Don't I Know You?

When the news first came out that Sarah Palin was chosen as McCain's running mate, I thought she looked familiar. I hadn't ever heard of her, and still know very little about her, but I have figured out why she looks familiar. That would be, uh, tv. And movies. Of other people.
Sarah Palin:

Megan Mullally:

Maybe this is a good thing. Because if McCain is elected (which would be a crushing blow), and then expires before his four year term is over (which I am not saying I want to happen), and Palin becomes president (??), then maybe her body double could stand in, or be next in line for the job. Because, at this point, I would endorse Megan Mullally on her acting abilities alone over the real politicians on the Republican side of things.

Plus, Sarah also looks a little like Jennifer Gray, when she played Ferris Bueller's older sister. So we have a big safety net.

Fun with Food

At the Phinney Ridge Farmer's Market yesterday, Adelaide and I got to partake in a fun twist on local food: zucchini car races. Kids were given the raw materials to build a vehicle and a ramp with lanes to race on. After we got home, loaded up with berries and peppers and a whole stroller full of beautiful veggies and fruit, Adelaide added a slick paint job to the cars. The wheels go on with a bead (inside) and a nail, in case you'd like to try this at home.

Today we had a nice stretch of sun in the afternoon so we headed out to the garden to check on our own harvest. The cherry tomatoes are in all stages of ripeness so we've been popping them in our mouths as they come, and we've been digging and eating potatoes now for over a month. Adelaide wanted to make soup for supper, so we dug some fingerlings and red potatoes, picked a few yellow squash, and some fresh herbs from the side yard. We found some pretty funny spuds as we combed through the dirt, and got a little creative before chopping them up.I wish I had thought to take a picture of the soup, but it was too delicious to pause for photos. We added some spinach, onions, gnocchi, and Quorn (faux chicken) to make a creamy but not too heavy soup. I made a roux to thicken it and also blended about 1/4 of the potatoes with the broth and added it back in. I wished I had some fresh thyme but will save that for next time. I foresee many potato based meals in the coming months.

Pho

Adelaide and I like to head up the street for a five dollar bowl of Pho on rainy evenings. She likes the soup, but the real draw is the cream puffs. Served first, they might be intended as an appetizer. Or just a sneak preview of good things to come.

I can't go too often, though, because the salt content in one bowl wakes me up in the night needing giant cups of water. So a healthier home version was in order. One part veggie broth
to two parts water, rice noodles, tofu, sauteed shiitakes, green onions, cilantro and jalepeno. A little Bragg aminos (soy sauce would also be fine) and a hit of Judy fu's chile sauce, because I had it. Very quick, and very light and fresh.

gear up

I'm sure we weren't alone in being swept up this week. After all, this is an amazing, inspiring, monumental step in the right direction. We have nominated someone for the office of the president whom we are proud of. Someone who can speak to the people of America not only with incredible intellect and compassion, but in a way that treats us as intelligent and compassionate. Who is inspiring many people to have hope, to work for change, to rise to their feet and go to the polls, and to reach in their pockets and contribute to the cause. I know the credit card came out here tonight, more than once, by more than one of us in the family. We will decorate our car, our yard, our chests with the logos and show them off to our friends and neighbors. Not because they are likely to make a big splash in our neck of the woods, but because for the first time in a long time, we can actually let ourselves feel a little bit patriotic. Proud, even, to call ourselves Americans. And hopeful, that we could actually have a president who not only understands the struggles and issues of our generation, but who has lived through them himself.

No way, no how, no McCain

I enjoyed Hillary's speech last night. I must admit, I was not riveted to the screen. I missed some here and there, taking out garbage, scooping cat litter, etc., but overall I was happy with the clarity of her message to support Barack. I also think she stayed on point about women's rights, and didn't dilute that part of the message. The image of a glass ceiling with 18 million cracks in it was a good one.

I did wonder if they might have rushed her through the speech a bit, though, because some of the best lines were a little swept up in applause. Had she paused longer to allow for applause, the next lines would have had more impact, because the lead-in would have been heard. I liked her line that her mother had been born before women had the vote, and her daughter had been able to vote for her mother for president.

Given the possible outcomes, however, I think she really pulled off an excellent speech to rally around Obama. Let's just hope her supporters were convinced. I don't see how they could possibly consider McCain. Of course, I don't see how anyone could, but I try to stay in parts of the country that help me feel like we are in the majority. Which we haven't been, for a while now. Keep your fingers crossed that we will be inspired enough this election to get out the vote and make change real.

