Veteran's Day, 2009

Click on picture for a different Veteran's Day story, from the New York Times.

And the poppy, a remembrance of the veterans, often used in Europe.
Happy Veteran's Day.

Altered Books

I was quite intrigued by Brian Dettmer's transfiguration of a Webster's Dictionary. He cuts, glues, keeps, discards pieces of the book revealing a closer look inside. I found his work through a series of links, but he is represented by a Chicago art gallery. They don't give the prices, but it's a different way to look at books, that's for sure.

Trading

I check horoscopes frequently, usually just for fun. I like to think of them as little treasures from the universe but don't let them rule my life.

Today's:
You can't gain one thing without losing something else, and you never lose without gaining something. The trick is in deciding what is most valuable.

Yeah, okay. Maybe the horoscoper had in mind something significant when they did whatever they do to come up with these things. But in my case, it fit right into my life. I've been sick for three weeks, and if you frequent this blog (which I really haven't given you any reason to lately, because I've been sick) you've seen the picture of me in bed with a cough for too long.

It began over three weeks ago with losing my voice. Yep--completely. Then it moved into a strep throat, then lung-cough-asthma and yes, I kept right on grading, teaching, because if you're as highly paid as we community college adjuncts are, you just don't want to let anyone down. I cancelled a class in there when I was communicable (disease-wise), but that's all. So Thursday I was finally feeling much better--in the 80% range. Yay!! I'd done it!! I'd beat the quasi-swine-flu-strep-throat-no-voice disease that had been dogging me out. A long-lost friend called about 9:30 that night just as I was headed to bed. I enjoy talking with this friend as it happens infrequently, but to be frank, after about 10 minutes I was done. However the Polite Disease kicked in and I finally crawled into bed a long time later.

That's where the horoscope comes in. I traded that phone call for what I am today: a sneezy-coughy-achy-tired person, tucked away in bed on a perfectly gorgeous afternoon when I could be out for a drive, or finishing up projects or ripping out the dead tomato plants out of my garden.

I did lose sleep. I gained this horrid cold. I did lose the quasi-swine-flu. I've gained a runny nose. If you want to know what I look like, check out last week's post. The only bright side I can see is that I'm knocking out all my diseases/illnesses in one month and come January when a new class starts and it's filled with hacking, sneezy students, I'll be immune. Wonder what my horoscope will say then?

Can't Stop Coughing

And now Dave has the cough.  (Disclaimer: That is not a portrait of him above.)  I realize I haven't posted--not that anyone reads this, but if you are, my apologies.  I'm now going to go swallow a slug of cough syrup and hopefully sleep well so I can wake  up tomorrow and grade my brains out.

The Ages of Man

From an interesting chart, published in the New York Times by one of my favorite columnists (currently): Ben Schott. Here's another (below) and don't miss the one in the lower right of his chart titled, A. A. Gill, who gave a riff on how the ages of man can be compared to European nations.

My Life in France

One bit of silver lining about being sick is the chance to reach into your nightstand drawer and pull out one of the books tucked away in there, and finally read it.

I just finished My Life in France, by Julia Child with Alex Prud'homme last night, laying low because Dave said I needed a rest (Did that mean I was a bit crabby?  A bit.).

I ripped through this pausing only for a snack or two, but that is to be expected considering the entire book is about her experience with food.  She begins in Paris, then to Marsaille, and the writing of her cookbook manuscript takes over and becomes the thread that runs through the other places that she lives: Germany and Norway, then finally back to the United States.

 If you've seen the movie Julie and Julia, much of the information in this book feels familiar, as Nora Ephron leaned heavily on this book for her screenplay.



From the New York Times:
Child also did a lot for France — and the American palate — by introducing French cuisine to American homes. But this book, written with her husband's great-nephew, Alex Prud'homme, before Child's death at 91 in August 2004, is really a love story: she loved Paul Child, 10 years her senior; she loved France; she loved French cooking; and she loved life. Listen to her: "The sweetness and generosity and politeness and gentleness and humanity of the French had shown me how lovely life can be if one takes time to be friendly." And a few pages later: "Oh, how I adored sweet and natural France, with its human warmth, wonderful smells, graciousness, coziness and freedom of spirit." 

I liked reading about her love affair with food, with France (Paris and then the south of France), and with her husband Paul, who seemed to have a generous heart and was very supportive of her endeavors (I love the photo on the original cover of the book, on the right. It is from one of their Valentine's Day cards, preferring to send those out instead of Christmas Cards.)

