The Big Flail

This weird poster resonates with me right now. By Ddicksson [CC BY-SA 4.0 (], from Wikimedia Commons

About a month ago I finished grad school and now have an MFA in creative writing. For those of you who don’t remember the very first post on this blog, (which back then was the Klog and I should have kept that domain, but you know how that goes) it was the unreasonable goals for my impending 30th birthday. One goal was: take one college course. One. It took me three years to check off that goal. At that time I had 30 credits left to finish my undergrad. I had only one child then. It is now ten years later, and I have two kids, and I have a graduate degree, and I am 40.

But, this post is not about that road. This post is about what I am doing now, and that is flailing. Not failing, flailing. I have many things I want to do. I am awash with ideas. I am not sure which way to go. For example, I am nearly half-way through wiring a novel, this I will continue doing, for sure. But what else? I have a book of essays outlined, I have an idea for a website, that may end up taking the place of this blog. I have an interest in both Vlogging and podcasting, and can’t figure out which one to sink effort into. Should I be on YouTube? I don’t know. But I do know, I won’t be able to figure out what I like best and what I will be successful at without trying. So, I guess this post is more of an announcement and a warning, I plan to be throwing a lot of shit against the wall to see what will stick in upcoming months. Be patient with me. Be excited for me. This is a weird and fun time. And please, let me know what you think. Comments, DMs whatever.

If you’re interested, I am already experimenting a little over on Instagram with photos and stories. Also, follow my author page on FB, please and thank you.

Who Loves The Sun?

By Peabody Awards (Anthony Bourdain) [CC BY 2.0 (], via Wikimedia Commons

Anthony Bourdain killed himself today. I am devastated. Apparently millions of people are devastated too, because all of my social media feeds are a stream of grief over his suicide. The death part is hard, but the suicide part is harder and it makes me afraid.

My feeds have tributes from all over, the writers loved him, the foodies loved him, the TV world loved him. He was good at all these things, but before he was, he wasn’t. He was one of us. Washing dishes, slogging through countless shitty shifts waiting for a day off when he could sleep in, get high, do errands, get ready to do it all over again. But, he made it. Kitchen Confidential changed everything. He leveraged that fame into a way to follow his dream, and wrote Cook’s Tour. He was doing it. Traveling the world, eating food, writing about it. The way he wrote about life, and food, and work, was gritty, and frank, and dark, and funny. I devoured what he wrote, and listened to interviews where he talked about what books he liked to read, and read those too. Down and Out in Paris and London was one of his favorites, and soon became one of mine.

He ate at the finest restaurants in the world, but railed against food snobbery. Because, unlike many foodies, he understood that in many cases the people working in the kitchen could never afford to eat at the places where they worked. Sometimes, the best meal is a slice of deli ham and American cheese on a Hawaiian roll, squished flat and wrapped in foil. Sometimes, it’s a bowl of plain rice, because often its not about the food, is it? It’s about who made it for you, and why.

Tony Bourdain traveled and shared what he saw and what he learned with a huge audience. It’s telling that his show went from the Food Network to CNN. He was trying to make us less afraid of each other. He was trying to show us that at the core, we are all the same. We eat, we love our families, we try to chill out with our friends. And that is why I’m so scared.

I’m scared because, Tony Bourdain spent the last twenty-years or so traveling the world, embracing life, and trying to show us that it’s not so bad out here. We are all the same. There’s so much to see and do on this great planet. Another dish to try, another table to sit at, another story to write down. And still, he said, “I’m done. There’s nothing left.”  Days before his death he was posting images of food, friends, gorgeous scenery. I followed him on Instagram, and his stories were often simple panoramas of the view from his room, or from the window of a car driving through some city, or recently the inside of an elevator. They were always accompanied by music. The Ramones, or Velvet Underground or the New York Dolls.

But, you never can tell, can you? We have to do better. We have to love each other more. We have to check-in each other more. We have to see each other face to face and hear each other’s voices more. And, most importantly, we have to love ourselves more. Because ultimately, we are the ones that keep fighting, that get help, that keep going. And sometimes, keeping going means sucking it up and asking for help, and you have to do it. You have to. The stigma of asking for and receiving help is nothing compared to the hole in world left by the death of a bright light. And don’t wait. Don’t wait until you are making that final decision. Call someone, anyone, and tell them what’s going on.