Go Michelle!

It feels so good to have hope. I actually was looking forward to watching the coverage of the Democratic National Convention last night, to see what Michelle Obama had to say. I was surprised at how moved I was by her speech and the others before her. Political conventions don't usually bring me to tears (well, I suppose the Republicans might, were I to watch them, but that is a different kind of crying altogether).


Watch the speech here, if you didn't already. And the movie.





At the gym this morning, I saw an ad which included this picture: I couldn't hear what the ad said, because the tv was muted, but it didn't really need more than the picture. I just love this. I have so many ideas about this picture.

Haute Couture, en Voiture.

These days, when driving, you're either in, or you're out. Former faux pas on the road are all the rage, and what was once hot, is not. Here are a few tips to help you keep up with the trendiest traffic.

In: The cell-phone weave. Show some flair by drifting over lane lines and alternately slowing and speeding your pace while you fiddle with your phone. An air of casual chic is easily achieved with one hand on the wheel. The boldest divas of fashion will drive no-handed as they text the latest gossip with both thumbs flying.

Out: The thank-you wave. Would you be seen in legwarmers? I didn't think so. So don't be seen flashing the thank-you wave. The only fashion-forward driving is eyes straight ahead or in the make-up mirror. Do not acknowledge the drivers who let you in or you may as well be one of them. You can't get ahead in this world without stepping on the backs of those less fashionable than you.

In: The Taxi-Stop. This darling little maneuver replaces the tired old stop, the one where you used to hit the brakes in time to no longer be moving at the stop sign. Now, the hot trend is to glide about a car-length past the stop sign, then pause. If you must come to a full stop due to pesky cross-traffic, be sure to have already entered the intersection. Scowl at oncoming drivers to indicate your displeasure at them for cramping your style.

Out: The Turn Signal. Please, people, do not bore me with your little flashing light. Anyone who is anyone knows, to use a blinker is so 1999. Keep them guessing by slowing down and stopping for no apparent reason, then make your turn. You are sure to dazzle with your air of mystery and spontaneity.

Out: “Baby on Board” signage. I should not need to explain.

In: Para-military vehicle to surround your child with massive hunks of metal. All the hip kids are way up high, burning fossil fuels for fashion. In the event of a crash, your child will make the A-list by simply destroying the competition.

Out: Stopping for a red light at its onset. Red is the new yellow, folks, so be sure to cruise on through that light. Don't be seen slowing for last year's amber or you will be the laughingstock of the intersection.

In: Tail-gating plus. Add a twist to this timeless classic. With your oversized SUV, your lights will be at eye level for any poser in an economy car. You'll blind the masses with your dazzling evening glare.

To sum it up, fashionistas, just remember these simple words: me, me, me. Drive like you are the reason there are roads, and you will stay ahead of the curve.

Dear Seattle,

And Minneapolis. And virtually anywhere I've ever driven a car,

I would like to inform you about a very simple tool you can use, while driving, to increase world peace. Wouldn't you like to do that? To decrease road rage, reduce noise pollution from excess honking, and further good will among men and women?

Allow me to introduce, the near-extinct, THANK YOU WAVE. What is it, you ask? Why, a simple lifting of the hand, sometimes accompanied by a smile or head nod. It can be done face-on, or from ahead, utilizing the rear-view mirror. This simple tool has many applications, none of which can be over-used.

Allow me to illustrate by example. I tried to find a photo for you, but the thank-you wave is becoming so elusive, even the almighty Google Image was unable to document it. I did find this (see photo right), however, which was worth a quick look, however off-topic it may be.

Let's take the driver who careened around the corner of the small residential street near my daughter's school this morning, making a left-turn onto a thoroughfare crowded with parked cars. When I stopped and pulled into a parking space to allow you to drive on, despite the fact that I was seconds from exiting that street, it was not for my own sake. I wasn't having a lovely detour involving wrenching the wheel to the side, then having to put the car into reverse, then resuming my drive. No, I was actually doing you a favor. As you zoomed past while I sat and waited, you had the perfect opportunity to acknowledge and thank me, without really any effort on your part. Lifting your hand, with or without looking or smiling at me, you could have said so much. And I would have driven on, glad to have done my part. Instead, I find myself willing you to continue your zooming, directly into the nearest lamppost. I don't want you to be seriously hurt, but if you car was out of commission, that would do. Maybe just a teensy bit hurt, enough to have you arm lifted into a reminder of what a thank-you wave could have done for your karma.