One thing I did find interesting is the references to "bilious stomach" and dieting and portions in this book.  Seems Julia and her husband Paul balanced their sumptious meals with leaner, lighter fare on other days.  Makes sense. This is a pretty fast read and I much enjoyed it.

I think about the list of cooking blogs I have now on my Google Reader (including my own as well as my daughter Barbara's) and have to think that Julia's enthusiasm for cooking from scratch has played a role in this burst of food writing.  I cooked from scratch for many years, and nearly every recipe began with: "Thaw one pound of hamburger. . ." the assumption being that everyone had a pound of hamburger in their freezer--and we did.

My friend Judy and I were discussing this last night and we both realized that we now rarely cook with hamburger.  Our tastes seemed to have changed (last night I just read Cooking With Dorie's discourse on butter, and now am going to track down "cultured butter" to see if it's similar to the butter I had in France on my Paul sandwich), and we're more adventurous with more time and more money to spend in the direction of cooking.

I don't think she and I cook as much as we did when we both had children growing up around us--we just cook differently.  A home-cooked meal two or three times a week, leftovers or a visit to a restaurant the rest of the time.

Signing Time

When Alex came to stay a couple of years ago, when Kristen was pregnant with Andrew (which made her really sick), he loved to watch this series of videos: Signing Time.  I still know the song, but have almost no memory of  the signs except for milk (mimic pulling on a cow's udders with both hands squeezing open and shut) and cookie (hand cupped into a C, and I think you put it on your forearm--not quite sure).

I could have used a few of those signs today as I have been rendered mute by some sort of laryngitis.  I could feel it coming on last night, when I talked with a very husky voice, and today the silence is complete.  If I try to talk, I squeak.  If I try to whisper, I remember that the Mayo Clinic's website said that does harm to the recovering vocal chords.

It's been an interesting day.  I didn't realize how dependent I was on the phone, on my voice.  Dave's probably in seventh heaven, as he's more of an introvert and doesn't mind lots of silence.
I generally don't mind it either, except when its forced upon me, by some random thing floating around in the air.  I don't feel too bad--just a little more tired--but realize I can't do anything because that would require me to talk.  Which I can't.

I have a job in my church which I've titled "The Mute Calling."  It's Primary pianist and except for a pair of hands and eyes, nothing else is required of me.  I am learning to appreciate the low-key calling, giving me time to rest for a season from my labors, but it is interesting to be mute at church, typically a place of lots of talk, chatter and action.

I recently read a book by Anne D. LeClare called Listening Below the Noise.  She chooses one day every two weeks to be completely silent, infusing this with a spiritual quest.  I liked the book, and could handle the religiousity bits.  But I never thought I would like to have a day like that.  I can find stillness in my life and I don't need to shut out the noise (although, again, it was an interesting read).

Apparently one challenge for writers is dealing with the silence, the constant isolation.  I've read that many park themselves in the middle of a busy place, tapping away at their keyboards.  They're not necessarily involved with the busy place, but let it swirl around them as they live in the fictional worlds they've created.  If I ever write a novel, I can already tell I'd be one of those type of writers.

As for me, Dave's made me some chicken soup (I mimed it) and I'm headed down to eat.  This ought to be an interesting meal--Dave will have to do all the talking!

Shindig

While I like the music, it's the dancing that fascinates me. Reminds me of my sisters Christine and Cynthia.

A Day at the Office

Mine are never like this.

Be Of Good Cheer

I'd been seeing red, pink, white and orange quilts all over the blogosphere this summer, so I pulled out my stash, added a few (isn't that what we always do?) and made a quilt.  I somehow knew it wasn't mine, but hadn't yet figured out whose it would be.

My daughter Barbara has a rare heart disease, PeriPartum Cardiomyopathy, the onset timed with (and perhaps due to) the delivery of her third child last December, a little clone of my daughter.  While I could detail for you the technical aspects of this disease, basically Barbara has an 80-year-old heart.  So, no pushing her baby around the block in a stroller, no more taking casseroles to all her neighbors, no more running up and down the stairs.  No more sewing and putting things in her Etsy shop.  As her mother, my heart was in a wrench over all this.


As I sewed the colors of a heart (reds) sprinkled with pinks (for love?), orange (for happy) and white (for faith) it became apparent to me that this was her quilt. I poured my heart into my work as I stitched the brightly-colored blocks. While that has a sappy sentimental sound to it, I think that's what happens when the stewing over something moves into your bones, your thoughts, and all the tears and travail and remembrances carry through your hands.  Orange, red, pink, and white all combined to carry a message of love to her.

