Today in church during our Young Women class (Aside: is it Young Women's class? I never know how to tense this correctly. If the name of the organization is Young Women, then shouldn't it just be Young Women class? After all, we don't says Boy Scouts' meeting. We just say "Boy Scouts." Maybe the confusion comes from the fact that they are both a lower case group of young women and part of an organization called Young Women. End aside.) the teacher was conducting a lesson on Making Your House a Home. A concept which is very broad and involves all kinds of things. We discussed spiritual, emotional, physical environments as well as all kinds of craftiness. Of course.
Anyway, during one part of the lesson, she read a quote from somebody who had spent some time in Holland and they commented on how welcoming each home looked, with its large glass windowpanes accented only with fresh curtains and a windowboxes filled with bright geraniums. The person being quoted (circa 1967!) also noted that the homes were often given a name. These names carried such cheery designations as Sunny Corner, Sunbeam, Sun Cottage, Peace Haven, Tranquility. She then asked the girls to imagine what their own dream home looked and felt like and what it might be called.
I remembered the pictures of the houses I diligently cut out of Better Homes and Gardens each month when I was a kids, as well as the few I designed myself during the I-want-to-be-an-architect phase. (That was right before I realized I had zero art talent.) Spiral staircases. Three story great rooms. Dens with 20 feet stone fireplaces. Kitchens with huge butcher-block islands under shiny copper pots and amazing smells. Walk in pantries filled delicious, decadent things to eat. Lofts where children play cheerfully together and always put their toys away into bright, color coded bins. Two story libraries with sliding ladders along rich, mahogany book shelves. A laundry room with benches and hooks and shoe cubbies and a chute from the second story. . . you know, all the normal stuff people dream about. And then my mind flashed to my own home and its barely organized chaos, tiny bedroom and ever-cluttered spaces with my three little Jedi constantly underfoot and in my ears. My mind drifted as the teacher got feedback from the girls and then she asked, "What name would you give your home now?"
"Death Star."
Titters on the back row from the girls who have been brave enough to babysit here.
Oh? Did I say that out loud? Oops.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Stars Are People Too. Sort Of.
Last Friday Night, Plantboy and I watched the Hope For Haiti Telethon. The DVR has kept awards shows from being nearly as much fun as they used to be, as now we skip the awful performances instead of watching purely for mock value. Still, now and then we can't resist and we tuned in real-time to see who turned up at George Clooney's request (Oh! Pick me!), and if the iTunes $7.99 album price was really going to be worth another avenue for donating to organizations who are helping in the aftermath of the Haitian earthquake.
Of course you understand that any snark that follows here is not meant in any way to make light of the horrors still being experienced daily in Port Au Prince and surrounding areas. And I actually think that this kind of benefit concert-thing is one of the best uses of star power/influence/world domination/money. Still, it doesn't change the fact that when famous people get together, their self-importance borders on the ridiculous. Scratch that. It doesn't BORDER on ridiculous. It sets up camp right in the middle of Ridiculous. Or maybe permanent settlements.
If you missed the show, even better. You will come with no pre-conceived opinions and only listen to mine. (And so my own plan for world domination gains traction.)
And speaking of world domination, we should perhaps address Taylor Swift first. Nearly everybody wore black or gray or some variation on being appropriately somber. Ms. Swift wore white. I think she was adorable, and white can also be a color of mourning as well as hope. I liked it. She did a cool cover of a song by an alternative band, which is very interesting. Nothing to make fun of here, though Plantboy did say, "Do you think she ever actually eats?"
All right, all right, perhaps I should have saved the best for last, but I just couldn't help it. Kid Rock, Sheryl Crow and Keith Urban's cover of "Lean on Me" was just so amazing. Besides the fact that each of these singers has a fantastic voice, the harmony was sublime. Loved it. Worth the cost of the whole album, this, though each song is available on its own, too. And yet, as wonderful as it was, I wish the men had taken cue from Ms. Crow and buttoned their shirts up (even your snazzy, snappy, leather shirt Keith. That tatoo on your chest should be for Nicole's eyes only, if you know what I mean.) And who else thinks that Kid Rock might be bald?
While some stars are hairless, others are plainly suffering from a surfeit of hair. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad Brad showed. I really expected he and the Angester to be down at the epicenter trying to adopt Haitian quintuplets. Maybe they wouldn't let him into the country on account of the creatures that he might be transporting in his face. Is this for a movie? Or is he making kind of a statement? And if it is a movie, I sat through three hours of him as an old man last year, I really don't think I could sit through one where he sports this disgusting mass this year. Maybe he grew the beard to distract the audience from that hat. Isn't he supposed to be cute? Honestly, what good IS Brad Pitt if he isn't cute?
I think this picture isn't actually from the performance as Mr. Timberlake sat at the piano the whole time. The song he sang, "Halleluja" has actually gotten the most downloads off iTunes. I think it is because this song has never before been released singly on iTunes--you can only buy it as part of an album or it is not available (except as an American Idol snippet from a few years ago), and let's face it, the song is awesome. Even if, I'm sorry to say, Justin, your fedora is not.
In an unrelated note, Justin T. looks a lot like my little brother, who I think is becoming a doctor, but maybe he has been tricking us all these years.
Ms. Roberts, you are just so cute, and though your hair is expertly colored, I really miss your red locks. (You too, Nicole. Why exactly DO women want to be blond?) I halfway wanted to call the telethon so that I could talk with Julia, but then I thought, "What are the odds?" When she gave her speech, she gave the horsey smile a rest and buttoned up that innocent looking coat only to reveal that the line of buttons was totally crooked. Not a pea coat, per se, but the coat definitely looked like something that might have come out of my 9th grade sewing class. Her hair was so disheveled it looked like she'd spent the afternoon in a wind tunnel. Plantboy said, "Oooo, boy, I don't think she went to wardrobe OR the wigmaster before getting on camera."
"Hello, hello. No we don't want your donation. You're Jewish. Isn't this somehow your fault?" Was that over the top? I'm sorry. I used to really like Mel Gibson, but in the last few years I've decided that he is just crazy as a loon. Again, isn't Mel supposed to be good looking? One day you wake up and realize that all of this once-hunky movie stars are older than your parents and it makes you weep.
Do you remember that really annoying shampoo commercial from some years ago wherein the sexy hair model said, "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful?" And you were thinking, "I don't hate you because you are beautiful; I hate you because you are stupid." Okay, I have to own it. I hate these women because they are beautiful. *Grrrrr* All women are NOT created equal.
Sing it Coldplay. But give Brad his hat back when you are finished. His beard is lonely.
Yeah, she was awesome doing this song, even if my feeling toward her as a performer has never been anything but lukewarm. We knew a guy in Texas who went to high school with her in Pennsylvania. Every story he told about her contradicted the life story image her publicists have carefully constructed. Oh, and her hair was nearly black. And while nobody should be surprised to learn that shiny white is not an actual hair color, I'm just sayin' that Christina must have her roots done EVERY DAY.
I know that in real life these two are engaged, but it is just so weird to see Jim without Pam, and it is really hard for me to see laid-back midwestern guy with posh British girl. Still they look happy. I bet it lasts . . . . um . . . . four years. Practically an eternity in Hollywood terms.
Sting. Oh, Sting. How I love the Police. Which haven't been around since the 80's. And oh, Sting. How you keep coming back. If You Love Someone Set Them Free was good. Oh! And Fields of Gold takes me back to many spring time afternoons during my senior year of high school. Then there was that song they put on a car commercial a few years ago. Then there was the fiasco that was Friday night. We tried and tried to listen. You are STING after all, and it was a Police song. After about two very confusing and discordant minutes Plantboy said, "You know, his lyrics are really repetitive." Moments pass and then, "REALLY repetitive." We waited and waited while you did your version of wailing on your guitar and then one of us said (it is hard to remember; it may have been simultaneous), "This just really sucks."
When I put in a google image search for "Hope for Haiti Telethon" half of the first ten million hits (roughly) came back with the tortured and brooding vampire boy. Before your heart stops beating, no, Pattycakes refrained from singing. Thank whatever deity pleases you most here. He did, however talk. No, mumble. As if he wasn't hard enough to understand before (even in his native British), he has now grown a beard the size of a small hedgehog, the hair from his back finally winning the war for his face. The jury is still out if the beard is just giving up on shaving every day (this is probably 2-3 days' stubble for Sir Robert), or if his cameo role in New Moon made him realize that most girls prefer werewolves.
And is it ironic that in the books Edward is always referred to as marble smooth and Jacob is the big, hairy werewolf, when in person, these two characters are exactly the opposite? Taylor Lautner couldn't grow hair on his face if Bella's life depended on it.
Though she didn't during her speech on Friday night, apparently Nicole Kidman really CAN smile. But honestly, look who she is sitting with, what's not to smile about? Did I mention that Keith Urban performed? In a black, leather, snappy shirt? I wonder if he and Taylor Lautner see the same pluckist. (That is like a stylist for hair removal.)
And another. How did this one sneak in? I think this is from when he stole the show at last year's Idol finale.
"Want a beer, Keith?"
"No thanks Kid, I'm a recovering alcoholic."
"Cool. I'm just the regular kind of alcoholic."
Madonna only comes out at night. She is terrified of what the sun will do to her face. As Plantboy says, "She DOES take good care of herself."
And as Science Teacher Mommy says, "How much botox can one woman have before permanently paralyzing her face?" Or, "How much plastic surgery do you get before they just automatically enroll you in the witness protection program?"
Is that a stogie? Nice job Leo. What are you like, 60? He looks less like a Hollywood actor and more like someone on Saturday Night Live playing a Hollywood actor.
Another one? It is like somebody took over my computer and just started clipping and posting pictures of Keith Urban. Darn it.
Bono, dude, I love you man, but could you please offer some sort of explanation for why you suddenly cropped up ten years ago with sunglasses glued to your face? Everywhere?
I like me some bangs. So much, in fact, that I cut some into my own hair about a year ago. It was a great move and I have no regrets. I'm really liking Beyonce's bangs. But I wonder if she is? She kept her eyes closed during her entire song and I think it was because her bangs were in her eyes. She also sang one of those songs that clearly had the word Haiti inserted into older lyrics in order to create a last minute, "unique" song, that she wouldn't have to learn. It sounded like it was written in the limo on the way to the studio. Still, she sounded great and I'm really glad she didn't opt for the red lingerie in public look. Which she has been known to do.
What is the deal with Anderson Cooper? Is he cute or just creepy looking? Is he old or young? Is he buff or geeky? Is he human or a robot? Liberal or factual?
This signature performance of the night was pretty good. I thought they didn't have Bono's mic turned up nearly high enough, though the sound of this song, with The Edge on guitar, was clearly very U2. Rihanna sang very well, considering how embarrassed she must have been to have forgotten her pants. I don't think she understood that just because you wear black doesn't mean you have actually toned down your look. When Bono held her hand at the end of their song, he started getting really into it and raised her arm slightly. I was convinced there was going to be a major wardrobe malfunction.
Now onto how I spent the rest of the weekend.
Saturday night I put together a meal that will knock your socks off and into the dryer. The preparation is relatively easy, but the result surpasses anything you could buy in a restaurant, if you could even find a meal like this anywhere. Bookmark this page and when you grocery shop before Valentine's Day, just keep in mind this sweet spread. No honey for Valentine's Day? No problem. Just gather your girlfriends close and indulge in this goodness together. You'll be too happy to care. But if the last scenario is the case, I highly recommend the chocolate dessert.
I may have posted one or two of these recipes before. My apologies.
Your preparation for the Meal of the Month needs to start the night before. Yes, I know it sound ludicrous, but it will be worth it, trust me. The preparations here are for four people.
Lemon-Rosemary Artisan Bread
Before going to bed the night before you will do the actual cooking for this dinner, combine three cups of all purpose flour, 1/2 tsp. of active, dry yeast, tsp of sugar, 1 3/4 tsp salt, 2 tsp chopped fresh rosemary and 2 tsp chopped lemon zest in a bowl. Stir in 1 3/4 cup warm water until the dough is shaggy and sticky. Let it raise in a lightly greased bowl, covered with plastic wrap for 18 hours. That is NOT a typo. We'll get back to the bread later.