Or how about you, driver, the one who ignores all of the lane closure signs, who drives 60 miles an hour past all the merging cars to the very end of the closed lane, then signals to change into my lane in front of my car? Okay, I must admit, sometimes I try to make it very difficult for you to get in. I gave you a place about a mile ago which you didn't want, and now it's too late. But were I feeling more giving, and were I to let you in, this would be your golden moment. Lift up your hand, however fleetingly, and say "you made room for me." It doesn't hurt, I promise! You won't get carpel tunnel or tennis elbow. You don't even really have to mean it!

I realize that this letter may not reach many. I have no doubt that I will be the recipient of many missed than-you wave opportunities. I suppose my consolation will come in the future, when we no longer have the oil to support our silly car habit. When I offer you my seat on the train and you take it without saying anything, at least I'll be able to kick you in the shins.

Back to School

What your child believes about me, her public school teacher:

I live at school and sleep in the classroom.

What you believe about me, your child's public school teacher:

I leave work at 3:00 p.m.

Your child's version is closer to the truth. So too, for the following misconceptions:

Your child: I buy school supplies for him and his classmates.

You: The school provides tissues, snacks, stickers, prizes, toys, and other classroom items.

Your child: I have the day off every time she does.

You: I am responsible for your child while you work, and am constantly shirking my duties for teacher inservice days.

Your child: In summer, I cease to exist.

You: In summer, I don't work.

Your child: I don't have a husband. Or my husband is the principal. Or the computer teacher.

You: I could own a home and live in Seattle on this salary without a husband.

Your child: I can just bring my baby to school with me after I have it.

You: I will be having a paid maternity leave.

Your child: The teacher's lounge is a magical place filled with candy and doughnuts.

You: We want candy and doughnuts. And ornaments. And jewelry in the shape of an apple.

Your child: I love him more than any other child in his class.

You: Your child is the only one I have to teach.

Never Say Die

The American Experience

Sunday was the 4th or 5th hot day in a row here, in a town which doesn't get much hot weather. We swam in the lake to cool off every afternoon until Sunday, when the combination of some clouds and my laziness demanded a change. So I checked online to see what our movie options were and decided to take my four year-old to see the new Pixar movie, Wall-E.

We had just missed an earlier show at a theater which is fairly close, but there was another matinee at a downtown shopping center. I considered taking the bus down, as we have enjoyed that as an outing a few times, but because the movie would be getting out close to dinner and bedtime, I opted to drive.

We pulled into the underground parking and headed for the elevators. As soon as we exited the elevator, we entered what felt to me like another world. Bright florescent lights, big stores, people everywhere. It seemed so full of people to me, and I'm not sure why that was so surprising. After all, we were there, and I had planned on killing some time in the shopping center while waiting for the movie to start. I realize that going shopping is an activity that was a normal pursuit for most people. And it's not that I never do it. I certainly have my shopping routines (can anyone say, Tar-jhay?) and in fact have purchased more clothing in the past 6 months or so than I have in a long time. But the feel of this place was scary. It had the "anytown USA" syndrome, anonymous and unnatural and designed to fuel the fires of retail therapy. A reader? Stop in to BigChainBooks and load up. Have an overpriced Nationalcoffee while you're here. Hungry? We have Mexican, burgers, Italian, and Thai food, all packaged in a sugar and fat format that will not shock the American palate.

So, we browsed in the bookstore and got a couple of paperbacks for Adelaide. (When in Rome, right?) Then it was time for the movie. Or should I say, the 30 minutes of pre-movie sales and "entertainment." I swore the last time we went to the movies that I would arrive 30 minutes after the start time, so I wouldn't have to explain what all the crap we were watching was (that's called a commercial, honey, and they are trying to sell you things. No, this isn't the movie, I know you don't like it, it will be over soon.). I forgot. Next time.

Finally, the feature presentation. Presented at decibels just slightly into the range of middle ear discomfort. Um, hello? Kids have good hearing. "Brideshead Revisted" has all of the geriatrics, save the hearing-aid augmentation for theater 8.

I won't give away too much of the movie in case you want to see it. It was cute, and up to the high standards that Pixar sets for itself. The theme was particularly fitting for the experience I was having that day. The earth has been abandoned due to the magnitude of human abuse, and all the humans are off in space, getting fatter and fatter and less and less able to exercise free thought or any parts of their bodies except their mouths. It was funny, and a little scary in its potential truth.