We traveled to a family reunion and brought the quilt to her in person (they live in AZ, some 7 hours from me).  She was sweet and open and loved the quilt (see her blog where she writes about it), giving me a tender hug.  This quilt is a tender hug for her when I'm not there, telling her that I love her, to hang in there, to believe that better days are ahead.
 

In short, to Be of Good Cheer.

*****************************

Here's some details:

The stash lined up on the ironing board.  I tried to use a lot of different fabrics.

The back, held up by my daughter and my husband at the Family Reunion (we held it in Eden, Utah, not too far from Park City!).

A close-up of the quilting, done with a butterfly pattern--Barbara's favorite since she was a child.

My quilter, Cathy Kreter, of CJ Designs, did it in a record two days--a favor to me because she knew the story and knew I was leaving.

Here I am, holding up Madilyn, that third baby.

She's a gift.

Grading Galaxy

I'm on the other side of the universe, caught in The Grading Galaxy.

See you upon re-entry!

Thinking About The Situation

My friend Judy and I discuss on a regular basis life, our students, and how our peers interact with the internet, which is (quite frankly) rarely. As a result, she and I are about the only commenters on each other's blogs outside of family members. I told her my daughter's peers have a different mindset (as does her daughter's) and that this younger generation regularly reads and comments on each other's blogs. Or Facebook pages.

I read a lot of blogs. Some dismiss them as narcissistic, lightweight and completely self-referential. Are they? I'd say no more so than personal essays that are published in the newspapers. (Or poems in various collections.)

But the difference between the published accounts and these "free web" accounts is that critical word: "free." I've thought for some time that the web could be a vehicle for publication of some kind, whether it be this blog-self-publishing version, or whether like Pioneer Woman, a blogger is picked up by the major publishing houses for a book, thereby legitimizing what is written by the act of putting ink to page, money into bank account.

In all cases, the goal is to build an audience. When I was at my writer-friend's home the other night, she had several books that she talked about. One was her friend Holly's book, a softcover book that didn't have enough sales so it didn't merit a contract for a second book. So, Holly's done. In a way. Much the way I felt after hitting 400 posts and the only comment was a "encouraged" comment from my husband, as well as a comment from my friend Judy, mentioned above.

Hitting 400 posts is not the same as batting .400, or hitting 400 balls out of the ballpark, or publishing 400 novels, or 400 personal essays, or raising 400 children, or baking 400 cupcakes. It's viewed as someone just sitting down at their computer and larking around with words, text, photos, illustrations, in other words, not serious writing.

But it is seductive for just that reason: a blogger/writer can mix, match, cull, steal, borrow, video, write, doodle, in short, lark around with all the various types of media that are out there. And it's immediate. And given the writing compulsion of the writer to write, it's easier than wading through publishers, agents, convincing the world out there that supposedly doesn't read, to Please! Notice Me! It's Web 2.o at its finest, and all free.

And if the blogger/writer picks up ads on the side, potentially lucrative. I noticed that Nienie has now opened up her cooking blog and the cynic in me noted that the ads were front and center. Given the proclivities of my generation I don't ever anticipate getting paid for my internet writing. But it's not only ads. Do prizes attract viewers? Do free giveaways bring in the blog numbers? In many cases (mostly those of the under-thirties generation) blogging has become about getting paid for the copy that is put forth into the world. We have come full circle. Does getting paid for maintaining a blog legitimize this endeavor?

Or is ink to paper still the only way for a writer to earn their credentials?

With This One, It's 400 Posts

Route 400 to Somewhere

400 Fantastic Issues!

400-Watt Ultrasound

Daytona 400, also known as the Pepsi Netzero 400 (apparently)

By 2020 China will have 400 new cities.
We are busy in the U.S. trying to keep our cities from dying.

Seating for 400 in a ballroom.
(Thanks, but no thanks. I'm through with all of our wedding receptions.)

The Atari 400 computer, from 1978
Designed primarily as a computer for children, the Atari 400 has an "advanced child-proof design featuring pressure-sensitive, wipe-clean keyboard."

Boeing 747-400 airplane

World's first 625 line television: The Philips TX-400.

Fundraising pitch from art gallery.

My first post: Thursday, September 14, 2006

Door to Heaven
Disney Concert Hall
Los Angeles, California

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It's been a nice journey. Thanks for listening.

Hot Dog Distributor

My horoscope for yesterday:

For Tuesday, September 22 -If work were a camping trip, you'd be in charge of the grill. Why? For one thing, everybody trusts you when it comes to handling fire. You can light it, you can keep it burning, you can make sure it doesn't get so big that is sets the paper plates and tablecloths on fire. Further, people trust you to distribute the hot dogs fairly, equitably and fully cooked. Yep, it's no wonder you're the office equivalent of the grill chef -- who else is as trustworthy as you?