Rosemary Chicken
Also before going to bed, place 4 raw chicken breasts in a pan that can be covered. Drizzle with olive oil, balsamic vinegar, juice from two lemons, garlic powder, chopped fresh rosemary and black pepper. Do you want specific amounts? Sorry. I also can't tell you to do it "to taste" because I am certainly not going to advocate eating raw chicken. Trust me, this is hard to mess up. If you balsamic vinegar is young, don't use as much because it tastes vinegar-y. If it is older, it will be sweeter and had more tangy richness and you can be a little bit more generous. (Note: Marinades with acid in them, like lime, lemon or vinegar can do a great job of tenderizing your meat if they are given ample time to sit on them.)
With about two hours to go before you are going to eat, turn your bread dough out on to a surface that is lightly floured and dusted with cornmeal. Do NOT knead, just shape it. I like to cook mine on a baking stone, though many similar recipes tell you to use a Dutch oven of some kind. I also like to divide my loaf in half and shape them long and skinny--somewhere between a baguette and a loaf. This makes them cook faster and easier to limit ourselves to just eating half the recipe in a single sitting. Place loaves (or loaf) on the the cooking surface, Cover with the plastic for another 90 minutes
Now you are going to make your first side dish--Cindy's Perfect Pasta Salad. This a shout out to my friend who gave me the recipe. She said this serves eight, but who is she kidding?
Boil 2 cups small pasta until tender. Drain and run with cold water. Combine 2 chopped large ripe tomatoes (or a pint of grape tomatoes), 1 diced red pepper, 1 small, slivered purple onion (or 4 green onions), 3/4 cup fresh cilantro (the ingredient that makes this dish unusual and wonderful), 1 large cucumber chunked up, and 1 can of black olives in a large bowl. In a small bowl combine 4 ounces of feta with 2 cloves crushed garlic, 1 1/2 Tbsp dried oregano and 2 Tbs fresh lemon juice. Whisk in a tbsp of olive oil until just blended. You still want much of the feta to be chunky. Pour over the salad and stir in the cooked pasta. Refrigerate.
This picture isn't exactly right, but it is close. We ate ours too fast for me to remember to photograph it. Imagine pasta where the tofu is.
Still with me? Heat up your oven to 400 degrees and turn on the grill. Bake two loaves for about 27 minutes--I like mine a little less dark and crusty than the picture below. A large loaf will take closer to 40 minutes.
While your bread is cooking, throw the chicken on the grill and steam some asparagus. (Stir-fried green beans and carrots would work too if your man resists asparagus the way mine does.) Pull the chicken off the grill and tent some foil over it if you don't quite have your table set yet.
Just before serving the asparagus, saute a couple of tablespoons of butter with a handful of pinenuts until golden brown. Pour them over your artfully arranged asparagus spears and squeeze the juice of a lemon over the top. Serve immediately.
For dessert, you should serve chocolate lava cake--which I gave the recipe for last year around Valentine's Day,
or you could make trifle. Kanaboke emailed me for my thoughts on trifle earlier this week and it got me thinking what a lovely contribution such a dessert would be to this meal. So here is Trifle: Science Teacher Mommy Style. (Yes, I know I lived in Australia for a year and a half, but don't kid yourself, this is the all-American version as they used Jell-O in Oz. I avoid Jell-O every chance I get.)
You need four ingredients for my trifle:
Pound Cake
Family Sized Vanilla Pudding Mix
Quart of heavy whipping cream
Mixed berries (Fresh if you have them. Frozen in you must.)
Cut your pound cake into cubes and set aside. Make your vanilla pudding with a mixer, using half milk and half cream. Put the milk in first until the pudding is all blended in and then add the cream slowly while you continue whipping. It will be super rich and fluffy. It doesn't soak into the cake as much this way and has more of a mousse-like texture. Actually, you should probably make two boxes worth, you want some left over for the trifle when you are done licking the spoons. Whip up a cup and a half of cream with just enough powdered sugar to barely sweeten. The pudding makes this plenty sweet, you want the cream to make it rich.
In a pretty glass bowl--a trifle bowl if you are awesome like that--layer cubed cake pieces on the bottom with pudding on top. Add a layer of berries then whipped cream. Repeat at least once (depending on the size of your dish and the number of people you are serving) and finish with the whipped cream layer. I like to smooth my creamy layers so that the end result is flat instead of lumpy and holds together a little bit better when you dish it out. Garnish with berries.
Die happy.
Of course you understand that any snark that follows here is not meant in any way to make light of the horrors still being experienced daily in Port Au Prince and surrounding areas. And I actually think that this kind of benefit concert-thing is one of the best uses of star power/influence/world domination/money. Still, it doesn't change the fact that when famous people get together, their self-importance borders on the ridiculous. Scratch that. It doesn't BORDER on ridiculous. It sets up camp right in the middle of Ridiculous. Or maybe permanent settlements.
If you missed the show, even better. You will come with no pre-conceived opinions and only listen to mine. (And so my own plan for world domination gains traction.)
And speaking of world domination, we should perhaps address Taylor Swift first. Nearly everybody wore black or gray or some variation on being appropriately somber. Ms. Swift wore white. I think she was adorable, and white can also be a color of mourning as well as hope. I liked it. She did a cool cover of a song by an alternative band, which is very interesting. Nothing to make fun of here, though Plantboy did say, "Do you think she ever actually eats?"
All right, all right, perhaps I should have saved the best for last, but I just couldn't help it. Kid Rock, Sheryl Crow and Keith Urban's cover of "Lean on Me" was just so amazing. Besides the fact that each of these singers has a fantastic voice, the harmony was sublime. Loved it. Worth the cost of the whole album, this, though each song is available on its own, too. And yet, as wonderful as it was, I wish the men had taken cue from Ms. Crow and buttoned their shirts up (even your snazzy, snappy, leather shirt Keith. That tatoo on your chest should be for Nicole's eyes only, if you know what I mean.) And who else thinks that Kid Rock might be bald?
While some stars are hairless, others are plainly suffering from a surfeit of hair. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad Brad showed. I really expected he and the Angester to be down at the epicenter trying to adopt Haitian quintuplets. Maybe they wouldn't let him into the country on account of the creatures that he might be transporting in his face. Is this for a movie? Or is he making kind of a statement? And if it is a movie, I sat through three hours of him as an old man last year, I really don't think I could sit through one where he sports this disgusting mass this year. Maybe he grew the beard to distract the audience from that hat. Isn't he supposed to be cute? Honestly, what good IS Brad Pitt if he isn't cute?
I think this picture isn't actually from the performance as Mr. Timberlake sat at the piano the whole time. The song he sang, "Halleluja" has actually gotten the most downloads off iTunes. I think it is because this song has never before been released singly on iTunes--you can only buy it as part of an album or it is not available (except as an American Idol snippet from a few years ago), and let's face it, the song is awesome. Even if, I'm sorry to say, Justin, your fedora is not.
In an unrelated note, Justin T. looks a lot like my little brother, who I think is becoming a doctor, but maybe he has been tricking us all these years.
Ms. Roberts, you are just so cute, and though your hair is expertly colored, I really miss your red locks. (You too, Nicole. Why exactly DO women want to be blond?) I halfway wanted to call the telethon so that I could talk with Julia, but then I thought, "What are the odds?" When she gave her speech, she gave the horsey smile a rest and buttoned up that innocent looking coat only to reveal that the line of buttons was totally crooked. Not a pea coat, per se, but the coat definitely looked like something that might have come out of my 9th grade sewing class. Her hair was so disheveled it looked like she'd spent the afternoon in a wind tunnel. Plantboy said, "Oooo, boy, I don't think she went to wardrobe OR the wigmaster before getting on camera."
"Hello, hello. No we don't want your donation. You're Jewish. Isn't this somehow your fault?" Was that over the top? I'm sorry. I used to really like Mel Gibson, but in the last few years I've decided that he is just crazy as a loon. Again, isn't Mel supposed to be good looking? One day you wake up and realize that all of this once-hunky movie stars are older than your parents and it makes you weep.
Do you remember that really annoying shampoo commercial from some years ago wherein the sexy hair model said, "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful?" And you were thinking, "I don't hate you because you are beautiful; I hate you because you are stupid." Okay, I have to own it. I hate these women because they are beautiful. *Grrrrr* All women are NOT created equal.
Sing it Coldplay. But give Brad his hat back when you are finished. His beard is lonely.
Yeah, she was awesome doing this song, even if my feeling toward her as a performer has never been anything but lukewarm. We knew a guy in Texas who went to high school with her in Pennsylvania. Every story he told about her contradicted the life story image her publicists have carefully constructed. Oh, and her hair was nearly black. And while nobody should be surprised to learn that shiny white is not an actual hair color, I'm just sayin' that Christina must have her roots done EVERY DAY.
I know that in real life these two are engaged, but it is just so weird to see Jim without Pam, and it is really hard for me to see laid-back midwestern guy with posh British girl. Still they look happy. I bet it lasts . . . . um . . . . four years. Practically an eternity in Hollywood terms.
Sting. Oh, Sting. How I love the Police. Which haven't been around since the 80's. And oh, Sting. How you keep coming back. If You Love Someone Set Them Free was good. Oh! And Fields of Gold takes me back to many spring time afternoons during my senior year of high school. Then there was that song they put on a car commercial a few years ago. Then there was the fiasco that was Friday night. We tried and tried to listen. You are STING after all, and it was a Police song. After about two very confusing and discordant minutes Plantboy said, "You know, his lyrics are really repetitive." Moments pass and then, "REALLY repetitive." We waited and waited while you did your version of wailing on your guitar and then one of us said (it is hard to remember; it may have been simultaneous), "This just really sucks."
When I put in a google image search for "Hope for Haiti Telethon" half of the first ten million hits (roughly) came back with the tortured and brooding vampire boy. Before your heart stops beating, no, Pattycakes refrained from singing. Thank whatever deity pleases you most here. He did, however talk. No, mumble. As if he wasn't hard enough to understand before (even in his native British), he has now grown a beard the size of a small hedgehog, the hair from his back finally winning the war for his face. The jury is still out if the beard is just giving up on shaving every day (this is probably 2-3 days' stubble for Sir Robert), or if his cameo role in New Moon made him realize that most girls prefer werewolves.
And is it ironic that in the books Edward is always referred to as marble smooth and Jacob is the big, hairy werewolf, when in person, these two characters are exactly the opposite? Taylor Lautner couldn't grow hair on his face if Bella's life depended on it.
Though she didn't during her speech on Friday night, apparently Nicole Kidman really CAN smile. But honestly, look who she is sitting with, what's not to smile about? Did I mention that Keith Urban performed? In a black, leather, snappy shirt? I wonder if he and Taylor Lautner see the same pluckist. (That is like a stylist for hair removal.)
And another. How did this one sneak in? I think this is from when he stole the show at last year's Idol finale.
"Want a beer, Keith?""No thanks Kid, I'm a recovering alcoholic."
"Cool. I'm just the regular kind of alcoholic."
Madonna only comes out at night. She is terrified of what the sun will do to her face. As Plantboy says, "She DOES take good care of herself."
And as Science Teacher Mommy says, "How much botox can one woman have before permanently paralyzing her face?" Or, "How much plastic surgery do you get before they just automatically enroll you in the witness protection program?"
Is that a stogie? Nice job Leo. What are you like, 60? He looks less like a Hollywood actor and more like someone on Saturday Night Live playing a Hollywood actor.
There is that tatoo. Okay, maybe it isn't so bad.
Another one? It is like somebody took over my computer and just started clipping and posting pictures of Keith Urban. Darn it.
Bono, dude, I love you man, but could you please offer some sort of explanation for why you suddenly cropped up ten years ago with sunglasses glued to your face? Everywhere?
I like me some bangs. So much, in fact, that I cut some into my own hair about a year ago. It was a great move and I have no regrets. I'm really liking Beyonce's bangs. But I wonder if she is? She kept her eyes closed during her entire song and I think it was because her bangs were in her eyes. She also sang one of those songs that clearly had the word Haiti inserted into older lyrics in order to create a last minute, "unique" song, that she wouldn't have to learn. It sounded like it was written in the limo on the way to the studio. Still, she sounded great and I'm really glad she didn't opt for the red lingerie in public look. Which she has been known to do.