You know that feeling when you walk out of a matinee and the daylight seems blindingly wrong? Well, it was similarly disconcerting to walk out of Wall-E to find a reality similar to that of the movie. We were surrounded by blue-toothed ears, overweight bodies with motorized chairs to allow for continued shopping, and glazed-over faces hidden by giant sugared drinks.

Let's have another look:

Harriet the Spy, 30 years later

In writing class last night, we were asked to think about a story we read when we were very young that had an impact on us, and do some freewriting based on that question. This is what I wrote.

I believe I was 8 when I first read Harriet the Spy by Louise Fitzhugh. I am 38 now, and the fact that I can remember the author of a book I read 30 years ago is telling. I believe this book had a great impact on me because it may have been the first time I fell so deeply into a written text that I experienced serious emotional highs and lows alongside the main character.

The protagonist in the story, Harriet, is a young girl who keeps a notebook. It is full of her private thoughts and observations, uncensored and unedited. When she writes in the notebook, she is utterly exposed. Much of her writing is about her peers and neighbors, and the foibles that make them human. It can be critical, and intrusive. She does carry tools to spy on others, and in this spying violates their privacy. But I related to her, because I felt that she was simply trying to figure other people out. And as an 8 year-old girl, I found other people somewhat hard to figure out. I was more of an observer than participant in many things kid – especially those with a social or group component, or anything involving risk-taking. I was not a writer then, so much, though I suppose I dabbled in journals and I'm fairly certain that I acquired a notebook exactly like the one used by Harriet after reading the book. But I, too, was trying to figure those ever mysterious people out.

When Harriet's notebook gets taken away, or lost, or left behind, and falls into the hands of her friends, there is a tremendous backlash. They read it, and see her criticisms and comments on themselves and their private actions, and they are furious. So they shun her, and mistreat her, and punish her for what she has done. So not only is she without her notebook (I believe she may also receive punishment from her parent or caregiver and not be allowed a new notebook), she is even more isolated than before.

Of course, in the end, she learns a lesson about privacy and friendship and how one must treat others and respect them. She is welcomed back into the fold of her small group of friends. She is lifted from what was truly a depression, and as the reader, so was I. As an adult looking back, however, I wonder about that notebook, and whether the lesson might also be something like “do a better job of hiding your notebook.” Because I still feel confused and isolated and like I want to write down what I see and hear people doing to try to make sense of it. I still feel on the outside of the group, and uncomfortable in social and risk-taking circumstances. Not the same as in childhood, certainly, but in some ways even more deeply than I used to. The relief for me now is my ability to connect with those close to me on these very feelings, ranging from depression about our national leadership to amusement and irritation over road rage drivers. As a 38 year-old, were someone to take away my notebook, I might not recover.

Reciprocity? Virtually Absent

Let me preface this post by saying that I am going to complain. Not a big complaint, not too whiny (I hope), but just a bit of something that has been troubling me today and recently.

I mentioned earlier this summer that I was going to be taking a creative writing class. Thursday will be my last one, and I have found it useful and enjoyable. The instructor is a nice guy, and goes above and beyond the call of duty, I think, by giving us an "open inbox" policy (my new term). Basically, he will read anything you send him and give you feedback on it. He also will send things out to the group for feedback if you ask him to. He tells you what he thinks about your story, asks a few questions and gives a suggestion or two to improve or expand on what you've done. So far I think I've sent 5 things. 3 were assignments from class and 2 were stories I had written prior to starting class. He's responded to all of them, within a day or two of my sending them. I think it's pretty impressive.

What I have found much less impressive, by far, is the group in the class. Not their writing, so much (though there is a wide, wide range of abilities in my opinion), nor the comments and dialog in class. People have been helpful and supportive to one another when listening to stories read aloud. But here is what I don't understand -- there has been virtually no feedback for stories emailed to the group. At least to me, and from what I gather, to most other people, too. Now, I am not complaining that people aren't taking time to read and re-read my little missives, not at all. (I actually only asked my instructor to send my 2 shortest things to the group, as I thought too much would be obnoxious.) Several people have said in class that they have been reading everything, but have been overwhelmed by the volume of what is getting sent out, and haven't had time to comment. I can totally understand this.

But. If this many people are sending something out hoping to receive feedback, then they must realize that they bear some responsibility to also give some feedback. I know I wasn't really interested in reading beyond the first few lines of many of the things sent out, but I decided it would be a good idea to respond to as many as I could. After all, I wanted to see what people would say about my writing.

So I wrote a brief note to every person who sent something out. I read each thing at least twice, because I didn't think I could really comment on what needed changing if I breezed through. Some things I had to read even more times because it took a long time to come up with anything positive to say. Others I thought were great as is, and I told the authors as much.