I consider myself lucky, because I have never struggled with depression, and I hope I never do. And today, I will eat something shitty, and rail against the man, and listen to Velvet Underground, and think about how much an ex-junkie dishwasher changed the world.

If you need help. Get it. I still believe this place ain’t so bad. National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255

We loved you, Tony.

Title for this post is from this song:

Snails On My Face


Do not put snails on your face for real. No really. Do not. Picture via By Jürgen Schoner

I do not consider myself high-maintenance. As a mom and a writer, I often get so busy with deadlines and regular life, I don’t have time to take a shower every day. I wear yoga pants or jeans most of the time, and I only get my hair cut when my bangs are so long that I can’t see. In most of my Instagram photos I’m wearing a hat. Is it for fashion? No. To show off my knitting skills? Well, maybe a little. To hide my dirty, unbrushed hair? Yes. I’ve even decided against dying the grey that has started weave its way through my dark hair. I honestly don’t mind how it looks, although grey hairs are very unruly and have the texture of what my daughter refers to as, ‘downstairs hairs’ (you can figure that one out on your own, I think). In addition to thinking grey hair looks cool, I also recognize that I’m too busy/lazy/cheap to keep up with regular hair appointments, and I know the roots would grow out and look much worse than the grey.

I turned forty recently, and in the run up to my birthday, discovered, or re-discovered makeup. For all of my lack of care when it comes to my hair, I have found that I do care when it comes to my face. Which is to say, the deep wrinkle between my eyes and the very dark circles underneath – which you can read all about here. I‘ll admit to being borderline obsessed about my dark circles. And so, in true confession format, I will also own up to spending what some would consider an insane amount of money on face creams. No, I’m not going to tell you which ones or how much, but if I did, I know you’d give me a stern look and say, “KATE!” in a disapproving tone. Also? My wrinkles are not any better. However, my face is super smooth. Which is why, finally, after many recommendations from both friends and beauty bloggers  (who are not my friends but I wish they were) I just ordered not one, but two products that contain snail slime as an ingredient.

That’s right. Snail slime. Slime from snails. You know those little gleaming trails that come out of a snail’s foot/butt that kids call a snail trail? That stuff. Have I jumped the shark? Gone off my rocker? Drank too much of the proverbial Kool-Aid?  Yeah, it’s totally likely. But, this is supposed to get rid of my dark circles AND my wrinkles! I will look like I’m twenty but without Botox and will still be able to perform a range of facial expressions. The purchase of these snail-enhanced products lead me to wonder, would I, Kate Kastelein, put an actual live snail on my face? And I have come to the conclusion that yes, I probably would, provided it met the following criteria:

  • 100% assurance I will not come down with some horrible disease.
  • The snail is no bigger than a nickel.
  • 100% guarantee it will get rid of my forehead wrinkle and dark circles
  • They sell these snails at Sephora

I was explaining all of this to a friend and she immediately said, “Oh yeah, that’s a thing” and sent me a link to this article. Will I travel to Tokyo to let snails crawl on my face for $250? No. But  only because they don’t guarantee that my wrinkles and eye bags will be cured. Otherwise, I’d be on the next plane.



The Good Stuff

I don’t know what to post here anymore except posts about not knowing what to post here. Truthfully, I’m holding back on y’all. Anything I think is remotely publishable does not end up on this blog. Why? Because then I can’t sell it.  I feel like I have written about this. before? I have.

Will this blog ever find its way? It’s been 10 years. I could cry when I think about the other bloggers that started at the same time I did and have gone on to have huge careers. Biggest difference? They picked a topic and stuck to it.

Boo! Hiss! Self Pity! Anyhow, just thought I’d stick something over here because I haven’t written for a while.

Still Relevant?

The small pile of books I read this January.