Help! They are attacking me!
What is the deal with Anderson Cooper? Is he cute or just creepy looking? Is he old or young? Is he buff or geeky? Is he human or a robot? Liberal or factual?
This signature performance of the night was pretty good. I thought they didn't have Bono's mic turned up nearly high enough, though the sound of this song, with The Edge on guitar, was clearly very U2. Rihanna sang very well, considering how embarrassed she must have been to have forgotten her pants. I don't think she understood that just because you wear black doesn't mean you have actually toned down your look. When Bono held her hand at the end of their song, he started getting really into it and raised her arm slightly. I was convinced there was going to be a major wardrobe malfunction.Now onto how I spent the rest of the weekend.
Saturday night I put together a meal that will knock your socks off and into the dryer. The preparation is relatively easy, but the result surpasses anything you could buy in a restaurant, if you could even find a meal like this anywhere. Bookmark this page and when you grocery shop before Valentine's Day, just keep in mind this sweet spread. No honey for Valentine's Day? No problem. Just gather your girlfriends close and indulge in this goodness together. You'll be too happy to care. But if the last scenario is the case, I highly recommend the chocolate dessert.
I may have posted one or two of these recipes before. My apologies.
Your preparation for the Meal of the Month needs to start the night before. Yes, I know it sound ludicrous, but it will be worth it, trust me. The preparations here are for four people.
Lemon-Rosemary Artisan Bread
Before going to bed the night before you will do the actual cooking for this dinner, combine three cups of all purpose flour, 1/2 tsp. of active, dry yeast, tsp of sugar, 1 3/4 tsp salt, 2 tsp chopped fresh rosemary and 2 tsp chopped lemon zest in a bowl. Stir in 1 3/4 cup warm water until the dough is shaggy and sticky. Let it raise in a lightly greased bowl, covered with plastic wrap for 18 hours. That is NOT a typo. We'll get back to the bread later.
Rosemary Chicken
Also before going to bed, place 4 raw chicken breasts in a pan that can be covered. Drizzle with olive oil, balsamic vinegar, juice from two lemons, garlic powder, chopped fresh rosemary and black pepper. Do you want specific amounts? Sorry. I also can't tell you to do it "to taste" because I am certainly not going to advocate eating raw chicken. Trust me, this is hard to mess up. If you balsamic vinegar is young, don't use as much because it tastes vinegar-y. If it is older, it will be sweeter and had more tangy richness and you can be a little bit more generous. (Note: Marinades with acid in them, like lime, lemon or vinegar can do a great job of tenderizing your meat if they are given ample time to sit on them.)
With about two hours to go before you are going to eat, turn your bread dough out on to a surface that is lightly floured and dusted with cornmeal. Do NOT knead, just shape it. I like to cook mine on a baking stone, though many similar recipes tell you to use a Dutch oven of some kind. I also like to divide my loaf in half and shape them long and skinny--somewhere between a baguette and a loaf. This makes them cook faster and easier to limit ourselves to just eating half the recipe in a single sitting. Place loaves (or loaf) on the the cooking surface, Cover with the plastic for another 90 minutes
Now you are going to make your first side dish--Cindy's Perfect Pasta Salad. This a shout out to my friend who gave me the recipe. She said this serves eight, but who is she kidding?
Boil 2 cups small pasta until tender. Drain and run with cold water. Combine 2 chopped large ripe tomatoes (or a pint of grape tomatoes), 1 diced red pepper, 1 small, slivered purple onion (or 4 green onions), 3/4 cup fresh cilantro (the ingredient that makes this dish unusual and wonderful), 1 large cucumber chunked up, and 1 can of black olives in a large bowl. In a small bowl combine 4 ounces of feta with 2 cloves crushed garlic, 1 1/2 Tbsp dried oregano and 2 Tbs fresh lemon juice. Whisk in a tbsp of olive oil until just blended. You still want much of the feta to be chunky. Pour over the salad and stir in the cooked pasta. Refrigerate.
This picture isn't exactly right, but it is close. We ate ours too fast for me to remember to photograph it. Imagine pasta where the tofu is.
Still with me? Heat up your oven to 400 degrees and turn on the grill. Bake two loaves for about 27 minutes--I like mine a little less dark and crusty than the picture below. A large loaf will take closer to 40 minutes.
While your bread is cooking, throw the chicken on the grill and steam some asparagus. (Stir-fried green beans and carrots would work too if your man resists asparagus the way mine does.) Pull the chicken off the grill and tent some foil over it if you don't quite have your table set yet.
Just before serving the asparagus, saute a couple of tablespoons of butter with a handful of pinenuts until golden brown. Pour them over your artfully arranged asparagus spears and squeeze the juice of a lemon over the top. Serve immediately.
For dessert, you should serve chocolate lava cake--which I gave the recipe for last year around Valentine's Day,
or you could make trifle. Kanaboke emailed me for my thoughts on trifle earlier this week and it got me thinking what a lovely contribution such a dessert would be to this meal. So here is Trifle: Science Teacher Mommy Style. (Yes, I know I lived in Australia for a year and a half, but don't kid yourself, this is the all-American version as they used Jell-O in Oz. I avoid Jell-O every chance I get.)
You need four ingredients for my trifle:
Pound Cake
Family Sized Vanilla Pudding Mix
Quart of heavy whipping cream
Mixed berries (Fresh if you have them. Frozen in you must.)
Cut your pound cake into cubes and set aside. Make your vanilla pudding with a mixer, using half milk and half cream. Put the milk in first until the pudding is all blended in and then add the cream slowly while you continue whipping. It will be super rich and fluffy. It doesn't soak into the cake as much this way and has more of a mousse-like texture. Actually, you should probably make two boxes worth, you want some left over for the trifle when you are done licking the spoons. Whip up a cup and a half of cream with just enough powdered sugar to barely sweeten. The pudding makes this plenty sweet, you want the cream to make it rich.
In a pretty glass bowl--a trifle bowl if you are awesome like that--layer cubed cake pieces on the bottom with pudding on top. Add a layer of berries then whipped cream. Repeat at least once (depending on the size of your dish and the number of people you are serving) and finish with the whipped cream layer. I like to smooth my creamy layers so that the end result is flat instead of lumpy and holds together a little bit better when you dish it out. Garnish with berries.
Die happy.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Change We Can Believe In?
I have mostly stayed a-political for some time now, fully believing that you were all very patient while getting and earful for a good six months last year. Then this week happened. I think I'm anxious to start another conversation here, remembering that discussions should attack ideas and not each other. Four points for discussion:
1. Wednesday, on my Facebook page, I posted the following, "STM is wondering if a thin majority of Massachusetts voters will derail healthcare overhaul, and if Ted Kennedy is doing the proverbial "turning over in his grave" for the potential loss of legislation he spent three decades advocating. Where is a great deal-maker when we so desperately need reasonable consensus?"
My attempt at "reasonable consensus" turned into 31 comments (including my own) mostly from decidedly opposing camps, though not everyone seemed to be arguing against the plan as it is actually written. There were also six "likes" which I can only assume means that those folks were somewhere in the middle.
I think the thread beat the topic as much as necessary for a gray Wednesday afternoon, but I would love to add one point that didn't get broached on Facebook. Each individual votes as they wish, and so making broad statements about why the election in Massachusetts went the way it did is educated guesswork at best. However, it is probably reasonable to say that Tuesday's election was at least partially a referendum on national health care. But before Conservatives get to feel all smug about how this means that "most" people don't want this bill, it is important to note that everybody in Massachusetts who voted FOR the Republican and/or AGAINST national health insurance reform ALREADY HAS HEALTH INSURANCE BY VIRTUE OF THE FACT THAT THEY LIVE IN MASSACHUSETTS. The great irony in all of this is that one of the leading advocates for the elected candidate was Mitt Romney. The same (Republican) governor who signed the state-wide health insurance mandate into law earlier this decade.
The truth is, if you are from Massachusetts, you would have been crazy to vote for a candidate who would pass federal laws about health care--all it would do is potentially raise your taxes and not change your quality of life. This result has already caused the Democrats to speak about backing down from the extent of the legislation regarding health care. What the (thin-ish) majority of Massachusetts voters told the rest of the country is, "Make your state legislatures figure it out. Just like we did."
Hm . . . . maybe this isn't such a bad idea. Unless, of course, you are one of the 30 million working but still uninsured Americans and you live in a state that consistently elects a very conservative state legislature. Do you know anybody like this?
2. The Supreme Court yesterday (in another partisan vote--shocker) overturned a campaign finance law that has been in place for a hundred years. The law basically imposed limits on contributions from corporations and unions, and the Supreme Court voted 5-4 for its unconstitutionality. Interestingly enough, though intended to benefit unions as well, the type of justices typically accused of being in the union's pocket voted against overturning.
Corporations already find ways to donate plenty, usually through political action committees, but now they won't have quite so many hoops to jump through in their attempts to grease the palms of Washington politicians. Do we really need MORE money in politics? Red money or blue money is all the same to me when it comes to buying broad influence, and there is no doubt that this overturning will have an enormous benefit for Republican candidates. And yes, while they aren't in power now, they have enjoyed plenty of it in times past. Public sentiment will ebb and flow without Wall Street money pushing it along.
And yet, the thing that disturbs me as much as the overturning is the reasoning behind it. Free speech is the Constitutional issue the attorneys for the corporations hung their case on. Basically, corporations have been granted equivalent rights to individuals under our Constitution. I'm not sure how I feel about that. Is there a slippery slope of unintended consequences here?
3. The Obama administration, trying to fight "wars" on all fronts, issued a statement this week that they were going to be moving on banking regulation. Stocks immediately plummeted for nearly all of the country's major banks. Okay, not Black Friday plummeted, but dipped across the board under threat of new regulation. Shareholders don't like rules that prevent their investments from taking risk, because the greater the risk, the greater potential return.
Free enterprise and capitalism and market economies are certainly a necessary part of a functioning democracy, though to the degree these factors are unfettered varies across democracies world-wide. However, I feel very strongly about the banks' (and their shareholders) audacity to complain about the regulation. First of all, most of these major banks were beneficiaries in some measure of the bank bailouts that so dominated the news in late 2007 and early 2008. And secondly, all of these banks are FDIC insured. In other words, if you bank with Wells Fargo and they go under, the federal government backs the first $100,000 you have in that bank; you would recover every single dime. The government did this long ago in order to allow the banks to assume a certain level of risk, but the dismantling of regulations over the last 15 years simultaneously eliminated all need for banks to be cautious. Bad investments and bad loans in the relentless pursuit of higher and higher profits (and unsustainable economic growth) crashed the economy.
Americans need to start working and innovating to make more products instead of just shuffling paper to make more money. An on that note . . . .
4. Mr. Obama unveiled the generalities of his education plan at a school in the DC area this week. The philosophy behind these latest education grants (5 billion federal dollars) is based on something that has been working in Chicago in recent years: failing public schools are closed or shrunk, students are redistributed to much smaller charter schools where accountability is very high and the waiting lists are long. In Chicago, with its widespread inner-city type school difficulties has found a way to do something that welfare-type programs always find problematic. By targeting the very worst schools, they have identified both those in need of help; but by moving to the exclusive charters with very high standards and low tolerance for deviant behavior, they have identified the "deserving" poor. In other words, those with low incomes with true desire to change their situation.
These smaller schools have expanded both the length of the school day and the school year. Uniforms are the norm and most extra-curricular type activities have been eliminated. Class sizes are dramatically reduced from the mainstream public schools. And test scores are through the roof. This latest round of grants, if carefully and systematically applied, will do very well in some places as receipt of the money requires failing schools to close or shrink and charters to open.
They also require that teacher pay be linked to testing.
I shared some (okay a LOT of very specific) thoughts on this topic over a year ago. My fear is that the teacher money will only be tied to the testing, and leave too many effective teachers out in the cold because of their core populations.
Anyway, it is has been a busy week for American policy. What do you think of some of this stuff. Or, if you don't think of it at all, just drop in to say hi. Such connections might keep my own thoughts from driving me completely crazy.
