boxes with lentils. The next morning, Gatwick the Catwick decides that he's really had enough of this and pees in his bed. The boy has never peed anywhere before but in the litter box. But today he decides that he'd rather pee in a cardboard box with a blanket than set foot on your stupid lentils! This act of defiance leaves you both angry. You pick him up to show him the litter box and he scratches your arm tyring to get away from the offending lentils!

Finally, as an act of contrition and in an attempt to make up with his frustrated and exhausted owner, the cat pees in the damn lentils. You use a plastic syringe or eyedropper to collect the sample.

Of course, two cats won't pee at the same time. And samples need to be less than eight hours old. So sometimes you make the 50-minute round trip to the vet's office twice per round of samples.

And you can't bring yourself to make lentil soup for at least a month.

Mom Better Get on the Ball

Heard through my open window as a little boy ran down my street:

"I'm sorry. My mom forgot to cook my dinner. She's gonna cook it a little longer."

Two Types of Value

In my last post I pondered what it means to value yourself enough to align your talents and desires with your actions. Part of what got me thinking about all of this was a post called Get a Real Job from Chris Garret on New Media .

Chris writes about people who think that blogging in particular – and writing in general – are not "real" jobs and are not worthy of real compensation. He asks, "Do people feel writing and getting rewarded for it is ripping people off in some way?" Here are my two cents from the comments section off that post:

I recently read an analogy comparing publishing a blog to publishing your very own newspaper. I think this type of comparison can be helpful for people who are new to blogging or unsure of its purpose and value. It's easier to "get" blogging when it's compared to a form of traditional media (like a newspaper, newsletter, or magazine), at least as a starting point. And it's given me a new perspective on how to approach my own blog. I'm building a list of ideas of regular and special features, types of content, ways to generate interactivity with readers, and how to monetize all of these efforts. I blog because I love to tell stories, but it’s also part of my business. I like the connection of passion and profit.

As far as people undervaluing blogging, it's the same with writing in most forms. I think that this pervasive attitude is also what makes some freelancers work for so little. Too many writers embrace the "starving artist" mindset, are simply desperate for work-any-work-at-any-price, or are just not very good writers. When I first started freelancing, I had to constantly remind myself that I was running a business and needed to value my talents and services appropriately. After all, if I didn't value them, others wouldn't. I always knew this in a business sense, but it took awhile to know it with every fiber of my being – in other words, to be able to quote my rates without secretly cringing. For awhile, I kept thinking, "Who pays for this shit?" It’s not that I thought my work was crappy. But I marveled that people would pay good money for something that came so easily to me. Then again, I pay people to mow my lawn and do my taxes – two areas outside of my own expertise. The moral of the story: People will pay for what they want/need. Which we all knew already.

Since I write for a living, both kinds of valuation – personal and profitable – are important to me.

What do you value in yourself? Does it also have value in the marketplace? I'm not suggesting that money should be the only motivator for using our talents. But too often we overlook opportunities to benefit from doing what we love. We all have gifts and we all need money to live. Why shouldn't the two overlap?

What do you love to do? What are your hobbies? Are there people who want the end product but don't want to do the work to get it? Would they be willing to pay you to do the work?

Choose Symmetry

This blog is about stories, anecdotes, snippets of conversation, what have you. [What will you have?] It's a bunch of writing by someone who makes her living as a writer. As such, I think a lot about words, the nature of writing, and what it means to be a writer.

I've been creating stories and writing for most of my life. I started freelancing about four years ago and after much hand-wringing, finally took the big entrepreneurial plunge and quit my "real" job last summer. So now, when people ask me what I "do," I'm forced to say: "I'm a writer."

What an scandalous thing to admit out loud! I'm a writer. I write things. That's what I do. I'm a writer.

I still feel slightly embarrassed and shocked when I say it. I secretly fear that people will see through me; will think that I'm a poseur; will discover that I used to write poetry full of teenage angst; will somehow get ahold of my journals and unearth my ability to write total drivel about the same stuff over and over and over again.

About five years ago I began a quest to figure out what I'm supposed to be now that I'm apparently a grownup. I took the advice of a career coach and asked the people I love what they thought about me and my talents. Ever single one of them told me some variation on the following: I'm creative, a born story teller, and good with words.

I saw a theme emerging and tried to reconcile it with the snide comments of my inner insecurity. So I went back and read some of my poetry (post-teenage-angst period), short stories, narratives, and college papers. I discovered that I still liked some of the first three and was astounded by the latter. I read these complex ideas about T.S. Eliot's poetry, theories of pedagogy and literary criticism, and imagery in Shakespeare's The Tempest. And then I realized that I was responsible for these things. I thought them, researched them, and wrote them. I impressed myself.

We don't impress ourselves enough. The bad stuff is easier to believe. (Yes, that's a line from "Pretty Woman.") We all should have more moments to feel proud and even in-awe of ourselves. I'm not advocating conceit, but rather a type of self-love that opens us up to possibilities. If you can't remember the last time you impressed yourself, start doing what you love. Then -- and this is crucial-- turn off your inner critic. It's too easy to compare ourselves to our peers and our heroes. We should allow ourselves to feel pride and accomplishment.

At some point during all of my seeking I had an obvious epiphany: I'm a writer.

Oh.

That's when I realized I'd forgotten that I like to write, have some skill in it, and could use it to my advantage.

Someone recently described me as an artist. This was the first time we'd met. She said it more than once in a single conversation, even though I had not referred to myself that way. I'd gone so far as to say that I'm a freelance writer. But artist? That's even more outlandish than writer. But I loved hearing it. Me as an artist. How preposterous! How pretentious! To be the thing I most secretly want to be. And then to say it out loud for all to hear. The audacity!

We should all be so audacious.

I'm learning to name myself and my desires for what they are; to claim them with no show of arrogance or delusion. To allow myself to be -- and to become -- what I want to be. I have so much to learn and so many ways to grow. I'm finally mature enough to recognize my need for improvement without discounting my achievements

I've read that people with symmetrical facial features are judged to be more attractive than those with unsymmetrical features. How beautiful my life would be if I aligned my dreams with my actions. How lovely I would be if I were full of symmetry.

How to Choose

Me: "The package gives us options. Do you want to make ultra-vibrant colored eggs; regular colored eggs; or pastel eggs?"

James: "What's the difference?"

Me: "You use vinegar for the bright eggs, lemon juice for the medium ones, and water for the pastels."

James: "Which do you want?"

Me: "I don't care. Do you have a preference?"

[pause]

James: "...I like the smell of vinegar."