I read three books in January. One I loved, one I hated, and one changed my life a bit. Let’s start off with the book I hated: The Witches of Eastwick.This is one of the most poorly written, misogynistic, and stereotypical books depicting women I have ever read. That’s right- ever. Bonus: It was blurbed by Margaret Atwood and other literary luminaries as being a masterpiece and ahead of its time. Really? It was written in 1984. Here are the problems I had with the book, and you tell me if it is in-line with something ahead of its time for the mid-1980s

The witches, Sukie, Alex, and Jane, were so poorly written that I had a very difficult time telling them apart, even when they were in conversation with each other on the phone. They are all artists; writer, musician, sculptor. They are all divorced. They all have children whom they loath. They are jealous of other women and each other and they gossip about constantly. Here is how we are supposed to tell them apart – they have different hair colors and one thinks she is fat.

These three women, who have magical powers (that are never explained) use those magical powers to…wait for it….no actually – what would YOU use magical powers for? Especially if you are a single mother of multiple children in a falling down house? (Yes, all of their houses are in serious disrepair. I’m assuming because NO MAN). Would you, I don’t know – manifest money or success or a clean house even? Ha! Not these women! They use their powers to  get out of awkward social situations, hurt/kill women they don’t like, and most often – to seduce mediocre married men in their town. Seriously, they aren’t even seducing hot married men. One is actually Joe the plumber and is described as balding, hairy, and slightly overweight. Also? He has six children.  What a catch!

Blah blah, a demonic/type dude comes to town, they have orgies – because obviously – OH! I forgot to mention, did you know that women have hard nipples and think about them  ALL THE TIME? Well, John Updike reminds us of this truth about every two pages. Anyhow, demonic man comes to town, he marries another women, witches get mad, kill her, and demon dude skips town with dead wife’s brother.

Guess how this book ends? With the women growing apart, and each manifesting a nice, unmarried, mediocre man who marries her and whisks her away.

Apparently this book is supposed to be a commentary on effects of Puritanical values on women, which I get. However, the depiction of women is SO off base and off putting it rendered the book nearly unreadable. Updike is so grossly incompetent in his understanding and description of women that it’s hard to justify this as anything but a male-gaze, mansplaining novel of what women really want which is –  to have sex with mediocre married men.  Two thumbs down.

BUT! It’s not a total loss! Because the movie, which came out in 1987 and starred Michelle Pfieffer, Cher, Susan Sarandon and Jack Nicholson, is FANTASTIC. It fixed everything that was wrong with the book. The women are distinct and different. They manifest the demon dude – Jack Nicholson who is the embodiment of what each of them want. Instead of harming an innocent women, in the end they kill HIM as he has been manipulating and harming them. Oh also? They love their kids.  AND? Instead of marrying random dudes and never seeing each other again, they move into a huge mansion TOGETHER with no dudes. See how that works? Highly recommend it if you want a fun, 80’s woman-power movie.

Look at this awesomeness. Via The Hollywood Reporter

Book reviews to be continued tomorrow!

Come See The Girl On The Flying Trapeze

Today I took a big, scary leap of faith. It was the last day at a job I love, which I decided to leave in order to go back to writing full-time. I’ve been a full-time writer before, and I know how hard it can be to make money at it, and yet, here I go again. I’m scared. But I’m really happy.

I did not come to this decision lightly, mostly because, as I said, I loved my job as a research associate at a non-profit. However, I’m in my last semester of an MFA program at the University of Southern Maine, and my fiction has grown into something that I thought was OK into something I am proud of and think is pretty great. I want to keep doing it, and do more. I also have two children. Amazing children. Over the past two years people have asked me a lot, how do you do it? I wrote a blog post about it. But, if I want to devote the amount of time to writing as I need to in order to make a good solid go of it, something had to give. I talked to my incredibly supportive husband and he encouraged me to go for it. It’s going to be a little tight financially, but we will be OK.

While talking to one of my colleagues about it, she had a great analogy for times like this in our lives – it’s like being a trapeze artist. You are standing at the top of the pole and the bar is swinging your way. You can either make a jump for it and hope you catch the bar, or you can wait and hope it comes back your way again. It might not. I just turned 40. I fear that if I don’t jump now, I never will. So, here it goes. I’m making a jump for it.

Expect big things from me.

Be Unreasonable With Me!

My goals are crazy, like my bangs in this photo.