Now you know why I read these things. It's just in case I ever have an identity crisis.

Mother's Wheat Germ Bread

I think about the fires recently in the hills around us here in Southern California, and remember back to the Oakland California fires in an earlier era. While many stories were poignant and very sad, one that has stuck in my memory is the story of the woman who lost everything in the fire. Interestingly, she despaired the most over the loss of her recipes, some of which were family treasures passed down for several generations. (I have a few of those as well.)

Some weeks after the fire, one of her neighbors found out where she was living, and brought her a loaf of her own bread, with the recipe attached to it. Little by little, her recipes came back to her, because she had shared them.

My mother cooked for a crowd: her family of seven children. I remember coming home as a teenager to the smell of this bread, freshly baked. It was perfect in the afternoons, just warm crumbly bread, some homemade jam, and a glass of milk. Of course the fantasy memory might include then happily skipping off to do the homework, but I think the real memory probably was slicing one more slice, in order to avoid leaving Mom’s kitchen and her good bread. This is one recipe I don’t want to lose, so I’m posting it here. It's also over at Elizabeth's Kitchen.

Mother’s Wheat Germ Bread

Combine in a mixer bowl:
1 1/2 cups boiling water
6 Tbls. shortening (I suppose you could substitute butter)
1/2 cup honey
1 teaspoon salt.

Dissolve 2 packages yeast in 1/2 cup warm water and add to above mixture. Then add 2 eggs, mixing well, but not overbeating.

Add: 1 cup wheat germ and 3 cups white flour and beat for 2 minutes at medium speed. Blend in 2 1/2 cups more flour.

“Blob it in” (the recipe says) into 2 greased loaf “tins,” and let rise to within 1″ of the top of the pan.

Bake at 375 degrees for 45-50 minutes. Brush tops with melted butter.

I find that I’m used to a more complete recipe these days: Do I turn the loaves out onto racks immediately, or let them cool for 10 minutes in the pan? When do I brush on the melted butter? How long do I mix the dough? This is a recipe from days when most women cooked, and cooked regularly, and knew what to do. I smile at even earlier recipes that say things like “Cook in a moderate oven until done.” Translation, please?

No photo of the bread. When it stops hitting temperatures past the hundred-degree mark, I’ll make some, for old times sake, and post a photo then.

Birds on a Wire

Birds on the Wires from Jarbas Agnelli on Vimeo.

To quote from Mr. Agnelli:
Reading a newspaper, I saw a picture of birds on the electric wires. I cut out the photo and decided to make a song, using the exact location of the birds as notes (no Photoshop edit). I knew it wasn't the most original idea in the universe. I was just curious to hear what melody the birds were creating.

I sent the music to the photographer, Paulo Pinto, who I Googled on the internet. He told his editor, who told a reporter and the story ended up as an interview in the very same newspaper.

Here I've posted a short video made with the photo, the music and the score (composed by the birds).

And Dinner Tonight Was. . .

White Fish with Green Gazpacho Sauce. Make extra sauce (included in my version) because it you'll find yourself wanting to eat more. Since it's so lo-cal and good for you, no guilt when you do.


Head over to Elizabeth's Kitchen for the recipe and comments (click on image to your right, in sidebar).

And the update on Tattoo Student is this:
He wrote a pretty good paper. It has some problems, but he was able to nail quite a few of the elements.

And he complained to the Dept. Chair that because I'd asked him to walk around OUTSIDE, instead of IN my classroom, I wasn't accommodating him on ADA guidelines. Turns out he's most worried that I'll drop him. I told the Chair that Tattoo Student's problem is that he doesn't read and he doesn't listen.

If he read the syllabus that I gave to him when he came to class (he missed the first day and the Age Old Tradition of the Reading of the Syllabus) it clearly states that I don't drop students. I tell them, you got yourself in here, you can get yourself out. And if he'd listened, he'd have heard that I offered him the chance to lie down on my classroom floor with his pillow if he wanted (although with budget cutbacks and sporadic custodial service, who'd want to?).

I just carried home 55 papers to grade this weekend. That should explain why I took time out to cook a nice dinner.

Okay, Here's Some Fun!

You have to try this. Head over to this article in the New York Times, and try to drive and text. Yes, they've set up a driving test (do the Test Drive to get the picture) and then they send you text messages on this phone to the right. You're supposed to drive and text. If there would have been people on this imaginary roadway, I would have wiped them all out.

Good luck!