Of the people I gave feedback to, only two wrote back to say thank you. Only one wrote some feedback on either of my stories.

So, I think I read about 15 things and responded to them, and I received one piece of feedback on what I had sent out. Not exactly balanced. Alarmingly similar to our general societal trend, which can tend towards a chorus of "me me me" and a gross lack of ability to empathize with others or think of the bigger picture.

On Thursday as part of our last class, we have the opportunity to exchange email addresses and talk about forming a writer's group. I originally thought I might like to participate in something like this, because I was impressed with how people commented on the first story that was shared. It was a really irritating, long ramble that jumped tenses, had no editing as far as I could tell based on the errors, typos and just random fragments. The woman who wrote it had spent the greater part of the first class clacking away loudly on her laptop while the instructor spoke, and left 2/3 of the way through the class. She described her writing as similar to David Sedaris. It read more like a transcript of a drunk woman's rant about her ex-husband and what a dick he was. Basically it seemed like group therapy might be a better choice for this woman than creative writing, but everyone in class found something very kind and positive to say. They also very gently pointed out the problems with the writing. So, I was impressed.

After these weeks of people sending out their writing, I am fairly certain I will not try to continue with this group, because while they seem to have their act together in person, they totally suck via email. And to be real, I won't really have the time to meet frequently enough to make it worth my while once the school year starts, so I'll be left with email as the main connection. It seems a little crazy to write off a group of people based on their lack of online courtesy, but this is how it is for me. It's a bit ironic, given that I really wanted that classroom experience, and that part was good. I guess now I could try an online course, and maybe I'll have a better experience with the virtual people. Could be that it was a self-selecting group of people who just do better face-to-face than when asked to do their part via their inbox.

tofu tsatsiki

Today's lunch was some tofu cutlets, fried with canola oil and garlic, cumin, oregano and smoked paprika.I had them in a wrap with cucumber and tofu tsatsiki (from the deli). Delicious.

Please Do Bongs

When I was in high school, we had 4 or 5 foreign exchange students attending every year. One year there was this Russian kid, Igor Katsnelson, who liked to hang out with the stoner crowd. Apparently he was a very polite guy, because when he decided to blend in with the Americans by trying his hand at some graffiti, his spray-painted missive read "PLEASE DO BONGS." This caused no end of hilarity to all those who passed by the garage on which is was painted, and to the rest of us who heard about it second- and third-hand.

On a seemingly un-related note, I will report that my four year-old enjoys making up little songs and rhyming poems. Today while we were waiting for customers at the popsicle stand, she came out with this one:

I am tall
I am strong
I will never do a bong

When I asked her what "bong" meant, she said "something that is not the right way." So bong = wrong. That was satisfying enough for me. I'd like to think it will stick, even though I don't plan on bringing it up for a while yet. I am fairly certain she has never heard the word bong and was just playing around with rhymes.

Then later this afternoon she was in the tub for a soak after her swim, and she was playing with her pump toy, blowing bubbles. She called me in to see, and I felt a photo was warranted:
Now she's asking me about dinner. I guess she's got the munchies.

Farm Frenzy

Reflecting on our recent vacation, I have many things to be grateful for. I loved having a chance to stay in a place together with my family, and the opportunity to watch my daughter re-connect with them. That was the best part, really.I also enjoyed the time she and I spent amusing ourselves in Hood River. We had a few days in the beginning of the week on our own, plus some time here and there where just the two of us headed out for something. Of those adventures, I think my favorite was our tour of the "Fruit Loop." No, not the breakfast cereal, they call it that for whatever reason but it's a group of farms in the Hood River area that work together to attract tourists and visitors to their farms. We just went to a few places, but the drive was beautiful and the produce divine. We got veggies to make salsa and a strata, fruit to snack on, jam to feast on and of course some pie for a special treat.A beautiful drive is not typically something my four year-old would get fired up about, but in this case we were spotting all of the farm animals and fruit trees. I would point out the pears, cherries and apples, and she was practically vibrating with excitement in the backseat. I love it that she enjoys food and is excited by seeing where it comes from, and I was surprised and pleased that even just driving by orchards and fields she was having a ton of fun. I have been thinking of heading out to some farms nearer to home and now I know that it would certainly be worth a little driving to do it. I think it will be good for me, too, especially if we go to some of the farms that supply our store and farmer's markets. Just to walk on that land and see the food growing will remind me to do my part in making good, sustainable choices and eating well.