Poison Oak (on My Face)
This weekend Mr. Bir Toujour and I went on a lovely little walkabout over the Marin Headlands: rolling grassy bluffs, breathtaking beach cliffs, and the corroded, collapsing abandoned batteries of Fort Cronkite. Omega Man meets John Muir.
So that was all well and good. But here I am, four days later, and I have poison oak on my forehead. The Headlands are not a very wooded area; there are grasses, weeds, shrubs. And, apparently, a little bit of poison oak. I have come to find that if there is poison oak or poison ivy in a 100-mile area, I will somehow track it down and not leave the premessis without making physical contact.
Last night an itch in the crook of my elbow woke me up, and I picked at it on and off in the ignorance of my slumber. Only in waking up did I inspect the botchy red pinpricks and realize "oh, shit." THEN I looked in the mirror and saw my lovely face, a cruel acne-like smear of poison oak marring my forehead.
It's been worse--not the extent of the rash, I mean, but its placement. Shortly after moving to California I got a very concentrated case of poison oak on my upper lip. It was a seeping mess of amber sap, right between my nose and lip. It broke reallly badly in the airport as I was waiting for a flight to San Diego to visit my aunt.
We had fun: eating fish tacos, drinking beer at a cheesy beer festival, walking on the beach. But the highlight was meeting Julia Child, who was touring to support her latest book, "Jaques and Julia Cooking at Home." We stood in line at a bookstore with a hundred dedicated fans. The woman directly in front of us had written this long love letter to Julia, saying how much her shows and books meant to her, how much they had changed her life.
Well, duh--everyone loves Juila Child. She's changed everone's life. Still a towering presence (even while seated and stooped over with age), Julia was a model of generosity and professionalism, gracefully personable but in always control. The bookstore staff had told us how she signed books for hours, and that the book tour had been going for days without a break for Julia. "Younger, way less famous writers don't have the stamina that she does," they told us.
Aunt Sharon was more excited than I was. I wanted to be a hassle-free fan for Julia, to walk up, look right at her and smile, let her know my name, patiently wait while she signed my book, and then efficiently move on so that the next guest could get their Juila Time. Aunt Sahron loves me a lot, though: she's really proud of me, and she wasn't about to let me meet Julia Child without having her fair share of boasting.
"Sara graduated from the CIA!" she said as I sat down. "She wants to be a food writer!"
Oh, jeez, I thought, embarassed. But Julia sat me down, all business. "Oh! Well, well, that's wonderful. Are you a member of the IACP?" (You must, of course, imagine this in the proper Julia Child voice.)
"IACP?" I said. "Um, no."
"What you've got to do is...oh, does anyone have a piece of paper?" In about three seconds, a dozen Julia groupies had produced scraps of paper. She took one and began writing. "IACP--the International Association of Food Professionals. They have a website, look at it. What you've got to do is join the IACP. And most importantly, just do it! Write and write and don't stop."
Whoa. Julia Child, who didn't know me at all, just gave me great advide that I didn't even ask for. She was totally sincere. Julia Child cared about my future! This could be one of the defining moments of my life.
But what was I thinking? My mind was on....my upper lip! My gross, drippy, blotchy red yellow-scabbed upper lip. "Oh, Christ, Julia Child must be so grossed out by my upper lip," I thought. I was not in the moment at all.
I never did join the IACP, but I guess that I can be considered a food writer now, especially since I work in the marketing department on America's premier artisinal chocolate maker (Julia always was a fan of Scharffen Berger). The poison oak on my forehead isn't as bad now as my upper lip was then, and I'm not set to meet anyone famous anytime soon. But I could be.
So that was all well and good. But here I am, four days later, and I have poison oak on my forehead. The Headlands are not a very wooded area; there are grasses, weeds, shrubs. And, apparently, a little bit of poison oak. I have come to find that if there is poison oak or poison ivy in a 100-mile area, I will somehow track it down and not leave the premessis without making physical contact.
Last night an itch in the crook of my elbow woke me up, and I picked at it on and off in the ignorance of my slumber. Only in waking up did I inspect the botchy red pinpricks and realize "oh, shit." THEN I looked in the mirror and saw my lovely face, a cruel acne-like smear of poison oak marring my forehead.
It's been worse--not the extent of the rash, I mean, but its placement. Shortly after moving to California I got a very concentrated case of poison oak on my upper lip. It was a seeping mess of amber sap, right between my nose and lip. It broke reallly badly in the airport as I was waiting for a flight to San Diego to visit my aunt.
We had fun: eating fish tacos, drinking beer at a cheesy beer festival, walking on the beach. But the highlight was meeting Julia Child, who was touring to support her latest book, "Jaques and Julia Cooking at Home." We stood in line at a bookstore with a hundred dedicated fans. The woman directly in front of us had written this long love letter to Julia, saying how much her shows and books meant to her, how much they had changed her life.
Well, duh--everyone loves Juila Child. She's changed everone's life. Still a towering presence (even while seated and stooped over with age), Julia was a model of generosity and professionalism, gracefully personable but in always control. The bookstore staff had told us how she signed books for hours, and that the book tour had been going for days without a break for Julia. "Younger, way less famous writers don't have the stamina that she does," they told us.
Aunt Sharon was more excited than I was. I wanted to be a hassle-free fan for Julia, to walk up, look right at her and smile, let her know my name, patiently wait while she signed my book, and then efficiently move on so that the next guest could get their Juila Time. Aunt Sahron loves me a lot, though: she's really proud of me, and she wasn't about to let me meet Julia Child without having her fair share of boasting.
"Sara graduated from the CIA!" she said as I sat down. "She wants to be a food writer!"
Oh, jeez, I thought, embarassed. But Julia sat me down, all business. "Oh! Well, well, that's wonderful. Are you a member of the IACP?" (You must, of course, imagine this in the proper Julia Child voice.)
"IACP?" I said. "Um, no."
"What you've got to do is...oh, does anyone have a piece of paper?" In about three seconds, a dozen Julia groupies had produced scraps of paper. She took one and began writing. "IACP--the International Association of Food Professionals. They have a website, look at it. What you've got to do is join the IACP. And most importantly, just do it! Write and write and don't stop."
Whoa. Julia Child, who didn't know me at all, just gave me great advide that I didn't even ask for. She was totally sincere. Julia Child cared about my future! This could be one of the defining moments of my life.
But what was I thinking? My mind was on....my upper lip! My gross, drippy, blotchy red yellow-scabbed upper lip. "Oh, Christ, Julia Child must be so grossed out by my upper lip," I thought. I was not in the moment at all.
I never did join the IACP, but I guess that I can be considered a food writer now, especially since I work in the marketing department on America's premier artisinal chocolate maker (Julia always was a fan of Scharffen Berger). The poison oak on my forehead isn't as bad now as my upper lip was then, and I'm not set to meet anyone famous anytime soon. But I could be.
posted by Lefty at 9:06 AM
2 Comments:
Man, heartwarming. On the down low. It made me feel stuff that i haven't in awhile. Respect.
I still can't figure out how you got poison oak?? We didn't climb through any bushes, or wrestle with any ligers or anything? Hey, it looks like somebody besides me, Bryan, Brown, or Matt has been reading your blog. Excited?
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