1. Wednesday, on my Facebook page, I posted the following, "STM is wondering if a thin majority of Massachusetts voters will derail healthcare overhaul, and if Ted Kennedy is doing the proverbial "turning over in his grave" for the potential loss of legislation he spent three decades advocating. Where is a great deal-maker when we so desperately need reasonable consensus?"
My attempt at "reasonable consensus" turned into 31 comments (including my own) mostly from decidedly opposing camps, though not everyone seemed to be arguing against the plan as it is actually written. There were also six "likes" which I can only assume means that those folks were somewhere in the middle.
I think the thread beat the topic as much as necessary for a gray Wednesday afternoon, but I would love to add one point that didn't get broached on Facebook. Each individual votes as they wish, and so making broad statements about why the election in Massachusetts went the way it did is educated guesswork at best. However, it is probably reasonable to say that Tuesday's election was at least partially a referendum on national health care. But before Conservatives get to feel all smug about how this means that "most" people don't want this bill, it is important to note that everybody in Massachusetts who voted FOR the Republican and/or AGAINST national health insurance reform ALREADY HAS HEALTH INSURANCE BY VIRTUE OF THE FACT THAT THEY LIVE IN MASSACHUSETTS. The great irony in all of this is that one of the leading advocates for the elected candidate was Mitt Romney. The same (Republican) governor who signed the state-wide health insurance mandate into law earlier this decade.
The truth is, if you are from Massachusetts, you would have been crazy to vote for a candidate who would pass federal laws about health care--all it would do is potentially raise your taxes and not change your quality of life. This result has already caused the Democrats to speak about backing down from the extent of the legislation regarding health care. What the (thin-ish) majority of Massachusetts voters told the rest of the country is, "Make your state legislatures figure it out. Just like we did."
Hm . . . . maybe this isn't such a bad idea. Unless, of course, you are one of the 30 million working but still uninsured Americans and you live in a state that consistently elects a very conservative state legislature. Do you know anybody like this?
2. The Supreme Court yesterday (in another partisan vote--shocker) overturned a campaign finance law that has been in place for a hundred years. The law basically imposed limits on contributions from corporations and unions, and the Supreme Court voted 5-4 for its unconstitutionality. Interestingly enough, though intended to benefit unions as well, the type of justices typically accused of being in the union's pocket voted against overturning.
Corporations already find ways to donate plenty, usually through political action committees, but now they won't have quite so many hoops to jump through in their attempts to grease the palms of Washington politicians. Do we really need MORE money in politics? Red money or blue money is all the same to me when it comes to buying broad influence, and there is no doubt that this overturning will have an enormous benefit for Republican candidates. And yes, while they aren't in power now, they have enjoyed plenty of it in times past. Public sentiment will ebb and flow without Wall Street money pushing it along.
And yet, the thing that disturbs me as much as the overturning is the reasoning behind it. Free speech is the Constitutional issue the attorneys for the corporations hung their case on. Basically, corporations have been granted equivalent rights to individuals under our Constitution. I'm not sure how I feel about that. Is there a slippery slope of unintended consequences here?
3. The Obama administration, trying to fight "wars" on all fronts, issued a statement this week that they were going to be moving on banking regulation. Stocks immediately plummeted for nearly all of the country's major banks. Okay, not Black Friday plummeted, but dipped across the board under threat of new regulation. Shareholders don't like rules that prevent their investments from taking risk, because the greater the risk, the greater potential return.
Free enterprise and capitalism and market economies are certainly a necessary part of a functioning democracy, though to the degree these factors are unfettered varies across democracies world-wide. However, I feel very strongly about the banks' (and their shareholders) audacity to complain about the regulation. First of all, most of these major banks were beneficiaries in some measure of the bank bailouts that so dominated the news in late 2007 and early 2008. And secondly, all of these banks are FDIC insured. In other words, if you bank with Wells Fargo and they go under, the federal government backs the first $100,000 you have in that bank; you would recover every single dime. The government did this long ago in order to allow the banks to assume a certain level of risk, but the dismantling of regulations over the last 15 years simultaneously eliminated all need for banks to be cautious. Bad investments and bad loans in the relentless pursuit of higher and higher profits (and unsustainable economic growth) crashed the economy.
Americans need to start working and innovating to make more products instead of just shuffling paper to make more money. An on that note . . . .
4. Mr. Obama unveiled the generalities of his education plan at a school in the DC area this week. The philosophy behind these latest education grants (5 billion federal dollars) is based on something that has been working in Chicago in recent years: failing public schools are closed or shrunk, students are redistributed to much smaller charter schools where accountability is very high and the waiting lists are long. In Chicago, with its widespread inner-city type school difficulties has found a way to do something that welfare-type programs always find problematic. By targeting the very worst schools, they have identified both those in need of help; but by moving to the exclusive charters with very high standards and low tolerance for deviant behavior, they have identified the "deserving" poor. In other words, those with low incomes with true desire to change their situation.
These smaller schools have expanded both the length of the school day and the school year. Uniforms are the norm and most extra-curricular type activities have been eliminated. Class sizes are dramatically reduced from the mainstream public schools. And test scores are through the roof. This latest round of grants, if carefully and systematically applied, will do very well in some places as receipt of the money requires failing schools to close or shrink and charters to open.
They also require that teacher pay be linked to testing.
I shared some (okay a LOT of very specific) thoughts on this topic over a year ago. My fear is that the teacher money will only be tied to the testing, and leave too many effective teachers out in the cold because of their core populations.
Anyway, it is has been a busy week for American policy. What do you think of some of this stuff. Or, if you don't think of it at all, just drop in to say hi. Such connections might keep my own thoughts from driving me completely crazy.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Kreepy Kent And That One Time I Was Stalked
On Sunday I am speaking in church. My preparation has had me thinking about my time as a missionary in Australia. And while most of my memories from those months are amazing, there are others that, at the time, were downright scary. In retrospect, however, these memories are just plain funny. As my last several posts have been all issue-y, I decided it was time for one that was not.
A bit of background on LDS missionaries for those who may not know--women generally serve missions in their early 20's (no younger than 21); missionaries live a fairly strict set of rules, both for safety and to help them focus on the task at hand; female missionaries are called "sister" in front of your last name, but we aren't nuns and celibacy (thank goodness) is a condition with a time limit.
I'm not sure how Kent's obsession with the sister missionaries started, nor can I remember exactly why he started studying the Church anyway. This disclaimer might help explain why some details are a bit fuzzy.
In my memory, Kent looks like Will Farrell. From the Saturday Night Live Cowbell Skit. I could never really decide what his personality was like. Perhaps the word "multiple" would be most appropriate here.
Kent was studying with the elders (the boy missionaries) which was totally appropriate, but I think it was the sisters he had met first. Anyway, after some time working with the elders, he complained that they weren't sincere enough, nor patient enough. He would only continue studying the Church if he met with the sisters, so we taught him after our church meetings one day. I was immediately creeped out and had serious doubts about how interested he was in what we were teaching. He seemed mostly content to sidetrack our discussions, share his own agenda and use a lot of tired arguments to convince us of the futility of how we had chosen to spend our lives. And he stared. A lot.
My misgivings were strong enough that after just one meeting, we told him that we weren't really comfortable teaching him and if he was still interested in learning about the Church, the elders would do just fine, thank you very much.
This is about the time that the creepiness appeared. He agreed to go back to the elders, perhaps a little too readily, and then a few days later, through them, he passed on a referral to us. Sweet guy, he'd even gone to the pains to schedule an appointment with them. Because this person, "Goldie," he referred us to lived on the opposite side of the train tracks from us, she was actually in an area where some different sisters worked. Not wanting to sic someone of Kent's acquaintance onto the other sisters (one of whom was probably the prettiest woman I've ever met), we decided to go see Goldie first and if it was all on the up-and-up we would let the other sisters know.
We followed the address, knocked on the door, and guess what?
Yep. Kent answered the door. It was his mother's house. No, she was not at home; no, she wasn't interested in learning more. Kent was quite proud of himself for having found a way to circumvent those "silly boys" so that we could still teach him. Nobody had to know. And yes, by the way, he told us with a sly gleam in his freaky eyes, his nickname was "Goldie."
I know, I was thinking exactly the same thing, what kind of man has the nickname Goldie unless he is a James Bond villian or a mob boss?
We left.
Kent continued coming to church, trying to catch us unawares; which he frequently did. For a big, chubby guy he sure had some mad ninja skills. His favorite thing to do was present us with frangipani flowers, as some children often did. These lovely flowers (often called "plumeria" where they actually grow in the states) fit perfectly in the clip of our name tags and stayed fresh all day. Their smell is divine and it was kind of an Aussie-sister-missionary-thing. Refusal was awkward because then we just looked rude. Accepting them was, obviously, even worse.
Some weeks after the first "referral" he sent another to us. This time, it was actually in our area, information we probably let slip to Kent as he asked for details about where we worked, no doubt to get details about where we lived. Again, Kent had set the appointment time. We conveniently asked the neighboring elders to come and work with us that day, and decided to knock on doors on the street where Kent's appointment was scheduled. We explained the situation to the elders, who thought our spy-work was all great fun and they took the side of the street that would lead them to the appointment-house, though a day early.
No, this was not another address for Kent this time. It was, however, the address of Kent's Baptist minister who had more anti-Mormon literature on his shelf than he had books about all other subjects combined. He gave the elders an earful and then loaded them up with about 85 pamphlets apiece. "You kept them???" I said to the Elders when we met them for lunch.
Our district leader just smiled as he dumped them in the trash, "At least he can't give them to anyone else."
Needless to say, we did not keep our appointment with Kent and his minister. We did, however, have to see Kent at church again and listen to him rant about how we had violated his trust by sending the elders ahead. (Right . . . . because he hadn't ever violated our trust . . . ) We also got a package a few days later. From Kent. Or, I should say, I got a package. That's right, he stopped pretending to be wanting to study with the sisters for the sake of the church and moved straight ahead to his full intentions.
Before opening the package, I was already pretty freaked out. You see, in Australia, you have really tiny post boxes (especially in an apartment), and if a package comes that is too big to fit in the box, then you get a card telling you to come to the post office at your earliest convenience to pick it up. Yet, here was this enormous package on our doorstep. And inside the package was . . . wait for it . . .
A dress.
A teal green, off the shoulder, full skirted, tight-bodiced, formal dress, circa 1987.
That is when the screaming started.
As the package showed up on the doorstep, we assumed that Kent knew where we lived and had lovingly dropped it off himself. We called the Elders, who, bless their boy-hearts, came over immediately and checked out the apartment, only to find two windows in the house that had not been secured and could easily be opened from outside. They helped us tack up sheets on the windows and then sat with us that evening. It was decided that they would frequently check in with us over the next couple of days, and that on Sunday, we would talk to the bishop to get some advice.
On Sunday, we met with Kent, the elders, and the bishopbric. Bishop Purcell was a huge Maori man with soft brown eyes and a heart of gold; one of his counselors was a Tongan who looked like he could have bench-pressed Bishop Purcell. I've never been so grateful in my life to have two Polynesians at my back.
Trying to impress upon Kent the inappropriateness of the gift, he explained our rules to Kent who became very belligerent about him not having to follow our rules, and that he had tried to anyway. He insisted that he had sent the package to our general mission address in Sydney and that he had no idea where we lived. All eyes turned to me. Could this be true--that the package hadn't been addressed in Kent's hand to our apartment at all? I suddenly felt very stupid and over-reactionary. Here we were in this room holding a meeting that would basically bar Kent from ever attending church there again, and it might have been a big misunderstanding. I admitted that it might be entirely possible that the package had been sent through our mission office, but I was also quick to point out that it wasn't appropriate for him to be corresponding with me at all nor for him to send me something that was such an affront to my sense of of fashion.
Then emerged the tender-Kent personality. He became very apologetic and sincere, but something about his manner was raising red flags all over in me. I could see that all of the men in the room were starting to think that while Kent might be a little bit over the top, he was nothing compared to the near-hysterical sister missionary in their midst. And then dear Kent made his fatal mistake.
He took a step nearer to me and called me Princess.
