Home Life Laurie Nigro The Tasmanian Devil, unleashed

The Tasmanian Devil, unleashed

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Sometimes life isn’t funny. Sometimes, even when you’re trying, even when you think you’re on the right track, life turns around and kicks you in the arse. As I was skidding across my face this week, I thought about the flippant way that life gives and then takes away.

I wondered about all the little inspirational phrases that get tossed at people who are struggling, “God doesn’t give you more then you can handle,” “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” “This too, shall pass,” “When life hands you lemons, make lemonade,” and so on.

There have been times in my life when each of these has struck a chord and helped me move forward. But for the most part, I just want to throw those damn lemons right back in life’s stupid, mocking face.

Eventually, I got up and brushed myself off. I’m not a wallower, so I put on my big girl panties and looked for something to beat the hell out of.

There are so many ways to deal with adversity. Some feel it as sorrow, and grieve over their difficulties. Others ignore it and soldier on, pushing through with grim resolve. Me, I get mad, really, really mad.

Except I learned a very long time ago that my anger isn’t anyone else’s problem. It doesn’t serve anyone, least of all the ones I love most, to lay that anger on them and expect them to know what to do with it, or, to expect them to forgive me for misplacing it, and all of its ugliness, in their laps.

My anger is raw and bitter. It’s mean and selfish. It doesn’t apologize and it doesn’t forgive. It’s an unwieldy beast that scares the hell out of the unfortunate few who have been a witness to it’s wrath.

So it’s good that I’ve developed outlets that preserve my sanity, as well as the relationships around me. I’m like my own anger management class.

I’m not a weepy woman. In fact, my own tears make me angrier, not exactly the therapeutic balm I’m looking for. However, screaming works wonders. Unfortunately, I’ve found that this method is quite alarming, to everyone. And since I don’t want my neighbors to think I’m being murdered (or murdering), I’ve had to modify this therapy.

Music definitely soothes the savage beast. Though I am a God-awful singer, in lieu of blood curdling screaming, I sing. Fortunately for everyone, I make the music really loud, to drown out my sing along. This method doesn’t work when anyone is home, though. It seems that my children still have their full range of hearing. I suppose they haven’t had years of concerts and bar noise to break down some of those auditory pathways. But as soon as the floorboards start to vibrate, the both of them get all, “Mom, my ears are bleeding!” I swear, I’m raising whiners.

They don’t complain when I kick box, so that’s usually a good alternative. There is something so delicious and cathartic about imagining an adversary standing in front of me as I throw a left hook with everything I’ve got. The only thing missing is the satisfying “thwap” felt when making contact, but I haven’t found that to be enough of a justification to hang a heavy bag in the middle of my family room. Thankfully, I have a vivid imagination.

The other way I deal with unchecked anger is by diving into a project and drowning there. Sometimes, the result is a cleaning binge. Usually, everyone is happy about this project. I don’t ask them to help (actually, I forbid it) and when I’m done, the results are remarkable. As long as they ask no questions about the numerous garbage bags at the curb, it’s all good.

However, everyone’s favorite project that I take on with a vengeance involves nearly every dish in the house, the quiet hum of the oven and most of the eggs. When I’m feeling out of control and powerless, I let loose in the kitchen.

I turn into a muffin-making machine. I don’t know why it’s muffins instead of any other baked good, but there is almost always several dozen muffins sitting on the cooling rack when I’m done.

Then I start with the comfort food. This time around, I employed several pounds of cheese, two different types of potatoes, a smidgeon of bacon and various applications of eggs.

I blasted the music, cleared off the counters and put my anger into beating, whipping and mashing. When it was all over, the dishwasher had been through two cycles, the cooling racks were stacked high and full, the house smelled freaking awesome and the fridge was packed. I felt more in control. I had done something, made myself useful. And balance was, at least temporarily, restored to my little universe.

One of the easiest and most satisfying comfort foods is banana bread (or at my house, muffins). Baking banana overwhelms my olfactory system and instantly makes me feel better. I don’t even have to eat one (and usually don’t) to reap the calming benefits of this wonder food. And the best part is how easy they are to make.

A few years back, I stumbled upon this awesome cookbook from 1971. Natural Food Cookery by Eleanor Levitt is a modern hippie’s dream come true. It even has a gold-tone 70s cover, to complete the experience. She has the simplest, delicious recipe she calls “Bride’s Banana Bread.” I strongly suggest you try it.

1 cup raw sugar
1/2 cup butter
2 eggs
3 ripe bananas, well mashed
1 teaspoon soda
1 1/2 cups whole grain flour (I used gluten-free)
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup broken nut meats or sunflower seeds (optional)

Cream sugar and butter. Add eggs and other ingredients. Put into greased loaf pan. Bake at 350 degrees for one hour or until done. Cool before slicing. Makes one loaf. For muffins, shorten time to about 25 minutes. Makes 12 muffins.

What’s your remedy for unchecked rage? I’d love to add it to my arsenal. Send it over to laurie@riverheadlocal.com.

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Laurie Nigro
Laurie is the mother of two biological children and one husband and the caretaker of a menagerie of animals. Laurie is passionate about frugal, natural living. She was recognized by the L.I. Press Club with a “best humor column” award in 2016. Email Laurie