Hey! It’s that time of year again, time for the 11th annual list of Unreasonable Goals. I’ll be 40 in 6 days, so as you may have guessed, this year is crazier and more unreasonable than ever! New twist- as part of my (now 40 goals) for the year, I included 12, 30 day challenges. Here’s how I approach 30 Day Challenges – and the Unreasonable Goals in general – I do my best. Life happens, sometimes your kid pukes on you at 5am and you forget to meditate. This year I’m ecstatic to have a 55% achievement rate. Not bad, considering this list is bananas! I encourage you to play along with me, and just try your best. No judging if you only make it 3 days. Here’s my plan for 30 day challenges with the months I plan on doing them so you can join in if you want:

January – 30 Days of Meditation
February- 30 Days of Yoga
March- 30 Days of Diet
April- 30 Days of Walking
May- 30 Days of Knitting
June- 30 Days of Poems
July- 30 Days of Getting Up With Alarm
August-30 Days of Cleaning Out
September-30 Days of Black and White Photos
October-30 Days of Art
November-30 Days of Writing
December-30 Days of Gratitude List

I chose the activities for each month based on my schedule, and what I know I can handle that month. For example, I’m attending my 10-day MFA residency in January, and although Yoga With Adrienne starts her annual (and my favorite) 30-day-yoga challenge on Jan 1, I know there’s no possible way I will be able to stick with it. I am not about setting myself up for failure. However, I know I can find a few minutes each day to meditate, so that’s what I’m starting the year with. I use the inspiration timer app, and really enjoy it. There are a zillion guided meditations to chose from, but you can also use the timer function alone. It also keeps track of how many days you meditate.

Yes, I’m still off Facebook, and am really hoping that this blog can survive without it. One of the reasons I set up this year’s unreasonable goals to invite participation and discussion is that I’m hoping to create a little community here and on instagram. If you are playing along, or have your own crazy goals for the year use #2018unreasonablegoals and let’s get a little party started!

I’ve created a tab at the top of the page for my 2018 Unreasonable Goals so you can check out the rest of them. This year I tried a new google doc feature and created a to-do style checklist for all the books I plan to read (more on that list later). I’m looking forward to a crazy, fun, and productive year.

Poof! I Disappeared!

I ended up deleting my Facebook account earlier than I planned. I’ve had a really hard time with Facebook since I signed up for it many years ago. I am exactly the type of person it’s terrible for. I love gossip, and I also love helping people. I easily get sucked into dramas or giving my opinion or advice – and even when it’s asked for – does anyone really want it? Will I really change the mind of the racist man whom was once my 7th grade boyfriend? No. Do I need to be constantly embarrassed and dismayed by the ignorant Trump supporting posts by my family? No. Do I need the constant bombardment of collective dismay and bad news posted all day by people I love and admire? Nope. The thing is, I’ve known all this for years. What it took for me to finally understand just how gross social media is, was a good old-fashioned mean girl.

Thing is, I’ve found it easy to allow the negativity wash over me. The cliche frog in the boiling water. So many #Metoo – none of which I was surprised about – but each like a tiny knife to the heart nonetheless, they became a blur. Mass shootings, murdered children, gofundme for basic medical care, Nazi rallies, and don’t get me started on 45. Yes, most of it is rehashing of news, but an endless stream with endless analysis all day. Still, this wasn’t enough to get me to understand how harmful it was to my brain. There are definite bright spots to Facebook, like the ability to keep in touch with people that I wouldn’t be able to otherwise. And there are lots of funny things too. But all in all, it was a time suck that wasn’t good for me, and a bad habit.