I suddenly felt vicious and took a step closer in return summoning all of the anger in my massive 5'2" frame, all 115 pounds of me (there is more now) poised to attack, no doubt looking like a cat whose hair suddenly stands on end and begins spitting, "Don't you DARE call me that!" I shouted, right in the bishop's office. His completely inappropriate and freaky endearment finally swayed the argument in my direction. My companion held me back in my desire to scratch Kent's eyes out of his hairy face and the bishop said very calmly, "You are welcome to leave the premises of your own volition, or we can escort you."
Ken was at least six feet tall, but he was soft and slow. He cowered in the face of my two Lamanitish protectors and agreed to leave, though he spouted out curses on each of us in turn and the Church in general as he walked down the street toward the bus stop. The bishop and his cohort followed him to the edge of the property, just to be safe.
When my claws retracted, I felt sufficiently embarrassed (hysterics not being my typical modus operandi), but also deeply relieved.
I did not see my charming suitor again, but it didn't stop him from writing to me once in each of the areas I lived after that place. The letters were each sent through the mission office, as was probably the package that broke the camel's back. I never wrote back, even to acknowledge receipt of these letters that read more like manifestos. His first one or two expressed some disgusting, tender expressions that my companions and I would have a great laugh over. The last few of these were rants, more of the variety he expressed when leaving the church that day.
In fact, a letter from Kent was one of the last I received as a missionary. Scheduled to leave the country in just a few days, mail had gotten irregular at best (but then, was it ever anything else?) and I was surprised to receive any missive at all until I noticed the sender's tiny, cramped handwriting in the upper left corner. It had been a long month, my companion and I were both nearly finished with our service, we weren't working with anybody very seriously, it was hot, we were working in a ward (and city) where the main requirement for membership was that you have kangaroos loose in the paddock. (Aussie term meaning, "crazy as a loon.") Our main missionary work in four weeks had consisted of knocking on hundreds of doors for ten hours each day. I was tired; I thought Kent's letter would be worth a laugh.
My companion knew the story and we settled in to the ratty, old couch to have cold cereal for dinner and entertainment. I opened the letter and read the first line aloud in which (the exact words fail me) Kent told me that I was going to hell for my lack of charity, my general misunderstanding of God and my cruel nature. Tears pricked my eyes and I ripped the letter in shreds, feeling that anger inside me again. "I don't have to read this!" I told my surprised companion. "I've been a damn good missionary!" If the "damn" tells you otherwise, well, just note that I didn't say I'd been a perfect missionary. And it was Australia--they have a very loose standard of what constitutes a swear word there.
If my re-telling of this convinces you that Kent was right, and that I lack charity, well, maybe you have a point. Still, I have to write my own story in the way that pleases me best and honestly reflects my feelings. As long as I'm feeling deeply unmerciful to one who caused me to watch my back for two months in Adamstown, Australia in 1997, why don't you share your own stalker stories? Here if they are brief-ish, and on your own blog if it is in the details you find your laughter or catharsis.
A bit of background on LDS missionaries for those who may not know--women generally serve missions in their early 20's (no younger than 21); missionaries live a fairly strict set of rules, both for safety and to help them focus on the task at hand; female missionaries are called "sister" in front of your last name, but we aren't nuns and celibacy (thank goodness) is a condition with a time limit.
I'm not sure how Kent's obsession with the sister missionaries started, nor can I remember exactly why he started studying the Church anyway. This disclaimer might help explain why some details are a bit fuzzy.
In my memory, Kent looks like Will Farrell. From the Saturday Night Live Cowbell Skit. I could never really decide what his personality was like. Perhaps the word "multiple" would be most appropriate here.
Kent was studying with the elders (the boy missionaries) which was totally appropriate, but I think it was the sisters he had met first. Anyway, after some time working with the elders, he complained that they weren't sincere enough, nor patient enough. He would only continue studying the Church if he met with the sisters, so we taught him after our church meetings one day. I was immediately creeped out and had serious doubts about how interested he was in what we were teaching. He seemed mostly content to sidetrack our discussions, share his own agenda and use a lot of tired arguments to convince us of the futility of how we had chosen to spend our lives. And he stared. A lot.
My misgivings were strong enough that after just one meeting, we told him that we weren't really comfortable teaching him and if he was still interested in learning about the Church, the elders would do just fine, thank you very much.
This is about the time that the creepiness appeared. He agreed to go back to the elders, perhaps a little too readily, and then a few days later, through them, he passed on a referral to us. Sweet guy, he'd even gone to the pains to schedule an appointment with them. Because this person, "Goldie," he referred us to lived on the opposite side of the train tracks from us, she was actually in an area where some different sisters worked. Not wanting to sic someone of Kent's acquaintance onto the other sisters (one of whom was probably the prettiest woman I've ever met), we decided to go see Goldie first and if it was all on the up-and-up we would let the other sisters know.
We followed the address, knocked on the door, and guess what?
Yep. Kent answered the door. It was his mother's house. No, she was not at home; no, she wasn't interested in learning more. Kent was quite proud of himself for having found a way to circumvent those "silly boys" so that we could still teach him. Nobody had to know. And yes, by the way, he told us with a sly gleam in his freaky eyes, his nickname was "Goldie."
I know, I was thinking exactly the same thing, what kind of man has the nickname Goldie unless he is a James Bond villian or a mob boss?
We left.
Kent continued coming to church, trying to catch us unawares; which he frequently did. For a big, chubby guy he sure had some mad ninja skills. His favorite thing to do was present us with frangipani flowers, as some children often did. These lovely flowers (often called "plumeria" where they actually grow in the states) fit perfectly in the clip of our name tags and stayed fresh all day. Their smell is divine and it was kind of an Aussie-sister-missionary-thing. Refusal was awkward because then we just looked rude. Accepting them was, obviously, even worse.
Some weeks after the first "referral" he sent another to us. This time, it was actually in our area, information we probably let slip to Kent as he asked for details about where we worked, no doubt to get details about where we lived. Again, Kent had set the appointment time. We conveniently asked the neighboring elders to come and work with us that day, and decided to knock on doors on the street where Kent's appointment was scheduled. We explained the situation to the elders, who thought our spy-work was all great fun and they took the side of the street that would lead them to the appointment-house, though a day early.
No, this was not another address for Kent this time. It was, however, the address of Kent's Baptist minister who had more anti-Mormon literature on his shelf than he had books about all other subjects combined. He gave the elders an earful and then loaded them up with about 85 pamphlets apiece. "You kept them???" I said to the Elders when we met them for lunch.
Our district leader just smiled as he dumped them in the trash, "At least he can't give them to anyone else."
Needless to say, we did not keep our appointment with Kent and his minister. We did, however, have to see Kent at church again and listen to him rant about how we had violated his trust by sending the elders ahead. (Right . . . . because he hadn't ever violated our trust . . . ) We also got a package a few days later. From Kent. Or, I should say, I got a package. That's right, he stopped pretending to be wanting to study with the sisters for the sake of the church and moved straight ahead to his full intentions.
Before opening the package, I was already pretty freaked out. You see, in Australia, you have really tiny post boxes (especially in an apartment), and if a package comes that is too big to fit in the box, then you get a card telling you to come to the post office at your earliest convenience to pick it up. Yet, here was this enormous package on our doorstep. And inside the package was . . . wait for it . . .
A dress.
A teal green, off the shoulder, full skirted, tight-bodiced, formal dress, circa 1987.
That is when the screaming started.
As the package showed up on the doorstep, we assumed that Kent knew where we lived and had lovingly dropped it off himself. We called the Elders, who, bless their boy-hearts, came over immediately and checked out the apartment, only to find two windows in the house that had not been secured and could easily be opened from outside. They helped us tack up sheets on the windows and then sat with us that evening. It was decided that they would frequently check in with us over the next couple of days, and that on Sunday, we would talk to the bishop to get some advice.
On Sunday, we met with Kent, the elders, and the bishopbric. Bishop Purcell was a huge Maori man with soft brown eyes and a heart of gold; one of his counselors was a Tongan who looked like he could have bench-pressed Bishop Purcell. I've never been so grateful in my life to have two Polynesians at my back.
Trying to impress upon Kent the inappropriateness of the gift, he explained our rules to Kent who became very belligerent about him not having to follow our rules, and that he had tried to anyway. He insisted that he had sent the package to our general mission address in Sydney and that he had no idea where we lived. All eyes turned to me. Could this be true--that the package hadn't been addressed in Kent's hand to our apartment at all? I suddenly felt very stupid and over-reactionary. Here we were in this room holding a meeting that would basically bar Kent from ever attending church there again, and it might have been a big misunderstanding. I admitted that it might be entirely possible that the package had been sent through our mission office, but I was also quick to point out that it wasn't appropriate for him to be corresponding with me at all nor for him to send me something that was such an affront to my sense of of fashion.
Then emerged the tender-Kent personality. He became very apologetic and sincere, but something about his manner was raising red flags all over in me. I could see that all of the men in the room were starting to think that while Kent might be a little bit over the top, he was nothing compared to the near-hysterical sister missionary in their midst. And then dear Kent made his fatal mistake.
He took a step nearer to me and called me Princess.
I suddenly felt vicious and took a step closer in return summoning all of the anger in my massive 5'2" frame, all 115 pounds of me (there is more now) poised to attack, no doubt looking like a cat whose hair suddenly stands on end and begins spitting, "Don't you DARE call me that!" I shouted, right in the bishop's office. His completely inappropriate and freaky endearment finally swayed the argument in my direction. My companion held me back in my desire to scratch Kent's eyes out of his hairy face and the bishop said very calmly, "You are welcome to leave the premises of your own volition, or we can escort you."
Ken was at least six feet tall, but he was soft and slow. He cowered in the face of my two Lamanitish protectors and agreed to leave, though he spouted out curses on each of us in turn and the Church in general as he walked down the street toward the bus stop. The bishop and his cohort followed him to the edge of the property, just to be safe.
When my claws retracted, I felt sufficiently embarrassed (hysterics not being my typical modus operandi), but also deeply relieved.
I did not see my charming suitor again, but it didn't stop him from writing to me once in each of the areas I lived after that place. The letters were each sent through the mission office, as was probably the package that broke the camel's back. I never wrote back, even to acknowledge receipt of these letters that read more like manifestos. His first one or two expressed some disgusting, tender expressions that my companions and I would have a great laugh over. The last few of these were rants, more of the variety he expressed when leaving the church that day.
In fact, a letter from Kent was one of the last I received as a missionary. Scheduled to leave the country in just a few days, mail had gotten irregular at best (but then, was it ever anything else?) and I was surprised to receive any missive at all until I noticed the sender's tiny, cramped handwriting in the upper left corner. It had been a long month, my companion and I were both nearly finished with our service, we weren't working with anybody very seriously, it was hot, we were working in a ward (and city) where the main requirement for membership was that you have kangaroos loose in the paddock. (Aussie term meaning, "crazy as a loon.") Our main missionary work in four weeks had consisted of knocking on hundreds of doors for ten hours each day. I was tired; I thought Kent's letter would be worth a laugh.
My companion knew the story and we settled in to the ratty, old couch to have cold cereal for dinner and entertainment. I opened the letter and read the first line aloud in which (the exact words fail me) Kent told me that I was going to hell for my lack of charity, my general misunderstanding of God and my cruel nature. Tears pricked my eyes and I ripped the letter in shreds, feeling that anger inside me again. "I don't have to read this!" I told my surprised companion. "I've been a damn good missionary!" If the "damn" tells you otherwise, well, just note that I didn't say I'd been a perfect missionary. And it was Australia--they have a very loose standard of what constitutes a swear word there.
If my re-telling of this convinces you that Kent was right, and that I lack charity, well, maybe you have a point. Still, I have to write my own story in the way that pleases me best and honestly reflects my feelings. As long as I'm feeling deeply unmerciful to one who caused me to watch my back for two months in Adamstown, Australia in 1997, why don't you share your own stalker stories? Here if they are brief-ish, and on your own blog if it is in the details you find your laughter or catharsis.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Some Things That Don't Make Sense, But ONE Thing That Does
This store is down the street from me:
The modifier confuses me. Mini pets? Or mini market? If it is a mini mart that caters to pets, shouldn't there be a comma? Or does it only sell items geared towards fish, gerbils, rats, chihuahuas and kittens?