Welcome Back to My Real Life

I returned to the classroom yesterday, feeling pretty jetlagged, but ready to go again. We had Peer Review on their first essay, which is a section of class where they bring in their essays, trade with a classmate and then evaluate each other's essay. Not only does it 1) give them an earlier due date so I don't have to read first drafts, it also 2) gives them a chance to have someone else take a look at their essay and 3) improve their editing skills.

See? I've thought it all out.

Except what do you do Student A brings in the SECOND essay to be reviewed? The essay that I'm going to assign tomorrow with a spiffy assignment packet, a presentation and all sorts of tips and strategies?

I met with Student A, a highly decorated (tattoo-wise) military veteran who is in his late twenties, and gently asked him why he chose to do the second essay.

He unfolds a note from his orthopedic doctor explaining that he's going to have surgery soon and he'll have to get up and move around, may not be able to sit. I said that's no problem, just please take a seat on the very back row so you don't disturb others if you have to move. And it's okay to get up and walk around OUTSIDE. As a teacher, can I just say things aren't looking real great?

So I herded him back to the subject at hand.
--Why did he do the second essay?
--Because I want to get ahead.
--But you can't really do that one yet because we haven't finished the first one. Besides, I haven't given out the assignment sheet yet.
--I looked in the Course Calendar and read what you said and went off of that. (He pulls out his notebook, stuffed with papers every which way.) See? Here's all my research for my paper on Tattoos.

Note to self: add "tattoos" to the list of banned topics. And I'm wondering if while in the service, that not only did he enjoy the local tat parlor but also the local drug dealer? *Focus, focus.*

I start him on brainstorming some topics to write about. He reassures me that it's no problem to write an essay about the first time he served in combat--It will be a wonderful essay, he says. Really wonderful.

Wonderful.

Surf's Up in Munich!

Head over to Traveled Mind for the other surfer clip.

Why We're Going to Munich

Short answer:
Because I erased the photos from my hard drive on one fateful afternoon in Washington D.C.

Long answer:
Because Dave has a conference and he knew I wanted to re-take all the photos I'd lost on one fateful afternoon in Washington D.C.

The photo above is about the only one left, and it's really not from Munich, but is a picture of me in the dirndl I made after going to Munich. We were, at the time, living in Washington DC so jetlag was only a 6 hour change (instead of the 9-hour change it is from here). I'd purchased fabric from a store in Munich, struggled through a German-language version of a dress pattern, and made this dress. I found out later that our pattern books have an English-language version.

Someday I'll wear this to church. I usually wear it at Christmastime, but we'd just merged wards in our stake last year and I didn't want the newbies to think I was flat out weird. Now they know I'm just flat out weird, so there's no worries.

Here's a closer up. Yep, she's a middle-aged honeybunch, but doesn't she look Bavarian?
I was also pretty not-feeling-well when I was over there before (gallstones) so I'd like to go when I'm in pretty good shape. Or as my Dad says, travel now, while you're young.
I like that he thinks I'm young.

Visual answer:
Theatine Church, Munich.

Most of this church is done in white stucco, so the day's shadows, lights, darks, sunlight streams all play off the shapes, creating their own tonality.

Food answer:
Maybe to get some Bavarian Apple Strudel?

(This picture is all over the web. Maybe I can come up with a new one.)

Dave's answer:
Benzene conference (he's an expert).

Wait, let me get you another picture of the classic benzene ring.

Whoops. This is a local band, The Benzene Ring, and you can click to listen to their tunes.
(One review says: A compelling combination of short soundscapes, creepy chants, and five-minute-plus epics ... Breathing Water in a Dream is diverse and fresh enough to pull in listeners from both the prog and indie camps.)

Okey, dokey for all you progs and indies out there.

Yes! That's it!
But let's not stop there. Here's one from the United States Army, the chemical division, with a traditional six-sided benzene ring:

Wonder how I can get one of these for Dave? Better yet, everyone at his conference? The description reads:
48th Chemical Brigade Distinctive Unit Insignia: The green dragon grasping the sword alludes to the chemical operations of the Brigade and the unit's mission to combat chemical and biological warfare. The benzene ring is adapted from the branch insignia.

And then there's this guy, August Kekulé, who dozy-day-dreamed about a snake swallowing its tail, which taught him the structure of the benzene ring, basis of all organic chemistry.

Let's hear it for naps.

Or for staring into space.

At any rate, we're off tomorrow, beating the Labor Day rush to get out of town to celebrate the last day of summer.

Follow us on our travel blog, where I'll post when I feel like it:

The Traveled Mind.

Dinner Tonight is Tuscan White Beans

Over on Elizabeth's Kitchen, I posted the recipe/how-to for our dinner tonight. Stay cool, and out of the fires.