Finally, last week, I finally had enough when, on a rather benign post about a local grocery store closing, a woman called me a bitch. Look, I’ll be 40 in a few days, I’ve been called a bitch many times, and honestly there are times when I deserved it. But this was different. I’d corrected this woman on some false information and asked her not to spread rumors, since I’d just spoken to the owner. She countered by calling me a bitch. I was astounded. There was nothing unkind or rude about what I said. Other people had also corrected her. I told her she was out of line, and it escalated from there. Basically, she continued to hurl insults at me in a weird and unhinged way. But, here’s the thing. This woman had publicly insulted and spread rumors about me before. A few years ago our neighbors sold their house to someone who turned it into a massive dog kennel. Our town let this happen with no oversight or regulation. Despite attending numerous meetings and trying to work things out – basically to get minimum business regulations which the town didn’t have because they said a kennel is agriculture – three town officials told us to get a lawyer. We did. The local paper published a story about it, because it went to court. The owner of the kennel, and this other woman took to spreading rumors about myself and my husband. It got pretty nasty. We ended up selling the house and moving. Anyhow, I reveal all of this because the woman, in this exchange on Facebook claimed not to know me. I had seen her a few times around town and at the kids’ school, and had decided to let it all go and had moved on. However, this exchange brought back a tidal wave of anger and pain. When I reminded her that she did, in fact, know me- by cutting and pasting her nasty comments about me that she’d posted on the local paper’s website – she responded by another raft of insults, claiming not to remember that either, and blocking me. I admit, this is all very small town and juvenile. But it’s what finally made me realize just how nasty Facebook can be. I deleted my account that day.

I’ve thought about this a lot. Either she’s lying and remembers me, or she’s not lying and she  doesn’t remember saying nasty things and spreading rumors. Frankly, from the private messages I received after the exchange from people that know her and are ‘friends’ with her, this is pretty regular behavior, so either explanation could be true. Cheryl Strayed frequently mentions her mother’s advice to, “put yourself in the way of beauty”. For me, Facebook was putting myself in the way of nastiness. Yes, some people are just sad an nasty. I am old enough to know this. That doesn’t mean I need to put myself in their way as an easy target.

I haven’t gone cold turkey on social media, but nothing else had the hold or made me feel as bad as Facebook. I’m trying to figure out what this will mean for my blog and promoting books. I’m not alone either. Almost every day I talk to someone else who has deleted their account. I’m already happier. I wonder how I’ll feel in a year?

I Challenge You!

I’ve started early on my Unreasonable Goals list for 2018.  I don’t know if it’s the new moon, or turning 40, or just my current vibe, but I’ve been thinking a lot about my goals and priorities. What is serving me and what is not. I may have mentioned this before, but on the little Twitter description about me it says: Mom, wife, writer, knitter, cooker, reader, eater. This may seem like a simple list, but I put a lot of thought into it at the time. This list is how I think of myself in order of importance. The things that mean the most to me. They have shifted focus a bit lately, as I’ve worked on my MFA, writer has taken up a lot of my time. That doesn’t mean that it’s more important, however.

This year I want to focus more on family, bring it to the front. However, I also have some pretty ambitious goals for myself as a writer, including graduating this July! I want to spend more quality time doing things I enjoy with people I enjoy. I have decided to attempt two, big for me, challenges for the coming year. No shopping and No Facebook.

Recently, I read the essay My Year of No Shopping by Ann Patchett.  It resonated with me deeply, and I’ve decided to design a similar challenge for myself. I haven’t quite worked out all the details, but I am looking forward to freeing up time and money.

I have posted before about giving up FB  and have yet to do it. One reason is that it keeps me connected with friends easily. However, It eats up a lot of my time. I find myself endlessly scrolling through my news feed often. It depresses me. So many good people are so upset by our current president and the state of the world in general – I am too- but do I need to read about it all day? Do I need everyone’s opinion on every little thing all the time, and do I need to respond to it? Nope. I recently discovered that you can deactivate your account, but still leave the messenger active – which solves the problem of friends staying in contact. I also will be able to update my professional page via my website. i subscribe to the NYT, checking headlines once a day is enough. I’m keeping Instagram because it’s fun and non-depressing. I think this is a good compromise.

I’m also interested in finding out if anyone else is willing to take up these 2 challenges with me? Anyone in on no shopping and no Facebook for a year? Maybe I could invite some guest bloggers to this page. Create a instagram hashtag. Let me know!



If I had Known

Sometimes I write poems. I almost never share them.

If I Had Known

If I had known
that the last time we spoke
would be The Last Time We Spoke,
I wouldn’t have changed a word.
I said.
Don’t do this,
I said.
Think of your kids,
I said.
You don’t have to go,
I said.
I said.