But even more than the sign, it is the posters (too small to read from this picture) in the window that are the true enigma. They are all for tobacco products. Yes, that's right, folks, this CHAIN store sells gourmet cigarettes to tiny pets. And maybe chewing tobacco. Haven't pet owners read any of the studies regarding lab rats and cancer? Where is PETA when they might do some good?
And another thing that makes no sense is the spelling of chihuahua.
But local problems aside, I've also found other things to give me true pause this week and break my heart. It is prophesied that in the last days, "men's hearts should fail them." While I'm not sure entirely what this phrase means, I think I felt it last night. The incidence, once again, was Ms. Albright's biography. Her experience, and Robert Woodward's writing express it best. I will quote liberally from her Africa section. She acknowledges the horror of this situation (and others), while also admitting that solutions are hard. If we had intervened too much, there is danger of repeating the lessons of Somalia. If we do too little, it is Rwanda's fate that we might regret. In this section she talks about the horrible events of the late 90's in Sierra Leone.
"[In Sierra Leone], a group known as the Revolutionary United Front (RUF) waged a brutal struggle for power against a democratically elected government. The rebels showed their contempt for the electoral process by slicing off the hands and arms of those thought to have voted 'wrong' (that is, for the government) as well as the limbs of the voter's children. Since ballots in Sierra Leone are marked by thumbprints, the tactic had a perverse, sadistic rationale.
"In 1999, I saw the horrifying results firsthand during a visit to the Murray Town Amputee Camp. . . [I] was showed where the prosthetics were made and how children were trained to use them . . . these were not wounds that could be made whole, but if there was self-pity in that sun-baked camp, I did not sense it--just sadness and courage. I saw a baby with no arms being held by a mother with one arm. I hugged a three year-old girl named Mamuna who was wearing a red jumper and happily playing with a toy car using the only arm she had. How could any human being have taken a machete to this girl? According to UN officials, much of the maiming was done by child soldiers forcibly recruited and given drugs. To discourage these 'soldiers' from escaping, some were forced to kill members of their own families so they could never return home."
I won't touch the stories of rape found in this section.
Just this week I read a story of two women locally who started a foundation to help a girls' orphanage in Ethiopia. Before starting the foundation, the one woman said, "I was one of those people going, 'You can't save everybody . . . why not just hang out in your own community and not think about everybody on the other side of the world.' " Sound familiar?
These women set out to prove that even two housewives from an obscure hamlet in Oregon can make a difference. Maybe our sphere or influence can be as large as we choose to make it?
Which brings me around to Haiti. As opportunities arise to give aid in the coming weeks and months, I hope I don't forget that we are all on this planet together. That it is our faith and charity that can make sense of horrible tragedies. Instead of losing faith or casting blame on God for such things, I hope I can look inside and recognize an opportunity to do the right thing for those I need to take greater care to view as brothers and sisters.
With the whole world feeling like a maelstrom of impossible situations today, here is the ONE thing I've done in the last 24 hours that was straightforward, wonderful and a service to my whole family. I made dinner. My new favorite dinner. Here is the method and good luck to you:
Asian Sticky Rice Bowls (the latest variation of the recipe found on this post.)
In a large bowl, you layer rice, meat, vegetables, toppings and sauce. This can be modified a hundred different ways, but I'll give you some details about what we've tried here:
Rice--I've found a specialty Asian market that carries short, sticky rice that is also called Sushi Rice. This rice is easy to make, but you have to plan ahead. Soak the rice anywhere between three and six hours before cooking it. It can then either be boiled at a 2:1 water to rice ratio or steamed until it is cooked. Steaming it makes it extra sticky, but takes a little bit longer. This sticky rice is also slightly sweet and gluey. It helps hold everything together. Excellent for those of you brave enough for chopsticks.
Meat--I've used both slow cooked pork for this, but last night we used grilled, diced chicken. Both superb. My kids love it especially when I bread and fry the chicken. (Dip chunks in egg and then a mixture of cornstarch, salt and pepper. When the chicken is well-coated, fry immediately in hot oil until golden brown. Yumm-o.)
Vegetables--Just use whatever! Stir-fry vegetables in hot oil (keep your burner close to high and stir continuously) starting with hard veggies like carrots and celery and working your way through to green beans, red pepper, broccoli, sweet yellow onion and/or water chesnuts, and lastly bean sprouts, green onion, cabbage or bok choy. I don't salt the stir-fried veggies (it makes them limpy) but for another layer of flavor you can mix in some teriyaki or soy sauce. I had some sesame seeds hanging around last night and threw those in too--beautiful!
Toppings--Red pepper flakes, coconut, mandarin oranges, green onion, chow mein noodles, cashews, basil and slivered almonds
Sauce--This is my favorite part. Kikoman now makes a really delicious, thick teriyaki sauce that we used on everything for a while, but we have since found something new. Costco sells the spicy orange sauce that Panda Express uses on their "famous" orange chicken. It is slightly spicy and sweet and probably my new favorite condiment. With this dinner I also put a can of coconut milk (low-fat) on the table. It is a perfect compliment to the orange sauce and adds a creamy mellowness to the whole dinner that makes my tongue do flips.
This meal is great on so many levels. Besides being delicious (duh), everybody gets exactly what they want. Plantboy layers everything into the biggest bowl he can find in the house without embarrassing himself. My kids want the blandest of choices kept separate on their plates. Because, you know, when you are a kid, you think that if the food groups touch each other they might start a rumble. This meal, stripped down to the bare essentials, is quite easy to prepare, but if you present it with all the choices, you have a meal fancy enough for company, or a buffet-style party. Get Chinese take-out cartons to send home leftovers with your guests and they will call tomorrow to thank you again for the lovely evening.
Did I mention that it is beautiful? We ate too fast for pictures. Maybe next time.
The last wonderful thing about this meal is the built in dessert. Stir a teaspoon or two of sugar into your leftover coconut milk and drizzle it into the (now cold) remaining sticky rice. Serve with mandarin oranges and a fortune cookie. Die happy.
If it seems weird to post about such cooking frivolity at the same time I posted about children hacking their neighbors, perhaps it is. But it might just be bright moments of creativity, beauty, and delicious delight that keep us sane. Go out and do something beautiful today to remind yourself that God is still in charge. There is beauty in this place in equal measure with the horror.
Monday, January 11, 2010
That Ship Has Sailed
Madeline Albright's biography has given me so many things to think about in recent weeks. Here is just a sampling, and then I will try to make some sort of point with this post:
1. Late Clinton-era politics are more complicated than I remembered or took the interest to find out. The first news of Lewinskygate broke less than a month after I was home from my mission. I was a bit preoccupied that year and my information about events outside of my own life were whatever I could garner from soundbytes. My understanding of just what took place in the Balkans during the mid-nineties was weak, at best. As Albright's book is her story of those years, anything to do with Lewinsky is pushed aside in exchange for world events pertinent to the Secretary of State. Anyone who still says Bill Clinton became heavily involved in the Balkans or bombed Afghani targets in the wake of the embassy bombings in order to cover up his affair, is either willfully ignorant or clueless about the complexity of world affairs. (Hey, I'm not calling you any names I haven't applied to myself.)
2. The foreign policy approach of the Clinton administration was tough enough. After 9/11, it was so common to hear people say, "If only Clinton had gone in. . ." meaning that if the bleeding heart Democrats had been tough enough to take out Al Qaeda before the towers were struck, it wouldn't have happened. Albright's book, though of course calculated to cement her own reputation and place in history, illustrates to me that the administration behaved in the late 90's exactly in accordance with public sentiment and political will. Because the Balkan Wars were, in their own right, so successful, it is easy to forget that while the Middle East was boiling toward a major event, America was integrally involved in both UN and NATO missions in Eastern Europe.
3. A combination of force, diplomacy, dependence on allies and legal systems prevented Eastern Europe from imploding in the post cold-war era. The world acted together to prevent another genocide that would have rivaled the Rwandan tragedy of the early 90's. (Secretary Albright counts American and UN failures there as the the worst of the decade, and her personal vow that such a thing would never happen again made her a very vocal critic of the Milosevic regime that sought to eradicate the Albanian-Muslim population from Kosovo.) Foreign policy that doesn't make full and careful use of all these avenues is bound to fail. The trick in maintaining peace (or obtaining it) is which combination of these to use, and when a certain avenue isn't working and talk must be taken to the next level. The courage comes from changing your tack in the face of all the facts, even when popular opinion isn't necessarily on your side.
4. All fascinating foreign policy discussions aside, and on a more general level, I was impressed with both Ms. Albright's work ethic, and the dedication with which many others mentioned in her biography gave (and continue to give) to the government. It is easy to be an armchair politician and make deep criticisms and witticisms from afar, and without a doubt, there are many who enter politics with some deep need for power and influence over others; however, there are so many unknown individuals working in government, some playing very key though obscure roles, who are there because they love America. They love freedom. They believe in the rule of law and that carefully worded and compromise-driven policies can change lives for the better. My reading of her biography has restored some of my faith in politicians and government. It has made me grateful beyond measure to be an American.
The memoir, however, has had another startling effect on me: one I absolutely did not expect, and this is the point that I've been rambling for paragraphs to make.
Without giving more detail here, Albright's background is fascinating and serendipitous. She was prepared in every way from her earliest childhood (including the unique family situation she was born into), to exactly take her place in history at the time she did. To think that there was even debate as she entered the "short list" of candidates for Secretary of State during the second Clinton administration is laughable to me--I can't believe there was any list at all. Nobody else was so positioned to take on that role. Born to the kingdom for such a time as this, indeed.
A couple of weeks ago, I was watching some women on a PBS show debate the health care issues--one was a congresswoman, a few were writers, one was a former adviser in the Bush administration, and there was a journalist there as a mediator. As I followed the discussion and thought through various points these very bright women were making, I thought, "I could do this. I would be comfortable sitting in that room and talking with any one of those women, confident that I could make my voice heard."
Almost immediately following that thought came the next, "You could. But you won't . You turned away from that path long ago." When? I don't know, exactly. Maybe it was during my junior year when I decided not to apply to Pacific University where I might major in marine biology because the tuition was too high--I never even thought about scholarships. Maybe it was three months shy of my 18th birthday when I told the sterling scholar interviewer that I was looking at nursing instead of medicine because I wanted to be a mother. Maybe it was when I chose teaching as a college major in equal parts because of interest and practicality. Maybe it was when I chose to go on a mission instead of running for student body office. Maybe it was when I decided to marry Plantboy instead of backpack across China with Chrisw. Maybe it was when I gave up a really wonderful professional opportunity to give my husband his. Maybe it was when we decided that my continuing to work after our kids were born would mostly be paying for a lifestyle . . . I'll stop there.
No doubt your own life is filled with myriad tiny crossroads. You wake up, you are in your 35th year and you wonder at the trajectory you are on.
Notice I didn't say that you doubt your choices or are unhappy with them. You just wonder, that's all.
I tried to explain some of these musings to Plantboy the other night. I'm not sure he understood entirely, though he maybe did a bit. (For all that it is easy to look at a working husband and think that his own dreams are only bound by the limits of his ambition, I'm not sure that is entirely accurate. Plantboy's dreams are less Secretary of State, and more Bear Grylls. Of course, if I couldn't be the uber-serious policy influencing type, I think I could have gone in for Megan McCormick's life too. Maybe Plantboy and I aren't so different.) I emphasized to him that I wasn't in any way unhappy, but that a woman can't really fathom what she is trading off when she decides to have children. Nor, for that matter, can she fathom the happiness that is in store.
I wouldn't trade paths, not for anything in the world. Even Madeline Albright acknowledges how difficult it is to answer questions from women's groups about the dissolution of her marriage. Her entry into adult-hood during the opening days of the feminist movement tells her that her husband did NOT leave because of the time she spent working and the ambition she had--he was, after all, her greatest champion. Yet, at the same time, she knows that she worked hundred hour weeks as secretary of state; her only priority outside of government was her grandchildren. There would have been no time for a husband. Her own trajectory, had she stayed married to a wealthy, trust-funded husband, would have taken her in a wildly different direction. Even with her lifetime of accomplishments, she acknowledges that her greatest personal failure is the ending of her marriage.
I think we can and should dream. But I think at some point we also have to acknowledge that making a certain set of choices ultimately leads to another set of choices, and so forth. Are they still dreams if they get the qualifier, "realistic?" If my dreams are realistic then they become achievable goals. If my dreams are things that could have only belonged to another life, then am I damning myself to a life of discontent?
1. Late Clinton-era politics are more complicated than I remembered or took the interest to find out. The first news of Lewinskygate broke less than a month after I was home from my mission. I was a bit preoccupied that year and my information about events outside of my own life were whatever I could garner from soundbytes. My understanding of just what took place in the Balkans during the mid-nineties was weak, at best. As Albright's book is her story of those years, anything to do with Lewinsky is pushed aside in exchange for world events pertinent to the Secretary of State. Anyone who still says Bill Clinton became heavily involved in the Balkans or bombed Afghani targets in the wake of the embassy bombings in order to cover up his affair, is either willfully ignorant or clueless about the complexity of world affairs. (Hey, I'm not calling you any names I haven't applied to myself.)
2. The foreign policy approach of the Clinton administration was tough enough. After 9/11, it was so common to hear people say, "If only Clinton had gone in. . ." meaning that if the bleeding heart Democrats had been tough enough to take out Al Qaeda before the towers were struck, it wouldn't have happened. Albright's book, though of course calculated to cement her own reputation and place in history, illustrates to me that the administration behaved in the late 90's exactly in accordance with public sentiment and political will. Because the Balkan Wars were, in their own right, so successful, it is easy to forget that while the Middle East was boiling toward a major event, America was integrally involved in both UN and NATO missions in Eastern Europe.
3. A combination of force, diplomacy, dependence on allies and legal systems prevented Eastern Europe from imploding in the post cold-war era. The world acted together to prevent another genocide that would have rivaled the Rwandan tragedy of the early 90's. (Secretary Albright counts American and UN failures there as the the worst of the decade, and her personal vow that such a thing would never happen again made her a very vocal critic of the Milosevic regime that sought to eradicate the Albanian-Muslim population from Kosovo.) Foreign policy that doesn't make full and careful use of all these avenues is bound to fail. The trick in maintaining peace (or obtaining it) is which combination of these to use, and when a certain avenue isn't working and talk must be taken to the next level. The courage comes from changing your tack in the face of all the facts, even when popular opinion isn't necessarily on your side.
4. All fascinating foreign policy discussions aside, and on a more general level, I was impressed with both Ms. Albright's work ethic, and the dedication with which many others mentioned in her biography gave (and continue to give) to the government. It is easy to be an armchair politician and make deep criticisms and witticisms from afar, and without a doubt, there are many who enter politics with some deep need for power and influence over others; however, there are so many unknown individuals working in government, some playing very key though obscure roles, who are there because they love America. They love freedom. They believe in the rule of law and that carefully worded and compromise-driven policies can change lives for the better. My reading of her biography has restored some of my faith in politicians and government. It has made me grateful beyond measure to be an American.
The memoir, however, has had another startling effect on me: one I absolutely did not expect, and this is the point that I've been rambling for paragraphs to make.
Without giving more detail here, Albright's background is fascinating and serendipitous. She was prepared in every way from her earliest childhood (including the unique family situation she was born into), to exactly take her place in history at the time she did. To think that there was even debate as she entered the "short list" of candidates for Secretary of State during the second Clinton administration is laughable to me--I can't believe there was any list at all. Nobody else was so positioned to take on that role. Born to the kingdom for such a time as this, indeed.
A couple of weeks ago, I was watching some women on a PBS show debate the health care issues--one was a congresswoman, a few were writers, one was a former adviser in the Bush administration, and there was a journalist there as a mediator. As I followed the discussion and thought through various points these very bright women were making, I thought, "I could do this. I would be comfortable sitting in that room and talking with any one of those women, confident that I could make my voice heard."
Almost immediately following that thought came the next, "You could. But you won't . You turned away from that path long ago." When? I don't know, exactly. Maybe it was during my junior year when I decided not to apply to Pacific University where I might major in marine biology because the tuition was too high--I never even thought about scholarships. Maybe it was three months shy of my 18th birthday when I told the sterling scholar interviewer that I was looking at nursing instead of medicine because I wanted to be a mother. Maybe it was when I chose teaching as a college major in equal parts because of interest and practicality. Maybe it was when I chose to go on a mission instead of running for student body office. Maybe it was when I decided to marry Plantboy instead of backpack across China with Chrisw. Maybe it was when I gave up a really wonderful professional opportunity to give my husband his. Maybe it was when we decided that my continuing to work after our kids were born would mostly be paying for a lifestyle . . . I'll stop there.
No doubt your own life is filled with myriad tiny crossroads. You wake up, you are in your 35th year and you wonder at the trajectory you are on.
Notice I didn't say that you doubt your choices or are unhappy with them. You just wonder, that's all.
I tried to explain some of these musings to Plantboy the other night. I'm not sure he understood entirely, though he maybe did a bit. (For all that it is easy to look at a working husband and think that his own dreams are only bound by the limits of his ambition, I'm not sure that is entirely accurate. Plantboy's dreams are less Secretary of State, and more Bear Grylls. Of course, if I couldn't be the uber-serious policy influencing type, I think I could have gone in for Megan McCormick's life too. Maybe Plantboy and I aren't so different.) I emphasized to him that I wasn't in any way unhappy, but that a woman can't really fathom what she is trading off when she decides to have children. Nor, for that matter, can she fathom the happiness that is in store.
I wouldn't trade paths, not for anything in the world. Even Madeline Albright acknowledges how difficult it is to answer questions from women's groups about the dissolution of her marriage. Her entry into adult-hood during the opening days of the feminist movement tells her that her husband did NOT leave because of the time she spent working and the ambition she had--he was, after all, her greatest champion. Yet, at the same time, she knows that she worked hundred hour weeks as secretary of state; her only priority outside of government was her grandchildren. There would have been no time for a husband. Her own trajectory, had she stayed married to a wealthy, trust-funded husband, would have taken her in a wildly different direction. Even with her lifetime of accomplishments, she acknowledges that her greatest personal failure is the ending of her marriage.
I think we can and should dream. But I think at some point we also have to acknowledge that making a certain set of choices ultimately leads to another set of choices, and so forth. Are they still dreams if they get the qualifier, "realistic?" If my dreams are realistic then they become achievable goals. If my dreams are things that could have only belonged to another life, then am I damning myself to a life of discontent?
Friday, January 08, 2010
I'm Not Popular: The List Is
I was feeling flattered and special because my blog has gotten almost 200 hits since my last post. Then a couple of the comments on my previous post caused me to check blogs a little more closely than I have done the last few days. Sure enough, Janssen, who actually IS very popular, linked me in a post about resolutions. Though the book list I sent her was just in an email, the wording in her post and the link led people here looking for said book list.
A book list filled with classics no less. Intimidating.
Though the "debate" about what constitutes a classic was not as robust as I had hoped, here are a few conclusions I think we can draw:
1--A classic must be well-written, by a broad set of standards.
2--A classic should stand the test of time. In other words, even if the language of the story is dated, thematically it should wear well.
3--A classic might also be given that designation if it greatly influenced public thinking and sentiment during the time in which it was written. Novels in this category are studied as much for their historical weight as for literary merit.
4--The cannon of literature should include more than just books. One comment touted the importance of poetry (to her list I would add Dickensen, Whitman, Pound, etc.) I think plays and short stories should also get a mention.
So having given a general definition of classic, I am going to give my list here with a few disclaimers: This list isn't meant to be comprehensive. It is simply a list of books (mostly fiction) that I have read and would deem "classic" that I can personally recommend. If you want a "complete" list of classics, just do a Google search and voila! Every college, school district and literary-minded blogger has posted their own list. I didn't include plays, poetry, short story collections or young adult literature for brevity. (Hey, Janssen, maybe you could put together the classic YA list?) When I sent my original e-mail I divided the list by modern American classics, older American classics and world literature. I don't know why. In retrospect it seems a bit pretentious. (Or more than a bit.) This list is just mixed, and slightly different than the one I sent out originally.
Here is the book list you all came looking for, but thanks for stopping by even if just to browse. In the comments section, please add the ones you would put on the list also.
A Separate Peace. This little novel is remarkably profound. I love school boy stories. This one could possibly be called a young adult novel, but it is thematically rich enough to be read by anyone.
Billy Budd. This novel is great, and a good taste of Melville without braving Moby Dick. Which I did not. And never will.
A book list filled with classics no less. Intimidating.
Though the "debate" about what constitutes a classic was not as robust as I had hoped, here are a few conclusions I think we can draw:
1--A classic must be well-written, by a broad set of standards.
2--A classic should stand the test of time. In other words, even if the language of the story is dated, thematically it should wear well.
3--A classic might also be given that designation if it greatly influenced public thinking and sentiment during the time in which it was written. Novels in this category are studied as much for their historical weight as for literary merit.
4--The cannon of literature should include more than just books. One comment touted the importance of poetry (to her list I would add Dickensen, Whitman, Pound, etc.) I think plays and short stories should also get a mention.
So having given a general definition of classic, I am going to give my list here with a few disclaimers: This list isn't meant to be comprehensive. It is simply a list of books (mostly fiction) that I have read and would deem "classic" that I can personally recommend. If you want a "complete" list of classics, just do a Google search and voila! Every college, school district and literary-minded blogger has posted their own list. I didn't include plays, poetry, short story collections or young adult literature for brevity. (Hey, Janssen, maybe you could put together the classic YA list?) When I sent my original e-mail I divided the list by modern American classics, older American classics and world literature. I don't know why. In retrospect it seems a bit pretentious. (Or more than a bit.) This list is just mixed, and slightly different than the one I sent out originally.
Here is the book list you all came looking for, but thanks for stopping by even if just to browse. In the comments section, please add the ones you would put on the list also.
A Separate Peace. This little novel is remarkably profound. I love school boy stories. This one could possibly be called a young adult novel, but it is thematically rich enough to be read by anyone.
Billy Budd. This novel is great, and a good taste of Melville without braving Moby Dick. Which I did not. And never will.
Crime and Punishment. You will feel so good about yourself if you can plow through it. It is also a really good representation of Russian literature.
Cry, the Beloved Country. Oh wow, this is good. If you ever were interested in South African history, issues or culture, this is THE BOOK to read. It would certainly make a short list (probably top 10 anyway) of the best books I've ever read. It is layered and rich and just so great.
David Copperfield. I actually found this to be the most readable of the Dickens books, though Tale of Two Cities is worthwhile also. I actually met Miss Nemesis three years ago this month at a book group wherein we were all supposed to have read Great Expectations. I was teaching full time and pregnant with two little boys at home . . . I only made it through about half the novel. It is still bookmarked to the same spot.
East of
Ender's Game. This is one that could arguably get booted from the list, both because it is a borderline classic and a young adult novel. Whatever you might think about Card's later work though, this first-ish piece makes him immortal. He wrote, or at least thought through, huge sections of the book when he was in his teens and twenties, though it wasn't published until he was in his 30's. (My age actually.) This book and the series it spawned are staples in school libraries and no good student of science fiction can claim to be such without a thorough knowledge of this book. Ender's Game makes reference to something a lot like the Internet, interactive and virtual reality gaming, time travel and global interaction via computer that is almost exactly like blogging. Clever fellow. (Even if you think he is a total nutbar these days.)
Ethan Frome. Perfection in a few short pages.
Fahrenheit 451. The only other science fiction novel to make my cut. Sometime I'll have to tell you about the lesson plan I did to introduce this to a Science Fiction class during my student teaching days.
Gone With the Wind. Yes, really. The movie, of course, is an important American classic as well, but even at its three-hour length, the screenplay only scratches the surface of what is in this novel. I think it helps the reader understand the Southern perspective on the Civil War. (I said understand, not accept, of course. Sorry Ms. Mitchell--slavery is just bad.)
Grapes of Wrath. Essential for any person attempting to make sense of the Depression era. If I ever open my private school (Dare to Dream, right?) then all juniors will take a class called American Humanities that is a mixture of art, history and literature. This book would teach the Depression and the early Socialist movement in
Huckleberry Finn. Tom Sawyer is a fun read, but this sequel is the real masterwork and, admittedly, much darker in tone. My favorite Huck Finn anecdote is this: one of my best friends/rivals in high school encouraged me to re-read this prior to the AP test as a book he believed it could be used to answer almost any question thrown at us. I scoffed at him--Huck Finn was juvenile! We'd read it sophomore year! Get out. I re-read Heart of Darkness instead. Our question? It was about HUMOR. I ended up bluffing my way through the essay by writing about a play by French writer Moliere that we'd spent a whopping two days in class on. Craig sat at a table opposite me with a smirk on his face the whole time.
Jane Eyre. Touching beyond belief. Much deeper than Austen, if not quite as entertaining. My favorite of the Bronte novels. I found Wuthering Heights to be so dark I could hardly stomach it.
Les Miserable. I've only ever tackled the abridgment. I'm just not that brave.
My Antonia. I would have enjoyed doing this for a book group. The prose is really lovely, but I felt like my own mind could only scratch the surface of it. I also craved a different outcome, though the way it is written shouldn't really surprise.
Heart of Darkness. Probably my all-time favorite book. Perhaps the most amazing part is that Conrad spoke only Polish until his 20's, yet he wrote this book in English. Remarkable. I studied this book with an AP teacher in high school who was also a very religious person--she had a way of turning every great piece of literature into a morality tale without moralizing. In college I took an elective class on World Literature simply because they were studying this book. That professor used Freudian analysis on the story and then showed us Apocalypse Now. The idea that one novel could spawn such divergent viewpoints and discussions is what makes it great.
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. Maya Angelou's memoir is perhaps all the more meaningful because of how young she was when she wrote this first volume. Her courage in talking about child sexual abuse helped expose a major problem that had generally been swept under the rug. She also turned autobiography into literature. (As a side note, the title of the book comes from an African American poet named Paul Laurence Dunbar, who is just incredible. Oh, right, I'm not recommending poets . . .)
Peace Like a River. I think in the next couple of decades you will see this novel taught in schools all over the place. If I were teaching high school I would do it tomorrow. The depth and pathos and humor of this story is remarkable. This one hasn't stood the test of time yet, but I'm just trying to get my vote in early.
Pride and Prejudice. No, wait, this is actually my all-time favorite book, and the classic boy clashes with girl story. Austen's novels, portrayed so well by the BBC and others pale in comparison to her wit, which is never quite achieved in the screenplays. Her novels are not merely love stories, they are deliciously satirical social commentaries. Austen was meant to be read to be truly appreciated. (If you like Austen you should also try works by Georgette Hyer. Yes, I've mentioned this before and I will say it again.)
Rebecca. Freaky and fantastic.
Remains of the Day. The most boring book I've ever read with the most issues to work through. Fascinating perspective. Subtle.
Tess of the Dubervilles. A lot of people will say that Return of the Native or Mayor of Casterbridge is the must-read Thomas Hardy, but I disagree. This book is both beautifully written and heart-breaking.
The Call of the Wild. An excellent example of nature literature from a modernist perspective.
The
The Scarlet Letter. Wow. Just amazing. Check out the free audio download on iTunes--it is remarkably good.
The Good Earth. This is fantastic, and by an American though nothing to do with
The Great Gatsby. A fantastic commentary on wealth and the American dream. The movie version from the 70's is excellent too. Robert Redford, in my mind, will always be Gatsby.
The Jungle. Read it and just try to eat anything from a can for several weeks. I think it stands with The Grapes of Wrath as a novel that can help understand the mentality that led to rise of the American socialist/communist movement. A lot of our modern governmental programs are socialist in nature, and our current generation understands "entitlement" very differently than our great-grandparents would have. Novels like this help us to understand why the government created work programs in the 30's and labeling laws.
The Lord of the Flies. Shocking and amazing all at once.
The Lord of the Rings. Really. There is a lot more going on in these than a good story, particularly when it is considered that Tolkien was writing from the perspective of having lived his life through two world wars. His characters, though rich individually, can also be taken to represent the way people react to war. The last volume of the trilogy goes on for nearly 100 pages after the end of the movies, as the hobbits must return home to reclaim the Shire. Frodo clearly has a severe case of post traumatic stress disorder, though nobody labeled it as such in the 1950's. Tolkien explores the theme that, even for the bravest among us, there are things that our psyche just can't take. There are things we just never quite get over--darknesses we face about ourselves that leave us deeply disturbed. Merry and Pip take the war honors to themselves, Sam goes into politics, and Frodo is talked about in hushed tones for how touched in the head he obviously is. Yet without Frodo, the world as they knew it would have ended. Oh, wait, these are one line summaries. Sorry about that; just trying to make my case.
To Kill a Mockingbird. Arguably the best American novel. Ever. (If you love this book, you should also take a look at Cold Sassy Tree and The Secret Life of Bees. Two books that might eventually make the cut in their own right.)
Uncle Tom's Cabin. The language of this novel is really dated, but it is important to the development of American history and probably should be read as an academic exercise.
Undaunted Courage. Okay, I didn't actually read this one. It is Plantboy's pick. It is a biography of Lewis and Clark which he tore through in about three days over Christmas break when he was in college. He touted it for how accessible it was, besides being a fascinating history.
Again, the list is not intended to be comprehensive. This year I'm going to attempt Stone, Camus and yes, my goal is to still plow through Henry James. Nor did I include all the classics I've read, only the ones I would recommend (two words: Silas Marner).
What would you add?
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
Contest Winners and More Book Lists
What a great list of recommendations! Many of them I had never even heard of before, and only a handful of them are books I've read. I am going to list everything here*, if only so that I have it to reference back to later this year. I'll keep track of my progress on one of my sidebars. If you are interested in what I'm reading, just scroll down a bit. I've been invited to Goodreads by several of you, thank you very much, and I'm just not sure I'm ready to make the jump to one more social networking site.
Poisonwood Bible, Gilead, Into the Wild, East of Eden, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Kite Runner, Princess Academy and Housekeeping have been taken off the list, as they are the few selections I've already read. The two books selected according the BCS formula of ranking, and with full consideration to my one year plus one quarter of calculus, are the following:
The Necklace: Thirteen Women and the Experiment that Transformed Their Lives (suggested by Genjunky and written by Cheryl Jarvis)
I have very high hopes for this one. Before the very bright and wonderful Genjunky decided to stay home and raise her three boys, she taught AP English.
A Short History of Nearly Everything (suggested by Desmama and written by Bill Bryson)
I also have great expectations here. Desmama is a book editor by profession, and continues to work part time while raising her three lovely daughters.
It is interesting to note that in a list made up of mostly fiction, my two selections are not. It is good, however, as I really need a trusted recommendation to pick up anything non-fiction. I like to think that I don't read merely for escape, but my typical reading list says otherwise. To claim your ten dollar Amazon prizes, ladies, just fire me off an e-mail with your addresses. I know, I know, it isn't free cupcakes or a pedicure or a fabulous dress from the Shabby Apple a la Seriously So Blessed, but you also didn't have to compete against 1500 desperate housewives in order to win.
Now for the part where you get to comment.
Janssen e-mailed recently to say that she wanted to read more classics. (Though when that lovely lass will get MORE time to read is beyond me. I'm already convinced that she doesn't sleep.) To that end, she wanted recommendations. I fired her off my list divided by both modern American and older American classics, and then a third list with everything else on it. For my highly non-academic divisions, I explained myself as follows:
"My definition of a classic is something that is lasting, or has potential to be. This doesn't necessarily eliminate any book that makes reference to the culture of the time, but thematically it has to be enduring, universal. Old classics are such because their authors are dead or the historical period is before modernist lit, modern classics have living authors or situations still very relevant to us currently--maybe post-depression issues? Unfortunately the cannon, because it often takes time to see which books will survive and which will not, is full of dead white males. There is much argument in academia regarding broadening the definition of classic. Many secondary English teachers have already done this on their own--they just want the kids to get connected to the literature, regardless of what it is.
In some cases, the academic establishment catches up to the popular movements. For example, in the last few years, a whole group of legitimate professors have come forward with extensive research and writing on the Harry Potter series, publishing papers, etc. and connecting Rowling's masterworks to the Gothic tradition. Fascinating stuff."
The question becomes, is the cannon what people actually read and the literature that is used to shape our time, or is it the literature that people should read? Should it be both to truly be classic? I am not going to provide the list here, because I want you to add your own ideas to our definition as well as make suggestions for what should be on that list. If this goes well, perhaps we can make our own list about what the "classics" are without regard to dead white men.
*Non-winning though still wonderful suggestions for 2010--Possesson: A Romance; The Historian; The Fortune Cookie Chronicles; the Fablehaven series; These is My Words; The Geography of Bliss; Caramelo; Death Comes for the Archbishop; The Hunger Games; The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society; Outliers; Cutting for Stone; Brothers K; Headlong; A Confederacy of Dunces; A String in the Harp; The Book Thief; The Wednesday Wars; The Help; Jonathon Strange and Mr. Norrell; The City and the City; I'm a Stranger Here Myself; The Hidden Christ; The Help
Poisonwood Bible, Gilead, Into the Wild, East of Eden, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Kite Runner, Princess Academy and Housekeeping have been taken off the list, as they are the few selections I've already read. The two books selected according the BCS formula of ranking, and with full consideration to my one year plus one quarter of calculus, are the following:
The Necklace: Thirteen Women and the Experiment that Transformed Their Lives (suggested by Genjunky and written by Cheryl Jarvis)
I have very high hopes for this one. Before the very bright and wonderful Genjunky decided to stay home and raise her three boys, she taught AP English.
A Short History of Nearly Everything (suggested by Desmama and written by Bill Bryson)
I also have great expectations here. Desmama is a book editor by profession, and continues to work part time while raising her three lovely daughters.
It is interesting to note that in a list made up of mostly fiction, my two selections are not. It is good, however, as I really need a trusted recommendation to pick up anything non-fiction. I like to think that I don't read merely for escape, but my typical reading list says otherwise. To claim your ten dollar Amazon prizes, ladies, just fire me off an e-mail with your addresses. I know, I know, it isn't free cupcakes or a pedicure or a fabulous dress from the Shabby Apple a la Seriously So Blessed, but you also didn't have to compete against 1500 desperate housewives in order to win.
Now for the part where you get to comment.
Janssen e-mailed recently to say that she wanted to read more classics. (Though when that lovely lass will get MORE time to read is beyond me. I'm already convinced that she doesn't sleep.) To that end, she wanted recommendations. I fired her off my list divided by both modern American and older American classics, and then a third list with everything else on it. For my highly non-academic divisions, I explained myself as follows:
"My definition of a classic is something that is lasting, or has potential to be. This doesn't necessarily eliminate any book that makes reference to the culture of the time, but thematically it has to be enduring, universal. Old classics are such because their authors are dead or the historical period is before modernist lit, modern classics have living authors or situations still very relevant to us currently--maybe post-depression issues? Unfortunately the cannon, because it often takes time to see which books will survive and which will not, is full of dead white males. There is much argument in academia regarding broadening the definition of classic. Many secondary English teachers have already done this on their own--they just want the kids to get connected to the literature, regardless of what it is.
In some cases, the academic establishment catches up to the popular movements. For example, in the last few years, a whole group of legitimate professors have come forward with extensive research and writing on the Harry Potter series, publishing papers, etc. and connecting Rowling's masterworks to the Gothic tradition. Fascinating stuff."
The question becomes, is the cannon what people actually read and the literature that is used to shape our time, or is it the literature that people should read? Should it be both to truly be classic? I am not going to provide the list here, because I want you to add your own ideas to our definition as well as make suggestions for what should be on that list. If this goes well, perhaps we can make our own list about what the "classics" are without regard to dead white men.
*Non-winning though still wonderful suggestions for 2010--Possesson: A Romance; The Historian; The Fortune Cookie Chronicles; the Fablehaven series; These is My Words; The Geography of Bliss; Caramelo; Death Comes for the Archbishop; The Hunger Games; The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society; Outliers; Cutting for Stone; Brothers K; Headlong; A Confederacy of Dunces; A String in the Harp; The Book Thief; The Wednesday Wars; The Help; Jonathon Strange and Mr. Norrell; The City and the City; I'm a Stranger Here Myself; The Hidden Christ; The Help
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